Desperate Times Call for Pleasant Measures

A leg draped over his hip and soft skin rested under his hand. So soft and warm, he slid up the long, smooth thigh, wanting to feel more. Her leg responded, sliding along his side, making his journey to the underside easier.

Flattening his palm, he deepened the pressure, kneading his fingers in small circles as he went. Her leg slid further up, then down, up, then down again, following his slow circular motion.

Lace underwear interrupted his movement and without hesitating he slipped inside welcoming the fullness that filled his hand. She responded with a small hum, and he gripped harder, pressing her firmly against him.

Her leg locked around his hip, keeping the pressure there as he slipped out from soft lace to roam higher. The tip of his nose brushed along the curve of her shoulder, following the scent of citrus groves. While his hand glided over the contours of her hip—her waist—higher.

Sinking into the curve of her neck, his lips parted once, twice. The third kiss brought a sweet, gentle noise from her mouth telling him more—she wanted more.

Pushing up material blocking smooth skin, he found and circled a full breast, then another. Gentle strokes and soft pinches, he alternated, enjoying the feel of them responding to the lightest of touch.

The leg that held him squeezed and she rocked forward—she wanted him. Wanted him so much she rolled into an arch, pressing up into his hand.

He nipped firm lip pinches from her neck down her collarbone, heading to where his hand still played. Her louder hums asked him to do this—needed him to do this.

He was going to do this.

He. Was. Going. To. Do—this?

Danny’s eyes sprang open before his mouth got there, and what a hell of a view greeted him.

“Shi-it,” he whispered, suddenly aware that he hadn’t been dreaming and his hand filled with something warm and soft. His wide eyes parked over said hand, cupping an ample breast.

It didn’t help his already interior freak-out moment when his view continued to dart all over what he could only describe as the nearly fully naked body of an incredibly beautiful woman.

But he didn’t have a woman—she’d divorced him—yet here he was about to make love to one. His eyes shot up to the face, and he lost the ability to breathe.

Mostly naked, Claire lay in his arms and under his hand.

“Shit,” he whispered again.

How the hell did this start? He blinked hard, trying to remember what he’d been thinking, but he hadn’t been thinking. He just did—er, is still doing. He stared again at the hand cupped to her and trailed his eyes down to the very real black lace panties he’d been inside of. They were still pushed up, exposing half of a perfect ass.

“Shit.”

He fought hard to think of who he thought he’d been touching. Did he know it was her? Did he think it was Jess?

Her shape felt nothing like Jess and if he was completely honest, he knew for a fact that he never once thought of Jessica.

Double shit—triple shit.

Clouded memories cleared and he remembered why he laid there. How he’d tried to calm and comfort her the night before, but that’s all he planned to do. Not this.

He glanced back up at her angelic face, hoping the sleeping medicine stayed in effect. That the small sounds coming from her mouth didn’t mean she was waking.

Her golden-brown hair splayed in waves over his pillow. The way he’d have loved to imagine her in his bed, if he had had the time to imagine her before seeing her.

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, snapping him back to the moment just in time to watch her arms stretch above her head, elongating her lean, toned figure, and pressed her breast further into his hand.

If it was hard before now, this was impossibly hard for a man who was trying to find the will to let go.

She released a sing-song sigh, and her brow furrowed, eyes still closed.

Was that a why is someone touching me? Face, or a why did someone stop touching me? Face.

Idiot. Of course it wasn’t the latter. She didn’t know he crawled into bed with her. He did all that stupid on his own. He’d smack his own head if his one hand wasn’t keeping him from seeing an eyeful and the other wasn’t caught under her neck.

He shimmied, trying to get the shirt to fall over the other breast that he hid against his chest and unknowingly caused friction.

She rocked her hips into him, and he froze. That didn’t help.

He needed to let go. Yes, he absolutely needed to let go. That and stop loving how she reacted to his every touch, encouraging him to do more.

It may have seemed like an easy thing—letting go—yet his sleep-drunk, racing mind stuttered, restarted, then froze. Maybe if there was a manual on how to unstick your hand from where you didn’t want to, this would be easier.

One thought managed to get through the traffic jam. An anxiety-filled one where she suddenly woke and screamed when she saw him.

Yep. That did it. He forced his eyes closed and opened his hand, reaching for her shirt. His palm grazed over a perky breast, and he cursed, making silent pleas with God that if he wanted him to do the right thing, he needed to stop throwing impossible temptations like eager boobs at him. He blessedly found the shirt and lifted it high to avoid any more mind-numbing grazing and yanked it down.

He took a moment to breathe.

How could he get his arm out from under her neck without waking her and causing the panic he previously imagined?

Sliding back, he inched his arm as he went, laying out the fleece before the Almighty to get him out of this without waking her. Her leg slid off, and in another few inches, he was free. So free, he lost his balance on the edge of the bed and ugly fell to the floor with a hard thump.

“Shit,” he groaned. It seemed shit was the only word he could say anymore.

Without moving, he waited on the floor when she stirred, hoping she wasn’t waking. When she stopped moving, he slowly lifted his head, peeking over the mattress, and found himself at eye level with a set of full rosy lips.

All of that just happened, and he still hadn’t kissed that mouth.

He forced himself up the rest of the way and decided against tucking her under the blanket. He’d already pressed his luck and needed to get the hell out of there.

She stirred again with more quiet hums and reached out, running a hand over where he’d just been.

Would you touch me like that if I were still there?

That damn thought made his brain stutter. He snatched a pillow from the floor and plunked it over his screaming lower half, tiptoeing backward. He gripped the doorknob, slowly opened it, and thanked heaven he’d greased out the squeak it used to have.

Like an escapee from a bad one-night stand, Danny backed out ass-first. When he cleared the door, he shut it with a quiet click and pressed his forehead against it, sighing.

“Good morning.”

Danny whipped around to Fin and Ian casually leaning against the wall. “How long were you there?”

“Heard a noise.” Fin smirked

“More of a loud thump,” Ian added, the corner of his mouth ticking. “She kick you out?”

Danny glared with all he wanted to say but couldn’t form the words. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You looked too cozy,” Ian said.

Fin glanced down. “Nice pillow, by the way.”

Danny’s tingling face burst with heat.

“Oops.” Ian interrupted his soon-to-be outburst and held up a finger, bending his ear toward the door. “Sleeping Beauty is stirring.”

“Might I suggest a cold shower?” Fin said.

The sound of the bed creaking sent Danny stagger-running to the bathroom, pillow still intact. He kicked the door shut on Ian and Fin back slapping each other in silent laughter.

Danny dragged time out as long as possible in the bathroom, trimming his beard and hair. Going back and forth between wanting to avoid seeing her and not being able to wait another minute until he could.

He wasn’t sure what was worse, the idea of her acknowledging what had happened or acting like nothing had.

When she still hadn’t come out of the bedroom, he avoided Ian and Fin’s smirks and plastered himself in front of the sink, taking his nerves out on scrubbing dishes.

“Morning, Claire,” Ian said loudly, and Danny jumped.

“Hello,” she said, and when her eyes met his, he didn’t move. Waiting. Hoping. Freaking.

Then she smiled. Not full, but not fake. She wasn’t running, so he’d take it as at least positive.

Stepping further into the space, she took in his simple kitchen, eyes pausing on small details, while his paused on her fitted wool jumpsuit, slowly moving up to the perfectly messy bun she sported.

“It seems I’ve taken over your home, Daniel.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He busied himself again, washing the few dishes left in the sink. “Tea?”

“That would be lovely. That medicine made my head quite foggy this morning.”

Danny grabbed a small pot, measured out two cups of water, and set it on the stove to boil. Then he went to the fridge and measured out equal parts milk. God, his hands were shaking.

“Royal Milk Tea?” she said by his ear.

He startled and hot liquid splashed onto his hand.

“Did you burn yourself?” She touched his arm.

He yanked away and ran his still shaking hand under cold water. “It’s fine.” He forced a smile. In his nervousness, he forgot to answer her tea question and continued by adding tea leaves to the mixture and turning the heat down to a simmer.

“I-I’ll leave soon, I promise.”

He twisted around. “Who asked you to leave?”

“Well, I ... ” She touched the suture on her forehead. “No one did.”

Danny, thinking the matter was settled, nodded and turned back to the sink.

“Oh my God, why is there no coffee?” Emelie shuffled in from the hallway.

Fin’s cheeks tinted, brightening the top of his ears, and he did a quick scan over her low hanging pajama pants and cropped t-shirt. Danny caught Ian’s knowing look and they both smirked. He was a goner, and Emelie was clueless.

“Claire.” Emelie went toward her, arms out. “How are you so pretty first thing in the morning?”

“Oh hush.” Claire wiped a wisp of hair out of her face. “You’re always gorgeous.”

Emelie snorted and squeezed her. “How are you feeling? Did you sleep alright?”

Shit. Leave it to Em to be the first person to ask her what they all should have asked right away.

“I think so. I can’t quite remember, except for a few vivid dreams.”

Danny stiffened. Peeking over his shoulder, he watched her fingers slide up the side of her neck where he’d kissed her.

Dream. To her, it was a dream? He thought knowing that would bring him relief, but his stress level peaked. Was it a happy dream? A bad dream—he lost feeling in his cheeks—a nightmare?

“Good dreams?” Emelie asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Danny peeked back over his shoulder.

She didn’t answer at first, and his stomach curled in on itself. She glanced up, locking onto his eyes for a brief moment, biting her lip. “Yes, quite good dreams.” She dropped her gaze, touching her neck again.

With his back turned to all of them, Danny smiled.

“Did you get my things?” she asked Emelie.

“Yeah, thought you’d want to have them with you.”

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to bring all of it. I’m not staying long.”

Danny clunked a mug against the table, and cream-colored liquid swished over the edge. “Where are you staying then?”

“The cottage?”

He felt the shift. The moment all nervousness evaporated, replaced with something else. Something that burned in his stomach and made his skin tight.

“You can’t,” he said slowly. “It’s a crime scene.”

“A what?” Her face blanched. “But it was all in my head. Nothing happened. I was clumsy and tripped.”

“Clumsy?” His voice strained. “No, Claire, you’re not clumsy. And there’s not a damn thing that happened to you that was just in your head.”

Ian touched her shoulder. “Did you go into the bathroom?”

“No, why?” She rubbed over goosebumps on her arms. “I don’t like to go in there unless I have to. It’s a long story.”

She straightened her posture, hand pressed to her stomach where her body now trembled. She was trying to mask it? Trying to convince him she wanted to go back when she clearly didn’t? Why?

A tremble of a different kind took over Danny. His forefinger pressed into the table until it bleached. “Someone very real was in your house, Claire, and left you a message in the bathroom.”

“What did it say—no wait, don’t tell me.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to have bothered you all with this. I should just go.”

“Hey.” Emelie stood and dragged her into a hug. “No, come on. Don’t leave.”

Claire melted into the affection. “But it’s for the best.”

“For who?” Danny said, sharp. “You think the shit that happened at Sven’s isn’t going to follow you?”

“It didn’t start until I came here, so it should stop when I leave.”

“I don’t think so.” His lips flattened against his teeth. “I think that ‘You’ll never be rid of me,’ written in blood, means just that.”

“Wha-what?”

“Danny,” Emelie snapped. “She said she didn’t want to know.”

“Right.” His face twitched. “We should definitely keep it a secret that some sick bastard drowned her picture, with ‘Until your death do us part’ on it.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

But Danny’s attention was solely on Claire. When he’d said it, she’d avoided eye contact with him.

The twisted marriage vow wasn’t a surprise to her.

He took a step toward her, zeroing in. “Who’s threatening you, Claire?”

She shook her head. “If I tell you, you’ll think I’m crazy.”

“No, what’s happening to you is crazy. Try me.”

More wisps of hair dropped around her face as she met his gaze. “Exercise and proper diet were more important to Brandon than to me. He used to tease and say he’d outlive me and that our vows should have said, ‘Until your death do us part.’” She puffed a small laugh.

“Who the hell tells their wife that?” Fin said.

She graciously smiled. “He was always a bit brash with his humor.”

“Did you like that kind of humor?” Emelie frowned.

She shrugged. “I just took it for what it was—Brandon.”

Danny, now securely in the I hate Brandon corner, swallowed everything he wanted to say and instead said, “But this wasn’t a ghost, Claire. Whoever did this rigged your window to open, came into your home, and threatened you.”

“It has to be.” Her eyes shimmered. “Only Brandon knew of that vow joke. If it’s not his ghost, then I can’t even begin to think of who it is. And the best thing for me to do ... ” She stepped toward him, and he straightened. When she took another step, his eyes betrayed his sudden distracted thoughts and ran down over her. Was it just two hours ago that he’d held her?

“The best thing for me to do,” she repeated and stopped in front of him. “Is to leave this island and deal with this alone.”

He searched the entirety of her face. “Why alone? Why is everything you do alone?”

She lowered her head and swallowed. “Because that’s what I deserve.”

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He plunked down his tea mug and picked up hers. “Bullshit that you deserve this and bullshit that you’re doing this alone.” He took her hand and curled her fingers around the handle, nodding to her cup. “Drink your tea. It’ll help with the headache.”

“How do you—oh.” She dropped the fingers rubbing her temple with a sigh and slowly lifted the mug to her mouth. “You can’t just ‘bullshit’ me into staying, Daniel.”

He stepped into her space and her lips froze on the rim of her cup. Dipping his head, he said in a low voice, “Bull. Shit. That you’re leaving this island.” He twisted around, throwing open the door, and thundered down the stairs.