Hazard and Somerset, Gregory Ashe [ebook reader with internet browser TXT] 📗

hand, and started slathering it on Somers.

The experience would have been hot—ok, for Hazard anyway, it still was a little hot—if Somers hadn’t been mumbling, “Oh shit, oh shit.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels amazing. It’s cold. Oh my God, what is that stuff?”

“It’s your new best friend for the next week.”

When Hazard had finished, he helped Somers lie down.

“I’m sticky,” Somers said.

“It’s ok.”

“I’m messing up the sheets.”

“It’s a hotel. It’s fine.”

“I ruined our honeymoon.”

Hazard sat next to his husband. He trailed a hand over the soft, pale skin of Somers’s belly, where the skimpy suit had kept him from getting burned.

Somers seemed to be interested, and Hazard moved his hand lower, and then Somers seemed to be very interested, but in a strangled voice, he said, “Ree, I can’t. I’m—I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do anything. Just enjoy it.”

“Oh shit,” Somers mumbled, and then a few minutes later, his eyes shot wide open and he said, “Oh, shit!”

Hazard got a towel, cleaned them both up, and kissed his husband.

“What about—”

“In a minute.”

Hazard showered; wearing only his boxers, he climbed into bed. Somers was right about being sticky.

“I ruined this whole thing,” Somers said.

“No, you did not.”

“I did. I can’t go out in the sun, not like this.”

“Then you’re very lucky I brought you a hat,” Hazard said. “And a swim shirt. And aloe with lidocaine.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

“Ree?”

“Hmm?”

“Maybe you could do one tiny little favor for a poor sunburn victim?”

Hazard couldn’t keep the guarded tone from his voice: “What?”

“Just, you know. Give me a little show.”

“God, you’re impossible,” Hazard said as he shucked his underwear.

III

OCTOBER 28

MONDAY

1:26 PM

THE NEXT DAY, in spite of Hazard’s objections, Somers hired a boat to take them to Virgin Gorda.

“We should take it easy,” Hazard said as he hopped down into the boat, backpack hanging low on his shoulders. Somers didn’t even want to imagine what Hazard had packed for the expedition, although he had experienced firsthand how nice it was to have a husband who liked to be prepared. The sun hat and swim shirt were basically miracles for Somers that morning.

“I’ll be fine,” Somers said, hopping down next to Hazard.

“You winced.”

“Nope. No wince.”

“Did you see a wince?” Hazard asked the short, stout woman named Nadia who was captaining the boat. She looked at Somers.

“Ignore him,” Somers said. “We’re ready.”

The boat couldn’t drop them at the Baths, which were one of the main attractions of Virgin Gorda, so they had to hike after getting off the boat. The path was dirt, and in a few places, loose stone. It wended over and around the island’s hills.

“We should have worn shoes,” Hazard said. “Not flip-flops.”

“Is that an oak, do you think?” Somers said, pointing to the tallest tree in sight.

That got Hazard going. He’d spent some of the morning talking to the staff at the hotel, and he identified the tall tree as mahogany. He pointed out several different kinds of palms, a breadfruit tree, and a line of manjacks. On a low rise, he drew Somers’s attention to a clump of aloe vera with tiny yellow flowers. At the next bluff, he stopped and pointed.

“That’s what you’re smelling: gardenia.”

“Hey, look at that. They’re pretty too.”

“Why are you smiling?”

“I just like how smart you are.” A tiny furrow remained between Hazard’s eyebrows. Somers smoothed it away and kissed his husband. “I’m serious,” Somers said with a laugh. “Smart is sexy. Tell me more about plants.”

“How’s your head?”

“My head is fine.”

“How’s your skin?”

“It’s holding everything inside me; it’s doing its job.”

“John.”

Somers kissed Hazard again. “Come on, let’s get to the Baths.”

The Baths was a stretch of shoreline dominated by massive boulders, with a strip of sugary beach right at the water. The tide was on its way out, leaving strips of sand drying by degrees. Here, the smell of the ocean wiped out the scents of dust and gardenia that had followed them for most of the hike, but Somers didn’t mind; he was a landlocked country boy, but somehow he’d always connected with the ocean, and the smell of saltwater made him feel alive.

A handful of other people were already exploring the beach and the rocks. Hazard glanced around.

“John, there’s not a lot of shade.”

“I’m fine, I promise. The hat is great. The swim shirt is great. Let’s have fun.”

“I really think—”

“Nope. No more thinking. Come teach me about sea anemones or something.”

So they waded through tide pools, splashed their way through the surf, explored the boulders—the batholiths, Hazard explained, that gave this place its name. Hazard pointed out mollusks and algae, and Somers smiled and listened and asked questions. They were walking through a tunnel formed by two of the batholiths; they didn’t meet perfectly at the top, so a sliver of sunlight still made its way down, turning the water aquamarine. Somers stopped halfway along the tunnel, glancing up, enjoying the feel of the relatively cold water against his sunburn.

“How’d this get formed?” Somers said.

“Most of the British Virgin Islands are volcanic,” Hazard said.

Somers sensed evasion and raised an eyebrow.

“But I don’t really know.”

“Huh,” Somers said.

“It’s a good question.”

“Yeah, I know it’s a good question. That’s why I asked it.”

“Not all your questions are good. You asked if, quote, ‘that really prickly pear looking thing is a prickly pear.’”

“I’m not worried about prickly pears. I’m trying to figure out why I married a man who can’t explain simple batholith volcanic activity to me.”

“I’m sure I could learn—” Hazard said and then stopped.

Somers smirked.

Growling, Hazard tackled him, both of them splashing into the water, and when they came up, Hazard kissed him over and over again until Somers had forgotten his question. He was too focused on the kisses that tasted like seawater and Emery Hazard.

Later, though, the sunburn began to itch fiercely in spite of the hat and the swim shirt.

“Come on,” Hazard said, dragging Somers back up the beach to where they’d left their stuff.

“It’s fine,” Somers said, scratching his arm through the shirt. “I’m fine.”

“You’re being