Jason hadn't mentioned the kiss during our disastrous attempt at spear fishing and for that I was grateful. We'd hardly spoken the rest of the day and night, just bundled up together silently to go to sleep and when id woken this morning he was gone, the hut empty.

I sit near the fire, having cleared the debris earlier and now just creating a pile of sticks ready for tonight's fire.

Footsteps approach and I look up, seeing Jason walking through the door, a new and improved spear clutched in his hands.

I raise a silent brow, and he shrugs, "I secured it more, hopefully the blade doesn't pop off this time.

"You're trying again?"

"We're running out of coconuts and honestly, it's not enough to sustain us for much longer," Jason says, sitting down next to me. His knee brushes mine, and I ignore the way it sends a jolt up my spine. "We need to try fishing again."

I grimace, remembering yesterday's disastrous attempt. "We barely managed to scratch a fish, I'm pretty sure they were laughing at us."

Jason chuckles, his grin crooked and boyish. "We'll get it right today. Trial and error, kitten."

I roll my eyes and stand, brushing dirt off my legs. "Let's just catch some fish before we starve to death."

By midday, the sun is relentless, beating down on us as we wade into the shallows with our makeshift spears. Jason watches me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation as I grip the spear like I've seen in survival shows.

"Hold it tighter," he says, stepping closer. His hands close over mine, adjusting my grip. His chest brushes my back, and I can feel his breath on my neck. My pulse quickens, but I shove the feeling aside.

"Like this?" I ask, trying to sound unaffected.

"Better," he murmurs, his voice low.

I breathe in as he steps back and narrow my eyes at the pool of water, soft waves lapping near the rocks and throw the spear. The spear glides through the water and hits . . . nothing, not even slicing between sand as it topples and starts drifting away in the water. I reach forward and swipe it up before its out of reach.

"You're doing it all wrong," he says, his tone laced with amusement.

I scowl, narrowing my eyes at the contraption in my hands. "Maybe you should try teaching instead of taunting, Wilde."

Jason smirks, his gaze flicking to mine. "Teaching is taunting. It keeps you motivated."

"Motivated to throw this spear at your head," I mutter.

He laughs, a low, warm sound that sends a shiver down my spine. "Careful, Kitten. You might hurt yourself first."

I'm about to retort when he shifts closer, his broad shoulder brushing mine. His hands move over mine, guiding my fingers to hold the spear correctly – or at least what he deems correct, after all neither one of us are spear throwing geniuses. My skin tingles where we touch, and I suddenly find it hard to concentrate.

"See? Not so hard," he murmurs, his voice dropping an octave.

I swallow, determined not to look at him. If I do, I'll see that smug, teasing grin—and worse, the softness in his eyes that makes my chest ache.

"I've got it," I say quickly, pulling my hands back.

Jason sits back on his heels, his smirk widening. "Sure you do, kitten."

I glare at him, but the nickname sends a flutter through my stomach I refuse to acknowledge.

Later, as we sit by the fire roasting the fish we managed to catch, Jason leans back on his elbows, watching me with an infuriatingly lazy grin.

"Can you stop?" I mutter.

"Stop what?"

"Staring at me."

He grins, unrepentant. "Can't help it. You're fascinating."

I grit my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. He laughs softly, and I can feel his gaze lingering, heavy and intent, as if he's daring me to meet it.

I tear at the fish with more force then necessary and wince as my injured hand twinges.

Jason notices immediately, of course. He's up and moving before I can even think about hiding it, kneeling in front of me and reaching for my hand.

"Let me see," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"It's fine," I mutter, but I let him take my hand anyway.

He unwraps the strip of fabric he'd tied around it a few days before, his touch gentle despite the firm set of his jaw. The cut is still red and angry, but it doesn't look infected, and I can tell he's relieved.

"You need to be more careful," he says, his voice low but insistent.

I roll my eyes. "You sound like my mum."

"Yeah, well, someone's got to keep you alive," he shoots back, his lips twitching into a small smile. "Protect you."

"Like a brother would?" I mutter, trying to keep that distance between us..

He scoffs, leaning closer. "Didn't know you kissed your broth-"

"Oh my god. Stop." I hiss, a shiver of revulsion taking over me.

He only grins but he doesn't bring up the kiss again and I let him re-wrap my hand.

• • •

The late afternoon sun casts golden light across the island, the kind of light that makes everything look warm and unreal. Jason is crouched by the fire pit we'd built outside the hut, sharpening the rusty knife with a rock he's using like a wet stone. His hair is damp from the earlier swim, and his bare chest glistens faintly, his muscles taut as he focuses.

I've been watching him too much lately. More than I care to admit.

It's stupid, really, the way my stomach flips when he glances up and catches me looking. He always smirks when he does, a teasing glint in his eye, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. The problem is he probably does.

I push my hair off my face, wincing as my fingers snag on another knot. The saltwater and humidity have done a number on it, turning my usually manageable hair into an unholy mess. I've been trying to ignore it, but it's getting impossible. I sigh and hold my hand out for the knife.

"Can I borrow that?"

Jason looks up immediately, his brow furrowed. "What do you need?" But he hands it over.

"I'm cutting my hair," I mutter,. "It's too tangled, and I don't have a brush or conditioner, so this is the only solution."

His eyes widen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can't just start hacking away at it like you're in some survival movie."

"Why not?" I glare at him, frustration bubbling to the surface. "It's not like I should care what I look like here."

"I care," he says simply, leaning back on his hands. "You'll regret it."

I snort. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to deal with this disaster every day." I hold up a section of hair, showing off the tangled strands. "It's the only solution."

"I'll cut it." He mutters, moving closer and I nod even as I look down at my hair. He's probably right, I will regret it, but hair grows back.

I hear him shift behind me, "Do you really want it cut?"

I consider for a moment before shaking my head, "I don't know, but if it keeps getting tangled I'll just have to cut when we get back home anyway, there will be no saving it."

"Do you have a hair tie?" I nod, glancing at my wrist. "Give me the knife."

"What are you going to do? Lecture my hair into submission?"

"No," he says, crouching behind me. "I'm going to braid it."

I blink and turn to look at him. "You're going to what?"

"Braid it. Plait it. Whatever you call it," he says, his voice casual like this is something he does every day. "It'll keep it out of your face, and you won't have to cut it. Problem solved."

"Do you even know how to braid?" I ask, sceptical. I don't, I never learnt. I usually just through it into a bun or a ponytail and call it a day.

"How hard can it be?" he says, already reaching for my hair.

"You're going to make it worse," I protest, trying to pull away, but he grips my shoulder lightly, holding me in place.

"Stop squirming. You want help or not?"

I hesitate, then sigh. "Fine. But if you mess it up, I'm still cutting it."

He chuckles, his breath warm against my neck, and I suppress a shiver. "Deal."

His fingers start to work through my hair, clumsily at first. He mutters curses under his breath as he tries to separate the strands, and I can't help but laugh.

"This is harder than it looks," he grumbles.

"Uh-huh," I say, grinning. "Not so confident now, are you?"

"Shut up, kitten," he mutters, but there's no bite to his words.

The nickname should annoy me. It does annoy me. But the way he says it, low and teasing, sends a flicker of warmth through my chest. I sit still as his fingers slowly work through the tangles, his touch surprisingly gentle.

After what feels like forever, he ties off the end with the hair tie I had on my wrist.

"There," he says, satisfaction in his voice. "It's not perfect, but it'll do."

I reach back to touch the braid. It's lumpy and uneven, but it holds. "Not bad," I admit grudgingly.

"Not bad?" he echoes, mock-offended. "That's the thanks I get?"

I roll my eyes and turn to face him, but the words die in my throat when I see his expression. He's watching me, his gaze softer than I've ever seen it.

"What?" I ask, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

He shrugs, leaning back on his hands. "Nothing. You're just... different out here."

"Different how?"

"I don't know." He tilts his head, studying me. "Less guarded, I guess."

I look away, my chest tightening. "Don't read too much into it," I mumble. "It's just the island."

"Right," he says, but there's something in his tone that makes me glance back at him. He's still watching me, his eyes lingering on my face like he's memorizing every detail.

The fire crackles between us, the flames casting flickering shadows across his sharp features. The air feels heavier, charged, and I suddenly feel like I'm in over my head.

I clear my throat and stand, brushing sand off my legs. "I'm going for a swim," I say, needing an excuse to get away from him and whatever this is.

Jason smirks but doesn't stop me. "Don't drown, kitten."

"Don't tempt me," I shoot back, but the words lack their usual bite.

As I wade into the water, I can still feel hiseyes on me, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. I don't look back. Ican't.