by Nicola Marsh
‘What are you doing?’
‘You had a bit of cream from the iced coffee.’ He holds up his finger, studies the minute glob of cream, before popping it into his mouth and sucking.
I inhale sharply and my thighs clench together. It’s the most blatantly erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
‘Mmm...good.’ He stares at my mouth again, like he’s coming back for seconds and I scuttle back in my chair.
‘What’s going on?’
‘We need to talk.’ He reaches over and closes my laptop, leaving me under no illusions it’s about work. Like I had any doubt after that cream incident.
‘Are you breaking up with me?’ I deadpan, increasingly confused by his changing moods.
One minute he’s all business and avoiding me, the next he’s staring at me like he wants to impersonate a caveman again.
‘I want you to hear me out.’
I nod my agreement but rather than his perpetual glower fading, his frown lines deepen.
‘This arrangement isn’t working for me.’
My heart plummets. I can’t lose this job. It means too much. The last cruel taunt that Casper flung in my face was that I’d never make it on my own, either in or out of the boardroom. He laughed at my dreams to open my own PR agency, one of the many reasons why I dumped him. He mocked me to the point I began to doubt myself.
Which is why I need to do this. I need to do a killer job on this campaign and hang my eponymous shingle ASAP to a prove a point, not just to the world but to the biggest doubter ever: me.
That’s what I hate most about Casper: he made me lose myself. I loved him blindly and threw myself wholeheartedly into our relationship, not realising until it was too late that he was sapping me mentally and emotionally. He liked to control everything, from where and when we ate to who we socialised with. He distanced me from my family, my friends, and I happily sacrificed so much because I thought he adored me as much as I did him.
It took me too long to figure out he wasn’t as emotionally invested as me and that I was yet another object in his perfectly timetabled life: it was time for him to marry and I was a convenient choice.
Though it wasn’t until he started belittling my choices and demonstrating an underlying cruelly dominant streak that he frightened me and I realised I had to escape.
Love doesn’t suit me. It made me give up too much. It made me lose confidence in myself and deep down I know that’s the real reason I won’t quit my job even though I yearn to.
Maybe I’m not as good as I think?
Casper sapped my confidence to the extent I doubt everything and it’s this residual lack of assurance that is keeping me tethered to Alf.
I want to move past it, which is why doing a stellar job on this campaign will go a long way to securing what I want most: to be a competent, admired professional ready to take on the world.
I hated the woman I became with Casper. A woman who’d never take charge of her sexuality, the way I did with Hart. I felt so empowered after that kiss on the beach and later, screwing him in that cave.
I like who I’m evolving into: stronger, bolder, in control. Until this guy lays a finger on me and then I unravel.
‘Daisy, are you listening?’ He snaps his fingers in front of my face. ‘I said this arrangement isn’t working for me.’
‘I thought you were happy with my work—’
‘It’s not that.’ The grooves bracketing his mouth deepen and I hear a muttered ‘fuck’ under his breath. ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s distracting and affecting my work.’
Join the club, buddy.
I remain mute, curious as to where he’s going with this.
‘What do you think about a clear-cut short-term arrangement, where we indulge our passion?’
He sounds so formal, so old-fashioned, that I want to laugh. Some of my amusement must show on my too readable face because his mouth compresses into a thin line.
‘You find my proposal funny?’
‘Just the delivery. You sound like you’ve stepped out of the Austen era.’
The glower intensifies. He’s not amused. ‘Would you prefer if I said I want to fuck you every which way until you have to leave?’
Another wave of heat flushes my body. I’m too young for menopause but if this is what it’s like I’m not looking forward to it.
‘I prefer blunt,’ I manage to say, resisting the urge to fan my face.
‘Me too.’ He rests his elbows on the table and leans forward. ‘So what do you think? Is it doable?’
He’s very doable.
I can string this out, make him squirm, but it’s not my style. I’m tired of this push-pull game between us. I haven’t let it affect my work yet because I’m too damn determined to show Alf what I’m capable of. But the sleepless nights will eventually catch up with me; there’s only so much caffeine can do.
So I mimic his pose and inadvertently give him a glimpse of cleavage in the V of my top. His gaze rivets to it like an alarm laser homing in on an intruder. He has it bad. Good to know I’m not the only one.
I wave my hand in front of his face and his gaze instantly snaps up to mine.
‘Don’t make me beg,’ he growls, his deep voice sending a shiver of excitement through me.
‘It could be fun...’
I guffaw as his jaw clenches, like he’s using every ounce of willpower not to vault the table and be on me in a second.
‘What’s it to be, Daisy? You in?’
He rests his forearms on the table, and his pinkie grazes the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist.
I let out a gasp, knowing I don’t have to respond, he has his answer right there.
But I nod anyway. ‘I’m in.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hart
I HATE WEAKNESS. I learned a valuable lesson when I entered my first foster home that if you show weakness you’re a goner. Back then I cried because the older kids got ice cream after dinner and I didn’t. I earned a hard smack on the backs of my legs with a metre-long wooden ruler that left bruises, so I never showed any kind of emotion after that other than anger. My deliberate fury served me well, alienating people before they could hurt me.
My sullen silences following my sudden rages meant I kept people at bay. They thought I had some kind of learning difficulty or behavioural issues. Not one person—foster parents, social workers, psychologists, teachers—figured out why I preferred to remain silent when I wasn’t enraged. They labelled me hostile and surly. Nobody took the time to delve into why a young kid could be so antagonistic. It suited me, holding everyone at arm’s length, disappointing them before they could do the same to me. Nobody cared.
Until Pa.
Somehow he took one look at my obstinate expression and knew. He didn’t tolerate my moodiness and did everything in his power to make me laugh, from screening corny old movies I’d never heard of in his theatre room, to telling the worst jokes on the planet. I eventually thawed after eight long months, toning down my explosive temper, but what he never knew was it wasn’t the jokes or the movies that made me perk up but his constant, unswerving attention.
Not once did he dismiss me as being irrelevant or stupid. Not once did he mock me for not knowing the difference between a fork and a seafood tine. He really looked at me and to this day I have no idea what he saw in my saturnine, ornery teen self.
The esteem I held him in was proven the day I set foot on this yacht. Because I couldn’t swim I had a deep-seated fear of water. The fact that an older foster kid had held my head underwater in the bath when I’d been eight went some way to explaining my phobia. Pa didn’t push but with his encouragement I eventually relented and took swimming lessons.
When I finally agreed to go out on his yacht he treated it as a monumental achievement, ignoring the fact I wouldn’t remove my life jac
ket or the way I sat rigid in the stern, my knuckles white from clutching onto the railing.
Thankfully I’ve moved on from that terrifying day and I’m taking Daisy out on the water today. It’s just the two of us on the yacht and while this is technically a work jaunt, there’ll be plenty of time for play when we anchor later.
I don’t usually woo women but there’s something indefinable about her that makes me want to impress.
‘I’ve never been on a yacht before,’ she says, reclining in the seat next to me. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘I thought you said the ghost was wealthy?’
She laughed. ‘Casper had a lot of money but he preferred to see zeros growing in his bank account.’
‘Tight-ass.’
‘Yep.’ She pokes me in the arm. ‘Please don’t spoil my first sailing trip by mentioning my ex.’
‘Noted.’
I’m usually taciturn with women. Most find it a turn-on, always up for the challenge of figuring out what makes me tick. They like brooding and reserved, and I don’t have the energy to be anything other than myself.
But I can’t resist Daisy and those light-hearted smiles. She’s shooting me one right now and for a second my chest tightens.
Her hair is loose, the sun highlighting the golden strands among the brown. She’s snagged it with one hand so the wind doesn’t blow it around her face. I want to see it wild in the gale that’s picking up. Same with the dress she’s wearing. I wouldn’t mind seeing the skirt flip up. It’s a red and white striped knee-length number that flares at the hem. It’s riding up her thighs and I openly stare at her tanned legs.
‘How big is it?’
‘We’re talking about the yacht, yeah?’
She rolls her eyes and flashes me another smile. ‘Yeah.’
She’s making me spar, which I like way too much to be good for me. But with fresh air filling my lungs, the rumble of the powerful engine beneath my feet, and a pretty girl by my side, I feel like I’m king of the world.
‘It’s forty-four foot, with a spacious living room, a fully equipped galley.’ I pause for emphasis. ‘And a killer master bedroom.’
‘Oh?’ She shoots me a flirty glance from beneath her lashes. ‘Good to hear about the galley because I’m starving. You can whip me up a gourmet meal when we anchor.’
‘The captain doesn’t cook, the first mate does that and you’re it today.’
‘I burn water so unless you’re teasing, we’re going to go hungry today.’
‘I can cook,’ I admit, refraining from telling her that if I hadn’t learned young I wouldn’t have eaten. In the first two foster homes I was shunted to it was every man, woman and child for themselves, with the kids eating leftovers. The last before Pa found me was an eye-opener, with the family welcoming me as one of their own. I’ve never forgotten the meals I ate there: cottage pie, mac and cheese, chicken stir-fry, real comfort food that I enjoy to this day.
She winks. ‘For what it’s worth, I think a captain in the kitchen is pretty hot.’
‘It’s a galley on a yacht.’ I sound like a dickhead correcting her but I have to, either that or give in to the irrational urge to drop anchor when we’ve barely left the shore, drag her downstairs and give her a tour of the master bedroom she’ll never forget.
‘Kitchen, galley, whatever, as long as you’re cooking in an apron, I’m there.’ She rests her arms along the back of her seat and tilts her face to the sun. This time, my cock thickens with how badly I want her.
What the hell am I doing, drawing out the inevitable like some kind of torturous foreplay? She’s agreed to a fling. I could be back at the resort right now, holed up in a villa with her naked. Instead, I’m prolonging this because she seems like the type of woman who enjoys the chase. Crazy, when technically I’ve already caught her.
‘Why the frown?’
I glance at her and consciously blank my expression. ‘I lied.’
‘About?’
‘I said today was about showing you the number one spot to take the best shot of the island but it’s more than that. What we did in that cave was hot and since you agreed to this fling all I can think about is fucking you, but I don’t want to be a douche who’s all about the sex so I wanted to take you out and show you the sights today.’
Her hand flies to her mouth in mock horror. ‘Don’t tell me this is a D.A.T.E.?’
‘I don’t date.’
Her eyebrow quirks, calling me on my BS, and I begrudgingly add, ‘Maybe.’
‘Be still my beating heart.’ She presses her hand to her chest, drawing my attention to a tantalising hint of cleavage.
Fuck the best vantage spot. I need to have her, now.
‘There’s a sheltered cove around the next outcrop, we’ll anchor there.’ I sound gruff and clear my throat. I clench the wheel so damn hard my knuckles stand out but I need to hold on tight to prevent myself from making a grab for her.
Her eyebrow rises. ‘Are we at the spot already?’
‘No, but I can’t wait a moment longer to be inside you.’
Her mouth opens in a surprised O.
‘I’m blunt. You’ll get used to it.’
She tilts her head, studying me, as I belatedly realise that was a dumb thing to say. She shouldn’t get used to me. She won’t be around long enough. Besides, I don’t want her hanging around to the extent she figures me out.
‘Do you always say exactly what you’re thinking?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t have time for games. If I want something, I go after it. If I like something, I admit it. Why lie?’
‘Are you sure you have a Y chromosome?’
‘Not all guys are liars, only the shitheads.’
She barks out a laugh. ‘Well said. But in my experience it’s rare to find an honest guy.’
‘That Casper prick really did a number on you, didn’t he?’
I expect her to rebuke me for bringing up the dickhead’s name again. Instead, she gnaws on her bottom lip, making me push the lever to speed up. The sooner we get to that cove, the better.
‘I don’t understand how a guy can be so great one minute, then turn into a complete jerk the next.’
I don’t want to ask. I don’t want to know anything about her past relationships. All I care about is here and now. But I find myself asking regardless, ‘Is that what happened?’
She nods, placing her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun as she looks up at me. ‘He treated me like a queen at the start, which is why I fell hard and fast. We got engaged after only three months and I moved in a week later. That’s when things changed.’
She shakes her head, as if trying to dislodge a nasty memory. ‘We moved away from my family so I couldn’t see them as much. Spent all our time socialising with his friends, not mine. He started telling me what to wear, what to say, how to behave. Controlling everything.’
My hands tighten on the wheel again. I want to punch this dickhead in the mouth. ‘He was abusive?’
‘No, but I didn’t stick around to find out what would have happened if I didn’t do exactly as he said.’ She lifts her head in defiance. Good girl.
‘Smart. You’re better off without him.’
‘Not according to my family.’
I slow down as we round the outcrop of rocks. I can see the cove and I steer towards it. ‘What’s their problem?’
‘The Adlers have this motto of never giving up. We don’t quit, it’s not the done thing.’ I hear a soft sigh that makes me want to hold her. ‘Plus the same old cliché reasons. I’m the eldest of three daughters and have always been their touchstone. Perfect daughter, perfect sister, who became the perfect girlfriend and the perfect worker.’ She makes a gagging sound. ‘Turns out the guy I chose wasn’t so perfect and I’m wondering if I’m kowtowing to a boss who undervalues me as some kind of retrib
ution.’
‘That’s why this job is so important to you.’
‘Yep. Doing a stellar PR campaign for your resort.’ She shoots me a coy glance. ‘And you will give me the kudos I need to consider going out on my own.’
‘So you’re basically using me for my name and my body,’ I deadpan, relieved when she laughs.
‘Hey, I think there are two bodies around here doing the using.’
Her gaze starts at my chest and drifts lower in a slow, leisurely perusal that makes me feel like she’s stripped off my polo and shorts and left me naked.
‘Whatever you’re thinking, I like it.’ I ease the yacht into the mouth of the cove and drop anchor.
‘I’m thinking I’ve never felt this carefree,’ she says, sounding wistful. ‘It’s tiring after a while, living up to expectations.’
‘I know.’
The admission slips from my lips before I can censor it and I know, I just know, she’s going to ask what I mean. Damn.
‘Your grandfather?’
She homes in on the one subject I don’t want to discuss but I can’t cut her off without sounding rude. Besides, she’s opened up about her ex and family; I’m only responding in kind.
‘Yeah. I tried to be the grandson he wanted but I wasn’t cut out to run an empire.’ I grimace, the familiar feeling of unworthiness making me want to thump something. ‘Ironic, considering that’s exactly what I have to do now that he’s gone.’
‘I think you’re wrong,’ she says softly, reaching out to lay a hand on my forearm. ‘You’re exactly the kind of grandson he would’ve wanted. You’re dedicated and loyal and hard-working, as evidenced by you being here when it’s obvious your passion lies elsewhere.’
How the hell did she do that, read me so easily?
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘You travel the world when you could’ve been behind a desk all these years, so yeah, I guess.’ She hesitates. ‘I researched you. I know you were working for your grandfather but I came upon an article that mentioned you did some charity work for kids?’
Fuck, this is why I don’t do conversation. Or dates. Discussing what I do in my own time isn’t for public consumption and I don’t need her treating me like some goddamn knight.
