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Her mind shifted to the hug she’d given Bo. He’d felt so solid in her arms. She closed her eyes as she relived that moment and wished she hadn’t enjoyed it quite so much. It made her feel guilty, as if she’d done something wrong.
It was just a simple hug, she told herself—the kind she gave a lot of people. Except she’d wanted to remain in his arms and was beginning to fantasize about what it might be like to kiss him...
“Shit,” she muttered. Even if Remy weren’t in the picture, she couldn’t allow herself to become infatuated with a guy who lived three thousand miles away from where she was now licensed to practice law.
She was being ridiculous. She barely even knew Bo. It was just that the unusual circumstances she’d found herself in since coming to the island were messing with her mind.
She eventually fell into a fitful sleep. She’d wake up, start obsessing about the growing desire she felt to touch Bo in a way that was decidedlynotwithin the bounds of friendship, and after several minutes, drift off again. So at first, she thought she had to be dreaming when she heard a creak outside her door.
Lifting her head, she looked at the alarm clock, which read three thirty. That was when she realized she was indeed awake, and someone was in the hall.
Her heartbeat sounded like a bass drum in her ears as she slid up to lean against the headboard. It had to be Bastian. He was the only other person in the house.
She heard the hardwood floor creak again. Then the handle of her door began to turn.
She covered her mouth so she wouldn’t make any sound. Her mind went to that stuff hidden in the wall. Did he know about it? Washethe one who’d put it there?
Even if it was him, he wouldn’t dare touchher—would he?
Maybe he would. But if he hurt her, he couldn’t let her live to tell Remy. He’d have to kill her and dispose of her body.
She’d just had dinner with him. Something like being murdered by him was beyond imagination. But he could easily say she’d gone for a late swim in the ocean as he was going to bed, and he didn’t realize until the next morning that she’d never come back.
The knob jiggled more insistently when he couldn’t gain access. Fortunately, she’d felt uncomfortable enough that she’d locked her door. The question was...how far would he go to get in? And if he tried to force his way in, would she be able to stop him?
Her hand was shaking when she grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand. She could call for help. But she didn’t dare do it too soon. What could she say right now? That her prospective brother-in-law was trying to open her door? She doubted the police would rush to her rescue—especially here on Mariners, where the Windsors had such influence.
She held her breath as she waited, and the jiggling stopped. Then she heard some rustling and, finally, his footsteps retreated.
What was that all about? What was he even doing up at this hour?
She remained tense, gripping her phone while waiting to see if he’d come back. But she didn’t hear anything—other than a toilet flushing probably an hour later—and eventually the sudden adrenaline rush she’d experienced being awakened like that took its toll.
The next thing she knew, she still had her phone in her hand but it was morning.
Bastian had always struggled to sleep—even as a young boy, which was why he’d started drinking at fourteen. Sometimes liquor helped. He’d just drink until he passed out. Other times, it didn’t seem to make any difference. If he passed out, he’d just wake up again a few hours later.
He tried to trick his mind by watching TV. The noise kept him from being awakened by other sounds in the night if he did happen to nod off, but he’d become a regular night owl, always wide-awake and staring around while the rest of the world slept. He hated it; those long hours could be interminable.
When he heard Ismay downstairs, he rubbed his face and reached for the remote so he could finally turn off the damn TV. He’d managed to grab a few hours, but he still felt like roadkill. And he had a terrible hangover to boot. He couldn’t continue to live like this, he decided. He needed to see a doctor. Afraid the doctor would say something was wrong with his head and send him to a shrink—his parents had dragged him to enough of those when he was younger—he’d put off seeking that kind of help for as long as he could. But it was getting to the point that he had to do something, or he was going to lose his fucking mind.
With a yawn, he climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom. The scent of bacon was beginning to permeate the entire cottage, but his head was pounding too hard, and he was too nauseous to find it appetizing. He thought about going right back to bed to sleep off the worst effects of his drinking—he found it easier to rest during the day—but he was afraid Ismay would leave, and he wanted to see her. He wouldn’t have all that long until Remy showed up, and he was going to need every possible opportunity to win her trust.
Shoving the hair out of his eyes, he brushed his teeth, pulled on a sweatshirt along with a pair of Nike shorts, and, moving carefully, eased his way down the stairs.
When she heard him approach, she turned but didn’t say anything.
“Morning,” he said, wondering why the look she shot him was filled with hostility.
“Morning,” she responded but her voice was so low he could barely hear her.
“How’d you sleep?”
She’d gone back to frying her bacon and didn’t look up again. “Not so good. You?”
“Good enough,” he replied.
“Do you want some breakfast?”
