Chasing Paradise Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Jessica Gadziala Advertisement

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I mean, they weren’t actual birthday cake or cookies ’n cream, but if I closed my eyes and concentrated enough, I could almost pretend.

Bars and fruit consumed, I brushed my teeth, and reached for another bottle of water.

Was I completely losing my mind, or had those multiplied too?

No.

That wasn’t possible.

Shaking off those thoughts, I had my small ration of water, then stripped back down to my underwear and took a swim.

I mean, I had to tire my body out somehow, right? Besides, as it turned out, I kind of really liked swimming. It was something I likely would have never learned had I not gotten stranded on some remote island that, apparently, even tourists didn’t want to visit.

So I swam, came out for some more fruit and to reapply the sunscreen Wick had left, then swam some more.

I’d just dried off enough to slip clothes on when I heard it.

The rumble of a speedboat engine.

Hope soared up through me, making me throw my arms up in the air, waving my shirt frantically, even though I didn’t see anyone yet.

“Wick!” I yelled. I spun in a circle, still waving my arms over my head. “Wick! There’s—”

My words fell away as my gaze landed on something that just didn’t quite look right.

Right there, behind a little rock formation, was a pile of sticks.

I mean, maybe it shouldn’t have been weird. There were woods full of trees. Trees had sticks that broke off all the time.

But they would scatter.

And there were no animals on this island that could gather and stack them.

Well, no.

That wasn’t exactly correct, was it?

There was one animal on the island who was capable. And he was six-three, green-eyed, and had very lickable abs.

But why would he remove our chances of being rescued?

Could he possibly want to be stranded on a remote island with no hope of getting off?

I mean, even for someone wanted by the law, that felt extreme.

The most removed from society I’d ever seen a fugitive go was an old hunting cabin in the middle of the woods. But it was well-stocked. And should he have needed more supplies, there was a way to get them.

There wasn’t here.

The sound of the boat drew nearer, but seemed to be coming from the other side of the island.

I didn’t stop to think or try to call Wick again. If he wanted to spend the rest of his life eating oranges and naming lizards, that was on him.

I was getting the hell off.

I rushed back to the shore, knowing I’d need my passport and money. I scooped up my bag while yanking up my shorts, slipped into my shoes, and ran with my shirt still in my hand.

At the corner of the island, the brush grew dense and impassable. So if I wanted to meet up with that boat, I had to run directly through.

My heart was punching against my ribcage and sweat was trickling down my back as I ran, still following the whir of the engine.

“Please wait,” I begged as I pushed myself harder.

I was so desperate that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping. My foot caught something, and I was falling before I could even think to brace for impact.

I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me, leaving me whimpering as I pushed up, trying to get to my knees, then my feet, without being able to breathe.

It was then that I noticed the engine had silenced.

“No, no, no,” I cried with what little breath I had.

My knee was throbbing, and the hot trickle leading down from it meant I must have landed on a stone or stick.

Defeat pressed down on me, making my eyes water and my shoulders sag.

Until I realized something.

The engine hadn’t slowly drifted off into the distance.

It had cut.

Like it had stopped.

Somewhere on the other side of the island.

I pushed myself forward, ignoring the throbbing in my knee and the tightness in my chest.

I had to get there.

I could recover later.

In a hotel room.

With room service.

And a coffee the size of my head.

That last part, that was what gave me the strength to keep going. Even as the woods seemed to grow thicker with each step.

This was clearly where Wick disappeared to forage for food. The tree limbs were heavy with fruit, more than abundant enough to keep the two of us fed for weeks or months.

Now, well, they could just feed Wick.

For years.

Or the rest of his life, for all I cared.

Just when I thought I might never get out of the thick of the trees and underbrush, though, suddenly it opened up into a large circle.

And right there in the center of it sat a glass house. The top floor overhung the lower level, creating a luxurious covered porch to sit on and look out at the lush scenery.

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