by Amy Andrews
Stella kicked at the sheets restlessly, straining to hear any more movement from above deck. She’d heard Rick’s footsteps twenty minutes ago after hours of staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how his hands had felt on her scalp. How if she just shut her eyes she could be Mary and he could be Vasco and how maybe they could skip a few chapters and she could be tied to his bed.
She shut her eyes and erased the image. She was taking shameful advantage of the situation. Indulging her fantasies when Rick was just being himself. The guy she’d always known. A friend. One who would do anything for her. From coming to tell her personally about her father’s sudden death to washing her hair because it was scratchy and itchy and she was physically limited.
Still, there was a part of her, egged on by her hormones and a latent wicked streak, that couldn’t help but speculate. Just what would he do? How far would he go? Would he cut up those ripe mangoes that they’d purchased in Moresby and that permeated the galley with sweet promise and feed them to her as Vasco had done with a juicy pear? Would he scratch that itch that drove her mad right in the centre of her back that she just couldn’t reach with her current injuries?
And what about that other itch that seemed to build and build the longer she spent in his company? The one that tingled between her thighs, that made her breasts feel heavy, that caused an ache down deep and low somewhere behind her belly button?
Would he relieve that if she asked him?
Because she wasn’t even capable of that at the moment and God knew she was fit to burst.
Not that helping herself was ever as good as the real thing. But it was better than death by deprivation.
Damn it!
She kicked the sheets off. This was insane. Lying here thinking about Rick like this was pure madness. Neither of them was ever going to do anything that ruined twenty-plus years of friendship so she just needed to get over herself.
She needed to go on deck and normalise their relationship. Lying in her bed, her body throbbing, put images in her head that didn’t have any place in reality. Lying on deck, looking at the stars with him as she’d done a hundred times before, would help to put things into perspective.
And God knew, if her body couldn’t have passion then it sure as hell needed perspective.
* * *
Rick heard the bell before she made it to the top of the stairs. He shut his eyes and prayed to Neptune for restraint.
‘Hey,’ he said as she tramped over, eyes staring doggedly at the sky.
‘Hey,’ Stella acknowledged as she drew level and looked down at him. ‘Can’t sleep?’
‘Something like that,’ he said as her face appeared in his line of vision. She was wearing some three-quarter-length grey pants, the fabric of which was quite thin, clingy around the thighs, loose around the calves. And what he could only describe as a boob tube.
‘Neither can I. Want some company?’
‘Sure.’
He was already burning in the fires of hell—what was one more lie?
Stella joined him on her back on the deck, making sure her injured left arm was on the outer and that she maintained some distance between them. Rick and her didn’t really do distance so it seemed awkward.
‘Any shooters tonight?’
He nodded. ‘Saw one earlier.’
‘Did you make a wish?’ she asked, rolling her head towards him.
Not one that he could repeat in decent company. He turned his head too. ‘I wished for—’
‘Stop,’ Stella said urgently, automatically silencing him with the press of a finger against his lips. A finger that still stung a little and protested the movement. ‘You know you’re not supposed to say.’
Rick stilled as her fingerprint seared into the DNA of his lips. There were a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to say.
Or do.
And every single one of them begged to be ignored.
Stella’s eyes widened as a glitter of something distinctly sexual enriched his blue gaze with something distinctly pirate.
Heat flared in her belly and breasts.
Between her legs.
And deep, deep inside.
So deep she doubted anyone had ever touched it.
Her gaze narrowed to his mouth as her finger moved of its own volition, tracing his lips, the sting instantly easing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against it, the roughness of every inhalation and exhalation.
Rick opened his mouth slightly, giving silent permission to that seeking finger. When it had circumnavigated every millimetre he grazed the tip gently with his teeth as he touched his tongue to where the splinter had been.
The way she stared at his mouth as if it were the most perfect creation went straight to his head. The sound of her indrawn breath travelled straight to his groin.
He swallowed as a jungle drum beat in his head and thudded through his chest. ‘Stella.’
‘Hmm?’ she asked absently as she mapped his mouth with her gaze. Vasco’s mouth.
Rick tried again. ‘I don’t think we should—’
This time she didn’t cut him off with her finger. This time she used her mouth and Rick was totally unprepared. He’d always dreamt their mythical first kiss would be soft and gentle. Tentative. It was certainly the way he would have kissed her at sixteen. But there was nothing tentative about the way she opened up to him.
In seconds the kiss was wet and deep and hard, leaving no room for finesse or wishing on stars. There was just feeling, reacting. Letting all that suppressed desire bubble up on a wave of coconut and take him to a higher plane.
Stella moaned as fantasy fused into reality on a rush of high octane lust that blasted heat into every cell of her body.
And it was better than she’d ever imagined.
The dare faded as they both collected on the prize early.
Desire coursed through her bloodstream and she gasped against his mouth as Rick rolled up onto his elbow, his face looming over hers, his fingers furrowing into her hair.
She sucked in great slabs of air as the kiss robbed her of breath. They both did. Their breathing loud as they rode the dizzying heat and the high oxygen demand of the incendiary kiss. His lips were demanding against hers and she opened to him wider, revelling in the thrust and tangle of his tongue, her head lifting off the deck trying to match it.
Trying to lead. Trying to follow.
Trying to get closer.
She squeezed her thighs together as the heat there morphed into a tingling that became more unbearable with every second. Her pelvic floor muscles undulated with each swipe of his tongue and she pressed her hips firmly into the deck to soothe the pressure building deep and low.
Was it possible to orgasm from a kiss alone?
God knew she’d fantasised about his kiss often enough both as a teenager and as a writer crafting all those highly sensual, gloriously descriptive love scenes. Maybe it was?
His thumb stroked along her temple and her head spun from the rhythmic caress. Her hips rotated restlessly against the deck as she felt herself edge closer.
Maybe, after all this time, a kiss was going to be enough?
Rick had spent a good portion of his life not wondering what kissing Stella would be like and now he knew he never wanted to stop.
Suddenly it was the only thing that made sense. Not the stars or the ocean or Inigo’s treasure.
None of it.
Just that little whimpering noise at the back of her throat that reverberated inside his head like a benediction—like his own private cheer squad.
And the sweet aroma of coconuts.
Lying by himself on deck before, Stella hadn’t made sense.
Looming over her, pressing her into the deck, feeling the flesh and blood of her, the restless sexuali
ty bubbling in her kiss, the harsh, desperate suck of her breath and the answering rhythm of his own body, she’d never made more sense.
He wanted more. He wanted all. He wanted everything.
His hand fell to her arm, to gather her closer, pull her nearer, imprint her along the length of him.
And then she stiffened against him, cried out, broke away...
CHAPTER EIGHT
RICK froze as he stared down at her, her right hand supporting her injured left arm, her teeth sunken into her bottom lip, plump and moist from his ravaging. He was dazed for a moment, trying to compute what had brought an abrupt end to the passion.
Trying to compute what the hell had happened in the first place.
‘I’m fine,’ Stella said, breathing hard through clenched teeth as the jarring settled. She could see his bewilderment and something else, a slow dawning that seemed to closely resemble horror.
No, no, no.
‘Just give me a moment,’ she scrambled to assure him as she watched his blue gaze lose its drugged lustre and slowly recoil from her. ‘Now.’ She smiled up at him, the pain in her left arm easing as she slipped her good hand onto his shoulder. ‘Where were we?’
Rick shook his head to clear the remnants of a very powerful buzz. What the hell? He groaned as he collapsed back against the deck.
‘Oh, my God,’ he said to the sky, blind to the beauty of the celestial display.
‘Rick,’ she assured him again, brushing a finger against his hand, ‘it’s fine.’
‘Oh, my God,’ he repeated, moving his hand to his face, covering his eyes and shaking his head from side to side. ‘What have I done?’
‘Rick—’
‘No.’ He vaulted upright, then sprang to his feet. ‘No, Stella,’ he said, looking down at her. ‘This is...crazy.’
Stella blinked at his vehemence. It had been shocking and surprising and unexpected. Not to mention unbelievably good.
But crazy?
She sat up gingerly. Obviously this wasn’t going any further and she couldn’t have this conversation with him towering over her reclined body.
‘Why?’
Rick stared at her as her calm response filled him with complicated angst. ‘Because,’ he spluttered, ‘you’re Stella and I’m Rick and we—’ he pointed back and forth between the two of them ‘—don’t do this.’
‘We made a kiss a stake in your flirting dare,’ she pointed out.
And as far as Stella was concerned it was the best first kiss ever. A kiss that had obliterated Dale’s best for eternity. A kiss that would surely ruin her for all other kisses.
Rick shook his head vehemently. ‘Not this kind of kiss.’ He’d thought about how it might go down and it hadn’t been anything like this. It had been slow, sweet, controlled.
And they’d both been vertical.
‘Why not?’ She wasn’t sixteen any more. Did he think she’d be satisfied with something chaste?
He blanched at her simple query. ‘How about twenty-plus years of friendship? Or a legal document with both our signatures on that states we own a company together? Your father, for crying out loud.’
Stella frowned. ‘My father?’
‘Yes,’ Rick fumed.
‘My father?’
Rick nodded. ‘He warned me off.’
‘My father warned you off?’
Rick hadn’t been forthcoming about what Nathan had said to him that day and, with the slight impression that she too had somehow let her father down, she hadn’t pursued it.
He glared at her incredulous expression. ‘Well, not in so many words, no. But every crew member he employed knew you were off-limits, Stel. Nathan didn’t want anyone messing with his little girl.’
It took her a moment to process that. Would Rick have made a move a long time ago had her father not been all Neanderthal about his daughter?
She’d known there was an undercurrent between them as teenagers but it had all ended abruptly that day and she’d figured it was for the best.
But maybe Rick had always pondered the what-ifs too?
Stella used her right hand to push up from the deck, wincing slightly. ‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a little girl any more, Rick. And my father is dead.’
Rick’s gaze dropped involuntarily to her boob tube. ‘Yeah.’ He grimaced as he returned his gaze to her face. ‘I noticed.’
Stella laughed at his forlorn reply. ‘I got breasts, sorry.’
He looked at them again. ‘Yes, you did. It was simpler when you didn’t.’
She frowned. ‘I’ve had them for a long time, Rick—what changed this time?’
He looked at her. That damn book. Pleasure Hunt. Thanks to Nathan and years of platonic childhood memories he’d managed to keep perspective in his dealings with Stella.
Until the book.
But his perspective was currently shot to hell.
‘The moonlight?’ he lied. He somehow didn’t think she’d approve of him using her book for his own ends. ‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘I guess it’s never been an issue before. We’ve never been alone before. Not like this.’
She thought about it. ‘You’re right, I don’t think we have.’
They looked at each other for a long moment. ‘I think we’d regret it, Stel. In the long run. We have all these great memories of growing up together. Summer holidays on the Persephone. Bringing up Spanish coins from the ocean floor. Playing mermaid and pirate.’
Although perhaps that wasn’t the best memory to bring up now...
‘And when I look at you, that’s what I see—how you and your father embraced me as part of the family. They are such fond memories, Stel. They mean a lot to me. I don’t want to ruin them by giving in to this...crazy thing. It wouldn’t be the same between us any more no matter how hard we tried. And I like what we have.’
Stella knew he was making sense but, right now, she liked what they’d been having five minutes ago more. She could still feel the surge of blood tingle through her breasts and between her thighs. Just the bob of the boat was almost enough to push piano-wire-taut muscles into delicious rapture.
God, why was he so bloody gallant? She’d probably only needed another minute or so and she would have been well satisfied. Embarrassed for sure. But not going off to bed with her hormones still raging and bitching at her to boot.
Well, if she had to sit on her hands the next few weeks and pretend that he hadn’t almost made her come with just a kiss, then she was damned if she was going to play fair.
‘Fine,’ she huffed, pushing past him, heading for her cabin. ‘Glad I packed my vibrator after all.’
Rick blinked. ‘You brought a vibrator?’ Hell, she owned a vibrator?
She stopped and turned. ‘I’m a grown woman, Rick. I have needs.’ She turned and continued on her way.
Rick shut his eyes on a silent groan as a particularly graphic image entered his head. ‘Not helping, Stel,’ he called after her, his gaze transfixed by the swing of her hips.
She smiled over her shoulder at him. ‘Sweet dreams.’
* * *
Rick did not have a good night.
Every time Stella’s bell jingled he strained to hear. What, he wasn’t sure. A sigh? A moan? Those soft whimpery noises she made at the back of her throat?
Oh, God, those soft whimpery noises were not conducive to sleep.
And what if he had heard them? Would it make it any easier lying alone on the moral high ground knowing she was getting off? Knowing that he could have been in there with her, helping out?
Kissing her more.
Touching her more.
No!
It was hard now but at the end of the voyage and for the rest of the years to come, they’d
be glad they were sensible. Glad they hadn’t gone past the point of no return.
Maybe one day they’d even laugh about it.
Maybe.
* * *
Rick got the boat under way by eight the next morning. Stella hadn’t put in an appearance and sitting around thinking about all the reasons she might be sleeping late, including a bone-deep sexual satisfaction, was not improving his mood.
It was another glorious day and losing himself in the familiar routine of setting sail seemed like a better alternative than wondering what mischief Nathan’s daughter had got up to between the sheets last night.
And it worked to a degree. Until Stella came on deck an hour later.
In a micro bikini.
He stared at her open-mouthed, pleased for the camouflage of his sunglasses. Two tiny triangles barely contained the swell of her breasts and the pants, high on her leg and low on her front, had two tempting little bows at the side keeping them from falling off altogether.
‘Morning,’ she said airily as she drew level with him, her laptop, some coconut sunscreen and a towel in hand. A smile on her face. ‘What a magnificent day,’ she murmured, inhaling the sea air deep into her lungs, feeling it resonate with her spirit.
Rick watched as her chest expanded, straining the fabric of her bikini top to indecent proportions. Lord, was she trying to give him a heart attack?
‘Sleep well?’ he asked, his neutral tone almost killing him.
Stella sighed as the air rushed out of her lungs. ‘Like a baby,’ she purred.
She hadn’t, of course. How could she sleep with a fire ravaging every erogenous zone she owned and quite a few she hadn’t even known existed?
She’d barely slept a wink.
Perhaps she should have helped herself as she’d led Rick to believe but, after their near miss, she’d wanted strong male arms and a warm solid chest, not just her and Mr Buzzy.
‘How’s your arm?’ he asked politely.
‘Good.’ She nodded. It was the first morning it hadn’t ached when she woke and the bruising was nearly all faded. She could even move it the full range, if a little gingerly. ‘I reckon I can hit my word count today.’
