Inexpressible Island - Paullina Simons Page 0,63

swills his mouth out with gin, takes a swig from the bottle, and climbs back under the covers.

It’s dark in the room. The heavy curtains block out the morning. He closes his eyes and when he opens them, she’s still staring at him.

“That damn Wild.” She touches his brow. “Your cut is bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“Do you want me to change the dressing?”

“I’m okay for now.”

She is silent. “Did you think it was going to go differently last night? I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“It’s okay.”

“And took so long in the bath.”

“That’s okay.”

“You’re not upset with me?”

“No, Mia.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

Julian shuts his eyes. He doesn’t mind her seeing the love, but he doesn’t want her to see the seeping sadness he feels even during happy moments like this. He doesn’t want her to see his fear. The fear of the broken clock, of the dying days, of the limitless horrors perpetrated on him and her. Look down on us and this holy house with pity, O Lord. He takes a deep breath, composes himself, opens his eyes, and smiles.

“A better question is, why are you staring at me?” he says, his full eyes twinkling.

In the dark, her pupils are dilated. “I’m not staring. But, um, why are you so muscled?”

“I’m not really.”

“You are. Very.”

“I train.”

“For what?”

“To fight, I guess. To endure.” He smiles. “You think it’s easy being in the line of fire with you? You think it’s easy walking through ice caves?”

“That story you told us about the ship and the fight on deck, and the knife that took half your hand and nearly your life, that wasn’t true, was it?”

“What do you think?”

“I thought you were embellishing things. But seeing you right now, I’m afraid it might be true.” But she doesn’t look afraid. She looks tantalized.

“What, Mia?”

“I don’t know,” she whispers. “Do you always sleep . . . naked?”

“When I’m next to sleeping beauty, yes,” he says, reaching for her. They thread their hands together. Turning her onto her back, he leans over her. She has taken off her robe. She is also naked. “You are beautiful when you are happy.”

“Then I’m beautiful all the time,” she says, stroking his arms and shoulders, “because I’m almost always happy.” Her breath quickens. “Jules, you are so . . . awake.”

“Yes, my flesh rises with your name.” Julian opens her mouth with his kiss.

Moaning, she reaches for him. Oh my word, Julian. She squeezes him, strokes him, tugs on him to beckon him on top of her. Come here. Honest, I can’t wait another second.

You can’t wait another second?

There’s a knock on the door.

“Go away!” Julian yells.

The knock gets louder.

“Jules! It’s us! It’s Wild and Dunk!”

“I know who you are! Go. Away.”

There’s another knock. “Jules, it’s Shona.”

And another. “And Sheila!”

“We’re starved, Jules.”

Me too, he says to Mia, his body over hers.

Me too, Mia says into his collarbone.

The knocking persists.

They groan. Mia hides in the bathroom, while Julian throws on a pair of trousers and grabs some pound notes from his pocket. He unlocks the door, opening it two inches and keeping the chain on. “Go away!” Julian says into Wild’s laughing face.

“Swedish, the morning is no time for what you’re about to do. It’s disgraceful. It is, however, time for breakfast. Let us in.”

“Go back to your suite or I’ll have you arrested. Here—take my money. Order room service, get whatever you want. We’ll be there shortly.”

“Not too shortly, I hope?” Mia whispers from behind.

Wild and Dunk crack up. “Chop, chop, Swedish,” Wild says, real fondness, real affection in his eyes and voice, “or there won’t be any scones left.”

After they leave, and he bolts the door, Julian sits on the bed and stands Mia naked in front of him, between his legs. Holding her hips, he pulls her close and presses his face between her weighty breasts. Sometimes they fit into his hands and sometimes like now they spill out. Either way, it’s all good. He fondles her, plays with her, kisses her nipples gently, kisses them until her head tips back and her body arches forward. I don’t need it, Jules, she whispers, honest.

But I like it, he says, running his hands over her rounded hips.

Me, too.

When he sees how softened she is and how weakened, he lays her down on the bed. She opens her arms. “Come lie on top of me. If I told you how long it’s been since anyone’s been on top of me, you would cry.”

“Why would I cry?

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