Chapter 172

Cynthia, always meticulous about cleanliness, hadn't had a proper shower since arriving on the island. Even a sea dip left her feeling unclean. She remembered a small creek—discovered on their first day mushroom hunting—where a mountain waterfall fed a deep pool of crystal-clear water. She decided to bathe there.

Following her memory, she easily found the familiar pool. During the day, the water had been almost transparent; now, moonlight danced on its dark, deep blue surface. The waterfall’s constant flow created a soothing, almost symphonic sound.

Eagerly, Cynthia hid her clothes in a secluded spot, undressed, and stepped into the surprisingly warm water. A contented sigh escaped her lips as she swam freely. The evening breeze whispered through the leaves, clouds drifting across the moonlit sky. In the water, her skin gleamed like a gemstone, softly luminous. She felt a profound sense of peace and joy.

This serenity was short-lived. Cynthia sensed a figure and faint noises.

“Who’s there?” she called, quickly submerging her body, only her head visible.

The clouds parted, revealing Jonathan. Shirtless and half-submerged, he leaned against a bluestone, his gaze fixed on Cynthia. His intense eyes were enigmatic; his expression, quiet and brooding.

Cynthia was startled. Anger flared. “Jonathan, what are you doing here?”

His expression remained calm. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, his voice slightly rough.

Cynthia’s face flushed. “Jonathan, you were peeking at me!”

A smirk played on his lips. “I was watching, openly.”

Cynthia’s fury erupted. She swam toward him, ready to confront him, but before she could reach him, Jonathan acted swiftly. He stood, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her from the water. He pinned her against the bluestone, his body close, leaving no space between them. Cynthia was stunned. She couldn't believe this usually delicate man was effortlessly overpowering her.

She struggled, but Jonathan held her wrist firmly against the stone.

“Don’t move, or I can’t promise what I’ll do next,” he said, his voice low and husky, with a familiar hint of desire.

The gravity of the situation hit Cynthia. They were nearly naked, half-exposed to the cool night air, their bodies pressed together, their heat rising rapidly. Jonathan felt like burning iron against her skin. His breathing quickened.

Her gaze fell involuntarily on his handsome face—sharp features, a strong jawline, deep, dark eyes blazing with fire. His slightly furrowed brow hinted at restraint, a quality she found compelling. The contrast between this shirtless, powerfully built man and the sharply dressed, aloof public figure was striking. His pale skin in the moonlight revealed the underlying strength and primal desire. She had to admit he was any woman's dream.

Fearing she might lose control, Cynthia bit her lip, blushing. “Can you please move?”

This seemingly small action ignited something in Jonathan. His self-control, usually unshakeable, threatened to break. He found her breathtakingly beautiful—her eyes like crystal, her nose perfectly shaped, her lips vivid red petals. Her bitten lower lip only added to her allure. Her wet hair cascaded over her shoulders, outlining her curves. Her skin felt unbelievably soft against his.

In that moment, Jonathan lost all reason. He leaned down and kissed her.