Page 25 of Etched In Stone
My body had adapted to this new rhythm over the past three weeks, learning to wake with the sun rather than the harsh buzz of alarm clocks and urgent phone calls. The transformation surprised me—I’d built an empire on the foundation of early morning discipline and relentless scheduling. Yet, here I was, genuinely reluctant to return to that world of constant demands.
I turned my head to see if Krystina was awake, and my breath caught.
She lay beside me, her dark curls scattered over the pillow in a wild halo, her delicate features softened by sleep. The early sun painted her skin in shades of cream and rose, and her lips were slightly parted as if she were whispering secrets to her dreams. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man want to pause time—an intoxicating mix of strength, sassiness, and a vulnerability that had wrecked me from the moment we met.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. She looked as if she were savoring some particularly pleasant dream. I found myself wondering if I featured in whatever fantasy was playing behind her closed eyelids. As had happened every morning since our wedding, I felt that profound sense of wonder that this extraordinary woman was mine. The legal documents and platinum rings were merely symbols. What we’d built together transcended any contract or ceremony.
For years, I’d been alone by choice—my life filled with work, discipline, and solitude. I’d convinced myself that independence was strength, that needing another person was weakness. But those days were now over. Krystina had shown me the difference between loneliness and solitude, between existing and truly living. She’d filled a void in my soul that I’d become so accustomed to carrying that I’d never allowed myself to feel what it meant to be whole.
Careful not to wake her, I slid from the bed and stepped into the shower. The water was brisk enough to pull me from the fog of sleep but not nearly enough to wash away the memories of the past few weeks—the feel of her nails in my skin, the taste of her moans, the way she whispered my name when she was on the brink of falling apart.
When I came back into the bedroom, Krystina was sitting up in bed. The sheet clung to her chest, barely covering the swell of her naked breasts.
“Are we still anchored?” she asked, her voice still thick from sleep.
“Yes. Why?”
“Good,” she announced, exhaling sharply. She pushed back the covers with sudden determination, her movements filled with purpose. “I was afraid we’d already left. We need to go back to the island.”
I frowned. “Go back? Krystina, I’ve already given Isaac our departure instructions. We were already delayed due to weather. It looks clear now, and the crew should be preparing to?—”
“This will be quick,” she interrupted, tossing the covers aside. The sheet slid away, revealing every inch of her bare skin in a torturous tease. She crossed the room without a shred of modesty, pulling a pair of panties and a light blue sundress from the closet.
The sight of her moving about the room naked sent an immediate surge of desire through me, my body responding with the same intensity that had characterized our entire honeymoon. She was grace personified—every curve and line of her form speaking to something primal and possessive within me. The morning light played across her skin, highlighting the gentle slope of her shoulders and the elegant line of her spine, making it nearly impossible to focus on whatever urgent mission had captured her attention.
My gaze tracked up those legs—endless, toned, and still marked faintly from my hands the night before. Without conscious thought, I crossed the cabin in three quick strides, my hands finding her waist and pulling her back against my chest. The sundress slipped from her fingers to the floor.
“Alex!” she gasped, laughing as I buried my mouth in the curve of her neck, tasting the faint sweetness of her skin.
“I need to feel you,” I growled against the sensitive skin of her throat, my lips finding the spot that never failed to make her knees weak. “The way you look right now… It’s taking every ounce of my control not to carry you back to that bed and have a repeat of last night.”
“You are insatiable.” She wriggled in my arms, her laughter breathless but her pulse racing under my lips. “Later. Many times, if you want. It’s going to be a long trip back to the mainland. I just need to do this one thing first. Please, Alex. It’s important.”
Reluctantly, I loosened my hold. She bent to retrieve the dress, and the moment that soft cotton hid her body, I felt the loss like a physical ache.
“I think you’ve forgotten the rules again, Krystina. I’m in charge, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Bossy Pants,” she replied with an airy wave of her hand that would have earned a much stronger response under different circumstances. She disappeared into the bathroom, and I could hear the sound of water running. When she emerged, her curls were tamed into some semblance of order, and her face glowed with a natural beauty that expensive cosmetics could never replicate.
“Mr. Bossy Pants, huh?” I echoed, arching a brow.
“I need tools,” she said matter-of-factly.
I blinked. “Tools?”
She tapped her chin as if deep in thought. “I’m not sure what yet. I’ll know when I see them. Do you have a toolbox on board?”
“There’s a large chest behind the helm.”
“Perfect.”
And with that, she was off like a shot.
I followed in her wake, my curiosity now thoroughly piqued. When we reached the main deck, I watched my wife approach Isaac with the kind of animated enthusiasm usually reserved for children on Christmas morning. She pointed toward the island, her hands moving in grand arcs, her laughter carrying across the waves. I was perfectly content to watch from a distance. When Krystina became overly excited about something, it was usually quite entertaining to watch.
Isaac’s weathered face showed the kind of patient confusion that came from decades of dealing with the sometimes incomprehensible requests of yacht owners and their guests. He nodded appropriately and gestured toward the secured equipment locker. A few moments later, Krystina returned to me with a small canvas bag looking like trouble wrapped in sunshine. I could hear metal clanking inside.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
