Jewel of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  “But you can look her in the eye,” Dean added.

  “Not as many imperfections, I guess.” Flynn shrugged. “Her expressions more straightforward.”

  Dean tapped his pen against the counter. “Let’s sleep on it.”

  Flynn rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension and glanced out the window. “I’m gonna…go clean the crew cabin.” Anything to keep his mind off the half-naked siren thirty yards away. Keeping his hands to himself with his recent lack of control would be a toss-up.

  “I’d rather you keep an eye on Miss Five-Finger-Discount back there.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Dean slipped on his sunglasses and turned around. “Captain’s orders.”

  “You’re an ass.” With a scowl, Flynn trudged to the sky-deck.

  “You’re welcome,” Dean called back.

  Flynn didn’t have to walk outside to spot Alanna, sprawled on her stomach on the bench. She was impossible to miss. She’d wrapped a towel around her waist like a skirt. Given how tiny she was, it could’ve been a hand-towel. Her shirt was rolled up to just underneath her breasts, and the sleeves dangled to the sides so the sun could reach her shoulders.

  Everything about her skin was perfect. Polynesian, and completely flawless glowing in the sun’s rays. Adorable, tiny feet with manicured toes. Well-toned calves, and even smoother up her thighs. Proportionally toned arms and muscular back, no doubt from her experience sailing or whatever her job was. And damn that luxurious waterfall of dark hair. It would probably wrap around his hand four times. Maybe five. The coconut-scented shampoo lingered inside the salon.

  He’d kissed that delectable scent, tasted the exotic sweetness of her lips. Whether it was full of lies or not, he wanted more. To see if the rest of her glowed as bright as her skin.

  Flynn groaned. After he’d kissed her, this was his torture. Or payback. Either way, he’d suffer. Stepping onto the deck, he slid on his sunglasses thankful the extra-dark lenses would hide his distracted eyes. Which were sure to roam.

  “How are you doing out here?” He couldn’t think of anything better to say.

  Alanna turned her head and squinted into the sunlight. “Trying to relax.” She checked her shirt and towel, making sure she was properly covered. With a weak smile, she shaded her eyes and looked up at him. “What time is it?”

  “Almost around dinner. Do you like pasta?”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  “Then have a small bowl. You need to keep up your energy. The sun can be draining out here.”

  Her gazed fixed on something behind him. He longed to pull her into his arms and see if he could chase away her unease. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Are you wearing sunscreen?” he asked.

  “Am I burning?”

  No, but I am. “It doesn’t take much at this latitude. I’ll go find some lotion for you.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll come inside in a minute.”

  She laid her head on the bench and sighed. A deep, soul-wrenching sigh. The awkward silence prolonged his anxiety. What is she thinking?

  “Do you want to cook with me?”

  “Sure,” she replied with little enthusiasm. Then continued to look at him without moving, her mouth flattening.

  “Are you coming?”

  “Do you mind turning, so I can put on my clothes?”

  He blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Meet me in the kitchen.”

  Flynn spun, and welcomed the breeze on his hot cheeks. His heart rate had spiked while talking to her, like he was back in high school and the other kids mocked him for his eccentricities. He reached the door and grabbed the handle. And froze.

  In the reflection, he saw her standing by the bench, putting her shirt on. The towel around her waist had dropped, leaving her in white lace underwear and a bra. The strings of the fabric dug into her hips, but he couldn’t tell if it was a thong or not. Her bra covered everything well, but left the small rounds at the top of her breasts well defined. A perfect fit in his palms. The white material against her darker tan kept him glued to the reflection. Everything glowed, just as he’d imagined.

  A hundred photos, indeed.

  When she’d slipped on her pants and adjusted her shirt, she looked up and met his gaze in the glass. Flynn yanked the door open, rushing inside without a backward glance. And sporting an uncomfortable thick one between his thighs.

  Minutes later, Flynn prepped for dinner, forcing down his pulse. Along with other parts of his anatomy. Alanna stepped through the open, sliding door. He reached down and opened the cabinet, squeezing the pan’s handle. For once, he fought the urge to meet a person’s gaze.

  She stepped around the corner, and Flynn swore the temperature spiked twenty degrees. Sweat trickled down his neck. Alanna took stock of the items on the counter. He bent and retrieved a second pot and let it clang against the stove.

  Beside him, Alanna twirled the towel into a rope. A strong jab thwacked the back of his head. He dropped the pan and spun. Alanna smirked at him, twirling the towel again.

  “That’s what you get for staring.”

  Flynn rubbed his scalp where she’d popped him. “I wasn’t staring. You caught me off guard. Again.”

  “You were staring.” She glared at him.

  “I apologize?”

  Her face softened and she set the towel on the counter. “So, what’s first?”

  Flynn picked up the pan and set it on the stove. “You’ve never had spaghetti before?”

  “Of course, I have. Just never made it myself.”

  “Have you ever boiled pasta?”

  She snatched the frying pan from his hand. “I can learn.”

  With that, she turned to the sink and started filling it with water. Flynn bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He grabbed the pot, set it under the faucet, and took the pan from her hands.

  “Use this one. Fill it about halfway. Then turn the stove on high and wait for it to boil before you put in the pasta. This other pan is for browning the meat.”

  She pursed her lips, a faint blush dotting her cheeks. “Thanks. I’m a bit inexperienced here.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere.”

  Alanna smiled, and Flynn’s muscles relaxed more. He guided her through the rest of cooking, and even felt comfortable beside her as she strained the pasta in the sink.

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” she asked out of nowhere.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A guy who can cook, sail, fix engines, defend distressed women…” Her eyebrow rose above a smirk.

  “I’ve been told I lack empathy.” Among other things.

  She scoffed. “Not from what I’ve seen.”

  “Deficient in attention and focus, and an inability to follow directions to the point of insubordination.” The exact words on his medical discharge papers from the Navy, attached to a new diagnosis of ASD. Thanks to his irrational and prickly commanding officer.

  She stopped and looked at him. He avoided her gaze, feeling like being put under a damn microscope, again. When the silence continued, he risked a glance at her.

  “Who told you that line of crap?”

  “How do you know it’s not crap?”

  “You’ve had more intensity and focus than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “With things I’m interested in, yes. I can concentrate for hours. But if not, then…”

  “What’s the problem with that?”

  “In the Navy, a lot.”

  Alanna sighed and stirred the pasta. “My nephew was like that. He was a light switch. If he didn’t like something, he didn’t pay any attention to it, no matter how much we wanted him to. But if he was interested in it, then—”

  “Borderline obsession?”

  She paused. A touch of unease crept up his neck.

  “With some things,” she finally replied. “More than anything, I was always envious of his ability to concentrate. And he was smart. Ridiculously sma
rt. Would’ve made a great—”

  He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. Instead, she pursed her lips and wiped her forehead.

  “A great what?”

  “Never mind.” Her voice turned quiet. “The point is, I consider those positive traits.”

  Pride swelled in his chest, and he felt himself smile. He had no idea where the urge came from to explain his behaviors, or even why he recited the words from his discharge papers. But it was the first time someone had told him they liked those characteristics in him. And he was glad it was from her.

  Dinner was ready in no time at all. Alanna set the dinner table for three, folding the paper towel napkins into triangles and placing them precisely at ninety-degree angles to the plates. Even Flynn wasn’t that OCD, which he’d been accused of many times.

  He set the bowls on the table and took a seat next to her. She spread the paper towel across her lap and surveyed the table like a pleased event coordinator.

  “Dean isn’t joining us?”

  “He’s manning the bridge. I’ll switch with him when I’m done.” Flynn picked up his fork and was about to dig in, when Alanna clasped her hands over the bowl and bowed her head.

  She’s a pray-er.

  He set down his fork and placed his hands in his lap. He didn’t believe in a higher power, but he never disrespected anyone else’s beliefs. Only outright stupidity or people who refused to help themselves. Of which she was neither.

  “For health and strength, and a clear mind to see the path you’ve laid before us, we give our thanks and love to you, Lord. Amen.” She finished with the sign of the cross, and kissed her thumb. A peculiar ending. Mostly common in Spanish and Latin heritages. What intrigued Flynn most was the way people prayed with hushed tones. Even his mother would say Grace before dinner in something above a whisper. He’d always wondered if the Higher power only heard the prayers, or believed them more worthy, if spoken softly. Was yelling them impolite?

  Alanna sniffled next to him and wiped her nose. A tear streamed halfway down her cheek before she swiped it away.

  Is this part of the prayer?

  “Alanna?”

  “I’m sorry,” she wept. “I’m not usually like this.”

  Flynn waited for her to continue. With crying women, he’d learned it was best not to speak or make any sudden moves. It wasn’t the food; she hadn’t eaten anything all day. This had to be about her family again. But triggered by a prayer?

  “This was Alejandro’s favorite,” she muttered with more tears trickling down her face.

  “Who’s—”

  “My nephew was eleven. At banquets, he hated the fancy dishes they served. Said he refused to eat something he couldn’t pronounce. So, they always made him a special plate. Pasta and garlic bread. He’d always sit next to me so I could keep him in line. So much energy. So much…life.” She sobbed into her napkin, muttering more words he couldn’t understand.

  Flynn placed his hand on her thigh, giving a gentle squeeze. When her shoulders trembled, he scooted her chair toward him and laid both hands on her knees. As he tried to think of something to say, to make her stop crying, she lurched forward and threw her arms around his beck. Her tight grip made him jump, and she burrowed her face deep into his shoulder.

  The exotic scent of Alanna, coconut and jasmine, overpowered everything else. Whether from her lotion, shampoo or her natural aura, it smelled more delicious than the meal in front of him. He delved his fingers through her soft hair, caressing her scalp and breathing in her hypnotic mixture. He hated the sight of a crying woman, but at least this had brought her closer.

  She continued to sob into his neck with no sign of stopping. He took her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. When he wrapped his arms around her supple curves, her trembling body wracked harder.

  “I don’t want this responsibility. It’s too much. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

  Flynn held her through it. He didn’t understand everything she said, or to what responsibility she referred. He’d never lost a family member, but he knew what it was like to feel alone. As if no one understood you. Or could even touch you. That feeling was all too familiar.

  The worst part was there was nothing he could say to make it better. There was no immediate solution. Even in the middle of the ocean, away from everything, it was hard to ignore the problems. Idle time and worry were best friends.

  Her sobbing slowed, and light hiccups took over her body. Flynn stroked her back, and waited. She’d gripped the collar of his shirt and fiddled with the fabric, eventually grazing a fingertip on the base of his neck. Her touch was sweltering, near scalding, and her breath danced against his collarbone.

  “I don’t want to feel like this any more,” she whispered into his ear. “I want to be free. For a minute, an hour, or however long it takes to forget this pain.”

  She wiggled her bottom in his lap, whether consciously or not, unleashing the aching throb between his legs. Tropical heat levels escalated to nuclear overload. Hot kisses, slow and uninhibited, spread across his neckline, leaving invisible brands of her tongue on his skin. Her fingers trailed up the back of his head, slipping between the strands and scraping her nails across his scalp. It kicked his heart rate up a hundred-fold, stirring his already rising dick.

  That’s when they’re the craftiest, Dean’s words echoed in his fuzzy mind.

  She sure as hell was. But it felt so damn good.

  ALANNA HAD EXPECTED SOME PART of her subconscious to protest, ring massive alarm bells and scream at her to stop. Nothing ever came. Except the boiling desire to push forward with Flynn.

  How can this incredible dizzy sensation be wrong?

  Not only did every sense heighten and everything awaken, the numbing despair from the last several days melted away with every caress. She didn’t want to remember anything from home, running from death, or the news report. Most of all, she didn’t want to think of the responsibilities as the sole heir to the throne. Just this intensity, and the press of her chest against her Would-Be-Guardian.

  She scraped her nails down the back of Flynn’s scalp, and a deep, feral moan more intoxicating than the coconut rum rumbled from his chest. The urge to taste him overpowered her regal-reserved upbringing and rational thought. She covered his lips with her own and dived into him.

  Vaya, he tastes heavenly. Manly, like rum and spearmint gum. Inexperienced as she was, she delved deeper into his mouth. Her heart battered against her sternum and his breathing increased with every swirl and lick she gave. He was thorough, each touch gentle yet urgent. Definitely, not a lack of attention and focus here.

  His hand moved up her back and tangled in her hair. A burning coil settled in her stomach, and something else pooled between her thighs, something she’d never felt before. The more it mixed inside her, the more she craved it.

  He gripped her hair and angled her face to his. His tongue explored further into her mouth, delving deeper with every thrust. She cooed into that delectable taste. As if on cue, his dick lengthened in his lap, beneath her sex. Her cheeks flushed with heat.

  He wants me. I really do have the power between us.

  She glided her hands down his chest, frustration bubbling inside her at the shirt hiding his taut muscles. Her fingertips slipped under the fabric and brushed his abs, the rigid muscles insanely strong and flexing beneath her touch. The further up she caressed, his kiss grew more urgent, more breathless. Her hands rested on his pectorals. So hard, and smooth under her fingers.

  Her breasts grew heavy, almost throbbing with need.

  Her soft finger grazed his nipple, the skin tightening. Tempting him further, she squeezed, rolling the nipple between her knuckles, and he gasped.

  His strong hands curved around her waist and lifted her, her legs now straddling him in the chair. Her sex pulsed directly against his raging erection through his shorts. He tugged her hips into him hard. The urge to grind came from a primal place inside her. Her chest heaved as she foug
ht to catch her breath.

  Everything throbbed. Her breasts, her heart, between her legs—the sensation sweet. Desperate. Rocking into him, over and over, was natural.

  Hardly the most appropriate image for a princess. But she couldn’t have cared less, only if this feeling endured. Flynn’s hand circled her back, urging her forward into him. The other moved up her side and settled on her breast over her cotton shirt. And squeezed.

  Dios mio!

  The world stopped. Her breath, her mind, her sanity. Every inch of her body elevated to pure heat. She pulled away, but he moved with her and refused to release her mouth. To prove his point, he pinched her razor-sharp nipple and didn’t let go. An electric current shot straight to her sex, and pooled between her thighs. The more she gasped and moaned, the more he squeezed and caressed. The more he swallowed her pleasure.

  She pushed against him, mimicking his movements on his chest. He didn’t jump the way she did, but he still groaned and nipped her lip with every move. The hard length between his legs thickened, jutting against her core.

  He hummed into her mouth. Then he slipped his hand inside her shirt. Bypassing her bra, he fully cupped her naked breast. A dizzy haze took over her entire body. Her vision tunneled to Flynn’s flushed face, lust flaring in his gaze as he kneaded her breast. His eyes were heavy and dilated. He pressed into her and circled his thumb once more, her nipples peaked like hardened candies. To the point where it almost hurt.

  She gripped his arms, desperate to hold on to the building coil inside without it breaking. Another swirl on a tight nipple and she bit her lip. Her core clenched and she moved against his raging hard-on.

  “Sí,” she said in a breathless whisper. Yes, yes. More. More from her green-eyed angel. He was even better than in her dream. She’d been missing all of this in her sheltered life. The phrase better than sex seemed more unlikely with every second. Because even though this hadn’t reached that point—yet—what could possibly be better?

  Then Flynn’s fiery wet mouth covered her nipple. She cried out, unable to restrain it.

  There is something better.

  The twirling in her belly intensified and the LED lights in the ceiling spun over her head. Sparks ricocheted through her limbs, filling her arms with lead.