Page 41 of Vacation with the Ice Queen

God, that kiss.

Lila touched her lips without thinking, the ghost of Serena's mouth still lingering there. She hadn't expected such fire, such hunger, such abandon.

And Serena’s fingers. Inside her.

The memory sent a fresh wave of warmth through her body that had nothing to do with the tropical morning heat.

"Focus," she muttered to herself, straightening her spine.

But focus was impossible when her body still hummed with the aftershocks of Serena's touch. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Serena in the moonlight, water droplets glistening on her skin, silver-streaked hair darkened and wild, those commanding blue eyes suddenly vulnerable and wanting. How quickly their careful orbiting had collapsed into gravity's inevitable pull.

The kiss had been tentative at first—a question more than a demand—but it had transformed into something else entirely within moments. Serena, who calculated every move in her professional life, had surrendered to pure instinct. And Lila, who prided herself on maintaining boundaries with clients, had responded with equal hunger.

She hadn't meant for it to happen. When she'd walked to the pool last night, seeking quiet after her evening helping Maika with the jasmine night blooms, she'd never expected to find Serena there—certainly not a naked and strikingly beautiful Serena swimming in the moonlight like some wild, untamed version of the controlled executive.

Lila blew out the candle with a decisive puff. Meditation clearly wasn't happening this morning.

She stretched and moved to the window, where golden light now spilled across the island, palm fronds casting dappled patterns on the ground below. In an hour, she was scheduled to meet Serena for another wellness session. The thought sent butterflies swirling through her stomach—not the professional anticipation she should be feeling, but something far more personal and complicated.

This wasn't supposed to happen. She was the wellness coach; Serena was the client. Lines had been crossed that couldn't be uncrossed, boundaries blurred that were meant to keep both of them safe.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to regret it. Not when Serena's touch had awakened something in her that she'd thought died with Sophie—that spark of connection, of possibility, of seeing and being seen. The way Serena had looked at her in the pool, really looked at her, as if seeing past her role as wellness coach to the woman beneath.

Lila pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane, trying to clear her head. She was supposed to be the grounded one, the professional guiding Serena toward healing, not the woman counting minutes until their next meeting with fangirl anticipation.

A soft chime from her phone interrupted her thoughts. A message confirming her session with Serena at the eastern beach. No mention of last night, no acknowledgment of what had passed between them. Just a professional courtesy from a client.

Was Serena already retreating behind her walls? Pretending nothing had happened? Or simply being discreet? The formality of the message stung more than it should have, but Lila reminded herself that Serena communicated this way with everyone. It didn't necessarily mean regret.

Though regret would be the sensible response. God knows they'd skipped right past several levels of appropriate client-provider interaction.

Lila moved to her small bathroom, splashing cool water on her face as if it might wash away the confusion clouding her thoughts. The face that stared back from the mirror looked different somehow—cheeks slightly flushed, eyes brighter than usual, lips still tender from Serena's demanding mouth. Shehardly recognized herself in this state of heightened awareness, every nerve ending still alive with possibility.

Back in her bedroom, Lila moved to her small closet, selecting her clothing with unusual care. The simple act felt loaded with meaning this morning. Too casual might signal disrespect; too formal might suggest distance. She finally chose flowing linen pants in a soft sand color and a simple teal top that brought out the green in her eyes. Professional but approachable.

As she dressed, her gaze fell on the photograph tucked behind the crystal on her bedside table. Sophie smiled from within the frame, one arm draped possessively around Lila's shoulders. The sight that once brought pain now provoked something more complex—a recognition of patterns and lessons learned.

She picked up the frame, studying Sophie's confident smile. Five years together, and what did she have to show for it? A collection of memories tainted by the realization that she'd been pouring herself into someone who saw her as convenient rather than essential.

Sophie had taken and taken, offering little in return. She'd drained Lila's energy, her time, and her resources, all while making her feel it was never enough. When Lila had finally stood up for herself, Sophie had already moved on to someone more politically connected and more useful to her ambitions.

"Not this time," Lila murmured, deliberately turning the photograph face-down.

Yet even as she made the gesture, doubt crept in. Was she seeing Serena clearly or projecting what she wanted to see? Was her attraction clouding her judgment, making her miss signs that should be obvious?

Marcus would say yes. He'd warned her about her "type"—brilliant, complicated women who needed fixing. Women whose walls she saw as challenges rather than warnings.

The memory of his words from the staff beach party made her wince. "You've got that look," he'd said. "The 'fascinated by damaged brilliance' look." At the time, she'd dismissed his concern, but now, with the feeling of Serena’s fingers still deep inside her, his warning echoed with uncomfortable accuracy.

Lila braided her hair with quick, practiced movements, trying to sort through her tangled thoughts. Last night had been beautiful, unexpected, perhaps even magical. But in the clear light of morning, reality reasserted itself: Serena Frost was leaving in less than two weeks. She would return to her Manhattan empire, to the world where she was a powerhouse CEO, not a woman who fucked wellness coaches in moonlit pools.

And Lila would remain here, picking up the pieces of whatever broke when Serena left.

She slipped her feet into simple sandals, grabbed her bag of supplies for the morning session, and paused at her small altar—a collection of meaningful objects she'd gathered during her healing journey. A smooth stone from the beach where she'd finally cried after leaving Sophie. A feather found the day she decided to stay on the island. A small wooden carving Tomasi had given her, saying it represented new beginnings.

Her fingers lingered on the carving. "Balance," she whispered to herself. The core principle she taught others now seemed elusive in her own life.

Tomasi's words from the beach party returned to her: "There's helping, and then there's taking on. The first heals both people. The second wounds both people." The distinction felt crucial now, standing on the threshold of whatever was developing between her and Serena.

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