Chapter 2

The little airport barely qualified as one—just a windswept strip of tarmac, a squat terminal, and palms swaying in the salty heat. Lena stood in the open-air waiting area, sunglasses low on her nose, arms bare beneath a soft, loose white cardigan. Her bikini top peeked out beneath it, and her red sarong was tied casually around her hips. Her hair, braided over one shoulder, had begun to fray in the breeze.

She looked stunning. Golden. Relaxed. But her stomach was tight with nerves.

And then she saw him.

Marc.

He stepped out of the terminal in light shorts and a short-sleeved polo, his skin already sun-kissed from the flight window, his hair a little longer than she remembered—messy, thick, and touchable. He carried nothing but a small bag slung over one shoulder. His biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. His calves were solid and tan. His smile hit her first, and then—

Oh.

He looked so much like Ron in that moment it made her throat catch.

But where Ron had always been calm and grounded, Marc had something else in his stride—youthful fire. Heat. His eyes were soft, but his jaw was sharp. His body was leaner, but just as capable. And when he saw her, that grin broke wide, and her heart did a full somersault.

He jogged the last few steps to her, dropped his bag, and pulled her into a hug.

“Hey, big sis,” he murmured into her ear.

Lena wrapped her arms around him, breathing him in—clean sweat, warm skin, a faint hint of cheap cologne from the airport bathroom. Her body reacted before her mind caught up. A wet pulse low in her belly. Her nipples stirred against the thin fabric of her top.

She pulled back, just enough to look at him.

“You’ve grown up,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his brow. “God, you look...”

“Good?” he teased.

She smiled, but didn’t laugh. “You look like Ron. Just a little.”

Marc blinked, surprised. Then softened. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” she whispered. Then, without thinking, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek—not rushed. Not quick. A soft, lingering kiss that hovered on the edge of something more. She felt him breathe in. Saw his chest rise.

Neither of them spoke.

Then she pulled back, smiled again—brighter this time. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the airport and into the sun. You’ve got thawing to do, remember?”

He picked up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I started thawing the second I saw you.”

She didn’t reply. Just led the way, her hips swaying, her thighs already slick.

She was wet for her brother.

And somewhere deep inside, she didn’t feel ashamed.

She felt alive.

The sea shimmered gold as the sun dropped toward the horizon, waves folding gently over the sand like lazy breath. On the covered veranda, the air was thick with salt, the scent of lemon from a nearby candle, and the faint curl of vapor from Lena’s mouth.

She stood barefoot in her red bikini top and a thin sarong tied low around her hips. Her teardrop-shaped breasts shifted softly beneath the thin fabric, nipples pressing against the red as if trying to catch the breeze. Her long golden braid trailed over one shoulder, hair sun-lightened and slightly undone.

She was sipping from a cold bottle of beer, vape balanced in the crook of her fingers, when Marc stepped out from the house.

He wore only a towel—wrapped low on his hips, revealing the deep V-cut of his waist and the sculpted ridges of his abs. Droplets clung to his chest, tracing the lines of lean muscle over his ribs and shoulders. His skin was flushed from the shower, smooth and golden, and his damp hair stuck in tousled, boyish angles that somehow made him even more striking. His biceps flexed as he adjusted the towel. His six-pack caught the light.