CHAPTER 7: BOARDING UP
1179 Words
POV: Maya
She had never seen Julian Croft sweat before. It was doing something to her.
Maya stood in the villa's great room, watching him carry a wooden beam across his shoulder like he had done this a hundred times. His grey sweatpants were dark at the knees and white t-shirt clung to his back. A line of sweat ran down his spine disappearing under the fabric.
She expected him to be helpless but he was not.
"Are you going to stand there staring," he said without turning around, "or are you going to help?"
"I wasn't staring."
"You were staring."
"I was assessing."
Julian set the beam down against the window frame. He turned to face her
"Assessing what?" he asked.
"Whether you know what you're doing."
"I grew up on this island, Maya. I've boarded these windows twenty times."
"You've boarded them?"
"My father believed in self-reliance. He also believed in not paying for things he could do himself."
Maya picked up a hammer. "Your father sounds exhausting."
"He was."
She handed him a nail,while taking it their fingers touched his but she pulled hers
first.
They hauled the heavy furniture away from the glass walls. Everything that could shatter or be shattered.
"Where does this go?" Maya asked, gripping the edge of a console table.
"Interior hallway. It's the safest point."
"How do you know?"
"Rosa told me, twenty years ago. The first storm I stayed through."
Julian grabbed the other side of the table, and they lifted it together. His arms tensed, and his jaw tightened. He was stronger than he seemed.
She tried not to notice.
She noticed anyway.
"The hallway," he said. "This way."
They carried the table through the villa. Past the kitchen, where Rosa's canvas bag sat on the counter , the east suite, where Ramona the succulent sat on the windowsill next to the gardenias and the west suite, where Julian's clothes were probably scattered across the floor.
"What else needs to move?" Maya asked.
"The piano."
"The piano?"
"It's a baby grand. It weighs about five hundred pounds. We're not moving it but covering it."
He led her to the great room. In the corner, near the glass wall, sat a black baby grand piano. The lid was closed and the bench was pushed underneath.
"I didn't know you had a piano."
"It was my mother's."
"Does anyone play it?"
Julian was quiet for a moment. Then: "No."
He pulled a heavy tarp from the storage closet. They draped it over the piano together. Their hands met on the edge of the tarp. He didn't move, she didn't move.
"Maya."
"Julian."
"We should finish boarding the windows."
"Yes."
They let go.
The storm was closer now. Maya could feel it in the air—thick and heavy and wrong. The green sky had turned almost black. The waves below the villa were getting higher.
Julian handed her a drill. "You take the east wall while I take the south."
"I don't know how to use this."
"You're an executive assistant. You know how to use everything."
She took the drill and tried to figure it out.
Board by board, Screw by screw. The villa went dark, not dark like nighttime but dark like being inside a box. The glass, walls,ocean ,wood and sky disappeared behind wood.
"Almost done," Julian said from somewhere in the shadows.
"The generator room. Rosa said we need to check it."
"I'll do it."
"I'll come with you."
The generator room was in the basement. Concrete floors with a low ceiling and a single light bulb that flickered every few seconds. The generator itself was a large metal box in the corner, humming softly, doing whatever generators did.
Julian checked the fuel gauge. "Half full which will last for three days."
"What happens after three days?"
"The storm passes, the boat comes back and we go home."
Maya looked at the generator. Then she looked at the floor and she noticed it was wet. The rain must have leaked in through a crack in the foundation.
"Julian, the floor is—"
She slipped.
Her sandals had no grip, and the floor was slippery. She lost her balance, threw her arms out, hit the wall with her back, and her feet slipped out from under her.
He caught her.
His hands were warm and his fingers pressed into her sides. His body was close—too close enough that she could smell his soap, something clean and expensive and entirely him.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine."
"You almost fell."
"I noticed."
He didn't let go.
She didn't pull away.
His grey eyes searched her face at the same time Her dark eyes searched his. The generator hummed, the light bulb flickered and somewhere above them the wind was starting to howl.
"Julian."
"Maya."
"You can let go now."
"I know."
He didn't let go.
She could feel his breath on her face which was warm and fast. His hands were still on her waist, gripping her like she was something precious he was afraid to drop.
Her heart was pounding. She could feel it in her throat, chest and fingertips.
"Three years," she said.
"What?"
"Three years. And now you decide to touch me."
"I've wanted to touch you for three years."
The words hung in the air between them. Honest and raw nothing like the controlled, clipped sentences he used in the office.
She should step away, push his hands off or even walk back upstairs and board the rest of the windows and pretend this never happened.
She didn't do any of those things.
"Why didn't you?" she asked.
"Because you were my assistant."
"I'm still your assistant."
"No," he said quietly. "On this island, you're not my assistant. You're just Maya."
He set her down carefully.
His hands left her waist. Her skin felt cold where his fingers had been.
He turned back to the generator. He checked the fuel gauge again and adjusted something on the control panel while doing these things he did not look at her.
"We should finish boarding the windows," he said.
"Julian."
"The storm is almost here. We need to be in the hallway before it hits."
"Julian."
He turned around. His face was controlled again, The mask was back but his hands were shaking.
"Not here," he said. "Not now when the storm passes—"
"When the storm passes, what?"
He didn't answer.
He walked past her and up the stairs.
She stood in the generator room.
The concrete floor was still wet,The light bulb was still flickering and The generator was still humming.
She pressed her thumbnail into her palm until the pain was sharp enough to focus on.
The feeling didn't pass.
She wanted him.
She had wanted him for three years.
And now she was trapped on an island with him,a hurricane was coming, and he had just admitted he wanted her too.
She pressed her thumbnail harder.
The feeling did not still pass.
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END OF CHAPTER 7
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