A Tale of Two Centuries

But alas, my victory is short-lived. He recovers and moves toward me, closing the distance between us with quick, determined footsteps. He stops so close, I have to look up to meet the predator’s gleam in his eyes. Running a callused fingertip along my collarbone slowly and seductively, his minty breath fans across my lips as he says, “Yep.”

And time goes still.

Oh, Signore in heaven, now what do I do?

If it was not evident before, it is now—I am not meant to flirt. All I can do is stand here, breathing in the smell of his warm skin, with no clue how to react, what to say, or how to fight the extreme need to take at least a dozen steps back to a safe distance.

The silence stretches. Austin watches me, no doubt seeing every insecurity highlighted on my face. He lifts his hand and begins to reach out, and I forget to breathe.

His hand hesitates near my shoulder…and then shoots past it.

And he laughs.

Opening the glass door leading to the patio, he grins and walks out, leaving me alone. Again. Frustrated— and if I am to be perfectly honest, disappointed.

He was teasing me, testing me. And I failed.

But I will not fail again.

With renewed purpose, I march through the door, close it behind me, and gain speed to catch up with Austin’s retreating back. I follow him down the stone path to the private beach and a weird object near the waterline. He turns and gives me a knowing look. “I thought we best start easy—ever been on one of these before?”

Not even knowing what this is, I shake my head.

“Didn’t think so. Alessandra, this is a Jet Ski.”

His condescending tone is not lost on me. Lifting my chin, I walk up to the object, flip my hair like I have seen girls do at the high school, and ask, “And how does it work? What do we do?”

Austin’s eyes flicker down my body again. The late-afternoon sun has warmed the cool January morning air, but my skin prickles under his gaze. He takes a corner of his lower lip between his teeth and then says, “You get on, wrap your arms around me, press your chest against my back, and hold on tight. I take care of the rest.”

The intimate image his words conjure steals my breath.

Picking up some sort of black clothing from the ground, he steps into it. “I’m guessing you never wore one of these before, so Alessandra, this is a wetsuit.” His eyebrows rise as he condescendingly annunciates the word and tugs the slick fabric over his muscular legs.

I try not to stare as he tugs the tight suit over his hips. He first slides one arm inside and then the other, hiding me from the view of his chest. He reaches behind, and I hear the now-familiar sound of a zipper working as the fabric molds to his body.

Austin circles his arms, stretching the fabric, and it isn’t until he stops and smirks that I realize I did not meet my goal of not staring. I shove my hair behind my ear and lean back on my heels.

“Now that you’ve seen how to do it, this is yours.” He bends to pick up a second suit. Every move of his muscles is on display, and after only a slight hesitation, I avert my gaze. “I’m guessing you’re about Jamie’s size,” he adds.

Not trusting my voice to keep secret my inappropriate thoughts, I nod and take the suit from his outstretched hand.

Since I watched every second of Austin tugging on his, this should be easy to put on. But when I step into the first leg hole, my big toe catches on the inside of the material, and I lose my balance. He catches my elbow and saves me from falling face-first into the sand. While his warm grip steadies my feet, the unexpected touch on my bare skin has the exact opposite effect on my knees.

Breathe, Alessandra.

“Thanks,” I choke out, not able to meet his gaze. I make quick, embarrassing work of wiggling and tugging my wetsuit into place, bending and squatting for the proper fit, just wanting to be covered again. When the arms are in place, I reach around, trying to locate the string of the zipper, and feel Austin’s hand close around mine.

“Here, let me.”

He gathers my hair in his hands and tucks it to the side. My eyes close. The zipper starts its ascent up my back, and I proceed to listen to the pound of my pulse as Austin’s fingers skate across my skin. When the garment is closed, he slides my arms through a sleeveless black vest, then turns my body to him so he can latch it. His hands falter as they hover over my chest. We gaze at each other for a long beat.

Then, clearing his throat, Austin snaps it closed and backs away.

He pushes the red-and-black Jet Ski into the water, past the first few crashing waves, then throws a leg over the side. He turns to me, extending an upturned palm, but as I watch the water pound against his legs, I slowly shake my head and inch away. Forget the confusion of the past few minutes or my concern whether riding wrapped around Austin is appropriate…are Jet Skis even safe? So far, my experience with modern machines has taught me that they travel at terrifying speeds. What if I were to accidently let go and fly off?

Austin’s face gentles, and he curls his fingers, coaxing me closer to the watery death trap. “I’ve got you, Alessandra,” he says. “I promise nothing’s gonna hurt you. You can trust me.”

The sardonic guise he hides behind drops for just a moment, but it is enough.

I say a quick prayer and place my hand in his.

With my legs straddling the seat, my arms wrapped tightly around Austin’s firm stomach, and my chest and face pressed against his back, I do not need the extra layer my wetsuit provides. I am quite warm without it. Under me, the engine rumbles. Austin grabs my clasped hands, ensuring my death grip.

And then we are flying.

Fear is left behind me on the beach. My laughter is swallowed by the wind. And I hold onto Austin. The rest of the world falls away as he powers the machine forward. A whistling sound envelops us, yet there’s also silence in the midst of the roar. Out here, there’s no room for worrisome thoughts about the future or about the past. No time for concerns over when I will return or how much I miss my family. In this bubble of Austin, wind, and water, all I can do is live and breathe and smile.

Austin spins us in circles, and then we fly forward, free as the winged creatures overhead. He bounces us over a swell, and a spray of water splashes my face, tickling the skin left exposed by my wetsuit. I squeal, and under my clasped hands, I feel his taut stomach muscles shake with laughter. Then he takes off again in another sharp turn, racing in the opposite direction of which we came.

Excitement has me screaming, asking him to go faster. I close my eyes against the sting of the salty air and the lash of my hair and tilt my head back, feeling more uninhibited than I ever have before.

More free, more alive…just more.

Chapter Fifteen

As our car glides down the tree-lined street for my first full week of school, my thoughts are not where they should be. I should be reciting Cat’s list of lingo along with the new references I searched and added myself last night—it turns out Scooby-Doo is an amusing program. I ended up watching (and enjoying) several episodes and laughing at the gang’s comical high jinks. My cousin, equally amused by my merriment, was impressed with how quickly I acclimated to using her laptop, and I must admit, so was I. It is amazing how much information is available at one’s fingertips in this world. But in all honesty, right now I couldn’t care less about talking dogs, the World Wide Web, or any of those things, for my thoughts are turned to Austin and the mysterious transformation he appears to have undergone three years ago.

Yesterday I learned that asking him directly about his past does nothing but make things worse. On our way