by Lara Adrian
He laughs, too, then takes my hand and we begin making our way over to the quieter area of the marina where most of the sailboats are docked.
As we walk, my phone rings in my purse. I don’t have to guess who’s calling. Given that my mother wasn’t able to reach me last night, she’s using precious time during her lunch break to try again. As much as I don’t want anything to intrude on the nice time I’m having with him, I hate leaving my mom to wonder or worry about me.
Nick pauses. “Do you need to get that? Go ahead, if you want. I’m going to run over to the marina shop and get us a couple bottles of water.”
Although I’m certain it’s only a polite excuse to give me privacy, as soon as he steps away I reach into my bag and swipe the screen to answer. “Yes, I accept,” I quietly tell the automated collect calling message. “Hi, Mom.”
We fall into an easy conversation, picking up right where we left off a few days ago. After assuring me that her parole board interview is still on track with no anticipated snags, she happily informs me that she’s finished the mystery novel she was reading when we last spoke and has now started a juicy romance about a vampire, of all things. She tells me how glad she is that spring is coming and how pretty the blossoming trees look outside her cell’s window.
I listen and respond accordingly, while guiltily staring out at the boats gleaming in the blue water of the marina and the white gulls swooping through the sun-filled sky—a freedom my mother will likely never experience for herself again.
I want to tell her about Nick. I want to tell her that I’ve met someone special, someone who makes me happy. But our fifteen minutes have dwindled to less than five, and, besides, I know that’s a conversation that won’t be easy for her to hear. She’ll worry for me. She’ll need to be reassured that I’m safe with this man she doesn’t know. That I’m being careful.
As we say our goodbyes, I see Nick walking toward me across the dock. He’s carrying a plastic shopping bag with the marina’s logo on it in one hand and a couple bottles of water in the other hand. By the time I end my call, he’s striding up to me with an enigmatic grin on his face.
“What’s all this?” I ask.
He passes me the water. “Provisions.”
While I stare in confusion, he reaches into the bag and pulls out a sailor’s cap. The blue and white captain’s hat is made for a child, but Nick leans in to kiss me as he places it on my head. “Are you ready to go?”
“Ready to go where?”
Instead of answering, he starts walking up one of the docks. I hurry after him, watching as he approaches the prettiest vessel in the marina—a large, two-masted, teak-trimmed white sailboat named Icarus. Nick sets his shopping bag down on the deck and motions for me to join him.
I eye him warily. “You can’t be serious. Don’t tell me you just chartered this boat for us.”
“I didn’t.” His grin is positively boyish. “I own her. She was one of the first things I bought for myself once I could afford to be stupid with money. Come on aboard, Avery. Let’s go sailing.”
Chapter 29
For the rest of the day, my world consists of billowing white sails, crystalline blue water, balmy ocean air . . . and Nick, expertly mastering them all. After motoring out of the marina into Biscayne Bay, we raised the sails and headed south. I don’t know how many hours we’ve been sailing or even where we’ll end up.
Frankly, it doesn’t much matter to me.
With the breeze in my face and the sun warm on my skin, I’m in heaven. It doesn’t hurt that I’m sharing this little piece of bliss with a gorgeous man who looks like something out of a swashbuckling dream. Nick’s dark hair is tousled and wild as he stands shirtless and barefoot in the cockpit, his tan skin turning an even richer shade of bronze in the hours since we set sail.
For what isn’t the first time, he catches me staring at him. His answering grin is relaxed and carefree, and it does strange things to my heartbeat. “Ready to take the helm for a while?”
“Sure.” I step next to him in the cockpit, eager to pitch in. Although my grandfather taught me the basics of sailing, my skills are rusty and Nick’s boat is like nothing I’ve ever handled before. “What do I need to do?”
He moves in behind me at the wheel and points forward, his arm stretched out over my shoulder. The heat of his body, the sun-kissed scent of his skin, all conspire to make me dizzy with sensory overload. And he knows his effect on me, dammit.
“Just hold her steady,” he tells me, his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear. I feel his lips brush the tender skin below my earlobe as his low voice rumbles against my back. When I shudder with kindling arousal, he compounds my body’s reaction by pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. “Steady now, I said. A good first mate can take any distraction in stride.”
I smile and pivot a wry look at him. “I doubt most first mates have to deal with the kind of distractions I do.”
He arches a brow. “Complaining, Ms. Ross?”
“Hardly.”
“Good.” His mouth curves in an unrepentant smile. With gentle fingers, he turns my face forward. “Now, just keep our bow aimed at that buoy over there.”
I give him a cheeky salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Barefoot and agile as a cat, he hops topside to trim the sails while I hold our course. I do my best to follow his instructions, but it’s damn hard to stare at a bobbing marker in the distance when Nick’s near-naked body and effortless athleticism are on full display. He manages the sails singlehandedly and with a level of skill that leaves me more than impressed. Not to mention, hopelessly turned on.
He returns, raking his scarred hand through his wind-blown hair as he hops into the cockpit. When I step back to give him the helm, he shakes his head.
“You keep her. The wind is steady and we’re on a straight course now. You’re doing great.” He gives my ass a firm squeeze as he leans around me and steals a kiss. “Besides, it’s my turn to watch you for a while.”
He takes a seat on the slatted-teak bench on the starboard side of the cockpit and lets me take us farther into the bay. When I glance over my right shoulder I find his arms draped casually along the back of the bench, one ankle resting on his knee. Beneath the dark slashes of his brows, his bright blue eyes burn steady as he appraises me.
I clear my throat, needing something else to focus on besides the inviting heat I see in his gaze. “So, you just putter around on boats from time to time, hmm?”
He smirks. “More or less.”
“After seeing you out here today, my money’s on more. How long have you been sailing?”
“Long time. I was practically born on the water.” It’s a vague answer, and I assume that’s all he intends to tell me when he shrugs, glancing out at the waves as we cut through them. “I actually grew up here in Florida. Started sailing even before I learned to ride a bike.”
“Oh.” I can’t hide my surprise, not even when Nick looks back at me. “Sorry. I guess I just assumed you were born and raised in New York.”
“Ah. That’s right.” He grunts, studying me. “One of those insufferable trust fund brats.”
I laugh, shocked that he remembers what I said to him the night we met at the gallery. Now I wonder if my offhanded remark had struck a nerve in him or if he’s just so exacting that no detail ever escapes him.
And now my own thoughts roll back to a comment he said back at the docks. I check our course and venture another brief glance in Nick’s direction. “And this boat was one of the first things you bought for yourself after you became successful?”
He nods, idly petting the gleaming mahogany trim. “Custom-built, forty-five foot Sparkman and Stephens yawl. I’d wanted one since I was ten years old and saw an old photo of JFK on his S and S. So, after I cleared my first couple million in investments, I spent half of it on the Icarus.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re trusting me with your million-dollar baby? Oh my God. Please, come here and take the wheel
now.”
He chuckles, but doesn’t make a move to relieve me. “I have no doubt she’s in good hands. After all, I speak from personal experience.”
I return his smile and go back to my duty at the helm with even more focus, now that I’m aware of what I’m steering. Although I’m not an expert in the subject, even I could tell that this boat was special. That it was classic, one of the best money could buy.
And isn’t that one of the constants I’ve come to understand about him? Dominic Baine surrounds himself with fine things. Beautiful, expensive things. How I ended up in that equation, I have no idea.
No, not true. I do know. And the taste of it is sharp and sour in my throat—especially when he’s letting his guard down with me since we arrived in Miami. He’s letting me in, little by little. And the only reason I’m here in the first place is because all this time, I’ve led him to believe I’m someone I’m not. I’ve pretended to be someone better. Someone who could actually belong with him.
How long I can expect my lies to hold, I don’t even want to guess. I’ve gone far past the point of no return, and I don’t know how I can ever hope to put things right.
I force my guilt and worry behind me as I glance at him. It’s often so easy for me to think of Nick in terms of how he projects himself to the world at large. The formidable business magnate. The super-rich financier. The commanding man who with a snap of his fingers can have anything, and anyone, he desires.
Right now, seated on board his sailboat in nothing but a pair of shorts, the wind ruffling his black hair as he stares out at the horizon lost in his thoughts, instead of the powerful force of nature who slices through all of life’s obstacles the way the Icarus cleaves the waves, I see Nick as a boy, fixating on something he wanted and resolved to make it his.
He’s never looked more mortal. With the scars that riddle his right arm and hand, he’s never looked more real, nor more earthbound.
“Why the name Icarus?”
“Are you familiar with the myth?”
I shrug. “Maybe. Wasn’t he the god whose wings were burned by the sun?”
“Not a god. Just a man. Icarus was imprisoned on an island with his father. To escape, his father made them each a pair of feathered wax wings and warned Icarus not to fly too close to the sun, nor too close to the sea. But Icarus didn’t listen. He got his first taste of freedom and it went to his head. He flapped so high, the sun melted the wax. He flapped some more, then all the feathers fell off and he dropped into the sea and drowned.”
I tilt my head. “So is this boat a warning, or a lesson?”
His slight smile is pensive, cryptic. “Both, I suppose.”
“Someday, Nick, you can tell me why that is.” I see the flicker of surprise in his gaze as I serve his words from our breakfast this morning back to him now. He doesn’t answer me, of course. “Did you ever doubt you’d be able to get your boat one day? Or at ten years old were you just a younger version of this driven, relentless man I’m looking at now?”
His mouth curves in an unrepentant smile. “What do you think?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nothing has ever been out of reach for the indomitable Dominic Baine. Is that it?”
“Nothing that I truly want, no.”
Including me. Although he doesn’t say the words, there is no mistaking the message in his darkening eyes. And I cannot deny the current of awareness that arrows through me as he holds my gaze.
He stands up and steps over to join me at the helm. His nearness unnerves me. At the same time, it sends my senses scattering with the giddy anticipation of his touch.
“Come a bit starboard now,” he instructs me, calmly letting me know I’m neglecting my post. “Yes, there you go. That’s my girl,” he says as I adjust the wheel. “Eyes up front.”
I nod, watching our course and the ribbon “telltale” on the sail to keep us moving in the right direction. Nick moves behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders. I sigh the instant I feel his hands sweep aside my long ponytail. I moan when his mouth presses warmly against the back of my neck.
“I want to take you somewhere new tonight,” he murmurs. “But only if you want to go there with me. And only if you trust me.”
On its own, the statement shouldn’t make my pulse throb with desire. But coupled with Nick’s smoldering gaze and growling voice, it’s edged with sensual promise. I swallow, my heart kicking into a faster tempo as his hands move down my sides, then around to caress my breasts.
“If you want to return to a safe port tonight instead, tell me now, baby.”
“N-no.” My denial is a shaky sigh, followed by a soft cry as Nick’s hands slide down the front of my body and into the V of my legs. He starts gathering my skirt, lifting it above my knees, up over my thighs. “Nick . . . you can’t—”
“Just a touch,” he says, sweeping aside the lace of my panties and finding my sex. He fingers me deeply, making me squirm with pleasure. “Jesus, you’re drenched. So snug and hot. I can’t get enough of this pussy. And now I need to make you come.”
Before I can protest—before I can even attempt to refuse him—he strokes me relentlessly from my clit to the cleft of my ass. Lifting my foot onto the edge of the cockpit bench beside me, he spreads me open and fills my sex with his fingers.
“Oh my God.”
Nervously, I glance at the smattering of other boats in the bay with us. There is no one close enough to see what we’re doing, but the delicious risk of people seeing Nick’s hand between my legs as I steer a million dollars’ worth of luxury watercraft toward the open Atlantic is a thrill I never expected.
My vision blurs as pleasure spikes through me with every wicked flick of his thumb and deep plunge of his fingers. He shows me no mercy, though I hardly expect that from him anymore. No more than I can expect myself to resist him. I fall willingly, happily, into the vortex of sensation he’s stoking within me.
It’s all I can do to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on our course. My limbs feel boneless, but Nick’s bare chest and strong body at my back keep me rooted, centered, safe.
And he doesn’t let up until I come.
Not until a cry of release tears loose from my throat and flies up into the billowing sails in a scream.
Chapter 30
As night falls, Nick navigates the boat into Florida Bay where we moor about a mile out from what he informs me is Islamorada in the Keys. After so many hours on the water, it feels good to pause and take down the sails for a while. I’m exhausted for a variety of reasons, but I’ve never felt more alive.
“Hungry?” Nick asks, bringing me down to the galley with him where I discover the provisions he’d purchased back in Miami include a loaf of fresh bread, a bottle of white wine, and the basics for a romantic dinner for two. I watch him gather a box of pasta, olive oil, plum tomatoes, zucchini, a small container of grated parmesan cheese, and a clove of garlic. “Pasta primavera sound all right to you?”
“Sounds perfect.”
He hands me the bottle of Pinot Grigio then pulls a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Glasses are behind you in the cabinet. You pour the wine. I’ve got dinner handled.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Baine.” I tilt my head, smiling as I take the wine opener from his grasp. “Or do you prefer I call you Chef Baine?”
He chuckles, but his expression is pure heat. “What I really want to hear you say to me tonight is ‘Yes, sir.’”
I freeze, startled by the weight of that single word.
He holds my gaze and those deep, ocean-blue eyes are possessive and hot on me, stripping me bare without permission or apology. There’s no mistaking the erotic implication in his reply. And even though his tone has a playful edge to it, my pulse responds with full awareness of what he’s suggesting. Control and capitulation. Domination and surrender. Master and submissive.
“Is that what you want from me?” I ask, my voice soft.
Nick slowly turns away from the counter to face me full on. “I want
everything from you, Avery. Not as my submissive, or because I want you to serve me as anything close to that. That’s not where I’m at in my life.”
My heart stutters when I hear the admission he’s not putting into words. “But you were.”
“Not for a long time.”
“With Kathryn?” I can’t help how quickly her name leaps to my tongue. I’ve been trying to puzzle out what she means to him. Now that I’ve finally dared to ask, I dread the answer.
I see Nick’s displeasure at her mention and I swallow, wishing I could take it back.
His eyes harden. “Kathryn was in my life for a short time, years ago, when I first got to New York. The other part of my life has nothing to do with her, and never did. She has nothing to do with us either.”
Some of my wariness eases at that. I believe she’s not part of who he is now, or who he is with me. I want to believe there’s nothing more to the story about this other woman and him, but I can see from his forbidding gaze that, at least for now, the subject of Kathryn is firmly closed.
He steps closer, the tight confines of the galley kitchen shrinking around us, until there is less than an inch of space between our bodies. His sculpted, bare chest and bronzed, broad shoulders fill my field of vision, crowding me with the warmth of him, with the enticing scent of his skin.
“I want more from you than you’ve ever given another man, Avery. More than you’ll ever want to give another.” He caresses my cheek, and I lift my gaze up to his. To the handsome, often unreadable, face of this man who’s becoming a vital part of my life whether I want to allow it or not. “I want your pleasure—your complete surrender—and to truly give that to you, I need your trust. You won’t need a safe word with me. Tell me no, tell me to stop, and I will. I promise you that. But if you trust me, I will take you to the edge of your steepest, most private desires.”
Memories of last night on his terrace balcony flood my mind—the way he asked for my trust, then took me to the dizzying edge of pleasure, pain, and fear.