Page 75 of Heat Island
Cash nuzzles me through it all, soft and steady, grounding me as I tremble in the aftermath.
We collapse together, limbs tangled, breaths mingling in the quiet. My heart thunders, body still humming, but for a moment, there’s peace in the press of their warmth around me, a fragile stillness before the next wave of need.
TWENTY-SIX
TRINITY
I snap awake with a gasp,momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling. My body feels deliciously sore, memories of Cash, Lucas, and Matheo’s hands on me flooding back in vivid detail. The sheets tangle around my waist, warm from our bodies.
But something’s missing. Someone’s missing.
Kyren.
I sit up slowly, scanning the darkened room. Lucas sprawls on his back, one arm flung over Cash who’s curled against his side. Matheo lies on the far edge, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. But no sign of Kyren.
I strain my ears, listening for any movement in the suite. The silence feels heavy, almost oppressive. Did he come back at all after dinner? The memory of his eyes on me while Matheo and I were together yesterday sends a shiver down my spine—not unpleasant, but complicated.
Carefully, I slip from the bed, grabbing Matheo’s discarded shirt from the floor and pulling it over my naked body. It falls to mid-thigh, even my heat suppressants notenough to miss his faint scent enveloping me as I pad quietly toward the door.
I tell myself I’m just making sure Kyren is okay, that I’m concerned as I would be for any of them. But the tightness in my chest suggests something deeper. Something I’m not ready to examine too closely.
The main living area is empty, moonlight spilling through the sliding doors of the empty lanai. I check the second bathroom, finding nothing but silence. A quick glance at the clock shows it’s just past three a.m..
Did I scare him away entirely?
Maybe this arrangement turning physical is such a turn-off that he decided to leave and go back home. If he’d wanted me in that way, then he wouldn’t have declined further heat-breaking sessions. Maybe Kyren is so disgusted by me that a free vacation and a nice paycheck aren’t enough to make him pretend otherwise.
I try to ignore the way my heart aches at the thought.
But I really just need to know.
My bare feet are silent against the stone walkways. Palm trees sway overhead, their fronds rustling in the gentle night breeze. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is all that breaks the deadened night.
As I survey the deserted lobby, I consider stopping at the front desk to ask if Kyren has checked out, but the concierge desk is empty. I pause, unsure where to go next, when I catch it—faint but distinct—the delicate notes of a piano melody drifting through the still night air.
I slip through the open doors of the ballroom. The cavernous space is dark except for a single spotlight illuminating the grand piano on the small stage at the far end. Kyren sits there, his profile sharp in the dramaticlighting, fingers dancing across the keys with surprising grace.
I hang back in the shadows, not wanting to interrupt. There’s something mesmerizing about watching him when he doesn’t know I’m here—something raw and vulnerable in the way his body sways slightly with the music, how his eyes close during particularly emotional passages.
The melody builds, growing more complex, layers of notes weaving together before gradually slowing, becoming simpler, softer. The last note hangs in the air, sustained by the pedal, then slowly fades into silence.
I hold my breath, frozen in place by the beauty of what I’ve just experienced.
Without looking up from the piano, Kyren’s voice cuts through the darkness. “What are you doing up, Trinity?”
His tone isn’t accusatory, just quiet, almost resigned. I take a step forward, moving into the dim light.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say, my voice echoing off the high ceiling.
Kyren’s fingers hover over the keys, not quite touching them. “Couldn’t sleep.”
I move closer, drawn to him despite my better judgment. “That was beautiful. What was it?”
“Something I’ve been working on.” His eyes finally lift to mine, and even in the low light, I see the intensity in them. “Nothing finished yet.”
I stop at the edge of the stage, acutely aware that I’m wearing nothing but Matheo’s shirt. “I noticed you weren’t there. In the room.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Yeah, well. Seems like you had plenty of company.”
