Page 44 of Sweet Poison

The helicopter begins its descent, the rainforest growing closer with each passing second. The roar of the engine intensifies, and the vibrations grow stronger. As we land, I’m the first to step out, my sneakers hitting the soft, damp earth with asquelch. The humidity hits me like a wall, wrapping around me like a warm blanket that clings to my skin. Fuck, I hate humidity.

Shit, I hate everything inside this place. The plants, the animals— especially the fucking insects.

Like a bad joke, a mosquito lands on my hand, and I swiftly crush it then wipe my hands on my sweats. “Fucking gross,” I grumble under my breath then glance back at the helicopter as the others begin to climb out. My eyes land on Willow, who is still seated, her attention divided between her equipment and her annoying colleague Maya.

I then glance over at the ugly vest-wearing lover boy, busy with his own equipment but with his eyes fixed on Willow. Any moment now, he’ll swoop in to help her climb out, acting like the perfect gentlemen the motherfucker thinks he is. Irritation surges through me as I watch him watching her.

But before he can make his way over to her, I take a few purposeful strides back to the helicopter. Interrupting her conversation with the chatterbox, I extend a hand towards Willow, who looks up, surprise flickering across her perfect face. When she freezes in place, I reach out and gently grip her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.

Something that feels a lot like electricity zaps me the moment her skin comes in contact with mine. My breath hitches as I feel her small waist beneath my fingers, and I can sense the gentle rise and fall of her breath. My grip is firm but careful, and as I gently help her down from the helicopter. Our faces are dangerously close that I can feel her hot breath against my skin. Fuck, how can someone be this beautiful? Her beauty isn't the kind shoved down our throats by Hollywood and social media. No, Willow’s beauty is the kind that needs no surgeries or makeup. She just is. Effortlessly and real. Her deep, mesmerizing blue eyes lock onto mine, and I see a hintof something—an emotion that mirrors my own confusion and yearning.

For a brief moment, nothing else exists. The roar of the helicopter’s engines, the murmurs of her team—it all fades into the background. It’s just Willow and me, like it once was. She subtly raises her hand and taps her chest three times. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I frown, wondering if it hurts, but she doesn’t seem in any pain.

As I guide her down, I’m acutely aware of every detail—the softness of her skin under my harsh fingertips and the delicate scent of her shampoo blending with the earthy aroma of the flora that surrounds us. Willow’s gaze flits nervously between my eyes and my hand on her waist, her cheeks flushing a pretty and soft pink. She looks shy, almost uncertain, as if she’s unsure how to react to my closeness.

That makes two of us.

I notice her pupils dilate slightly as her breath catches in her throat. Her reaction is subtle, but it’s there, and it’s enough to make my heart skip a thousand beats. I can feel the same ache in my chest from before that intensifies every second we’re this close.

I guide her the rest of the way down, reluctantly releasing her waist once her feet touch the damp ground. As she steps away, the air between us seems charged, and with each step she takes back, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something.

Willow smiles shyly, her blush deepening. “Thank you,” she signs.

All of a sudden, I’m hit by a surge of irritation because why is she using sign language with me? Her voice is beautiful like the rest of her. “Use your voice around me, Willow. I can hear you just fine.”

The words are out before I can stop them, and the immediate look of shock and hurt that flashes across her face is like a rusty knife to the heart. Her movements falter, and she glances at her team behind her, who all give look at her with sympathy. Fuck. Fuck. Willow’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, her gaze dropping to the ground as she struggles to respond.

Crack.

The ache in my chest turns to something ugly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammers, her voice barely audible so only I can hear. The tremor in her tone breaks something inside of me that I thought was broken long ago.

Fuck.

I didn’t mean it like that.

I didn't mean to hurt her heart.

Goddammit. Not her. Never Wild One.

The weight of my hurtful words hits me like a sledgehammer when I see the effect they’ve had on her. She looks as if she’s looking for somewhere to hide like when she was little and didn't want to use her voice with me afraid that I would laugh.

I’m a real piece of shit.

I can feel it.

Her embarrassment and her vulnerability as everyone looks at her.

A wave of guilt washes over me, and I feel like a stupid fuck for letting what was clearly jealousy get the best of me enough to hurt the sweetest creature to ever live.

I’m so lost in her and the way that I made her feel that I didn’t notice that fucker, Ethan, stepping forward, a furious look on his face. He glances between Willow and me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Feeling like a villain who just hurt the princess’s heart, I turn on my heel and walk away from her, the rainforest’s oppressive heat suddenly feeling even more suffocating. I walk as far as Ican where the sounds of the team fade into the background. I pace back and forth, trying to settle down my heart and control the roiling emotions inside me.

I fucked up.

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