Disney had a hell of a fucking lot to answer for, thought Nadia as she sat on a damp, rotting log, looking out at a valley draped with twilight. She sighed and returned her attention to the journal balanced on her knees. With her pen poised above the pages for the past half hour or so, she only had a few lines of jumbled words in smudged blue ink to show for her efforts.

Real fairy tales were depressing as hell. Reading the Little Mermaid had given her nightmares as a child: Ariel died, and Prince Eric, the jerk, sailed off into the sunset with some other princess.

So why had she considered herself exempt? Just because Khai had won her heart first, didn't mean he wouldn't reject her. And why did she feel like she was unfaithful to him when he was off rooting another woman?

Thomas frustrated the heck out of her. But he was also sweet, funny, intelligent, thoughtful, hot as hell, and — much as she hated to admit it — he made her weak in the knees, and her heart beat a million miles an hour.

For days now, her childish fancies had warred with her head, which told her Khai was a bugger. Her heart, meanwhile, sat on the fence, too scared to act.

Another part of her had a voice in the matter. She heard — or felt — it loud and clear when Thomas kissed her. Bloody hell he could kiss.

If only he would tell her what he wanted. Did he just want a good time? Did she? Or could there be something else? She played with the idea of a future with him. Looped it about in her head, twirling it into different shapes and scenarios, until it all became a tangled mess that she despaired of unravelling.

The temperature dropped as the evening shadows wrapped around her. Willing herself to calm, she closed her eyes and saw a pair of bright-blue ones staring back at her. She shook herself and opened them.

A rustling diverted her attention, and she caught sight of the hindquarters of a small rodent scurrying into a bush. Wood smoke carried on the breeze, and the clunking of wood on wood sounded, followed by a crackle and a series of cheers.

She gazed back out at the vista before her. The tip of the sky had turned deep blue and a quarter moon hung amongst an ever-expanding cluster of stars.

Her fingers and the tips of her toes felt icy. She wiggled them, but it didn't do much. Thomas would be warm. On a sigh, she placed her pen in the spine and shut the book. She pushed up and brushed clumps of bark from the wet patch on her backside. Her legs throbbed.

An orange glow came from beyond a small bunch of trees. As she ambled back toward the camp, a gust swept her hair across her face. She pulled back the tendrils, grimacing as some snapped between her teeth, then flicked the whole mass back and twirled it at the nape of her neck.

Twigs and leaves crunched beneath her feet, and the fire sputtered ahead of her. Two figures looked up. One frowned, and the other smiled shyly. Heat spread from her heart as she approached the latter. He reached out his hand, pulled her in front of him, and wrapped his arms around her as she stretched her hands out to the flames. When his chin rested on her head, she let her eyelids droop, leaning back into the hard, slender body.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said.

Nadia smiled, only half aware of the light-hearted banter about her. "I know — me too.

Later that night, Nadia woke from a nightmare. She was alone, abandoned, unwanted. Chest tight, she choked on a sob and clutched her arms about her, registering a zipping noise.

Thomas crawled clumsily into the tent, cursing under his breath. "Nadia, what is it?"

His knee wobbled as he landed on his mattress and he dropped a hand on her to stabilise himself, jolting her fully awake.

"Wha—?" Her voice came out thick and disorientated as Thomas switched on an LED light. For a second, the brightness blinded her. She pressed her eyelids shut, white and red blotches flashing before her. When she opened them again, Thomas lounged gazing at her, his chin propped on the palm of his hand.

"You were crying."

"Huh?" she said sleepily. "No, I wasn't."

The small tent suddenly felt stifling. Nadia yanked her sleeping bag open, about to shove her way outside, and stopped, blinking when his curved forefinger came towards her face and brushed lightly up her cheek. As it moved away, she saw the glimmer of moisture and felt a flicker of embarrassment.

"Really?" He smiled softly.

Very slowly, he tucked her hair behind one ear, and her heart — still on high alert — resumed its thud, though this time to a different rhythm. His fingers never left her body. With intense deliberation, he proceeded to brush them deftly over her exposed skin.

Spine-tingling, she shivered, and her cold, empty chest began to fill.

He was even more striking than usual. Dark-blonde hair in unruly tufts and the fuzz of a five o'clock shadow accentuating the chiselled features of his face. The light swung to-and-fro, causing his eyes to flash from black to electric blue.

"A bad dream?"

She couldn't remember anymore. Instead, she experienced the lingering remains of dread and stabbing pain in her chest.

"What was it about?" he asked, leaning in toward her, face painted with concern. Her nostrils filled with the earthy scents of dust, exertion and smoke. A ghost of heat from the fire still radiated from his skin.

Her mind turned inwards, trying to remember. Faint images teased from the edge of her consciousness. Regardless, it was enough to reignite the unwanted memory. Against her will, another whimper escaped, and her hand flew to her mouth.

He flinched. "You don't want to talk ... I understand."

He began to unlace his hiking boots, grunting as he tugged them off, and struggling to keep his slim but tall, broad-shouldered frame balanced in the confined space.

Nadia rolled on to her back and tried to focus on the dew drops accumulating between the inner and outer layers of the tent. As Thomas pulled off first his sweater and then his shirt, her eyes flicked back and forth, taking him in from the periphery of her vision. When he started to wiggle out of his trousers, it struck her as odd that he didn't undress under his sleeping bag. Thomas was usually so modest. Could he be doing it on purpose?

Her lips twinged at one corner, and she thought she caught a nearly imperceptible twitch of his mouth as well.

Well, she decided, if he wasn't going to hide, she might as well treat herself to a proper peek. She twisted on to her side and grinned goofily. The view didn't disappoint. He only wore trunks, and his pale torso was toned, with a smattering of light-brown curls narrowing down to an inverted V. Nadia looked up at his face, biting her lip, and saw a bloom of pink grow on his neck and spread up. His eyes hooded. Then she heard a familiar cocky voice outside, and guilt ripped through her.

She looked away a moment — then thought better. As she turned back, Thomas ducked into his sleeping bag.

Dammit. She gritted her teeth and breathed in deep, clenching her fists.

"Nadia?"

"Yes?" she squeaked and mentally facepalmed herself.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier, you know."

Her heart beat faster as she sensed him edge nearer. "What do you mean?"

"The deposit was more than enough."

Her stomach sunk. No, it wasn't — not for her.

Worried that he would read her expression, she turned to her other side, her back to him, and imagined his hands on her. Then the touch was real, the light pressure of his palm between her shoulder blades.

From behind, his words dripped out like honey. "But I'd like to hold you if that's okay."

She stilled. Unable to breathe or speak as her ears thumped. After a frozen moment, she forced her body a centimetre closer to him. He moved instantaneously. Hand snaking between the opening in her bag, and over the curve of her waist, he pulled her against him, tickling the space between lobe and neck as he whispered, "Buenas noches, mi bonita." Then he spooned even harder against her.

At that moment, Nadia decided there was nothing sexier than Spanish spoken in a proper British accent.

She barely slept that night. It was worth it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Buenas noches, mi bonita — Good night, my pretty 

Image by Joris Voeten on Unsplash