Page 3 of Etched In Stone
Krystina
The tarmac was a carefully orchestrated ballet of efficiency. Despite the small size of the private airstrip, a team of uniformed porters moved with practiced precision, their movements fluid and purposeful as they retrieved our luggage from the jet’s cargo hold. I watched in fascination as piece after piece emerged—more bags than I remembered packing. I suspected Alexander had added a few surprises of his own. The porters worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle wheeze of hydraulics and the distant call of tropical birds welcoming us to paradise.
Within minutes, our belongings were carefully arranged in the back of a pristine white van that gleamed under the Caribbean sun. The efficiency was impressive, but what struck me most was the evident respect these men had for my husband. They didn’t just see him as another wealthy tourist—there was genuine deference in their movements, the kind that spoke of reputation.
“Mr. Stone,” the head porter approached us, a distinguished man with silver at his temples and laugh lines that spoke of years spent in the sun. His accent carried the musical lilt of Jamaica, turning each word into something almost lyrical. “We will have your bags at the villa before you arrive, sir. You’ll also find the refreshments our chef has prepared for your arrival—fresh fruit, some local specialties, and the Italian pastries Mrs. Stone favors.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise.
How did he know about my weakness for Italian pastries?
I glanced at Alexander, who was trying and failing to hide a self-satisfied smile. The man thought of everything.
“Is there anything else you need at this time?” the porter continued.
Alexander shook his head with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to having his wishes anticipated. “Thank you, Marcus. That will be all.”
“Very well, sir.” Marcus paused, turning toward a golf cart that waited nearby like a chariot ready to whisk us away to paradise. The vehicle was immaculate, its white paint job spotless and its seats cushioned in soft leather that looked far more comfortable than any golf cart had a right to be. He motioned toward it with obvious pride before pointing to a break in the foliage that surrounded the tarmac like a privacy screen. “As you requested, this cart is for your personal use during your stay. The navigation system is programmed on the dashboard, but you shouldn’t need it to reach the villa. It’s a pleasant five-minute ride down that path through the gardens until you reach the main house.”
Alexander moved toward the golf cart with a confident stride that never failed to make my pulse quicken, his movements predatory and graceful all at once. He circled the vehicle with the same attention to detail he brought to everything else in his life, looking it over and running his hands along the seats as if ensuring the quality. Seeming satisfied with his inspection, he returned to my side, and I felt that familiar flutter in my chest at the way he looked at me—like I was the most precious thing in his world.
His hand found the small of my back once again, that possessive touch that had become as natural as breathing between us. Our eyes met as he helped me into the passenger seat, and in that fleeting exchange, a spark ignited between us that had nothing to do with the tropical heat.
His sapphire gaze held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch, whispering unspoken promises that made my core clench with anticipation. The corners of his mouth tilted upward in that knowing smile, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks—partly from the blazing sun beating down on us, but mostly from the pure heat of his look.
“I hope that nap on the plane was enough to recharge you. I don’t know how much rest you’ll actually get over the next few days,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that register that made my toes curl. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I might have to rethink my plans, Mrs. Stone.”
A fresh wave of giddy happiness washed through me. I’d never tire of hearing my new name on his lips, never stop feeling that little thrill of ownership and belonging that came with it.
“You won’t hear any objection from me,” I replied, surprised by the sultry tone of my own voice. The words came out as a mix of daring and devotion, mirroring the playful dance our fingers were performing as they intertwined on the seat between us. “Tell me about these plans.”
“Patience, angel,” he said, bringing our joined hands to his lips to press a soft kiss to my knuckles. “All will be revealed in due time.”
The golf cart hummed to life beneath us with a gentle purr, and we began our journey down the winding path that would lead us to our temporary paradise. The route was flanked by the most exotic vegetation I’d ever seen. Ttowering palms that swayed hypnotically in the warm breeze. Flowering shrubs burst with colors so vibrant they seemed almost artificial—brilliant reds, shocking pinks, sunset oranges, and deep purples.
Again, I resisted the urge to pull my hair back from my face, knowing how much Alexander loved it when I left it loose. Right now, it was a cascade of unruly curls dancing in the breeze, and I could feel his eyes on me as the wind played with the strands.
“What are you thinking about, angel?” Alexander’s voice was soft, intimate, as if he didn’t want to disturb the peaceful spell that had settled over us as we drove.
“That it’s beautiful here,” I murmured, though the words felt inadequate to capture the wonder I was feeling. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with air that seemed to carry magic in every molecule. The scent was intoxicating. Then I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the symphony of nature engulf me—the melody of exotic birds calling to each other from hidden perches, the gentle rustle of leaves, the rhythmic whisper of waves meeting shore. It was nature’s own lullaby. “It’s like something out of a dream.”
“The best is yet to come,” he promised, and something in his tone made me look at him more closely. There was anticipation there, excitement barely contained, as if he had a secret he was dying to share. He looked downright giddy, dropping his usual formal and controlled persona. It was so out of character for him, and seeing him like this brought a smile to my face.
The path curved gently through what could only be described as an enchanted forest. With each turn, the vegetation seemed to grow lusher and more vibrant. The air grew thicker, more perfumed, until I felt almost drunk on the sensory overload.
When Alexander finally slowed the cart to a stop, I understood why he’d looked so pleased with himself. Nestled among a grove of palm trees was a structure that looked like something from a fairytale—a private villa just for us. But calling it a villa seemed almost insulting—this was a palace, an architectural masterpiece that seemed to have grown organically from the landscape itself, a harmonious blend of modern luxury and tropical charm. Its clean lines were softened by natural materials and an abundance of flowering vines that climbed the walls. Stone pathways meandered through carefully tended gardens where orchids bloomed, their delicate petals catching the sunlight that filtered through the palm canopy above.
Alexander stepped out of the cart, moving around to my side. He offered me his hand, and I took it, allowing him to help me down from the cart. As I started toward the entrance, I expected him to follow. Instead, he moved suddenly, sweeping me off my feet and into his arms with an ease that demonstrated his considerable strength.
I shrieked in surprise, my hands automatically going to his shoulders for stability as I found myself cradled against his chest. Looking up into his face, I saw a playful grin spreading across his chiseled features, transforming him from the serious businessman I’d married into something younger, more carefree.
“What in the world are you doing?” I asked, though I was laughing despite myself.
“Carrying you over the threshold,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
The gesture was so unexpected—so unlike the Alexander I thought I knew. It took my breath away.
“I’ve seen the romantic side of you, but it’s been a far cry from conventional. I didn’t think you were the traditional romantic type.”
