Chapter 216
Aria's POV
"Because you're the only one who helps me sleep."
I stared at him, trying to make sense of the confession. There had been something raw in his voice when he'd said it, a vulnerability I'd never associated with Devon Kane, billionaire tech mogul and the epitome of cold control.
"Don't move," he said, his eyes scanning my face with an intensity that made my breath catch. "You'll tear the wound open."
I ignored his instruction, gritting my teeth against the pain as I pushed myself upright. "This is your explanation? You dragged me into a death trap because I'm your personal sleeping pill?" My voice shook, not just from pain but from the confusion of emotions swirling within me.
Outside, lightning flashed, followed by the deep rumble of thunder. Rain pattered against the cave entrance, creating a curtain of water that sealed us inside this primitive shelter.
To my surprise, Devon didn't snap back with his usual coldness. Instead, he knelt by the fire, preparing the fish with practiced movements. I noticed the tightness around his eyes had softened somewhat, and his shoulders weren't as rigid as usual.
"We were swept to one of the Florida Keys," he explained, his voice steady as he worked. "Uninhabited. The storm's made radio contact impossible, but Marcus knows our approximate location." His eyes flickered to me, lingering longer than necessary.
"So we're stranded," I stated flatly, watching his face for a reaction.
"Temporarily." He glanced at me, his gray eyes reflecting the firelight, revealing a hint of concern he was trying to mask. "How's the pain?"
"Manageable," I lied, even as sweat beaded on my forehead from the effort of sitting up. I saw from his slight frown that he didn't believe me.
Devon finished preparing the fish and set them to cook over the fire. The smell made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud, reminding me I hadn't eaten since before the yacht disaster.
"Eat," he commanded moments later, holding out a portion of perfectly cooked fish. His voice was firm, but his fingers lingered against mine as he passed the food. "You've lost blood. You need to regain your strength."
"I'm not hungry," I protested weakly, my stomach immediately betraying me with another loud growl.
One eyebrow arched upward, and something softened in his expression. For a moment, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile. "You'll eat on your own, or I'll feed you myself. Your choice."
I reluctantly accepted the fish, surprised to find it flavorful despite our primitive circumstances. As I ate, I caught Devon watching me, his expression unguarded for once. When our eyes met, he quickly looked away, resuming his meal with the same refined manners he'd display at a five-star Manhattan restaurant.
"How did you learn to do all this?" I asked, gesturing to the fire, the fish, and our shelter.
"Military school," he replied simply. "My father believed in being prepared for anything." His jaw tightened at the mention of his father, and I recognized the familiar tension that always appeared when he spoke of his family.
Night fell quickly, the storm intensifying outside. The temperature dropped, and I found myself shivering despite the fire. Devon noticed immediately, his eyes narrowing as he observed me.
"The cave's small. Body heat is the most efficient way to maintain temperature," he said matter-of-factly, though I detected a slight hesitation in his voice. "Lie down. You need to rest."
I hesitated, torn between my growing fever and the intimacy his suggestion implied. Something had changed between us on this island. The power dynamic that had always defined our relationship seemed to have shifted, leaving both of us in unfamiliar territory.
Devon made the decision for me, gently but firmly guiding me back onto the makeshift bed of leaves and what appeared to be his shirt. His touch was careful, almost tender, so unlike his usual commanding manner.
He stretched out beside me, careful to avoid my injured shoulder as he wrapped an arm around my waist. "Don't move around too much. You'll start bleeding again," he murmured, his voice lower than usual.
"Is this really necessary?" I whispered, hyper-aware of every point where his body touched mine, and of how the contact sent unexpected warmth through me that had nothing to do with fever.
"I told you I wouldn't let you die," he said, his breath warm against my ear. There was a sincerity in his voice I'd never heard before. "And I won't. You have a fever. We need to maintain your body temperature."
Despite my resistance to the idea, I found myself relaxing into his warmth. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my back was strangely comforting. Outside, the storm raged on, but in here, with Devon's arm around me, I felt oddly safe. When his fingers lightly traced the outline of my arm, I didn't pull away.
"Thank you," I whispered, surprising myself with the words. "For saving me."
Devon was silent for so long I thought he might not respond. Then, barely audible over the storm, he said, "I couldn't leave you there."
The simple admission held more emotion than all his elaborate gifts and grand gestures combined.
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I heard the rain had stopped, and distant sounds of helicopter blades and voices reached my ears. Through the haze of fever, I heard Devon saying something about my temperature being too high, that we needed to get me to a hospital immediately. The urgency in his voice cut through my delirium.
In my feverish state, the world became a blur of sensations and half-formed images. And then, impossibly, my mother stood before me. Elizabeth Harper looked younger than in the photographs I kept, her smile gentle as she reached out to touch my cheek.
"I'm sorry, Aria," she said, her voice clear despite the helicopter noise. "I was too stubborn. I should have told you the truth instead of leaving you that key and puzzles."
I tried to ask what truth she meant, what secret the key unlocked, but no words came out. My mother's image began to fade, replaced by the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades and Devon's urgent commands.
As darkness claimed me once more, I felt strong arms lifting me, and Devon's voice, for once stripped of its usual coldness, pleading with me to hold on. The last thing I registered was the tightness of his grip, as if he feared I might slip away from him forever.