by Grey, R. S.
I smile right back.
My grandmother is reading the paper, telling us about an upcoming art festival, but Maren and I are having our own private conversation.
She must have showered before she came down this morning. Her long hair is still damp, with natural waves forming as it dries. Her face is makeup-free, so there’s nothing competing with her green eyes. Her lips are a soft pink, and I’m staring at them as she brings her bagel to her mouth for another bite.
“Nicholas, don’t you think you’d like to attend?”
I have no idea.
“You haven’t been listening, have you? I swear you’re on another planet this morning.”
Maybe I am.
She whips her paper back open in front of her and Maren shakes her head at me, trying to get me to behave, but I can’t. I’m a fool for her.
The V-neck of her dress cuts low down her chest, revealing a little red mark on the swell of her right breast. She follows my gaze there and frowns menacingly, reaching down to tug the fabric higher to cover it.
I left that mark on her with my teeth.
Her blush tells me she remembers the moment too.
“What do you two have planned for today? I assume by the googly eyes that you’ve got something up your sleeve?”
“I want to take Maren sailing.”
Maren’s brows arch. “Oh? I seem to remember you thinking I’d be dead weight on a sailboat.”
I smirk. “We’ve both said a lot of things we regret in this dining room.”
Cornelia hums. “Maren, you really should take him up on it while he’s feeling generous. I know you’ll love it.”
Maren shrugs then and pushes back from the table. “All right. I guess it can’t hurt.”
It can hurt though.
Me—physically.
Maren throws on shorts and a white button-down before we leave the house, but as soon as we’re out on the water, she unbuttons her shirt so she can get some sun. Her red bikini distracts me from every task I set my mind to. I retie lines twice. I ease the sails when I’m supposed to trim them. I accidentally defer to a give-way vessel so that we’re both confused about who’s supposed to have the right of way. They’re all rookie mistakes that have me feeling like a fool, but Maren doesn’t notice.
She’s grinning as the wind whips her hair, sitting close to me so she can hear my instructions.
We don’t make it very far out onto the water, just to the opposite side of Rose Island. The conditions are calm so that when I drop anchor, there’s no real threat of the wind picking up. I tell Maren to keep a lookout for any vessels while I go down into the cabin to get us some water.
When I make it back to the top, she’s standing at the bow with her hands on her hips, taking her job very seriously.
“See anything?” I ask, handing her a bottle of water.
She smiles. “Nothing. It’s dead out here.”
“Yeah, not much wind. Most everyone is probably packing it in.”
“We’ll stay out here for a bit, won’t we? I’d like to jump in the water.”
“You can. It’s safe. There’s not much boat traffic.”
I confirm the engine is off and hand her a life jacket after she strips out of her shirt and shorts.
“I can swim.” She laughs, not putting it on at first.
I take it back from her and turn her around so I can put it on for her, tightening it around her chest until it’s snug.
“I have no doubt, but you haven’t experienced open water like this before and it’s better to be safe than sorry. There’s the current and swell to contend with.”
“All right, all right. Now step back so I can jump in and impress you.”
I laugh and watch her go, staying up on the boat while she dives into the water and surfaces a moment later, grinning in the sunlight.
“Did I look like I knew what I was doing?”
“Absolutely.”
“Aren’t you going to get in too?”
I shake my head. “There always has to be one person on the boat.”
“You take your job very seriously,” she says, lying on her back and bobbing in the sea.
If only she knew how many times Rhett and I have screwed up in the past. Forgetting to let down the ladder, forgetting to toss down a PFD on a line so we could use it to get to the boat if we were too tired to swim all the way back—and that’s just mistakes on our end. Now that we have bare poles and no canvases up, we’re at the mercy of other boats. I’ve seen a few crazy assholes in my time, and I won’t take any chances with Maren.
When she’s ready to come back onto the boat, she swims over to the ladder and starts to climb. I reach down to help her up and over then unhook her life jacket to toss it back near the storage bench.
“Feel better?” I ask as she wrings the water out of her hair.
“Much. You should jump in and cool off. I promise I won’t screw anything up while you’re off the boat.”
I shake my head. “Too much could go wrong.”
“All right fine, then here,” she says, stepping toward me and throwing her arms around my neck. “I’ll just cool you off this way.”
I smile and bend down to kiss her as water soaks through my shirt. It was meant to be a quick kiss, but she doesn’t let me pull away, and I don’t need any encouragement to keep her pressed against me. The sun beats down, warming us from overhead as my hands skate down her back and cup her ass.
We’re a flame, instantly reignited.
I have half a mind to drag her down to the cabin, but there’s no one around and I like being up here with her. She doesn’t protest as I deepen the kiss. In fact, her hands find the hem of my shirt so she can start working it up and over my chest.
I help her out, yanking it off and tossing it behind me.
She laughs and steps back, tipping her head to look at me.
“Think anyone will see us out here?” she asks with a playful glint in her eyes.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
She reaches back to tug on the bikini string tied around her back. “So then we should stop?”
I watch, mesmerized, as the string comes loose. “Probably.”
Water drips down her bare stomach, pooling in her navel then continuing down into her bikini bottom. I stand with my hands propped on my hips, my body coiled like a tight spring.
“So then why aren’t you stopping me?” she asks, reaching up to untie the string around her neck.
Her bikini falls away and she stands topless on my boat, the sea and sky behind her.
I’m frozen by the sight of her, my chest heavy with longing.
She’s wearing such a devious smile, and I know she can see the effect she’s having on me. It’s obvious how much I want her. Anything—I’d do anything to feel her underneath me again, and that power is going to her head. She loops her fingers around the sides of her bikini bottoms.
I take a step toward her and she takes a step back, tsking under her breath.
“I thought we were going to stop,” she says, brow raised.
“Yeah? Then what are you doing?”
She smiles cheekily. “Drying off. My suit is wet…”
In an instant, I’m on her, kissing the rebellious streak right out of her. We collide on my boat, laughing and teasing and kissing until her lips are swollen and red. I lay her down on the deck and it’s not soft, but she doesn’t complain. I don’t think she can form a thought now that my fingers are inside her bikini bottoms.
I prop myself up beside her, taking her in as I tease and play with her.
Her back arches off the deck and her eyes pinch closed, but I don’t pick up my rhythm. It’s payback for what she just did to me. Slow circles over her most sensitive skin. She begs me to continue, taking her bottom lip in her mouth when I refuse to bend down to kiss her. She rocks her hips up to meet my fingers and I finally give in to the urge to sink into her slowly. My middle finger fills her up and she uses it to get herself off.
> I don’t think I blink, don’t think I breathe for that distended moment in time. Her cries fill the air, over the sound of the waves lapping against the boat and the seagulls calling overhead.
My name whispers past her lips and then my willpower gives out. I tug down my trunks and pry her legs apart, dragging my length up and down her wetness before I plunge inside of her to the hilt. Deep, then somehow deeper still. Her hands come up to cradle my face and I look down to see her staring up at me, eyes so crystal green they match the water surrounding us.
We don’t say a word as I rock into her, don’t dare break the spell surrounding us.
I don’t have a condom handy and it’s impossible to stave off. I thrust harder, hissing with the need to come, especially as she does, tightening around me, shaking with pleasure. I hold perfectly still for a moment, trying to overcome the will to empty myself inside of her just like this, consequences be damned. Then she realizes my dilemma and pushes me off her, coming up onto her knees so she can take me in her hand and then her mouth, finishing me off so quickly it’s not even satisfying so much as guttural. Needy. Angry. More. More, I think, wanting her again. Now, I think as I stare down at her, cupping her cheek, proclaiming my love for her in my head and wondering if I really mean it or if it’s just this moment. The sea and sky and her…a combination I could spend my whole life trying to recreate, knowing I’d never succeed.
The weekend is over in the blink of an eye. Saturday evening spills into Sunday morning and then the afternoon sun dips toward the horizon, beckoning me back to the city, back to the grind I usually love but don’t want to even think about right now.
I’d play hooky if there weren’t people depending on me. I think of everything waiting for me back in my office, and then I look at Maren as she walks me out to my car.
“Are you sure you didn’t forget anything? Toothbrush? Hairbrush? Toilet brush?”
I laugh and tug her toward me so she tips off balance. I catch her and walk with her in front of me so that our feet have to match or we’ll trip each other up.
“This weekend was really fun.”
“Yeah, it was great. I learned so much about sailing,” she teases.
“Same time next week?” I ask, bending down to kiss her neck.
“Nicholas,” she warns, her voice taking on a serious edge. “C’mon.”
“What?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Kiss you?”
“No.” She steps out of my arms. “Don’t ruin the moment with promises like that.”
I frown, completely caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”
She shakes her head and looks down to the ground. “Never mind. You’re leaving. I don’t want to get into it.”
“Right.” I move around her and pop my trunk so I can toss my bag into it before slamming it shut. “I gotta go. Traffic’s going to be killer.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and tips back on her heels.
“Drive safe.”
“Yup,” I say, opening my door with an angry tug.
She’s already on her way back toward the house when I think to ask for a kiss or a hug goodbye. It’s obvious she doesn’t want one, so I slide into the front seat, start my engine, and pull away.
I’m not even halfway down Bellevue Avenue when I regret leaving. Half of me wants to flip on my blinker and pull a U-turn, but the other half knows I have to get back to the city even if I don’t want to. I spend the entire hellish drive picking apart our words, wondering what she could have possibly meant. I regret not staying and forcing her to talk, or at least ensuring that she was still happy with everything we did over the weekend.
I know we haven’t discussed the future, but that’s because she shuts me down every time I try to bring it up. It was little stuff, me mentioning a restaurant I’d like to take her to, a cove I think she’d love to see when we go back out on the sailboat. She’d hum or nod, but there was never much excitement. I didn’t think much of it until now, until I wonder if Maren might not be feeling the same way I am.
Back in the city, I flip the lights on in my apartment and make myself a late dinner. I set my phone on the counter and scroll through a few texts from friends before I give in and call the number for Rosethorn.
Patricia answers.
“Hey, it’s Nicholas. Could you get Maren for me?”
“Oh, she’s already gone up for the night. She was complaining about a headache. Should I see if she’s still awake?”
“No. It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Would you just make sure she has my cell number if she needs to reach me?”
“Of course, and I’ll tell her you called.”
It doesn’t do any good. Maren doesn’t call me back on Monday or Tuesday. I feel like an idiot worrying about her incessantly. Part of me wonders if it slipped Patricia’s mind to tell her I called. Maybe she never gave Maren my number so then Maren couldn’t call me. Then I remind myself that if Maren wanted to speak to me, she could easily ask anyone in the house for my number.
My associates think I’m on edge about an upcoming appeal hearing.
I don’t correct them. I work late, only bothering to leave my office when my eyes begin to ache from reading. On Wednesday, I start looking into the process of clearing Maren’s criminal record. She’s innocent, but proving that isn’t necessarily the path of least resistance. She can’t try to expunge the felony because it hasn’t been ten years since the end of her sentence. I’ll have to settle for asking for a mistrial and starting over, or I could seek a writ, but I won’t know which option is best until I see the court records. With some luck, I’ll be able to find an error from scouring through the clerk’s and court reporter’s transcripts of Maren’s case. I have an associate call down to the courthouse in her old district while I get back to work.
On Thursday, I still haven’t heard from Maren, so I cave and call my grandmother.
I don’t usually call during the week, especially not during work hours, so she’s surprised to hear from me.
“Oh dear, what’s wrong? Are you in the hospital?”
“No.”
“Are you ill?”
“No, I’m working. Is Maren there?”
“She’s out in the garden, reading.”
“How does she seem?”
She hums in thought. “Oh, perfectly happy. She just got back from playing tennis with Tori and she has a few piano lessons with the students from St. Michael’s this afternoon. Do you want me to go get her for you?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to tell her you asked after her?”
“No.”
“Well, all right. Are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Positive. I gotta go.”
On Friday, I cut out of work earlier than usual and arrive in Newport by five PM. Rosethorn is bustling with activity when I stroll into the kitchen. Chef’s rolling dough. Patricia’s polishing silver. My grandmother is sitting with an interior designer in the yellow drawing room, flipping through fabric samples.
“—water damaged. I tried to have them cleaned, but it was no use. I’d like to replicate them, but I know that will be hard. The original fabric is over two hundred years old.” I walk into the room and draw her attention. “Nicholas! I wasn’t expecting you until after dinner.”
“I knocked off work a little early,” I say as I walk toward her to give her a kiss on the cheek and then introduce myself to her designer.
“Did you? How rare. It doesn’t have anything to do with Maren, does it? Because you’ll be sad to find that she isn’t here.”
My gut clenches. “She’s gone?”
My tone surprises her. “Not gone, dear—not yet at least. She’s just out with Tori and Mary Anne. I think she said they were going to get drinks somewhere.”
“She didn’t mention where?”
“Frank drove her, so I’m sure he knows.”
27
Maren
Lobster rolls are
heaven on earth. No—lobster rolls with fries and a cold beer are heaven on earth. I’ll never be able to repay Tori for introducing me to The Mooring and its outdoor patio.
“Cheers,” Tori says, clinking her beer with mine and Mary Anne’s.
I take a sip just as the sea breeze blows up off the water beside us and whips my hair around. I set my glass down and throw my hair into a high ponytail so I can concentrate on what’s most important: this food.
I reach for my roll again, anxious for another bite. “I can’t believe I’ve been here all summer and haven’t had one of these lobster rolls yet.”
“Well to be fair,” Mary Anne says after she’s done chewing, “you have a private chef. It’s not like you need to go out to eat like the rest of us plebs.”
“He’s not mine! He works at Rosethorn, and I’ll only get to enjoy his food for a few more weeks.”
Tori frowns. “What do you mean?”
“When I leave, I’ll have to adjust to the real world again. Soup from a can, macaroni from a box—that sort of thing.”
She shakes her head as if she still doesn’t get it. “But why would you leave Rosethorn?”
I shrug and reach for another fry. “Because it’s always been a temporary position, a seasonal thing. I doubt Cornelia will need me once the summer ends and everyone shutters for winter.”
Mary Anne nods. “Winters here are pretty bleak. A lot of the shops and restaurants shut down and reopen in the spring.”
“Does Nicholas know your plans?” Tori asks, glancing behind me.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh…well, he’s headed in our direction, and it looks like he has a bone to pick with you.”
I freeze with my fry dipped in ketchup then turn to glance over my shoulder.
Sure enough, there’s Nicholas strolling across the patio, drawing stares. He’s ridiculously handsome today in jeans and a blue and white striped shirt rolled to his elbows. His dark hair and piercing eyes match perfectly with the black leather watch on his wrist.
I don’t process his presence until he’s at our table, bending down to kiss my cheek.
