Page 66 of Stuck in Paradise with You

Too sure of himself, delicious, jackass.

‘Put that on,buddy,’ he says, and he pats me on the back. Actually pats me on the back.

Of course. When we got off the boat, I did the same thing to him, though I had been reacting to my own panic. This act of Luke’s is all about one-upmanship and I goddamn fell for it.

Oh it’s on, Luke Chalmers. Two can play that game.

Quite how those who stayed on Charithonia today managed to get through as many storm preparations as they have, while also being chef, cleaner, waitstaff, mom, aunt, security and generally human beings, is beyond me.

A bunch of us head down to the staff housing, which is closer to sea level, so a bigger flood risk from the high water levels. Apparently, the glass in the windows is the same level of hurricane proof that the main residence is, so the decision is made not to board the windows. The roofs already have storm clips in place and the various plant pots and pieces of furniture outside the studios have already been taken inside.

So our job – mine, Luke’s, Joe’s and Alisha’s – is to create a wall of sandbags as high as feasibly possible, while the staff carry bags of possessions and clothes that they want to make sure stay safe up to the main house and down to the bunker.

Luke is flirting with Alisha. I know they aren’t together now but it seems like he’s upped the ante for some reason.Is he trying to make me jealous?

I watch him as I lug sandbags, boring holes in his offensively moreish back, ignoring the way his muscles work beneath his t-shirt, or trying to at least, focusing on how childish he’s being and how mad it’s making me.

Mad enough that when Henry returns from taking his luggage to the bunker, I decide to play Luke at his own dirty tricks.

‘So, Henry, what can I expect tomorrow?’ I ask, closing in on him as he heaves up two bags and I take one, too, following by his side, as close as the job will allow, to the nearest studio.

Okay, it’s hardly flirtatious chatter but Luke can’t hear us; he doesn’t know that we’re genuinely talking about the weather.

‘Well, it’s all about humidity and air pressure,’ Henry says, seeming sincerely excited by the topic. ‘See, hurricanes happen when warm seas heat the air.’ He places down his sandbags, his slender muscles working hard, but not a patch on?—

Nope. Not going there. Not now. Not ever.

Now, Henry uses his hands to demonstrate. ‘Humidity rises and meets low pressure. That creates clouds.’ With one hand in the air, presumably acting as low pressure, Henry rotates his other beneath it. ‘The clouds start to rotate, and that’s the basis for the movement of the storm.’

I glance sideways to Luke and find him sporting the most supercilious look, which I’d like to pat right off his face.

I rest a hand on Henry’s bicep and give him more attention than the weather deserves.

‘Wow. And what was it you said about air pressure?’ Henry doesn’t seem to flinch at my touch, though in my defense, not that there’s much of one to this level of teenage prank, he has been fairly handsy with me since I arrived on the island.

‘The eye of the storm is where the pressure is lowest. Incredibly low, in fact. Because the moist air is rising from the ocean, it leaves an area of low pressure on the surface.’ He’s using his hands again to gesticulate, leaving no room for Luke to think we might be discussing how sexy Henry is or how much he’d like to get me naked. Nope. We’re still talking about meteorology.

My attention is zapped from Henry telling me about high pressure moving into the low-pressure area or something along those lines, because Luke and Alisha suddenly let out a joint, gargantuan laugh, and they’re touching, him folded forward, her head thrown back, and they look happy and really quite beautiful together, and… I’m jealous.

Jealous? Jealous of what? That Alisha and Luke might have chemistry, that they mightlikeeach other, that even if they aren’t together now, one day they might be?

Ouch, there’s an ache in my chest that makes me hold my fist to it.

‘Are you okay?’ Henry asks, finally having completed his explanation. He reaches out to my arm, I think genuinely concerned.

Me too.Am I having a heart attack? What is this dull but unrelenting pressure behind my sternum?

I nod. ‘Mmmhmm, yeah, great.’ I take a slow and steadying breath and move to the truckload of sandbags left to be positioned, distracting my mind, changing my line of vision, moving away from the sound of Luke and Alisha’s happiness. ‘I think I ate those sandwiches too quickly. Indigestion.’

God, could I be anylesssexy? I’m dirty, I probably smell, my hair is as frizzy as it ever gets, I’m wearing Jenny’s tiny sorority shorts and Luke’s sweater, and I’m using indigestion as a tool to avoid being honest with myself and anyone else who can see how my body is physically aching for Luke. A man I should absolutely not want.

But damn it, I do.

I leave Henry to the last couple of sandbags on one studio and make a start on another. At the truck, as I’m wiggling a bag off the top of the pile, I sense Luke behind me before I see his arms reach across me to help, pulling down the bag as if it isn’t weighted at all. His shoulder brushes mine and even throughclothes, I feel that lightning strike again, like I did when he helped me down from the boat, his hands on my hips, my pelvis sliding down his front, his dangerously dark eyes fixed on mine.

I mumble to myself, ‘They say lightning doesn’t strike the same spot twice.’But in paradise it seems there are no rules.

Is the way I’m feeling nonsensical, make-believe, orspecial?

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