by Jasmin Quinn
“What do you think?”
She turned towards him, a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Her pupils were dilated, her breaths were a little shallow. “I forgive you, Hugo Marsden, for being such an ass last night. Please fuck me.”
Hugo decided it was wise not to remind her of rule 1. Instead he took her in his arms, kissed her solidly on the mouth and ripped her clothes off. Literally. The tank she’d been wearing was no longer appropriate or even legal in public.
She helped him take his clothes off and he dropped down on top of her after he picked her up and threw her on the bed. He kissed every single part of her body, made her scream his name, made her beg and then took her in a way only a man in love with his woman could take her. He thrilled as she came while he was inside her. Thrilled as he took her up again, made her come again, and then after, after he lost control, after his cock hit her womb, after he came so hard he almost passed out, he coaxed one more orgasm from her with his fingers and his tongue.
After they could no longer move, they lay in bed, savouring the moment and each other, bodies and legs tangled in the sheets. Hugo was splayed out dead centre of the bed, Olivia was curled up against him, her ear on his chest, her hand stroking his stomach, fingers softly playing with the hair. No one saying anything for a few long minutes.
Then Olivia shifted, her words almost lost against the soft lapping of ocean water against the hull. “Hugo, if we got married, would you want any kids?” A little soft, a little hesitant and a little out of the blue.
He thought about it. He’d joked about it before, like everything else he did with women to charm them. But he never took risks, never fucked without a condom, until Olivia. He took her at her word that she was on birth control. Knew they weren’t swapping anything except fluids. Did he want kids? “With you, Olivia, I’d want a kid.”
She patted his stomach gently. Looked up into his face, maybe checking to see if he was lying. He wasn’t. “Good,” she said. “ ’cause I couldn’t marry you if you didn’t.”
He hugged her to him, kept her there as they settled. Just before they fell asleep, still tangled in the sheets and each other, he murmured into her ear, “Thanks for forgiving me, Liv.”
♦ ♦ ♦
Next morning was fan-fucking-tastic. They woke up to the sunrise and Olivia bolted out of bed and almost out the door until Hugo caught up with her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back inside. He shoved one of his T-shirts over her head. “Public nudity in the marina is frowned upon by all the women on the other boats and me.”
He grinned at her. She grinned back. “I want to see the sunrise on the ocean,” she said before she whipped away from him and ran out the door and up the stairs. He followed once he put on a pair of long cargo shorts. She was standing on the stern port side of the bridge, the breeze rifling her hair, her long bare legs and sexy feet highlighted by the soft yellows and oranges reflecting off the water. Hugo’s heart stuttered. Not just because she was a thing of beauty, but because she was a wondrous thing of beauty. The expression of joy on her face made him weak in the knees. She belonged here, with him, on his boat. He was never going to let her go.
He came and stood behind her, wrapping his long arms around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. “What do you think, Blondie?”
Something wet fell on his forearm. He turned her to him. She was crying.
“Liv, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. I have no fucking idea why I’m crying.” And then she laughed, which made him laugh. He stepped back, tripped over nothing, and fell, bringing her down with him. He held her on the deck, as she laughed, as he laughed. His heart was full. He should tell her he loved her but decided maybe later. Why ruin a perfectly good sunrise?
They sprawled together on the deck, watching the sky until Hugo got distracted by Olivia’s luscious lips. He started kissing her on the mouth, which led to kissing her on the neck, which led them both back to the master stateroom, where they spent the next half-hour kissing, fondling and fucking. They fell asleep after, Olivia cradled in Hugo’s arms. It’s like they were interlocking pieces, they fit together so well.
CHAPTER 24
Olivia was just waking up when Hugo went out to get coffee and breakfast. While he was gone, she’d pulled on the T-shirt he’d given her earlier and a pair of his cargo shorts. She’d coiled a tie of his through the belt loops and knotted it at the waist. The shirt hung to mid-thigh, the shorts hung to mid-calf. Pretty feet were bare as the day she was born. Her hair was loose and everything about her made him heat up all over again. It was like seeing his boat in the flesh and blood. Gypsy Girl, his Blondie.
“I hope it’s okay that I borrowed some clothes.” She snuggled in next to him on the bridge deck, on the leather benches, in the sunshine, picking up her cup of Tim Horton’s coffee and taking a small sip. “I have to do some laundry. I’m out of everything.”
He realized belatedly that she had two outfits and he had destroyed one of her shirts last night. He felt like an ass, not really thinking about how little she had with her. For him it was nothing. He wanted something, he went and got it. That’s what having money did to you - it made you blithe, blind to the real world. He sometimes spent as much on a meal as some people spend for a week’s worth of groceries to feed a family of four.
“Liv, I’ll take you shopping.”
Olivia pulled back, her face conflicted. “I appreciate that. You’ve been good to me, Hugo. But you’re not my keeper and I already owe you enough.”
Hugo felt the guilt ripple through him. He was her keeper actually and it was time he started acting like it. “I have a friend, Liv – ”
Olivia laughed. “Really Hugo, you have a friend?”
He grinned at her. She was happy, maybe for the first time since he met her. A lightness that lit up her face, softened her edges. Las Vegas was a bitch, didn’t deserve her. Vancouver, maybe not Vancouver, but the ocean made her happy. His boat made her happy. He couldn’t wait to take her to Vancouver Island, or Saltspring or the rest of the Gulf Islands; he couldn’t wait to make his way up the Sunshine Coast or over to Haida Gwaii. Her blonde hair on the deck of his boat – he’d never thought himself a romantic, but he could definitely see the two of them sailing into the sunset.
He drew her closer to him. “I have a friend, but he’s a bit of a prick.”
Olivia craned her neck so she could see into his face, “Even compared to you?”
He grinned. “Rule 1, Olivia and yeah, even compared to me. He’s got this thing about women. Likes them well enough, but he might not be amenable if you tag along. So I’m gonna leave you on the boat, while I hook up with him.” He held his breath, waited for the fallout.
“Okay.”
Hugo was surprised. Didn’t expect Blondie to be that agreeable. Said as much.
She grinned. “I’m good to stay here. Hang around the boat, commune with nature, work on my tan.”
Hugo kissed her on the lips, tugged her hair affectionately. “I’m becoming attached to you Blondie.”
He was rewarded with a smile twice as big as he’d ever seen on her. “Maybe you could bring back some food and we can just hang around the boat for a day or two. Eat, drink beer, fuck.”
“Liv,” he groaned as he kissed her again. “Such dirty words coming from such beautiful lips.”
She leaned into him. “I have more, if you hurry back.”
He stepped into the cabin and grabbed a burner cell from a drawer in the kitchen, plugged it in, came out again with his phone in hand. “Going now,” he said. She was already laying on her back on the bench, face turned up towards the sun, hands behind her head, pillowing it. “I left a cell on the counter, plugged in so it’ll power up. Call me if you need me. Number’s already in the contacts.”
Olivia smiled up at him. “Bring back food, Hugo. Lots of it.”
CHAPTER 25
After Hugo left, Olivia returned to the stateroom and showered.
The boat was luxurious. She wondered if she’d make a good sailor, hoped she’d get a chance to find out. Really, truly, desperately wanted Hugo to take her out on this boat. Sail away with him. Leave everything behind and just live happily ever after.
As she stepped from the shower, she wrapped a towel around her, found some coffee pods and a single cup brewer and made herself another cup of coffee. Then sat on the bridge deck in the sun and sipped on it. She was covered so she didn’t think any Canadians would be scandalized, but she didn’t really know that much about Canada. Never really considered the country at all. Thought there was a lot of snow, but parts of the States had lots of snow too. It was pretty, all right, green and natural. Such a contrast to Vegas.
When she thought of Vegas, she thought of Gwen and guilt filtered through her. Gwen wouldn’t even know where she was if she was trying to reach out to her, which she probably wasn’t. Gwen didn’t get it anyway, didn’t get how much trouble she was in, they were in. Olivia tried to tell her over and over, but Gwen couldn’t conceptualize that Jack Creed would kill her.
As she thought of Gwen, she thought of Jack. How many days had passed since he gave her his ultimatum? Four, five? She had a little over a week left to find Tony. She felt a ripple of desperation. Her mom was so vulnerable right now, back in Vegas on her own. Olivia thought she should have made Hugo pick her up and take her with them. What a disaster that would have been.
Gwen was still so pretty. Had no problem charming the men. Never had a real boyfriend, but plenty of men to keep her bed warm over the years. She was just 43 and that made her only a few years older than Hugo. She’d try to seduce him, Olivia knew it without a doubt. It’s what Gwen did, every single fucking time. She tried it on Tony, on her other boyfriends. To be honest, Olivia never knew if Tony took Gwen up on the offer.
Tears sparked in Olivia’s eyes and she veered away from the thought. Gwen was a disaster but she did the best she could to look out for Olivia. Olivia was essentially homeless. In past, when that happened, Gwen let her crash at her place until Olivia got back on her feet, got a job, got some money. Olivia wasn’t that good at keeping jobs, mostly because there was always some asshole who crossed the line with her. And she was never very good at staying behind her own line. It inevitably ended in bruises, bleeding, swears. It inevitably ended in her getting fired.
She thought maybe she should call Gwen, let her know where she was, what was going on. Mind made up, she went inside to the galley, grabbed the cell phone and tapped out the number. It went to voice-mail. “Hey, mom. It’s Olivia. Just checking in. I’m on a bit of a road-trip. Seeing if I can track down any info on Tony. I’ll call you in a couple of days.” She hesitated, said, “Bye.” And hung up. Then she sent a text to Gwen, telling her to pick up her voice-mail. Still nothing. Kind of weird. Gwen lived by her phone.
Olivia hoped her mom hadn’t done something that pissed off Jack in a final straw kind of way. The thought made her frown, made her think that she should call Jack, let him know what was going on. She brought up the dial pad but couldn’t make her fingers tap his number. Jack Creed terrified her because he was a man of his word. As long as she’d known him, he’d always helped her out but he wasn’t soft, he wasn’t easy and he wasn’t forgiving. He said he was going to kill Gwen if she fucked up again and he meant it.
Olivia returned the phone to the counter. Calling Jack would serve no purpose. He knew where she was, who she was with and what she was doing. And Hugo was on his way to talk to someone who was going to help her find Tony. It’s all she could hope for. No point in wasting the morning worrying over something she couldn’t control when there was such a warm, welcoming sun upstairs on the bridge deck.
CHAPTER 26
Hugo walked into the glass monstrosity in down-town Vancouver. He’d called his buddy, Anto Kharzin, enroute, invited him out for a drink, for a little chit-chat.
Anto seemed genuinely pleased to hear from him. “Hugo!” He sounded almost jovial, but too happy. Not Anto-like at all, not contrived. “Good to hear from you. I was thinking about you just last week. Wondered if you were still alive.”
Hugo got straight to the point, the way Anto liked it most days of the week. “Got a problem I need a little help to solve.”
But Anto seemed to want to shoot the shit. “Been doing any boxing lately?”
Hugo grunted. “No. Out of boxing shape. Not stepping in the ring with you.”
“Too bad. Hard to find someone who can take me on.”
“Anto, no one can take you on. You’re a fucking steamroller.”
Anto laughed hard and merry, then invited Hugo to his house. His house! Never had he ever. It was too cozy, Anto’s over-the-top happiness, his relaxed attitude, his invitation to his personal living space. Hugo thought he might be walking into a trap.
Security had been expecting him, led him to the private suite of elevators, pressed the button that would take him up to the penthouse as he stepped inside. When the elevator door opened on the top floor, Hugo entered a glass palace. And Anto, incongruently smiling widely when he saw Hugo, actually embraced him.
“What the fuck?” Hugo growled as he shoved at the man. “Are you on drugs?”
Anto laughed again, then invited him into a living room. Anto, the Anto he knew, seemed out of place in this penthouse castle. A classic case of the bull in the china shop. Furnished expensively, beautiful original art on the walls, oriental carpets, dark hardwood. If he didn’t know Anto so well, he would have guessed there was a woman living here. Little feminine touches, reserved and subtle but still present if you knew what to look for.
Anto handed Hugo a beer as he seated himself on the couch next to the chair Hugo had dropped his body in. The Russian took a sip of his vodka, surveyed Hugo critically and said, “You look like you got a little soft, Hugo. What’ve you been into?”
Hugo shrugged. “This and that.” Anto was like a friend, but not really. He’d done the occasional job for the big guy. Did a few things for his boss, Rusya Savisin. Helped out occasionally, provided information, people, bodies. It was a good gig. Savisin was generous when he was satisfied that a job was well done, and Hugo always delivered. Nice little symbiotic relationship.
He and Anto clicked for some reason. Both big men in a world of smaller people. Both having to deal with little men who wanted to prove they were tough enough. They had a few good laughs and a few rounds in the boxing ring. Hugo never won because Anto was brutal. Had his own code of honour that he lived by. He’d fuck you up to save your life then expect you to thank him. Kind of like Jack Creed but way less subtle.
The other more obvious difference between the two of them was their approach to women. Hugo loved them, the lustier and more high-spirited the better. When he found one he liked, he hung on to her for a while. Liked to get to know the sweet spots, the curves. Liked the companionship a woman had to offer. Anto was opposite. Women were for fucking. In all the time Hugo had known Anto he had never seen him waste time trying to charm a woman. He never had to. They tripped over themselves when they saw him and he took the one he wanted. But she was never there in the morning. Never. Anto slept alone.
Hugo felt out of balance in Anto’s home. The big, tattooed Russian was one of the most organized men he knew. Left nothing to chance, held his cards close to his chest. Had few friends that Hugo knew of and while he had called Anto a friend to Olivia, it was not exactly true. They got along, shot the shit, had a few drinks, laughs, women. But Hugo knew that Anto would flatten him in a minute if Hugo crossed him. So he was careful around the Russian. He didn’t ever want to get in a mix-up with the big guy. Anto was backed by a powerful man. Hugo had no such luxury, on purpose, but still, it made him vulnerable.
Anto grinned at Hugo. “I’m getting married.”
Hugo almost dropped his beer, fell out of his chair, pinched himself to see if was dreaming. “Did you knock ‘er up?” He tried his best to keep his expression neutral.
“Not yet, but I’m
gonna.” Anto leaned into Hugo. “She’s here if you want to meet her.”
Hugo didn’t know what to say. He wondered if, at some point back in Vegas, maybe when he was sleeping, he crossed into an alternate universe. Everything about this week was too fucking strange. Hugo found himself the owner of a woman and Anto was getting married.
“Anto, did you fall on your head?” It was exactly something Anto would say to any other man who was soft on a woman.
Anto roared his laughter and Hugo startled. Anto happy was a frightening thing.
“She’s here?” Now he was overwhelmingly curious about what kind of woman could tame the beast.
“Marisol!” Anto shouted. “Come meet my friend, Hugo!”
A minute later the woman walked in. Hugo was astounded. She was pretty, he granted her that, with long, reddish hair, and soft features. Eyes of blue, not as bright as Liv’s, but a soft and gentle blue that seemed to match her quiet presence. She was slim, interestingly so, because he had never known Anto to be attracted to any woman who wasn’t seriously curvy. Like Olivia. Which is one of the reasons why Hugo hadn’t brought her along. Just one.
Anto stood and pulled Marisol into him, his hand circling behind her back, gripping her waist. She held out her hand, her pretty face lighting up as she smiled. “Hello.”
“Marisol, this is Hugo.”
Hugo shook her hand and smiled. She was shy too. She’d caught his eye when she greeted him, then dropped her own to her hand.
Anto hugged her close to him, looking at her like she was his favourite brand of vodka. Looking at her like Hugo looked at Olivia. “Marisol’s an artist,” he said with pride and motioned to the pictures in the living room. “Her paintings.”
