Page 108 of Hate To Be Mine

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“Oh man, I wouldn’t want to guess. I’m not a meteorologist.”

I chuckled. “You’re not under oath, Bernadette. It’s okay to guess.”

“Then I think we’re in the clear.”

“Thank God.” I knew it made me a terrible person, possibly even worse than Dash, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as much as I should about a dangerous storm coming at us and ruining the runway show.

Because Bernadette was here. In my bungalow. Wearing one of my shirts. Her hair was a mess. Makeup smeared. And she looked perfect.

She looked like she belonged here.

“Sebastian?” Her voice cut through my thoughts. “Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, what?”

She gave me that look—the one that said she knew exactly where my mind had wandered and she was choosing to let it slide. “I said Elizabeth texted. Everyone’s accounted for and secured in their bungalows. No one’s being stupid.”

“Except Rico, who got shipped out this morning.” I couldn’t keep the satisfaction out of my voice.

“Good riddance.” She stretched, and the T-shirt rode up just enough to show a strip of skin at her waist. I looked away before I turned into Rico.

She grabbed one of the individually wrapped cookies and took a bite. “Glad we snuck these,” she said. “I don’t think she’d be happy to know I was eating one of her precious cookies.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. That woman would probably bake you a cake in the middle of a hurricane.”

“She’s protective.”

“She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you anymore. She just needed time to see what I see.”

The power had flickered twice already, so we’d preemptively lit a few candles. It made everything feel more intimate, like we were the only two people in the world.

And then the power went out.

“And there we go,” I said.

“Yep.”

I stretched my legs out in front of me and leaned my head back against the couch. She was in her chair, but it didn’t matter. I was still calm. Just being in her presence settled my soul.

And after a couple of sleepless nights, I felt my body settling. I closed my eyes. The rain beat down and I could hear the wind battering the side of the bungalow.

I must have dozed off because when I came to, Bernadette was curled up against me. Her head rested on my chest, one hand against my stomach. Her breathing was slow and even, and dammit, she smelled so good. Not perfume. It was the smell of the island and it smelled so fresh on her.

I was wide awake now, every nerve ending firing, my body very much aware of the soft weight of her pressed against me. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to ease out from under her, grab a blanket, let her sleep.

But I’d never been all that great at being a gentleman. And she had made the move to come to me. That was a sign.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it, fingers threading through her hair. She made a small sound and shifted closer, and holy hell, I was in trouble.

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”