The shift of weight on the mattress pulled Elena from a thin, salt-tanged sleep. She turned her head on the pillow, eyes gritty, and saw Liam’s back. He was stepping into a pair of dark shorts, the briefs he’d slept in a stark black line against his skin before he pulled the fabric up. The sight was so ordinary, so domestic, it sent a jolt through her stomach. They had shared the bed. The whole night. Her body went still, cataloging: the ache in her shoulders from rigidly holding her side, the warmth still lingering in the sheets where he’d lain, the dry cotton of her sundress still twisted around her thighs.
She waited until the cabin door clicked shut behind him before she moved. Sitting up, she pushed her tangled hair back and looked down at herself. The dress was wrinkled, the straps digging into her skin. The memory of his hands on her back yesterday, the heat of his palms through the fabric as he commanded her to kneel, flooded her with a fresh wave of damp heat between her legs. She swung her feet to the cool floor and found her bag had been moved just outside the cabin door. Kneeling on the hardwood, she unzipped it. Her fingers found the swimsuit first—the crimson, molten-colored two-piece. She peeled the sundress off, the air cool on her skin, and stepped out of her lace panties. They were damp, embarrassingly so. She balled them into her fist and shoved them deep into the bag’s side pocket before pulling the red swimsuit up over her hips and the top over her breasts. It's singular strap over her right shoulder.
Over it, she put on the loose white button-down V-neck and a pair of soft shorts. She climbed the companionway steps, the morning light hitting her like a physical blow. Liam stood shirtless at the mast, muscles corded in his back and shoulders as he worked the lines, raising the main sail with a series of efficient, powerful pulls. The sun glinted off the sweat already beading at the base of his spine. He didn’t turn as she emerged, but his awareness of her was a palpable shift in the air, like a shadow falling across the deck.
“We’ll make landfall in a few hours,” he said, his voice rough with morning. He finished with the halyard and moved to the helm, checking instruments with a focused sweep of his blue eyes.
“Landfall where?” Elena asked, leaning against the cockpit coaming. The wind caught her shirt, plastering it briefly against the swimsuit beneath.
“A place belonging to my family.” He didn’t look up from the GPS screen.
The statement hung there, an open door. “Your family,” she echoed. “I don’t know anything about them.”
“No.” The single word was final, a gate sliding shut. He straightened and finally looked at her, his gaze sweeping from her wind-tossed hair down to her bare feet. “You don’t.”
She turned away from the dismissal and settled on the long bench near the helm, tucking her feet beneath her. She let the sun bake into her skin, the rhythm of the waves against the hull lulling her into a false peace. The salt, the wind, the sheer blue emptiness—it almost let her forget the man beside her, the damp panties in her bag, the trap she now knew she was in. She must have dozed, because his voice, closer now, was what pulled her back. “We’re here.”
Elena stood, the boat rocking gently underfoot. Before them, an island rose from the sea, green and low. A wooden dock reached out from a crescent of pale sand, leading to a wide, weathered beach house with a wraparound porch. Beyond it, the land stretched into a haze of tropical forest. It was isolated, beautiful, and utterly silent. A perfect cage.