He was trying his best to leave her alone, but she was sitting at his desk working on his laptop, a position Abel Edwards had never allowed anyone to occupy before Summer.  It was like watching someone go for a hike in your shoes, whether they fit or not.  But the improbably slender twenty-six-year-old was sitting there like she owned the place, square shoulders and straight spine, head lowered to the screen as she went line by line through the nineteenth chapter of Edwards’ latest novel.

There was a strand of dark, damp hair clinging to her neck.  Three weeks and she still wasn’t used to the tropical climate.  In a floral print, summer dress that left her neck and shoulders bare, the assistant and proofreader Edwards’ agent had insisted on sending kept swiping the strand away, but it always ended up back in the same place.

He’d been watching her since the first day.  Typing.  Stopping.  Occasionally tilting her head to ask questions without looking at him directly.  Always focused, she'd sit there day after day like she was driving someone else’s car, aware it wasn’t hers but assured of being the more competent pilot.  She had a way of concentrating on the screen that made it seem she was frowning without actually frowning.  Half the time her lips were parted as if she were mouthing the words as she read them, but her lips never moved. Abel found himself waiting for a sigh that never came. Maybe it was in the tone of her voice whenever she asked if he really meant to use a particular word.  When she did, he would sigh with false patience, like a teacher having to explain the same thing too many times.  Sometimes hours would pass before he caved and ended up returning to his work space to ask her to suggest something else, something that always seemed to work better than his first idea.

He'd spent years writing alone, never trusting anyone with his work until he was satisfied, but Summer was different. She saw his writing the same way he did. Felt his meaning and respected it. She never put a word out of place. His publisher had been right. She was a silent bird of prey.

She'd been quiet for a while now though and now there was nothing for Abel to do except wait and memorize the line of her neck and the intricate curve of her jaw. Her face was a far more interesting story than any he could tell.  Her slightly dusky skin took on a dull shimmer in the heat. The lines of her bare legs from her ankles, up to where her dress left half her thighs exposed made him forget the book entirely.  It was all business, yet he wanted to walk over to his chair, and lean close enough to inhale the scent rising off her skin.

“Can I bring you something cold to drink?” he asked.

He was leaning in the doorway to the terracotta tiled office at the rear of his villa. It was where he did as little of his work as he could get away with. The rest of the time he wrote in longhand, sitting in one of the island cafes where they never cared how long he sat there in a fog of his own design, oblivious to the comings and goings of garishly dressed tourists.

Summer turned her head halfway, avoiding his face.  “That would be nice, thank you,” she said.  Then she turned back to the computer.

Abel had the distinct impression she would have preferred to decline, but this dark flower was still wilting in the unforgiving climate of his island retreat.  He went into the kitchen and poured a tall glass of pomegranate juice over ice, then brought it to her.  He watched her collar bones as she drank, and the gentle motion of her throat as the cool liquid made its way down.

He couldn't stop looking. He didn't want to. He wanted to take an ice cube from her glass and press it to the hollow of her throat until it melted and trickled down beneath her dress. Then he wanted to follow the trail with his tongue. He blinked. His mouth felt dry. Summer was still typing, oblivious to his presence. The strand of hair had settled on her neck again and she pushed it away for the hundredth time. He wanted to kiss her neck. Taste her sweat. Taste her.

Fuck. Abel told himself to stop. He knew she was seeing someone. At least that was the impression he got from the volume of texts that lit up her phone every day. She always seemed faintly apprehensive about not picking up when someone called. She’d tense as the phone rang and only relax when it finally went quiet. A couple of times he’d heard her talking to someone, and from the tone of her voice he figured not everything was perfect. But perfect or not, there was still something and the envy hit him hard. It was going to be a huge relief on his soul when she finally went home.

He went into the next room and switched on the television, turning down the volume so it wouldn’t disturb her. Each channel played the same breaking news headline. Thirty-two more confirmed cases in the last twenty-four hours. Everything was closing down. He hadn't expected the island to catch the force of the virus but the volume of summer tourists had gone a long way to proving him wrong. Holidaymakers had labelled the island paradise but had only helped prove it was no different than the rest of the world. He wondered when the local government would impose a lockdown. It was inevitable and he both dreaded and craved it. The sooner it happened, the sooner it meant Summer wouldn't come back. Then he could slip back into his daily routine of pretending to be numb.

His phone vibrated with an incoming text. He glanced down at the screen, irritated by the interruption. It was Cheri. He almost groaned out loud.  Cheri West was the Oscar nominated actress who'd starred in the film of his previous novel. They’d begun a wild, self-destructive affair during the production. According to the tabloids, the two were still an item, but Abel was hard-pressed to think of one, positive outcome of the relationship except for how the tawdry notoriety of it all had sold millions more in tickets. He hadn’t seen her in the month since she came to the island for a few days’ stay.

Cheri was rapidly approaching panic mode and pleaded with Abel to come to L.A. where they could ride out the storm holed up in her place in Laurel Canyon. You can have as much of this as you can handle, she texted just before sending a hastily taken selfie of her pussy. There was a brand new tattoo of a swooping bird of prey now gracing her smoothly waxed mound. “Geezus,” he muttered. He was sorely tempted to tell her the tattoo might’ve looked scary if it weren’t so ugly, but he merely texted back that the airport had already been shut down and he was stuck on the island for the duration. He realized he’d barely thought about her in weeks.

Abel went back to watch his new line editor work. At first, he’d been offended by his agent’s insistence on working with Summer, but by the end of the first week he realized he’d been spending far too much time alone. It was always that way when he was working on something new. By the end of the second week, he realized she was viciously talented, far more astute and perceptive than he.  And now, at the end of the third, he found himself watching her work while imagining ripping off whichever one of those gauzy summer dresses she showed up in, shoving his computer and every sheaf of paper off his desk, bending her over the side and taking her like he had the right. Taking her emphatically.

He stood in the doorway between his study and living room, unable to keep her out of sight. He was thinking about her dress, the way it fell, the way it was just short enough to keep him on the edge of desperation. She'd leave again in a couple of hours and then he'd do the same thing he'd done every day since he'd met her, finally take out his hard cock and jerk off with his mind and soul full of her lingering presence. He wanted to admire her like a work of art and yet he wanted to fuck her so hard she wouldn't walk straight for a week. Now, with Cheri invading his mind, it felt like Summer was a whole other species. He'd never felt so conflicted about another person his entire life. People were always black and white but she felt like colour and he didn't know how to handle it.

Everything before her felt cheap.

He let out a long breath and wondered what she'd say if she knew the ways he thought about her. Pain crossed his face. She didn't know. She'd never know and her obliviousness made his insides ache.

Her cell phone suddenly buzzed on the desk next to her but she didn't touch it, too engrossed in her task.

"Are you going to answer that?" He asked, frowning. The incessant buzz seemed to contaminate her serenity.

Summer seemed agitated.  She clearly didn’t want to answer the call, but when she looked at the screen, she sighed with relief.  “It’s the hotel.  Maybe I should.”

Abel went back to the doorway and allowed her a small illusion of privacy.  He was halfway between the sound of her voice and the television, which was still on.  The local news was reporting from the airport.  The departure terminals were choked with people trying to get out before the hammer came down.  As of midnight, the airports were officially closed.  All foreign visitors were ordered to check out of their hotels by six as they, too, were being closed.

It was finally happening.  Lockdown.

Abel turned back into the study and saw Summer’s face drain of colour.  The hotel had to be kicking her out.  She listened quietly a while, said, “Yes, I understand,” a few times, then softly said “thank you” and disconnected the call.  She held the phone in her lap, looking down at it a few moments before lifting her face to his.

"I have to go," she seemed to process what she was saying while she was saying it because only after the words had left her mouth did she stand up, looking around for her bag. 

"You have to?" Abel said it like he didn't understand but mostly he was just buying time. She was moving hurriedly now, throwing pens and scraps of paper into her purse, scrolling through contacts on her phone with her free hand. She moved like flowers in a breeze.

"Yes," she said. She spun to face him. "I have to get my stuff and go." Her eyes were darting around the room for any forgotten belongings. "I didn't realise this would happen so fast. I thought they'd hold til the weekend at least."

She already had all her things together and it was too quick, too sudden, too unfair. He hadn't had enough time to unwind everything he even felt about her yet she was about to disappear, for … maybe forever and that'd be it. A single, hopeless flash of gold in his life.

"Are sure you have everything?" He was still trying to stall her, trying to hold on.

"Yes, thank you," she wasn't even looking at him. He wanted to tell her to, but the words stuck in his throat, unreasonable and impossible.

"Do you want me to drive you to your hotel? It's the least I can do."

"Oh no, thank you, I can get a taxi."

"But you'll have to wait for it," Abel said. "You probably don’t  have enough time?"

She looked at him finally.

"I don't know. The hotel said I had to be out by six. What time is it now?" Her dark brows pulled together. "Why didn't they call sooner?"

"It's just past five. How far is your hotel? The roads have been crazy all day."

Her eyes widened. "It's in the middle of town. It'll be an hour's drive in this traffic," Her face seemed to fall. "I won't make it." She walked back into the study. "Do you think I should just go to the airport? Maybe I can leave without my luggage. I didn't bring much. But, do you think I'll even get a flight out?" She looked flustered as she paced back and forth. "Maybe I should go to the hotel and try to get my things but then what if I get them and I'm stuck at the airport? Or maybe I could ..."

"Or maybe you could stay here," Abel interjected.

There was a pause before his words hit.

Then she blinked. "What?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, even as his pulse raced at the idea of sleeping under the same roof as her. "I have enough space. Just stay until it all blows over. There's no sense in rushing around when you're perfectly safe here."

Summer looked at him.

"I can't. That's crazy. I have to go home."

"Why? Everything's closing down. You're going to get home just to be stuck inside for weeks - and that's if you even get home. Stay here in the sun. We'll finish the book. The time will go by in a flash."

Her eyes held his, wide and liquid and open. He felt like he could read her from the inside out if she'd only give him the chance. But then her gaze dragged away, pulling back out of the moment.

"I can't stay here."

"You'll probably end up stuck at the airport," Abel said. "It's only a small island, Summer. Things are already out of control. Just think about it, okay?"

"I have a whole life to go back to," she said.

Abel wondered if she was thinking about her boyfriend, whoever he was.

"Everything's paused," he insisted. "The whole world is closing down. It won't make a difference whether you're here or there."

"I don't know," she looked unsure of herself for the first time. Her eyes found his again. "I should be home."

Abel sighed. The least he owed her was to give her a chance to be where she wanted. The world was going insane, and he didn’t want to make it worse.

“I’ll drive,” he told her. “The least we can do is give it a shot.”

***

It was well into evening when they got back to Abel’s house. They’d spent most of the past four hours sitting in traffic. By the time they reached the airport, the departure terminals had been cordoned off with yellow tape while police in medical masks were turning people away. Summer wouldn’t be able to get another flight out for at least a week. However long the lockdown lasted.

It was the same story at the hotel. She’d had to call the management office from the car outside. Only the barest, skeleton staff remained. They told her they would ship her things to her home address. She wondered if she should just ask them to be shipped to Abel’s address, but no one seemed certain of anything.

Abel felt bad for her as she sat in silence during the ride back to his place. She looked lost, like she couldn’t remember why she was here in the first place. He’d left her to her thoughts, and when they finally walked back into his house her usually squared-off posture was sagging. He prepared a light meal which they ate at the table outside beside the pool. Summer seemed to relax - ever so slightly. They even managed some strained conversation about their ongoing work on his book.

The book. Writing began to feel like a brash act of foolishness in the midst of the world melting all around them. But Summer’s face was lit by the lights around the pool, and Abel couldn’t stop studying the shape of her jaw and throat in the dim light.

She drained the last of her wine. “I’m sorry about this,” she said. “I never planned to end up on your doorstep as a refugee from the plague.”

Abel laughed. “Think of it this way,” he told her, “we can probably finish the book sooner, and you’ll end up going home earlier than you would have anyway. Besides, I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

She looked at him curiously. “That’s very kind of you, but it’s hardly your problem.”

“Are you kidding? The work you’re doing is going to make me look like I know what I’m doing. And then some. My editor is going to end up with nothing to do. So I need to make sure you’re going to be around for the next one. And the one after that.”

Summer laughed. “You make me sound like an indentured servant.”

“If that’s what it takes,” he grinned. In his mind, he could see those slender haunches bent over his desk. He was inside her. Aching cock buried to the hilt. So deep inside her it threatened to change him. Cheri never existed. He caught Summer looking at him curiously as he wandered through his irrational daydream. “I suppose I should, um…”

“Time to retire,” he finished for her.

“Yes, please.”

Abel led her back into the house and upstairs to the guest bedroom that was closest to his own. He showed her inside and turned on the light, then realized her luggage was stuck at the hotel.

“You’re going to need something to wear.” Summer looked at a complete loss. Her shoulders instantly went back into the slump that had concerned him earlier. “For now, why don’t you just take something of mine. At least so you can have something to sleep in,” he added.

She looked outraged.  

 "I can't wear your clothes!" she spluttered. "That is crazy. That is so crazy. That's like ..."

"Like, literally your only option," Abel said. "They’re only clothes. Would you feel better if I promise they're clean and stain free?"

She stared at him wordlessly.

"Come on," he said. "I'll even let you choose."

She trailed him silently into his bedroom and through to the walk-in wardrobe.

"So," he said. "No dresses, unfortunately. Plenty of shirts though. Take your pick."

"Are you sure?" she finally asked. She looked around at her neatly arranged surroundings.  "It's not weird, is it?"

"Only if you think it is," Abel said. He opened a drawer of folded t-shirts. "It'd probably be weirder if I didn't offer you clothes, don't you think?"

She laughed then. "Well yeah, I guess." 

You'd have to sleep naked, he wanted to say, and walk around naked, and talk to me naked and spend day after day entirely naked, all smooth skin in the sunlight.

The thought was enough to make his head spin. He tried to shake it, unsuccessfully. She made lust feel inescapable. He wanted to spend weeks lying in the sun, watching her skin deepen to a golden brown, hot and silky beneath his fingertips. She moved in and tentatively inspected the items in the drawer he'd opened. Her fingers were slim and careful, and before he could help himself, he was wondering what her hands would feel like against him, how they'd explore and grip, the look on her face as she drove him out of his …. 

"Abel?" She was looking at him again, holding a couple of plain white and grey t-shirts. There was a concerned furrow between her brows. He fought the urge to stroke it away.

He cleared his throat.

"Is that everything?" he asked. 

"I think so."

"You can come back for anything else anyway," he said. "Whenever you need. It’s not like I’m going to run out."

He walked her back to her room and pointed out the bathroom. Then he took her on a tour through the dresser, which was mostly empty but held fresh sheets and pillow cases. Extra towels for the pool or after a shower. He showed her where she could find the basic toiletries.

“I’m sorry it’s a little short on more feminine comforts,” he told her. “Female guests usually bring what they need.”

“Are there many of those?” she asked before realising how inappropriate it was.

Abel blinked. For a moment, he seemed evasive, before his gaze became blank. Then came an uncomfortable moment of silence where a man and woman are standing in a bedroom without a clue as to what the other was thinking. He finally shrugged and told her to let him know if she needed anything else. Then he walked out without answering the question and left her on her own.

Summer stood in the middle of the room, waiting until she heard him go downstairs. Then she stripped out of her dress, and went into the bathroom, showering briefly before cleaning her teeth and pulling on Abel's white cotton t-shirt. It was just long enough to cover her ass. Retreating to her room, she closed the door and sighed, trying not to think about what Brady would say if he knew she was wearing another man’s clothes.

She wanted to check her phone but dreaded what she'd see. She’d texted Brady to let him know she was stuck on the island but he’d left her on read and uneasiness had gnawed in her stomach until dinner. She hadn't even told him where she was staying, or whom with and she didn't intend to. The wine had given her evening a soft glow and checking back into reality didn't feel at all appealing. It was easier to feel the moment, pretend that this was all there was to life. Writing in the sun. She sighed again. The house was practically silent. Had Abel gone to sleep already?

A noise outside said differently. She switched off the light and went over to the window. The room she was staying in was at the back of the house and her window looked down onto the pool and private garden area. She opened the window wide to lean out. The night air was breezy with enough chill to make her nipples harden beneath her shirt. Abel was outside. The table had been cleared and she watched silently as he started to unbutton his shirt. She knew she shouldn't watch but her eyes refused to look away.

She'd spent enough time with him to feel safe in his home and yet she didn't feel like she knew half of who he was. There was always something going on in his eyes that made her feel unsure of herself. Something. Sometimes she'd feel him looking at her and she hated it. She wanted to be something worth looking at. Brady always threw her off at the last minute.

You look beautiful today, I barely recognised you. One of his constant refrains. He meant it by way of a compliment, certainly, but it never failed to leave her feeling empty, as if beautiful wasn’t her default setting. If she put on a yellow dress, he inevitably told her she looked better in blue. It was always little things that were too trivial to argue about. Her choice of shoes or jewelry when they were going out to one of his business functions. And if she tried to tell him how she felt, it was always on her. She was sensitive, insecure - and waiting for him to realize she was alive and breathing behind the facade he imagined himself making of her. Summer closed her eyes trying to will away the thoughts. Brady wasn’t here.

It was just her. Her and Abel Edwards.

Abel. She'd looked him up before coming out to the island. She knew more about him than he probably realised. Tabloid girlfriends and A-list dinner parties. She wondered about his relationship with Cheri West. Somehow his reality seemed much quieter than the media's perception. At times she almost hoped Cheri had been some kind of marketing ploy to promote his movie and then she berated herself for even caring. His life would always move in a different circle than hers.

He'd taken off his shirt and pants and now his fingers hooked into the waistband of his boxer shorts, letting them drop to the floor. Summer held her breath. She was almost certain he'd turn and catch her looking but he didn't. The angles of his body caught the light in a way that made her ache. She pressed her legs together hard as he made his way over to the pool and began swimming.

She should have gone to sleep but her mind felt alive. The whole situation felt like an excursion from everyday life. Back home, nights were full of noise; neighbours and traffic and the endless arguments with Brady - here it was serene and silent, just the gentle sound of the water as Abel moved effortlessly. She almost wanted to join him. The idea made her heart thud though she knew she'd never go through with it. It was too late, for a start, and she figured he wouldn't want to be disturbed. Besides, he was naked. Would she swim naked too? With a man she barely knew? 

She kept figuring she should go to sleep but then he stopped swimming and came up out of the water, and she was too busy staring to be sensible. She'd never considered herself a shallow person but his body made her feel weak. He shook himself off a little and then dropped naked into one of the chairs. She realised with a start that it was the very same chair she'd occupied during dinner.

She heard him sigh. The lights were still on outside. She could see him clearly but she knew he wouldn't be able to see her even if he looked directly at her. His hand moved down and touched between his legs. It took her a minute to realise what he was doing and by then he must have been hard. He was stroking in a gradual, unhurried rhythm. She couldn't see him clearly from her angle but the way he moved and the way the breeze carried the sounds he was making was enough to tell her exactly what he was doing. 

She bit her lip. Her nipples were hard, grazing his shirt. She wanted to slip her hand underneath and feel them but then she was also aware of the way her body had begun to ache, heat radiating out from her core. 

Abel's hand was moving faster now. His body was heavenly, athletic and toned and the way he strained and tensed made her heart race. He was groaning, saying things she couldn't hear. She wanted to hear. She wanted to be closer. He made her feel reckless. Like a thoroughly different person. The kind of person who would skulk in the shadows to watch a man she was supposed to have a purely professional relationship with stroke his cock after a midnight swim.

His groans were growing louder now. He arched his spine briefly and then got up from the chair, walking the few steps to the edge of the pool where his naked body was lit from underneath. Summer gasped softly, unconsciously, as she saw his cock jutting forward, his hand skimming the length of his swollen shaft.

This was something she should have gone her entire life without seeing. Even worse, she was stranded in his house with no clue as to when or how she would ever get away. There was at least another third of his manuscript to work through. How would she ever look him in the eye after looking … at his cock. Exposed. Wet from the pool and god knew what else. His fist. Sure and gripping tight. His body arching.

She wasn’t a woman who watched men masturbate. That was for a woman like Cheri West. But she was there. Right there. And there was a hot prickling scuttle of sensation over her skin while his shirt scraped across her swollen nipples. She found herself imagining his cock pushing inside. Thrusting like he owned her and didn’t care. Using her the way he must have used his Hollywood bottle-blonde playmate.

He was saying something unintelligible, and the arch of his sleek body told her he was racing toward his peak. She was wet and aching to be touched by someone nasty and kind. Her pussy was nagging her body with a rush of demanding heat. He was going to cum, but she couldn’t, just couldn’t see that. She wanted to, needed to, but it was the last thing she could do. It would ruin every, agonizing moment of being stranded in his house, forced to keep working together when there would be no way to look him in the eye.

She was on fire and dying.

She closed the window, turned away and went to bed.