Velika Island — Fisherwoman’s Cottage, Evening Thunderstorm.
The storm rolled in just after dusk. Thunder shook the little cottage as Isla secured the shutters, muttering under her breath about the unpredictable sea weather.
A knock at the door startled her. She opened it to find Nathan standing there, his uniform jacket soaked, water dripping from his dark hair.
Isla
(frowning) You’re going to catch pneumonia like that.
Nathan
(awkward grin) I… didn’t know where else to go. Everything else on the island seems… shut.
He looked sheepish, his tall frame filling the doorway as the wind howled behind him.
Isla
(sighs) Well, don’t just stand there. Get in.
He stepped inside, the warmth of the small hearth and the smell of dried herbs wrapping around him. She shut the door and turned to find him watching her — really watching her — his green-gray eyes dark and intense.
Nathan
You live here alone?
Isla
(removing her shawl) Just me and my grandmother. She’s sleeping.
She handed him a towel, and their fingers brushed. The jolt that ran through her made her catch her breath. He noticed — and his lips curved ever so slightly.
Nathan
You’re… different.
Isla
(arching a brow) Is that your way of charming a woman?
Nathan
(soft laugh) No. Just… you’re not afraid of me. Most people are.
Isla stepped closer, her stormy blue eyes locking on his. Something simmered in the air, louder than the thunder outside.
Isla
(whisper) Maybe I should be.
Nathan
(low, husky) Maybe you should.
The words hung between them, thick with unspoken need. His gaze dropped to her lips. Her heart raced as the storm raged outside — and something far more dangerous began brewing inside her.
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