It’s not as if I’m sneaking into her room like a vampire; it’s not creepy, is it?
Estelle, along with my masseur, has vamoosed to let Sierra sleep for a few minutes. Estelle mentioned that Sierra had booked an extra hour just in case she fell asleep. I can’t help but appreciate the way this woman thinks.
Every one of my fingers seems to itch to reach out to touch her. Sierra’s freckled nose crinkles in her sleep, and that itch inside me grows into need.
I have to remind myself; she’s not staying. Two weeks is just long enough to have a fling turn into full-fledged obsession. Then, what am I left with when she leaves? Fuck all.
Nobody is here to judge me, so I stare. Sierra is breathtaking when she’s asleep. The rise and fall of her small bosoms. The teal polish on her toes matches the color on her fingernails. Her sun-bleached hair always falls into her face. Her eyes are closed, but I can tell you what color they are: the same turquoise as the ocean out there.
A stiff breeze wafts over her body, and I notice the goose flesh that spreads over her arm that rests outside of the sheet. In her sleeping state, Sierra rolls to her side and hunkers down. When she does, the sheet falls open and exposes one small, tan nipple. Oh. Shit.
I slide off my table and throw on my robe. Careful not to wake Sierra, I tug the fabric gently back over her chest. I freeze as she mumbles something in her sleep and adjusts. If she wakes up, I’m screwed. I’m officially a creep.
The sheet falls again. Because of gravity. Dummy.
I shouldn’t look. But, I shouldn’t do a lot of things. And I can’t help but notice that nipple is erect. I’m not such a self-centered son of a bitch to think that pretty little nub is looking for me. The breeze is to blame more than anything. But the sight of it sends a jolt of electricity into my chest that shoots down into my midsection and lands squarely in my dick. That’s all I need, for her to wake up and see me pitching a tent. Or worse, see this log peeking out of my robe, like a perv.
Up close, I catch the coconut-lime scent of the massage oil all over her, and my mouth waters at the thought of tasting her. There’s only one thing to do. I raise the sheet to her chin, and then she does something so sweet it grips every muscle in my chest. Sierra scrunches up her body into a fetal position and hugs the sheet close, making a faint sighing noise.
I tighten the belt of my robe and check to make sure all limbs are safely hidden as I make my way to the entrance of the cabana. As I turn my back, she mutters something, clearly in her sleep: a small giggle followed by, “Hmm, Pilot Daddy Austin.”
Just then, her friend Jax breezes in.
“Whoa! Well, hello! Couples massage?” Jax’s smile is expectant.
I shake my head. “Just a coincidence. How was donkey yoga?”
She seems surprised and pleased. “You and Sierra have been talking, I see. It was great, thanks for asking.”
I move to step out, eager to disappear.
“Austin?”
Sierra, now awake and sitting up on the massage table, grips her sheet to her body. Her hair is over one eye, and the tanned skin of her chest glistens with massage oil. With mussed hair, the sheet barely covering her breasts as she perches on the massage table, Sierra resembles my memory of how she appeared after sex last night—in my dream.
Her saying my name like that feels like she’s carving hers into the rough layer of bark that protects my heart.
Taking my leave of the two friends, I nod to Jax and shoot a wink at Sierra. “Have fun at the volcano, you two. But be careful; The island god loves virgins.”
Sierra looks at me wide-eyed, and then both she and Jax cackle as I walk away.
Chapter Six
Sierra
I thought Austin was kidding about the virgin thing.
It turns out, even Brooks, the tour guide, mentions it.
“Before this area was known as The Pearl Crescent islands, a legend was born when seafaring scavengers discovered Little Loggerhead Island in 1769. A particularly ruthless Dutch sea captain was closing in on the pirates to reclaim some gold they had stolen. So the pirates buried their treasure on the south end of the island. Just as they buried it, the earth beneath grew so hot it blistered their feet. The ship’s captain stayed on the island, but the rest of the crew retreated to Severed Key on the far edge of the fringe and waited out the eruption. When several strange occurrences led them to believe some deity had cursed them, they returned to find the entire area where the treasure had been buried under molten rock. Meanwhile, their ship suffered storm damage, the crew suffered starvation, and a giant squid attacked the boat.
“So a year later, the band of pirates returned to the volcano and tossed their youngest sailor into the abyss. Legend says that a fissure formed in the volcanic rock right before their eyes, which they followed to their clearing and allowed them to recover their pirate captain's body. They never found the treasure, but the curse was lifted. The island god allowed the pirates to stay.”
Jax whispers in my ear, “That is totally made up.”
“If it’s not, it’s seriously fucked up,” I whisper back.
A nearby woman in the tour group turns and shoots Jax and me a dirty look for whispering curse words.