Page 23 of Swept Away

Reality seeps back in: here we are, stranded in this awful barren sea, and if the weather worsens before we’re rescued, if it gets colder out here…

“Let’s get you inside. You should change into something warm.”

“Right,” Zeke says, staggering slightly as he stands, despite the fact that the boat is barely doing more than a slow rolling dip on the water.

I carefully carry Eugene into the bedroom while Zeke heads to the bathroom. As I set the seagull down on the bedside table, I lift the lid and peek inside his box.

Eugene stares up at me, eyes ink black, soft feathers ruffled. He’s so still. Maybe we should have left him out there—what if his mum was coming back for him? He doesn’t look like a tiny baby, more like a teenager. Do mother seagulls still care about their babies when they’re adolescents, or was his mother like Penny’s mum, the sort who decides you’re on your own once you’re no longer cute enough to dress up like a doll?

I close the box and head to the wardrobe in search of something I can wear instead of this top, which is now sweaty, sea-splashed and smelling strongly of seagull. It’s a mess in here, that weird loose panel leaning behind Zeke’s duffel bag, dust everywhere, ship’s logs upended across our bags. Those books are next on my list—they might say something useful. We could really do with useful right now. God knows the injured seagull doesn’t qualify.

I strip down to my bra and trousers, ignoring my reflection in the narrow mirror inside the wardrobe door and choosing a blue shirt I bought years ago, now soft with overwear.

“Ah, sorry,” says Zeke from behind me.

I spin around, clutching the shirt to my chest. He’s only a coupleof steps away from me—that’s pretty much always true in this boat. He’s wandered in wearing just jeans; one of his hands is still on his head, as though he’s paused midway through rearranging his curls.

He can’t see anything with the shirt where it is, but I’m aware of my bareness, the cool wood of the wardrobe pressing against the skin of my back as I step away from him. The boat sways beneath my feet, and the sight of him like this, wet and lean and gorgeous, makes my breath falter.

This is different from seeing him in his boxers on the deck. We’re in the bedroom; I’m half-naked. Our night together flashes through me. Dizzy, slick desire. The way his dipped gaze met mine, slow and honey-sweet. How his breath caught when I touched him. I think of the Zeke I conjured up yesterday when I was afraid he might hurt me, and it seems so absurd now, after seeing him cradling a wounded seagull in his arms, after hearing him say,You can have my knives. There are so many versions of this man in my head.

Zeke turns away from me, dropping his gaze. “I’m really sorry. I went into the bathroom without…”

He gestures toward the wardrobe without lifting his eyes.

“Oh yeah, of course.”

I step awkwardly to the side. He hesitates, finally glancing up again; I can’t quite read his expression. He’ll have to brush past me to get to the cupboard—there’s not room for anything else. We say nothing, eyes locked, the hot, still air silent between us, and there’s a weird sense of timelessness to it all, like we’re caught somewhere between our night together and the reality of our lives as they are now.

“Listen, Lexi,” Zeke says, looking down at the floor again. He clears his throat. “I just want to say—after yesterday—I—sorry, could you just pass me my T-shirt? I feel stupid saying this topless.”

“Yes, yeah, of course,” I say, spinning to grab his T-shirt and holding it out to him.

The moment has broken, but my heart is still beating too fast. I’m already braced to dislike whatever he’s about to say—it has the tone of a rejection.

“I hope you feel safer with me now,” he begins.

“I’m fine,” I cut in. I still feel a bit embarrassed about yesterday, though I know if it was Penny saying that, I’d tell her she had every right to feel the way she did. “It’s fine.”

He frowns slightly, pulling on his T-shirt with one swift tug.

“But we’re stuck here together. If you want to get away from me, you can’t. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He takes a breath. “So I just want to say, just really clearly say, that I’m not expecting—I’m not going to hit on you or…I know things started that way between us, but it’s different now. I think we should just…ban it.”

My mouth is dry. “Ban it?”

“Yeah. No…”

For the briefest moment his gaze kisses the bare skin of my chest and shoulders, and the heat still pulsing under the surface flares up in me again.

“No sex,” he says.

Well, that pulls me up short.

“Right,” I say, trying to keep my face blank.

“No touching or kissing or anything sexual.”

“Right. Great. Yeah.”

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