Page 70 of That Island Feeling

His wild eyes lock onto mine, sending another zip of adrenaline through me. Then he quickly shuffles back up to my end of the couch, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s as passionate as it is feral.

Before shucking off his shorts, Jack pulls his wallet from his pocket and retrieves a foil square.

Holiday hook-up rule number five: Use protection.

‘Compliments of Clam Cove Resort honeymoon suite,’ he says, jaw flexing.

I whimper as he parts my legs with his knee and finally moves on top of me, his weight a comforting anchor as he pushes inside me.

I cling to his muscular back, lost in the rhythm of his steady thrusts, my fingernails digging into his flesh, until our bodies curl with a fire-hot intensity that makes us both cry out. It’s like the monochrome monotony of the last few years has suddenly burst into vibrant, pulsating colours.

‘How was that?’ Jack pants, breathless in my ear.

But I have no words left to answer him.

Chapter Twenty-nine

JACK

We eat the stone-cold bacon-and-egg sandwiches curled up in my bed. No amount of sex, even good sex – very good sex – is going to get in the way of Andie taste-testing my creation.

Dating rule number four: If you want something to last, try not to sleep together too soon.

In my defence, it felt like a long time coming. It’s as if I’ve known Andie for weeks, not a matter of days. And so much has changed in that time. The melancholy stranger from the river boat has transformed into the smiling, increasingly familiar creature now propped up on one of my lumpy pillows beside me – her hair even wilder, and her freckles multiplied across her nose.

‘Watch the egg yolk on my sheets,’ I tease, as she takes a bite and golden liquid trickles down her arm. She swallows, then delicately licks her wrist, her tongue darting out like Izzie after a fly.

‘I said I should move to the table!’ she protests, shifting to get up.

My hand instinctively goes to her leg. ‘Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere.’

She’s dressed in only her top – no bra – and underwear, with her bare legs splayed out on the bed. Her skin is warm to the touch. Too warm?

‘Are you hot? Is that sting still inflamed?’ I ask, bending my head to kiss the splotchy red mark.

She looks at me with a Do you really want to start this again right now? expression. Yes, I do. But I also want her to finish her sandwich.

‘I think I’m healed,’ she says, smiling coyly and pulling her leg away from me like she can’t trust herself. ‘But it is a bit hot in here.’

I’ve been so caught up with Andie that I’ve failed to notice the stifling heat. My crappy pedestal fan is merely shuffling hot air around the cabin-turned-greenhouse; it’s no match for the sweat we’ve worked up.

‘I’ll open the door,’ I say, hopping up.

‘Come right back.’

‘Of course.’ I grin.

I have to kick the box of glass from Mum out of the way so I can prop the door open with the stopper – a heavy buoy I made from a few metres of coiled cotton rope.

As I return to the bed, a warm breeze follows me, carrying the earthy scent of approaching rain. A thunderstorm is on its way.

‘So, final verdict?’ I ask as I settle back next to Andie, who’s finishing her last bite.

‘Delicious.’ She licks her lips, her gaze drifting from the crumb-covered plate to my bare chest. My shirt remains in a crumpled heap at the foot of the couch, along with the tea towel and Andie’s bra.

‘What’s in the box?’ Andie’s question brings an abrupt mood shift.

‘Just some art materials.’

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