Page 39 of Dare Me
I never wake Stella up. Instead, I carry her to her bed after Marcella texts me that Ilya is staying home to host a poker game. I lay a towel over her pillow and spread out her locs so they can continue to air-dry while she sleeps like a rock through the night.
The next morning, I watch her push the same piece of pineapple around her plate for five minutes before saying something. “What do you say about a boat day? There’s an island with a black sand beach real close.”
She drops her fork and looks at me like I have three heads. “Did you forget about the whole trying to solve a murder thing?”
“Hey, we did a lot yesterday. I think we deserve the day off.” I try to persuade her with a smile—I know she’s often immune to my charm, but it’ll never stop me from trying. She taps her finger on the table, unconvinced, so I add, “The island is locked down, no murderers are getting away.”
She looks down at her uneaten food. “I just feel like we should be doing something.”
“You always feel like that, killer on the loose or not. It’s okay to slow down.” I want to add that I don’t like seeing her hesitant and withdrawn. I know yesterday was a lot for her. It would be for anybody, especially someone who’s not in the life. She’s adjacent, but not in the thick of it. Until now.
Curiosity sparks in her eyes. “You said black sand?”1
“Mhmm.” I come around to where she’s sitting and take her hands, pulling her out of her chair. “An underground volcano range created a sandbar, and the highest point formed a little island just for us.”
I shuffle backward, dragging her along with me. She lets her head fall back in exasperation, but I still catch the crack of a smile. It’s small but hits me like a tidal wave. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll do whatever I can to keep her smiling like that for the rest of my life.
“Black sand, private beach, endless sunshine, wide open ocean.” I paint a persuasive picture as I pull her into her room and push her onto the bed. She laughs as I start throwing items I find strewn about at her: swimsuit, tote bag, sun cover-up, beach blanket.
I plop her wide, straw hat on my head. “I’m keeping this. Now, get ready, we’ll leave in five.”
I had resort security prepare an outboard motorboat for me on the far side of the island.2 Stella eyes it skeptically. It has two wood benches across the hull and all metal siding. It certainly doesn’t look like much, but it will get us there. “We’re not going far. You can see it from here.” I point to a green blob on the horizon.
She puts her hand on her hip. “Is this a ploy to kill me out in the middle of the ocean so you can take all of Summerland for yourself?”
I throw our cooler and bags into the boat then move closer to her. She lifts her chin as I step even closer, her chest rising with a held breath. My body begins to sear, like she’s an open flame and I’m made of gasoline.
“You want Summerland? I’ll give it to you. In a heartbeat.” I trail a finger down her jaw to her uplifted chin. “And if I were trying to kill you, you’d never see it coming.”
Proving my point, I have her tossed over my shoulder and upside down before she can even scream in surprise.
I kick the boat into the water and step inside. “Lochlan!” she yells, still dangling upside down, as the boat wobbles under my weight. I shift from foot to foot, intentionally making it rock even more. “You said I wasn’t a killer, but you’re gonna make me one if you don’t knock it off.”
Laughing, I set her down, and despite her murderous insistence, she seems the lightest she’s been. I start the engine and steer us out toward the open ocean. I can feel the weight drifting off her the farther we get from Summerland, away from the blood and deceit, missing memories, and unanswered questions.
Before we reach the sandbar, I cut the engine and open the cooler. “Would you like the honors?”
Stella peers at the tied-up garbage bag inside. “Are those my clothes?”
I nod. “Plus a few dumbbells.”
She stares at them wordlessly for a few moments, facing it down like an enemy, and I would kill to know what’s going on behind those deep brown eyes. She stands, reaching for the bag hesitantly at first, then decisively yanking it out of the cooler. She swings it back then throws it into the ocean with such force, the entire boat rocks like it was hit by a wake.
“Good fucking riddance.” She sits back down with an accomplished sigh then looks up at me with a smile, a new spark in her eye. “A beach day sounds really nice.”
I couldn’t hide my smile if I tried. “That’s my girl.” I dip my straw hat at her like the gentleman I pretend to be and start the motor back up.
The bottomless, indigo water gives way to ebony sand as we putter onto the bar. I toss the anchor out and grab our things. She reaches for her bag, and I swipe it out of her reach, slinging it over my shoulder. “As long as I’m breathing, réalta.” I remind her of my promise to her on our first day here, that she’ll never have to carry her own bags.
I step out of the boat into knee-deep, cold water. I involuntarily shiver as I offer her my hand, and she grimaces. “It’s freezing, isn’t it?”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” As soon as she places her hand in mine, I sweep her legs out of the boat with my other arm, cradling her above the water. She rolls her eyes as she usually does at my antics.
I can only hope I’m proving to her they are more than just tactics to get in her pants, but genuine care for her. She wraps her arm around my neck, and I think just maybe I’m succeeding.
It feels so fucking natural holding her like this. Like she dropped from the sky and landed right in my arms.
It’s less than fifty yards to the beach and when we reach it, I let her down even though I want nothing more than to hold her close.