Page 24 of Insta Bride

Who’d have thought Kye Branson would develop real feels?

Hot damn.

Elena

I wanted to believe Kye had staged the conversation with Seb.

I wanted to believe he was that much of an asshole. But no person could fake the level of embarrassment that shot across his face when he realized that Seb had goaded him into admitting things not just in private but heard by me—and half the island.

He’d closed his eyes and I had no hesitation in taking his hands. Needing him to be okay.

“Kye?”

“What?” His eyes flickered and then closed, again.

“Kye, I need you to help me.”

His eyes reopened, but the guarded hoods remained. He didn’t trust me. What did he really think I’d do? Laugh at him? Brush him aside? Is that what he really thought of me?

I needed to say something. Do something, anything to make this right and us okay.

Except, if I was going to go out on a limb, I needed him to make the leap with me.

“Kye, I need your help,” I repeated.

“What?”

“Kye,” I squeezed his hand and hoped he wouldn’t need me to draw pictures. “I don’t think I can carry my bags on my own.”

He paused, and I waited, smiling. Kye was a smart man. We were the only couple that hadn’t taken the step to move into a lux villa. It didn’t mean I was ready to take the next step, but I was willing to give us a chance.

“Your bags, huh?” The cocky smile that made me want to drown his face between my legs was directed at me. Not at the other women and their gaping mouths. Or even the men who’d laid bets on me walking out of here an island virgin. “How many bags are we talking?”

“Enough to fill half a wardrobe,” I laughed and used his arm to wrap around me. Only instead of romantic and sensual, he found my belly button and tickled it until my giggles were real. “Stop it, I promise to give you half the wardrobe.”

“Why?” he joked.

“I assume you’ve got some bags of your own.”

“Baby, I’ve got enough clothes to fill the whole wardrobe.”

“Great, our first fight as a living together couple isn’t over which side of the bed, it’s over wardrobe space.” My banter came easy when I knew Kye would throw it back. He didn’t disappoint.

“Babe, how about you don’t have to wear clothes. Leave your clothes in your suitcases and save yourself having to do the washing when we get back home.”

“Home?”

“My place, your place, wherever we end up calling, home. It’s that easy.”

“Oh, Kye,” I mock sulked. “If I don’t wear clothes, how can you ever get me out of them?”

“You are—” He picked me up, swung me around and I’d never felt this free. I’d never felt this—alive. Free. Happy.

Not since he kissed me that first time.

“So, we’re going swimming or what?”

He stepped back to let me twirl around, giving him the full experience of my bright pink bikini—guaranteed not to be see-through when wet, but also guaranteed to at least match the other women. Each panel was designed to look like it was held together by straps with one false move destined to end up with me naked. I knew differently, the straps were for show and it would take more than fumbling fingers under the water to remove the little fabric preserving my dignity.

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