The Edge of the World

Chapter Fifteen

Ian discovered in the following days that Tatum wasn't the villain he once thought her to be. She treated him with kindness, even if she had a wicked sense of humor. He didn't know what he'd expected from a woman with blood on her hands, but she'd been nothing but polite to him. As she recovered from the days of her strange sleeping, she thanked him for everything he did for her, inquired about his own health, and she helped without complaint to guard them in the night.

Upon realizing the danger they seemed to be in, they'd decided to take shifts watching the courtyard perimeter at night. One stood guard while the other slept until midnight, according to his cell phone, then they swapped places until daylight settled. Somehow, the rivals became comrades, and with every passing day, the dissonance between them faded, but the growing lust he carried for her refused to relinquish its hold over him.

The true test of his willpower came not long after her amazing awakening. The two sat on their perspective beds, dabbling in small talk as daylight turned to dusky shadow. And as Ian lifted a spoon filled with creamed soup to his lips, her hard gaze noticed his mangled fingers.

"What the hell happened to your hands, doc," she asked, her raspy drawl warming him. He glanced at his scabbed over fingertips and shrugged a shoulder, finding it to be nothing to worry about.

"I was digging around the tree and I guess I got a little overzealous. It's not hurting or anything."

She scoffed as she got up from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, all the while lecturing him.

"We aren't in civilization, doc. Any injury out here can lead to bad things."

He knew that already, but he had noticed nothing amiss about the wounds, but as he was about to tell her that, all thought fled once she kneeled at his bedside, her eyes holding his. Pornographic images mocked him as they passed through his mind, blowing hot, like a desert tempest.

He remained silent, focusing on his breathing, calm and patience as she cleaned his fingertips with a gentle touch, wrapping them in band aids found in a metal flip top can. The fragrance of ginger threatened his hard-fought control, and he closed his eyes, battling the overwhelming lust threatening to devour him. By the time she finished administering care to his injuries, he felt like he was close to spontaneously combusting. He wasn't a religious man, but once she rose and moved away from him, he thanked all and any deities who might be listening.

As she returned to her bed, he found himself studying her, taking in her youthful appearance and the beauty of her profile. She wasn't well read, he noted, but she was intelligent and although she spoke like someone from the streets, Tatum was nobody's fool. She was objective, scrupulous, and a survivalist. She'd already adapted to that island, even if he hadn't. She cared for him, of that he was certain, and he wondered what would lead a woman like her to commit murder.

He glanced down at his bandaged fingers and spoke without thinking, the words falling past his lips before he could reign them in, and he expected her to explode at his audacity.

"How long were you married?"

Ian winced, his gaze shooting to her, uncertain what expression he would find there. But her eyes were shielded by her lashes, and she studied her blanket with an odd interest.

"Ten years. Ten long, goddamned years."

He blinked in astonishment. Ten years? Tatum couldn't be older than twenty-three or twenty-four, so how...?

As realization donned, it was like the walls were closing in, fury clawing wildly at his chest. He needed to know more, feel more, see everything, and wouldn't stop until he did just that.