Double Mountain Trouble

by Katerina Cole

  I had stared at the contents of my luggage for a solid three minutes, taking in the neatly-folded stacks of starched white, beige, and gray button-up blouses. Black and navy-blue pencil skirts. High-heeled pumps chosen specifically to make me look taller and less diminutive. Blazers and preppy neck-scarfs. Pantyhose. Perfume that was more “formal” than “fuck me.” Not a single tank top or pair of shorts. No bathing suits, of course. Not even a pair of sandals.

  I was facing a week of God only knew what kinds of shenanigans on the open sea with the hottest, most potentially dangerous billionaire playboy I had ever met, and I had nothing to wear. I ended up just taking the whole damn suitcase, hoping that maybe my businesslike wardrobe would help keep the upcoming week on track, remind both Bruin and myself that the whole, sole reason I was there was to broker a deal for Mirabella. For Jeff. For the sweet, protective older brother who would be absolutely devastated and deeply offended to find out that his former best friend and his baby sister were… doing whatever the hell we were going to do on that godforsaken, beautiful boat.

  Since I was already going to take everything with me, I decided to go ahead and check out of the hotel. Of course, I knew better than to tell Jeff that I was leaving to go on a seven-day joyride with his womanizing college buddy. That would not go over well. But I needed some kind of excuse, some reason why I wouldn’t be available for a whole damn week.

  So, as I was walking out of the hotel with my luggage to meet my driver, I called Jeff’s phone. It was eight-thirty, and I knew he was likely to be on his morning run, so I was pretty sure he wouldn’t pick up. My heart raced as I listened to the line ringing. If he had picked up, I had no idea what I would have said to him. To my relief, he didn’t answer. I left a short, cheerful message explaining that I had suddenly gotten sick with food poisoning and needed to lay low, under a doctor’s orders. I told him I had checked out of the hotel and into a different one, under my own name and bank account so that I wouldn’t run up the bill on his. And then I promptly hung up and turned off my phone. I made no mention of which hotel I would supposedly be staying in. I didn’t mention Bruin’s name at all. And I did not even bring my phone charger with me. If I was really going to pull this off, this ridiculous week-long stunt to get Jeff this stupid yacht, I needed to be extra cautious. I couldn’t have Jeff calling to check in on me, only to hear the rush of the ocean waves or the boat motor in the background and get suspicious.

  I knew it was a risk. A big risk. Jeff would immediately be worried about me. He would want to check on me and bring me chicken soup or something. But in the voicemail, I explained that I didn’t want any visitors, that I felt so sick I wouldn’t be any fun to visit anyway. I assured him, in my most convincing voice, that he would be better off spending the week golfing while I was holed up in my hotel room, sick as a dog and poring over the documents for acquiring Mirabella for him. I didn’t know if it would be enough. I didn’t know if my cover story would fool him even in the slightest, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. I certainly hadn’t planned for any of this. I had not flown all the way down to hot, humid Fort Lauderdale to play hooky for a week and lie to my big brother.

  But that was just the way Bruin did things. He didn’t think twice about the consequences of his actions. He never had. Jeff had told me more than enough stories about the crazy stuff Bruin did in college to convince me of that. I was dealing with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer and would not worry about what the future held. He was all about living in the present, squeezing as much fun and excitement out of every day as he could. If he had something or someone caught in the crosshairs, he got it.

  And this time, for some reason I couldn’t understand, I was what he wanted. It made no sense. Bruin hadn’t seen me in years. Had he really just made the snap decision to seduce me when I accidentally walked in on him in that stateroom a week ago? Was that really all it took? Just a second’s glance and suddenly I was the helpless prey in his sights?

  As I followed him into the yacht, I tried to quiet the thumping of my heart. I needed to play it cool. Stay calm. Keep my head and my wits about me. If I was going to survive this week unscathed, with my stellar reputation in one piece, I would have to be one step ahead of Bruin.

  Of course, that was easier said than done. Especially because he looked like a Greek god when he came to collect me from the dock. I was already on red alert, waiting for him to try another move like he pulled last night in my hotel room. I was still hanging on by a thread. After he’d left the room last night, I had gone straight to bed. I had wanted so badly to touch myself, to finish what he’d started. But I knew that was setting a bad precedent. I couldn’t give in so easily.

  My competitive nature was starting to kick in.

  Bruin wanted me helpless, defenseless, putty in his strong hands. But I had to fight him. I had to prove that not even the sexiest man alive could shake me. He had already tricked me once, but I wouldn’t be fooled again. No. If he wanted to spend a week with me, he would get a week. But I wouldn’t let him forget why I was there. To broker a deal.

  “Come along,” he said, reaching back for my hand.

  I hesitantly took it, allowing him to help me up the gangway. Miguel and a few other young men in identical white uniforms greeted us as we stepped onto the main deck.

  “Welcome back, Ms. Hargrove,” said Miguel with a nod.

  He was smiling, but I detected a hint of nervousness on his face, too. Surely the whole crew was aware of what was about to happen. That we were about to set sail on perhaps the most scandalous ride of my life. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times Bruin had done this. How many women he had seduced and taken on a long, one-on-one cruise out on the water. How many times had the crew sat idly by and tended to one short-lived fling after another?

  What number was I? Ten? Twenty? One hundred?

  As far as I could tell, Bruin rarely spent a single night alone in his bed. It was a new girl every night. And the crew were here all the time, hardly ever taking time off. I had been in the yacht business long enough to know that for most crew members, this was a lifestyle. It paid extraordinarily well, and it was exciting to travel around, almost like a free vacation except for the fact that, well, they were working. There were certainly worse jobs to have. But in this case, these crew members had to know exactly why I was here. And it wasn’t to inspect the ship or have a polite, buttoned-up business meeting. Bruin had brought me here for one reason and one reason only, and I knew they knew.

  Awkward.

  “Miguel, take our guest’s luggage. She brought an entire closet’s worth of stuff, it looks like. Must be awfully heavy for one woman to carry,” Bruin remarked with just a hint of a smirk on his handsome face.

  I blushed. I probably looked ridiculous, carrying all this stuff with me. I hated looking high-maintenance. I mean, I kind of was, but not by choice. It was important to my job, and my job was the most important thing to me. Well, besides Jeff.

  Oh, God. Jeff.

  Miguel stepped up and took my suitcase from me with a smile. “I’ll take that, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, Miguel,” I replied, my cheeks still hot.

  “Where will I take it, sir?” he asked Bruin.

  Bruin waved his hand. “To my stateroom. Just put it in the closet.”

  What? His room?

  “Wait,” I interrupted before Miguel could walk away with my stuff in tow. “Why your room? Shouldn’t my stuff be in my room?”

  Bruin grinned. “One and the same, Jillian. My room is your room.”

  “That seems awfully unprofessional,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Besides, Mirabella is massive. There are plenty of rooms to choose from without us having to bunk together, Bruin.”

  He didn’t waver for even a second. He took my arm and began leading me to the stairs and down to the hall where his room was located. Miguel followed behind dutifully.

  “Bruin, I’m serious,” I said firmly.
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  “Well, there are other rooms, but I think you’ll have to agree that mine is the best one. The largest, the most comfortable, the best view. And the services provided in my room are the best of the best,” he growled.

  “S-Services?” I repeated, frowning in confusion.

  He nodded slowly as he led me to the room. He stood back to let Miguel walk by and put my luggage away. I pulled away from him. “Bruin, I am not staying in your room. I’ll take the one next door. Final offer.”

  He looked at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he shrugged.

  “Okay. Whatever you say,” he agreed with a radiant smile. “Here, let me show you your room, then. We’ll get reacquainted.”

  “I think I can figure out how to use a bed on my own, thanks,” I said, a little sharply.

  Bruin simply laughed. “Damn, you’ve really changed since I last saw you.”

  “Well, yeah. I’m twenty-five now. I was a dumb kid back then.”

  We walked into the smaller stateroom and he closed the door behind us, then said to me meaningfully, “Jillian, you may have been a kid, but you have never, ever been dumb.”

  I blinked a few times, surprised at the compliment. I kept waiting for the punch line, but it never came. Instead he simply started showing me around the room. “Right. Here’s the en suite bathroom, the wardrobe, the linen closet with towels and extra sheets for the bed.”

  “Thank you,” I said. Then, I opened my mouth to say something else and stopped myself. I didn’t know what to say. Bruin caught it, though. He caught everything.

  He sauntered up to me wordlessly and cupped my face in his hands. I stared up at him, afraid to even breathe. His hands were huge and warm and I could feel my whole body tingling with desire. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.

  “Bruin…” I trailed off.

  He bent down to kiss me, softly at first, and then harder. Forceful. Passionate.

  My plan to avoid all bodily contact evaporated. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of his touch. And he knew it. He picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the bed. He pushed me down onto my back, spreading my legs apart with his hand roughly. I gazed up at him, breathing hard, afraid that he might stop before we even started.

  But not this time.

  He hiked up my dress and knelt down between my thighs, gently rubbing his face into my heat. I gasped and instinctively reached down to twirl my fingers in his thick hair. He smirked up at me, knowing I was lost. I was his. I always had been.

  He hooked a finger until the band of my panties and pulled them aside, then dove in without any warning. He ran his tongue slowly up and down the length of my slit while I groaned and closed my eyes. He flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud of my clit, his hands gripping my thighs, wrenching them further apart. He wanted everything out of the way, a clear path to my pussy.

  “So wet for me, Jillian,” he growled.

  “I don’t know how you do it,” I breathed.

  “Do what?” he asked, circling my clit with his thumb so that I was twitching and writhing with intense, almost overwhelming pleasure.

  “You make me forget everything. Who I am. Why I’m here. How?” I asked between moans. He chuckled, a smirk on his face.

  “I know what you want. What you need. I can feel it. Fuck, I can smell it,” he said huskily. “And I’m going to give you what you need. As long as you promise to trust me.”

  “I promise,” I whispered, without hesitation.

  “Good. I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own damn name,” he promised, leaning forward and sucking my clit.

  I arched my hips and cried out, my hands gripping the sheets on either side of me. I wrapped my legs around his neck, pulling him in close, begging him not to stop.

  And he didn’t.

  He plunged his tongue into my slick hole, his fingers rubbing my clit in tight, delicious circles while I groaned and whimpered. It felt so fucking good. Even in college, I had never had a man go down on me before. I knew what it was. I wasn’t that naive. But I never thought it could feel like this. Bruin licked up every drop of my gushing juices, sucking my clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue until I was almost screaming. I could feel my climax coming, my body tensing up for the release.

  “Yes! Oh, fuck yes!” I cried out, rolling my hips and gasping.

  “Come for me, baby,” Bruin growled. “I want to taste you.”

  “Oh my God, Bruin, it feels so fucking good,” I whimpered. He began circling my clit with the stiff tip of his tongue, stoking the fire higher and higher. “Oh God. Just like that. Ohh, please don’t stop. Bruin… Bruin!” I screamed.

  I came so hard I thought I might black out, my body trembling and weak as Bruin sucked up every drop, his hands keeping my thighs spread apart. “Good girl,” he said, licking his lips.

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. “Oh my Hod, I can’t believe this is happening.”

  He stood up and wiped his mouth. “Believe it.”

  I was limp, unable to move as my body shook with the aftershocks of intense pleasure. God, it had been such a long fucking time. And never had I ever felt like that before. Not by myself or with anyone else. Bruin was magic. True fucking magic.

  I forced myself to sit up and tug my dress back down, suddenly feeling very exposed.

  “You can stay in this room if you like, but I have a feeling you would have a much more enjoyable time if you stay with me,” he said pointedly, and walked out of the room.

  Fifteen

  Bruin

  “Are you sure this is necessary? It’s just the two of us.” Jillian was trying to say as I led her down the carpeted hallway to the dining room, and I couldn’t help but smile.

  “That’s exactly why it’s necessary,” I explained.

  Her arm was laced through mine, and I gave it a gentle squeeze as she looked up in awe at the room I led her into. Lavish black carpeting gave the room a dark, moody feeling that was accented by the dim lighting on the ceiling. I’d had all but a single table removed, the one reserved for us sitting in front of the massive glass window overlooking the deck and the sea in front of us. Candles burned on the table, but that light was nothing compared to the full moon outside that gouged a streak of white on the black waters.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. “What is it like to be your accountant?”

  “Well-paid,” I said with a gentle laugh.

  I led us to the table and pulled her chair out for her before taking my own place, and the waiter who was standing at attention already had a couple of bottles of wine ready.

  “Château Lafite, or Domaine Ramonet Montrachet Grand Cru for you, madam?” the server asked, holding out the red and white respectively. By the shocked look on Jillian’s face, I could tell she actually recognized those names.

  “Steak,” I mouthed silently to her when she looked to me for help, and she pointed to the red with a sheepish grin.

  “Is this what I think it is?” she asked me as he poured our wine for us.

  “Jill, we’ve been too touch-and-go the past week,” I said, leaning forward and admiring the reflected candlelight in her eyes. “This week is going to be about showing you what things are like in my life. Everything I can do. And I don’t just mean what I showed you in the bedroom earlier,” I said once the waiter had walked off, my voice low and husky. Her face burned a shade of red that complemented the blue of her dress lovingly.

  “So, let me guess, you have a gourmet sushi chef on retainer?” she asked jokingly.

  “He’s on vacation with his family in Tokyo,” I said, taking pleasure in watching her eyes widen. “This week’s chef is Australian, and I don’t think he’ll disappoint. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  “Good. I was hoping to start off the week with a little color. We have stuffed mushrooms to start with,” I demonstrated, and with perfect timing, our server returned with two p
lates of steaming, perfectly cooked mushrooms absolutely bursting with a creamy stuffing and smelling rich and earthy. “And after that, full-blood Wagyu tenderloin. And of course, some dessert cheese and wine afterward.”

  “How would madam like her steak cooked?” the server asked kindly.

  “Medium-rare,” Jill said dumbly up at him, still in shock about everything.

  “Oh thank God, I was worried you might be a well-done kind of woman,” I said. “I find it true that once you’ve gotten a taste of blood,” I warned, holding her gaze meaningfully. “You keep coming back for more.”

  She squirmed in her seat and took a drink of wine rather quickly, and I grinned. Sometimes, Jillian gave me the impression she was somewhere between guest and hostage on this ship, and if I were a gambling man, I’d suspect that some part of her enjoyed that. Of course she was neither. She was always free to leave. Always. But I knew deep in my gut it would never come to that.

  Dinner was exquisite. We made small-talk about the details of the yacht over the appetizer before the cuts of steak arrived. I’d never seen a woman tear into a steak like that before. I wondered if she’d ever had Wagyu beef before, because she devoured it as if she’d been starving.

  Being able to give her that luxury made me feel proud in a way I rarely felt when entertaining guests.

  By the time we finished the dessert cheese and wine, conversation had turned to where exactly I was taking us over the next few days. But we were on our third glass of wine, and I was starting to feel restless in my seat.

  “I mean, I’ve never honestly looked at yacht destinations, really” she was saying, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

  “Always too busy running things behind the scenes to enjoy it a little yourself, I’d imagine,” I assumed with a smile. “Come, an empty dining table is no place to really enjoy a yacht. You can bring your glass,” I added as we started to stand up. Jillian swayed a little, but I took her arm in mine again to guide her.