by C. C. Gibbs
“Somehow I don’t see you as a spiritual guru.”
He shrugged. “Whatever. But I’m glad I met you again.” He didn’t care if it was the work of pixies or the hand of God; he wanted her. “Where are you staying?”
“At my uncle’s apartment.”
“Come to my place.” He folded his hands on the table, leaned forward a little, his gaze focused, her appeal powerful as a riptide, ignoring the fact that what he was about to say was messing with his head. “I’ll kick out everyone else.”
“Everyone else? Meaning?” She didn’t lack confidence, and he was notorious for his casual sexual encounters.
For some reason he didn’t mind her impertinence. “Only male friends. I never allow women to stay with me.” He smiled. “Until now. So how about it?”
“Sure, I’d like that.” And suddenly the summer takes an interesting turn. So far the boys of summer had been only mildly interesting. “But not for long.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have to go back to school in a couple of weeks.”
Rafe suddenly went still; her little nose twitch reminded him of a child. “Just for the record,” he murmured, “how old are you?” People graduated college at any age; he had at nineteen.
“Worried?” Nicole flashed him a grin. “How much does it matter?”
He scowled. “It matters.”
“Or?”
“Or you’re gone.”
“Now neither of us wants that,” she said, amusement in the blue of her eyes. “Do we?”
He didn’t move a muscle, even his breathing quieted. “Don’t,” he said, very softly. “No games.”
Nicole’s voice was lush with provocation. “Really? I’ve heard you like games.”
“You heard wrong.” He held her gaze for a moment, then sighed. “Tell me your age or get the fuck out.” Hand of fate or not, he didn’t do stupid.
“Twenty-two.” Her brows rose in perfect arcs. “So, are we seeing blue skies and rainbows once again?” Honeyed sarcasm dripped from each word. “Or do I find someone else at this party to entertain me?”
Rafe’s smile slowly unfurled and his eyes took on a predatory glow. “You could try, I suppose. But you wouldn’t get out the door.”
“Oh dear, oh my, I do declare,” she lamented in playful parody. “Am I your captive?”
“You are.” Smoothly rising from his chair, he strode toward the door. “Now I’m going to lock the door, then fuck you till morning.”
“And then what?”
Whoa. The unmistakable note of demand in her voice brought him to a stop. He turned. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
She met his insolent gaze and smiled. “I said—and then what?… As in afterward.”
Audacious or foolhardy? Fascinating certainly. He winked. “Afterward, you can tell me your name. How’s that?”
She winked back. “I’ll think about it.”
He went very still. “Is this a contest?”
“I hope not,” she murmured, gazing at him from under her long, dark lashes. “I hope I get what I want.”
“Which is?”
“Do you need a list?”
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Unsure whether it was anger or lust igniting his senses, his voice took on a raspy edge and his golden gaze turned cold.
“I can’t answer that definitively, but right now it looks like your dick knows what it’s doing,” she noted, with a languid lift of her hand.
He looked at her for a moment. A woman had never taunted him before and he wanted to pick her up and shove his dick so far up her pussy he’d need a road map to get out.
“Don’t,” she said, very, very softly. “This could be really good… mind-blowing in fact. You have to know that.”
“Fuck you,” he whispered, shifting his stance enough to ease the pressure on his erection.
“Anytime… Just not that way, okay?”
He dragged in a ragged breath. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
She held his gaze, unflinching. “Nor you me.”
A smile slowly overcame his discontent as he held her contentious stare. “Why don’t we see?” he said very gently. “You might like it after all.” Then he reached back, turned the key in the lock, slid it into his pocket, and moved toward her.
Chapter 3
Only two people in the world were feeling what they were feeling, the sensations like a lightning flash illuminating the universe.
That they were both young, wild, and willful was deeply consequential. Perhaps even the sweet scent of summer played a role. Or maybe it was nothing more than the combustible combination of alcohol and easygoing hospitality on the yacht that day.
But whether fate or chance, lust or circumstance drove events, their dawning recognition that not only was this unprecedented, but might be real was stark.
The word real brought Rafe to an abrupt stop just short of the table where Nicole sat. A frown deepened on his brow as he slowly contemplated the stunning, barely dressed woman looking at him with an increasingly puzzled look as the silence lengthened. “I’m freaking out,” he finally said. “Because this situation falls into the category of unnecessary complications and, as a rule, I generally avoid attachments.” He smiled wryly. “Always, as a matter of fact. So”—he took a quick breath—“no disrespect, but I’m going to pass on this.”
She didn’t doubt him. He’d spoken plainly enough. “How much?” she asked.
He looked at her sharply. “I beg your pardon.”
“How much do you want to pass on this? Give me a percentage.” She sat up straighter as if she knew she dealt from a position of strength. And when he looked at her expressionless and silent, she said, “Do you want me to tell you why you’re spooked?”
Sitting there quietly, her self-possession struck him as strangely seductive. He wanted to be angry with her, but she was so assured, he couldn’t help but admire her. And, of course, he wanted to fuck her too. “Really?” he muttered, frustrated by his contradictory emotions, by his riveting interest in this woman. “You have all the fucking answers?”
“Maybe just a few.” She raised her brows slightly, immune to his male phobia on relationships. “Or would you prefer I leave?”
He dragged in a breath, stared at her, and knew he was going to regret it even before he said, “No.”
“Then be nice. I don’t need you to make my life interesting. I can do that on my own.” She smiled just a little because he was looking at her with such blunt curiosity it was clear she didn’t conform to his type of sex partners. “With all the single men on your guest list today, finding someone to entertain me won’t be a problem.”
She was a cheeky little thing—actually not so little everywhere, he corrected himself, letting his gaze settle briefly on her lush tits. Suddenly, his misgivings were irrelevant, evaporating like rain in the desert after a hundred-year drought. Slipping his hand into his shorts’ pocket, he pulled out the door key and held it up. “One slight drawback to your finding other entertainment.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You’re serious?”
“As death and taxes,” he said softly.
“Hmmmm.” She measured the distance from the table to the key.
He followed her glance and suddenly smiled. “In over your head?”
She smiled back. “Never.”
It was his turn to say, “Hmmm.” She was relaxed, her breathing steady, not even a hint of unease in her lounging posture, despite the fact she was locked in a stranger’s stateroom and wearing very little. “Don’t tell me you have a black belt in karate or something?” Pocketing the key, he dropped into a chair opposite her.
“Not a black belt, but I do have something.” Her blue gaze sparkled with amusement. “Something you want.”
“I could just take it.”
She gave him a look of mild forbearance. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
He placed his hands on the marquetry table, slid them forward, and, leaning over, held her brilli
ant blue gaze. “Tell me about this fun.”
“First,” she said gently, “let’s clear away the obstacles. We’re both feeling this incredible attraction, excitement—whatever it is. Don’t panic—I’m just stating a fact, I’m not looking for permanence. I have a life. You have a life. And that’s not going to change. You don’t have to explain anything to me about what you’ve done in the past or why you’ve done it.” She leaned back a little in the shagreen and aluminum sculpted chair and smiled at him. “And if it makes you more comfortable, I don’t have boyfriends probably for the same reasons you don’t have—what—attachments? Are we good now? Can we just enjoy ourselves? I’m sure you know how and if you don’t”—she laughed a little—“I have some suggestions.”
Her soft laughter was without artifice and damned charming. Sliding back in his chair, he smiled warmly. “Are you a bloody therapist?”
“No—just realistic, fickle, superbusy—like you I’m guessing. By the way”—her voice was amused—“do you give that all-worked-up speech about no attachments often?”
He rolled his eyes. “Not until I met you.”
“So I’m special,” she said, her eyes alight.
“Yes. In every impractical, improbable, disturbing way.” Then he exhaled, releasing his lingering doubts. He’d spent a good many years chasing new sensations and no one had ever provoked this sort of reaction in him. No one but this beautiful, smiling woman. “So the complexities aside”—he said, sketching a small circle in the air with his index finger—“this thing we’ve got going—you and me—us… karma—whatever the fuck it is, I’d like to take it slow and easy if you don’t mind.”
“You mean stamp the date and time on our psyches, tattoo it on our hearts, send word balloons out into the ether?”
His sudden smile was dazzling. “I’m obviously more sober than you, but yeah—something like that.”
She grinned. “Personally, I’m going with the liquor rather than magic.”
He sighed. “I’m not so sure. But I do know I don’t want to rush this. That okay with you?”
“Maybe.”
His brows spiked upward.
“You can’t plan everything, that’s all I mean. Sometimes shit just happens.”
“I know.”
“Like this.”
“Yes.” He held out his hand. “Like this.”
His long, slender fingers closed over hers, and rising from his chair, he pulled her to her feet and drew her near. “Christ,” he murmured, squeezing her hand lightly. “Did you feel that?”
Her breath caught, but she said hesitantly, “I’m not sure.”
“Fuck if you’re not. Tell me you don’t feel anything.” Enveloping her other hand in his large grip, he dipped his head until their eyes were level—deep, vivid blue and a warm, unshadowed gold. “Tell me you’re not touched by the mythical electricity.”
She slowly exhaled. “I’d prefer not going there.”
“Don’t tell me the lady who advised me not to be spooked is afraid of a little romance?” Pulling her closer so their bodies lightly met, he smiled. “Come on, take the leap. It could be an incredible rush.”
It helped that she felt the hard, solid strength of his body, so she was reminded who he was and what he was; how she’d seen him casually rising from the sofa not long ago with another woman. “You and romance? Seriously? You’d have to have a personality change from what I hear.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said, brusquely dismissive. “And this is different. We both know that. Maybe we should Google romance and set up a game plan for novices,” he suggested, only half in jest.
“Speaking of game plans within the realm of possibility,” Nicole said drily, “I do have to let my friend Fiona know I’m staying over. And—in the event even some of the gossip about you is true—just a quick FYI. I don’t take orders.”
“You never know,” he said, smoothly.
She jerked her hands free and frowned. “No, I know.”
“I can change your mind,” he contradicted. She didn’t so much as blink. He liked that she wasn’t intimidated.
“I’m not here alone.” She lifted her chin in willful challenge. “Fiona’s with me.”
“It doesn’t matter.” His lashes dropped infinitesimally. “At all.”
“Because this yacht is yours, the crew is yours—”
“And I can buy anything and anyone,” he finished softly.
Her skin prickled. But a second later she reminded herself that her uncle Dominic had given her a glimpse into both the joy and misery of great wealth and power. “Look,” she said, briskly, “I don’t care if you can paper the world in money, but Fiona needs a heads-up.”
“Then I’ll have someone tell her.” A brief, perfunctory statement.
“No.” Her voice was curt. “I’ll tell her. She has my phone too by the way. I need it.”
Rafe was in no rush to exert his authority. Hell, it might be interesting to show this blue-eyed beauty the finite details apropos who did what to whom. “Suit yourself.” His voice was urbane, his smile well-mannered. “Would you like me to find someone to entertain your friend?”
She grinned. “You know when to stop pushing.”
He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “I do.” He laughed. “But don’t get reckless.”
“I hope that’s not part of the orders.”
Her smile dazzled and for a split second it bothered him that she handled herself so well. But a split second later he reminded himself that he wasn’t looking for innocence; he never had. “Of course not,” he said, polite as hell. “Now does your friend need my help?”
“No thanks,” Nicole answered because she could be polite too when she wanted something. “Fiona likes to make her own selections from the titled ranks. It’s her thing this summer.”
“Then she’s in the right place. There’s a full range of titles on board. If she needs any introductions, I’d be more than happy to oblige. Tell her you’ll be gone for a while though.” He smiled. “I have plans for us—with your approval, of course,” he added smoothly.
Nicole grinned. “Women don’t talk back to you much, do they?”
“Not often, no.”
“And if they do?”
A small pause before he said, “It depends.”
“On?”
She was fearless. He smiled. “What I want.”
“I may want things too,” she warned. “So you still have time to change your mind.”
But you don’t. “I think I can deal with it.” A quick flash of white teeth. “I’m a problem solver.”
“Speaking of problems,” Nicole said, suddenly groaning. “I have five brothers and sisters and a mom and dad who like to be involved in my life. So I’ll have to coordinate stories with Fiona. My mother calls at least once a day, usually more often.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m an only child—sort of,” he added. “My mother remarried after my father died and I now have a stepbrother. But Mother’s also part of the business—always has been—and we stay in touch. But I’ll be quiet when you’re on the phone and vice versa.”
“Christ, why do I feel like I’m fifteen and out past curfew?”
“I can’t speak for you, but with the brevity of my ah… friendships with women, phone calls have never been an issue before.”
“Jesus, maybe it really is karma. I’ve never had to plan past a few hours either.”
“So everything’s brand-new with us,” he said, husky and low.
“Fresh as spring.” She gave her head a little shake. “I don’t actually believe it.”
He smiled, imminently comfortable now with the wisdom of his choice. “Maybe I can show you—make you a believer.”
“Or I’ll show you,” she said with a grin.
He laughed. “Be my guest. I’m easy.” If she was talking about sex though, he guessed his skill set was more varied and sophisticated than hers. Not that he was questioning her exp
ertise, but few people were introduced to the flesh markets of the world at fifteen as he’d been by a father whose taste for vice was notorious.
“What?”
“I was trying to decide to what degree sex enters this new emotional world of ours.”
“You better be kidding.”
“Ah.”
“Damn right—ah.” Nicole slid her hands down his chest, brought her palms to rest on his fly. “Because I have plans and apparently you do too,” she said, smiling up at him as his erection swelled under her fingers.
“But not right this second,” he murmured, lifting her hands away and taking a step back. “I’m going to take a quick shower first. It won’t take me long. In the meantime,” he added, moving toward an intercom on the wall, “if you tell me what Fiona looks like, I’ll have someone bring her here and you two can coordinate your schedules.” He paused before striking the call button. “Although say the word and I’ll see that she has a companion with any title she wants.”
“Really? You can do that?”
“Absolutely. A lot of these aristocratic families are short of cash. I’m not. So she can put in her order.” When Nicole hesitated, he added, “Or if you prefer, she could come with us. We could sail somewhere—the Adriatic, the Greek islands. The weather’s nice this time of year and most businesses, ours included, are on semi-holiday.” Whatever she wanted she could have; whatever made her happy made him happy. The imaginary word, happy, come to life with her. Not that he was going to begin to parse the strange earnestness of his feelings; he preferred uncomplicated sex.
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I want to do whatever you want to do,” he replied politely, though he had an explicit personal agenda; he’d not developed into a paragon of beneficence regardless of the novel circumstances. “Our time is limited if you’re going back to school.” His gaze suddenly narrowed, a compelling urgency glittering in the golden depths of his eyes. “Tell me your name.”
“Nicole Parrish.”
He didn’t move for a fraction of a second, his brow furrowed. Then he took a breath and smiled the most beautiful smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Nicole Parrish. We’re going to have fun.”
