Chapter 7: The Jasmine Rain

The tropical storm didn't just bring rain; it brought a primitive, suffocating darkness that stripped away the billionaire polish of Thorne Island. Inside the "Villa of Glass," the walls groaned under the pressure of the Atlantic winds. Then, with a sudden, sickening pop of an electrical surge, the lights died.

The electronic locks on the master suite’s heavy glass doors engaged with a metallic click that sounded like a prison bolt. Avery bolted upright in the darkness, her heart hammering. "Dominic?"

"I'm here," his voice came from the shadows, low and grounding. A second later, the flare of a lighter illuminated the sharp planes of his face. "The smart-grid is fried. The backup generators are underwater. We’re locked in the suite until the manual override kicks in."

Avery shivered. She was still in her emerald-green bikini, her skin crusted with salt from their narrow escape in the cove. The air conditioning had died with the power, and the humidity was already beginning to seep through the glass, making the air thick and heavy.

"I need to wash this salt off," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It’s stinging."

Dominic stood up, the lighter casting long, flickering shadows of his broad shoulders against the ceiling. "The indoor plumbing is tied to the electric pumps. No power, no pressure. But the outdoor shower on the terrace runs on a gravity tank. It’s archaic, but it works."

Avery looked toward the glass door leading to the terrace. Outside, the world was a chaotic swirl of grey and silver. "In the middle of a storm? We'll be washed away."

"It’s a tropical depression, Avery. Not a hurricane," Dominic said, though his eyes were fixed on the way she was hugging her own arms. "And unless you want to sleep in a bed of salt, follow me."

He grabbed a rough linen towel and shoved the manual lever on the terrace door. It groaned open, letting in a gust of wind that smelled of ozone and crushed hibiscus.

The outdoor shower was a small stone alcove tucked into the side of the villa, shielded by a thick, heavy trellis of blooming jasmine. As the rain hammered the glass roof above them, Dominic pulled the brass chain. The water was lukewarm, but against the chilled wind, it felt like liquid silk.

He stepped under the spray first. He hadn't bothered to undress; his white linen shirt turned transparent instantly, clinging to the heavy, corded muscle of his chest and the sharp lines of his abs. He looked at Avery, his grey eyes turning the color of the churning storm clouds above.

"Get in," he commanded. The "Ice King" persona was gone, replaced by something more raw, more elemental. "Before you catch pneumonia and ruin my merger."

Avery stepped into the small square of stone. The space was so confined that their skin brushed with every breath. The scent of the wet jasmine was overwhelming-cloying, sweet, and intoxicating mixing with the metallic tang of the rain.

Dominic reached for a bar of expensive, charcoal-scented soap. Without a word, he placed his hand on her shoulder and gently turned her around.

Avery’s breath hitched. His large, calloused hands slid over her shoulders, the friction of the soap sending a jolt of electricity through her that had nothing to do with the lightning. He washed the sand from her back with a slow, deliberate pressure. It wasn't the touch of a businessman; it was a claim. His thumbs traced the delicate line of her spine, lingering on the small of her back where her bikini tied.

"Dominic," she whispered, her head falling forward as the warm water and his hands worked in tandem to break down her last defenses. "The contract... Silas isn't watching through the storm. You don't have to do this."

"You think I'm doing this for Silas?" His voice was a low growl, vibrating against the back of her neck.

He turned her to face him. His hair was slicked back, his face dripping with water. He looked lethal, beautiful, and completely out of reach. He cupped her jaw, his thumbs tracing the line of her lower lip. His skin was hot-searingly hot-against her rain-chilled face.

"Thirty days, Avery," he rasped, his eyes darkening with a hunger that the $1 million debt couldn't explain. "That was the deal. But right now, I’m struggling to remember why I let you have an exit clause. I'm struggling to remember that this is just business."

"Then don't remember," Avery whispered, her hand moving up to rest over his heart. Beneath the wet linen, it was thudding with a frantic, heavy rhythm that matched her own.

He leaned down, his lips ghosting over hers. He didn't kiss her yet; he waited, giving her one last chance to run, to remind him of the rules, to bring back the "Ice King."

But Avery didn't pull away. She leaned into the heat.

As the lightning tore across the sky, illuminating the villa in a blinding white light, Dominic finally broke his own rule. He crushed his lips to hers—a deep, searing kiss that tasted of rain, salt, and the desperate, dangerous truth they had both been trying to hide.

The storm was raging outside, but as Dominic lifted her against the stone wall of the shower, Avery realized the real storm had just begun.