by Lexi Scott
“Adam!”
Adam glances up and sees me frantically rubbing my palms on my dress, wiping the sweat away as he rattles off a list of attractions that sound more like death threats than fun-filled pastimes.
“File all of those under ‘things I’d rather gouge my eye out with a spork than participate in,’” I say with a shaky laugh.
He tosses the pamphlets back onto the table.
“Is there something you’d like to do?”
“Why don’t we go check out the bedroom?” I ask in my sexiest come-hither voice, but Adam doesn’t perk up the way I expect.
“Everything okay?” I check.
“Yep.”
Adam follows me down the narrow hall and into the small, dark bedroom. It’s sparse, like the rest of the cabin, but the owners were smart enough to put the most time and effort into this room. Which is excellent, since I have a feeling it’s the one Adam and I will be spending the most time in.
The details in the woodworking on the bed and matching dresser are stunning. The linens are fresh and fluffy and make me want to slip under them bare with my gorgeous husband and never leave. The circular rug matches the pattern on the throw pillows.
It feels like a Pottery Barn ad—well, it would if I could ignore the creepy-ass stuffed bear on the dresser.
Staring at me.
I’m about to comment that we need to shove that thing down the mountain when Adam lifts the hair off the back of my neck and presses his warm mouth to my skin.
“I have something for you.” I spin toward him and he’s holding a small, flat box about the size of a notebook. His eyes look more gold than green when he’s excited about something, and right now they’re almost completely gold.
“What’s this?” I ask, running my fingers over the edges of the box.
“Call it a late wedding gift,” he says with a shrug.
Once again, I’m left standing without anything for him when he’s gotten something thoughtful for me.
I manage a wavery smile, my throat tied in a stiff knot. “That wasn’t necessary, but…thank you. So much.”
“Open it.” He nudges my hands, and I shake the box until the lid releases.
Inside, under a sheet of rustling silver tissue paper, I catch sight of a pale pink, thin strap. I loop my finger through it and give it a tug. I pull out a simple lace slip, something I never would have picked out, but something that Adam would definitely be drawn to when choosing lingerie. Though I’m getting more comfortable in the simple things. Clothes without rhinestones. Shoes that aren’t skyscrapers.
“Wow. Is this a present for me, or a present for you?” I ask, flashing a flirty grin that I know will drive him crazy.
He steps in, clutching my hip with his hand. “Depends. Do you want me to help you put it on?”
I shake my head. “No, I want you to take it off.”
…
“That thing creeps me out.” I look at the teddy bear’s dull smile, its glazed eyes, and its zombie-like outstretched arms.
“What?” Adam hovers close, his chest to my back, and looks over my shoulder. “The teddy bear?” The bear, which is the size of our TV at home, is still looking at me, unblinking. “Are you being serious?”
“Of course I am. Look at it.”
I do. And shudder.
Adam kisses my shoulders and nudges my ear with his nose, whispering, “Gen, I think we may need to talk about your sanity. It’s a stuffed animal.”
“It’s probably a nanny-cam,” I say, only half-joking.
“I had no idea you were so paranoid. I sort of love it.” He wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair.
I press my hands over his and rub up and down the strong length of his arms, loving the coarse hair and corded muscles, the tiny chemical burns that fleck his hands from his years of experiments, and the way his wedding band glints on his ring finger. “I guess we really don’t know a whole lot about each other, huh? I mean, you’ve gathered that I’m a paranoid freak—”
His arms pull me closer, cradling me like I’m something undeniably precious. “You’re not a freak, Genevieve. You’re unsure of yourself, that’s all. And I take it as my personal responsibility to help with that. You just need to break out of your comfort zone.” He kisses my temple, and it’s like he seals his promise with that gesture. “Tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifteen
Adam
“Kayaking,” Genevieve says, pointing to the advertisement for rentals on the marina sign. “That’s what we should do. Nothing to fall off of. And if you do manage to fall out of the kayak, there’s nowhere to drop except into the water, and that’s not remotely scary.”
Speak for yourself.
“The point was to do something outside of your comfort zone, Gen. How about parasailing?” I offer, glancing at the lake, which looks so damn innocent. I have no idea why people are deceived into thinking of lakes as placid.
Maybe they don’t know the facts. Or maybe they ignore them. I have a problem with memorizing random facts, and one I happen to know off the top of my head is the depth of Lake Tahoe.
1,645 feet at its deepest.
1,645 feet of cold, silent water to suck you under until your corpse is tangled in the sinister, waving lake weeds while dead-eyed lake fish nibble on your remains.
This lake isn’t Lake Tahoe, and I don’t know the official depth. But I hate imagining it. My throat goes dry when I visualize being pulled under and struggling for my life as water pours into my lungs and chokes the oxygen out of me in fat, desperate bubbles while the lake top remains a flat expanse of hidden secrets.
Genevieve’s mouth contorts into an intense pucker, and her forehead creases. “Parasailing? Absolutely not,” she says. She’s shaking her head so fast I’m afraid it might spin off like some Exorcist remake.
“Okay, okay. No parasailing. Kayaking sounds perfect.”
Parasailing sounds open, weightless, free. Kayaking sounds like an invitation to die. But I want Genevieve to be happy, so I’ll rein in my wild fears.
We need to do something together that isn’t quizzing each other about life facts or sex—
I can’t even believe I’m thinking that thought. Sex with Gen is the hottest, most erotic, most exciting act I could have imagined, but some part of me can’t escape a single, crazy worry—I’m afraid I’m just her stand-in.
The more deeply I fall for her, the more convinced I am she and I are so damn right for each other, the more I’ll have to lose when she calls this all off.
The more in love with her I fall, the harder it is to watch her close her eyes when I’m inside her. Is she imagining she’s in bed with someone else—the guy she really wanted to be with all along? Every time she moans, I tense to see if she’ll say my name, or the name of the guy she’s still hung up on.
Even if she truly is over Deo—and I’m not at all convinced she is—knowing what we have can never be permanent makes me crazy. I want to respect the parameters of our “bonding,” but it gets harder the longer I’m around her.
So I’m determined to do things with her outside the bedroom. And that might be because I want to remind myself, and Gen, just how good we always were as friends—and maybe make her realize we have the potential to be amazing as partners.
That’s why I’m forcing myself to be open to this whole kayaking adventure—except by the time we make our way up through the line, they’ve rented all of their kayaks for the day.
“How about a fishing boat?” the man in the booth—his nametag says J.D.—asks us as he pulverizes a toothpick with his crooked teeth. “We’ve got some sturdy outboards over there.”
Genevieve turns, looking up at me from under that ridiculous layer of lashes—fluttering like they’re just daring me to say no to her—and asks, “Do you know how to drive a fishing boat?”
“Of course I do,” I scoff.
I have no fucking clue how to drive a fishing boat.
I loathe water. And I only like
boats as a means to keep me, at least theoretically, from drowning. But I’m in love with the way my wife’s mouth curves into the sweetest smile ever when I say that I can drive this thing, so I plunk down my fifty bucks and follow the proprietor of these boats to the dock.
Genevieve climbs into the tiny silver boat like a pro and even does a little dance that involves jumping and clapping her hands way too much for safety’s sake. We’re on open water, and she should know better than to tempt fate like that. J.D. used the term “sturdy” loosely, and I don’t know much about boats, but this thing looks like an invitation to capsize.
“Calm down,” I say, grabbing her arm to steady her. I wish we were on land. I’d even take walking through all of those generic looking craft and antique stores we passed on the main drag this morning over this nightmare. “You’re going to fall.”
“Please.” Gen rolls her eyes and slaps my arm with a smile. Once she catches sight of my face—which is less than amused—she straightens up. “Wait, you aren’t scared, are you? I thought you said you knew how to drive this?”
“I do,” I insist.
I don’t.
But now pride has me by the balls, and I can’t back down. I just have to figure this out. I’ve used some pretty complicated equipment in the lab. I once drove a tank in the army. How hard can driving a boat be?
I’ve never even been in a boat this small. Honestly, I think the only vessel I’ve ever set foot on was a cruise ship, and I sure as shit wasn’t operating that thing. But if Gen needs to face her fears, so do I. Especially since I married a through-and-through California girl who would just as soon assume residence in the Pacific Ocean like a damn mermaid than live stuck on dry land like a boring, safe mortal.
“Life jackets are mandatory,” J.D. says around the toothpick, motioning to the two life vests crammed in the corner of the boat. I grab one and hand it to Genevieve, then quickly strap myself in.
I want to fucking bear-hug the guy I’m so relieved he mentioned their necessity so I didn’t have to look like an asshole begging to know where he kept them and if I could have one immediately.
“All right,” he continues, “just twist the throttle right there on your left like you would on a motorcycle. The more you twist, the faster the boat is going to go.”
“He knows how,” Genevieve says, running her hand down my arm, full of confidence in me even though I don’t deserve it at all.
J.D. nods as I turn the key and hope with every molecule in me that it starts, and Gen and I can halfway enjoy this day. I feel like a first-class asshole for suggesting that conquering her fears would be so easy. Especially considering the fact that I live in Southern California, I married a certified beach rat, and I am afraid of the water.
The motor starts easily when I turn the key, and I let out a long breath I didn’t even realize I was holding in.
“Here we go!” Genevieve says, clapping again.
This time, I give her a smile that isn’t entirely fake. The throttle is easy to operate, and we’re on our way. The lake is small—maybe eight miles wide, tops—but it might as well be the ocean.
I try to trick myself into believing it’s incredibly shallow so I stop thinking about underwater death. Genevieve grabs a pack of licorice out of her purse then holds the bag out to me.
“Hungry?” she asks, popping a piece in her mouth and gnawing at it.
“I’m good,” I say, not daring to take my hands or eyes off the task at hand. I steer the boat to the left to avoid the cluster of kayakers to the right of us. The thought of being on one of those kayaks instead of in this death machine sounds like olam haba right now.
“You sure?” Genevieve asks, studying me. “You seem nervous.”
She bites into a piece of licorice and pulls the rest free with a snap.
“Just enjoying the view,” I lie.
More like, just counting down the seconds until I have dry land under my feet.
“Well, in that case, why don’t you make good on your promise?”
She moves close to me and pulls her thin tank off, so she’s in a skimpy bikini top and shorts. When she leans over another inch, the soft skin of her stomach brushes against my arm and sends twin jolts of panic and pure bliss through me.
At least if I die in the murky depths of this lake when I crash this boat, my last moments will have been spent close to her.
“Which one was that?” I ask, breathing in the sweet smell of her skin.
When I focus on Gen, I stop panicking. The steering is becoming easier and more familiar, and I start to relax and actually enjoy the fact that I’m out on this lake with this gorgeous fucking girl that I get to call my wife.
“The one about us getting to know each other even better this weekend. I mean, I feel like I know you pretty well after the last couple of nights,” she jokes, a blush creeping over her olive skin. “But there’s more to you, Adam Abramowitz. I’m sure of it. You’re not all seriousness and science. When we were just friends, I never felt like it was my right to pry. I’m going to take advantage of our being ‘bonded,’ and I’m going to prove to you there’s a way to get to know each other that doesn’t involve flashcards and memorization.”
I tear my eyes away from the water in front of me and give her an encouraging smile.
“I’m game. What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.”
“Hmmm…” Genevieve pauses, holding the piece of licorice in between her lips. “What’d you score on your SATs?”
I let out a small chuckle. That’s not the kind of question I was expecting. “2380.”
“Figured,” she says, leaning back on the seat, her body so full and soft, I’m tempted to abandon the boat controls to run my hands over it. Never mind the fact that I just had my hands all over her this morning; that only makes it more tempting. I know just how amazing she feels.
I clear my throat and focus on her questions, because thinking like that is pulling a lot of blood away from my brain and straight below my belt. Which would be great if we were in our big bed at the cabin. Not so great when I’m barely keeping this thing afloat even when I focus my full attention on maneuvering it.
“I’ve got to tell you, I’m a little surprised, with all of the questions that you could possibly ask, you went for my SAT score?”
“I’m just getting started,” she says with a wink. I’m not surprised. “Beach or mountains?”
Neither right now. “Mountains,” I say.
“Favorite movie? And don’t say Star Wars. That’s so generic.”
“Metropolis,” I answer.
Genevieve purses her lips and points at me with a strip of licorice. “Never heard of it.”
I stare at her. “You’re kidding me? 1927? There’s this worker uprising led by this evil cyborg—”
“You lost me at cyborg, babe.” She leans forward and gives me a quick kiss on the lips and all thoughts of evil cyborgs melt from my brain. Her hand rests on mine and her voice drops. “We can probably just hang out here for a while, there’s no one else around.”
She’s right. The other boats and kayaks are a good way’s away. I cut the motor so that we can enjoy the quiet.
“My turn.” I ignore the sickening rock of the boat and pull her onto my lap, pressing my nose to the curve of her neck.
“Go for it.” She runs her hands through my hair, scratching my scalp.
My brain loses all rational thinking ability. “Kiss me first.” I slide my hands over her skin, stopping at the tiny tease of fabric that barely covers her.
Genevieve lets her arms fall in a lazy circle around my shoulders and I pull her closer to me. Her skin is hot from the sun that’s been baking down on us all day. Her mouth is more and more familiar every time I kiss her, but I still don’t know that I’ll ever get used to it.
When I came to the U.S. it was to get an education. I know it makes me sound like a loser, but the last thing on my mind was finding a woman. Somehow I ended up with not only a woman in m
y life, but a wife. It’s so much more complicated than anything I could have ever dreamed up but, damn, it feels good.
“You’re up—what’s your question?” she reminds me, pulling away with the slightest pant. I can’t help but feel satisfied for causing that little rush of breath.
I rub my hands together like I’m about to pull out the best question of all time.
“Do you floss?” I ask, dead serious.
Genevieve’s smile drops, and she raises both eyebrows high. “Is that the best you’ve got, Adam? I mean, really?”
I rub my thumbs along the jut of her hips. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“Try harder,” she whispers. She leans forward and the outline of her nipples in that ridiculously small bikini top is a painful tease. “What do you really want to know that you’re afraid to ask?”
I close my eyes and think about the things that have drifted through my mind since I met Genevieve. Most of those questions have been answered. Like, what does she look like when she’s stripped naked, out of all of those flashy clothes that aren’t really her? What does her voice sound like as she gasps my name? How would it feel to have her mouth wrapped around me and my hands tangled in her hair?
I blink and shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts before I make an ass out of myself here. I say the first thing that comes to mind, even though I know it will be the opposite of a turn on. “What’s your number?”
Genevieve cocks her head to the side and thinks for a second. “What do you mean? My number is in your ph— Oh!”
I want to drag it back into the jealous, nasty region of my brain where it came from, stuff it deep into the black hole of my insecurity, and forget it. On a basic human level it’s rude. It’s overstepping.
But…she is my wife. I should know things like how many people she’s slept with.
Right?
“Okay, so, wow.” She shifts on my lap, back toward my knees so we’re not quite so wrapped around each other.
“You don’t have to answer,” I say, catching my finger in the belt loop on her shorts and tugging her back, but she plants her feet and shakes her head.
