Page 46 of Bratva Prince
“We’ll be eating good tonight,” I muttered, hoping to lighten the mood.
But it did the opposite, because she burst into tears, hunching down beside the boar.
“I killed an animal,” she sobbed, her face buried in her hands. “I can’t believe I impaled that poor creature.”
I scoffed. “Poor creature? That thing was trying to kill us!”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she choked on her words, struggling to speak. “It was probably just hungry, looking for food.”
“Yeah, and it found it.Us.”
Her shoulders heaved with every sob. How could she feel guilty for killing that boar? It was ridiculous!
“You should’ve gone to school to be a vet,” I teased, but she didn’t listen. Placing a hand on her shoulder that was soaked from the rain, I gently said her name until she looked up to face me, her eyes puffy and red.
“Don’t feel guilty, Willow. If you didn’t spear that boar, it would’ve killed me. You bought me enough time to kill it. Technically, you didn’t do anything—I did. But you saved my life. Thank you.”
She nodded, though I wasn’t sure she believed what I’d said. It didn’t matter because we needed to get out of the rain and out of these wet clothes. “Come on,” I said, pulling her up. “Let’s go to the cave thatyou were rightabout.”
Pretending to be mad, I sounded disappointed for her victory, hoping it would lift her spirits. After seeing her pathetic tears over some stupid animal, I figured she could use the ego boost. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that she reveled in my anger. When we bickered, I saw a spark in her eyes, thrilled by our ‘debate.' And when she pissed me off, I saw the glimmer of satisfaction as she sneered with her arms crossed.
“Damn right I was.” Her voice only held half the enthusiasm it usually had.
We climbed up to the cave—every movement sending a shooting pain into my leg—and we made our campfar enough past the entrance to not get wet, but close enough to watch the storm. Going in further could mean encountering another animal, one that would feel trapped and likely to lash out. The last thing I wanted to do was find out if there were bears or wild cats on this island.
Willow shivered in her wet clothes as daylight was coming to an end once more. Despite her efforts, the blanket had gotten wet on one side, but was dry for the most part.
She spread it out across the floor of the cave, sitting down to take off her shoes. I felt bad for her because she’d been stuck in a pair of cheap flat sneakers—without any socks, at that—while I had boots. She only had her tank top and shorts while I had not one, but two outfits. Because she’d expected us to go to San Marino and not get trapped on a desert island on the way back to Moscow, she wasn’t donned in survival gear.
Thanks to the spare in the jet, I was able to switch off between the suit I’d had as an extra, and the suit I’d worn on the plane. I even cut one of my pants into shorts for added comfort in the heat. Not to mention, it made spearing fish in the water much easier.
Unfortunately, the pants were too big for Willow, so she could only wear the spare button-up shirt that was currently wet, thanks to the rain soaking through most of the bag.
“We should strip out of our wet clothes,” I said, pulling off my shirt and undoing my pants.
Willow shook her head, defiant and stubborn as always. I bet if I said we should keep our clothes on, she’d have stripped right then.
“I’m not getting naked in front of you,” she answered, her arms wrapped around her knees to stay warm. Her head rested against her arms as she stared out over the increasingly dark sky.
I couldn’t understand this woman, despite my many efforts. “We’ve been naked in front of each other before. What does it matter now?”
“Yeah, but that was after we’d made love. Now it would just be weird.”
I groaned, my patience already paper thin from her antics. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I huffed a deep breath. “If you don’t get out of your wet clothes, you may catch pneumonia. It wouldn’t benefit either of us for you to be sick, or worse, die.” She stared at me, holding my gaze as she scrutinized my every word. “And why do we have to call it ‘making love’?”
The curious look in her eyes was gone and her face fell flat as she sighed. “What would you prefer to call it? Getting laid?”
I shook my head. “No, but making love is so cheesy. How about ‘fucking with feelings’?” I asked, sure my answer was a winner. I mean, I still implied that there were feelings when we had sex, so why would she get mad about that?
Because she was Willow and she loathed my very existence, reminding me what a pain in the ass she was.
“You’re unbelievable, you know that? Can’t you for once just put down that stupid macho exterior and admit that you felt our connection, too?”
I looked away, unable to face her or her expectations. Admitting I’d felt the magnetic pull, the electricity spark, and whatever other scientific metaphors there were to describe it—well, admitting that left me weak. Exposed.
Admitting my feelings meant putting down that barrier I’d so intricately crafted. If the barriers were down, then what would come crawling in past them? How much damage could be done?
I wasn’t sure I was ready to take that risk.
