by Heidi Rice
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘IS THAT NASSAU?’ Xanthe called out to Dane, hoping the flush on her face wasn’t as bright as the lights she could see across the bay, which had to be the commercial and cultural capital of the Bahamas.
A kaleidoscope of red and orange hues painted the sky where the sun dipped beneath a silhouette of palm trees and colourful waterfront shacks on the nearby beach.
She’d slept the whole day away. Her body felt limber and alive, well-rested and rejuvenated... Unfortunately that wasn’t doing anything for her peace of mind as snatches of conversation from the hour before dawn, when Dane had come to relieve her on deck after her shattering stint at the helm, made her heart pummel her chest and her face burn with the heat of a thousand suns.
Had she actually begged him to give her an orgasm?
Yup, she was pretty sure she had.
And had she blurted out that he’d been the only man she’d ever slept with?
Way to go, Xanthe.
How exactly did she come back from that with any dignity? Especially as she could still feel the phantom stroke of his tongue on her clitoris?
He stopped what he was doing with the rigging and strolled across the deck towards her.
The fluid gait, sure-footed and purposeful and naturally predatory, put all her senses on high alert and turned the tingle in her clitoris to a definite hum.
‘Yeah, the marina is on Paradise Island,’ he said as he approached, his deep voice reverberating through her sternum. ‘But we’re anchored here till morning. It’s too dangerous to try docking after sunset.’
The blush became radioactive as he studied her face.
‘You slept okay?’
‘Yes... Thank you.’ Like the dead, for twelve solid hours.
The memory of him washing her hair, rubbing her naked skin with a towel and then blasting away all her other aches and pains made her heart jam her larynx.
‘You’re welcome.’ His lips kicked up on one side, the sensual curve making the pit of her stomach sink into the toes of her deck shoes. ‘Thanks for taking such good care of The Sea Witch,’ he murmured.
Her knees trembled, her heart swelling painfully in her throat at the thought of how carefully he’d taken care of her.
Who was she kidding? This wasn’t just about sex—not any more. Or at least not for her. The fear she thought she’d ridden into the dust kicked back up under her breastbone. She was falling for him again. And she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself.
His gaze glided over the blush now setting fire to her cheeks.
‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.
She cleared her throat.
Backing down had never been the answer with Dane—she of all people ought to know that by now. Being coy or embarrassed now would be suicidal.
He’d left her feeling fragile and vulnerable and scared. Which almost certainly hadn’t been his intention, because having her love him had never been part of Dane’s agenda. She had to turn this around, make it clear that sex was the only thing they still shared... Or he’d know exactly how much last night had meant to her.
‘Actually there is, and it has to do with your extremely altruistic use of your superpower,’ she said, cutting straight to the chase.
His eyebrows hiked up his forehead.
‘And how is that a problem?’ he asked, but it wasn’t really a question. The bite of sarcasm was unmistakable.
She’d annoyed him. This was good.
‘Not a problem, exactly,’ she said—as if she could dispute that, when he’d turned her into a quivering mess who had screamed his name out at top volume. ‘But I would have been fine without it. I didn’t need a pity orgasm.’
* * *
‘A... A pity what?’ Dane choked on the words as the tension in his gut gripped the base of his spine and turned his insides into a throbbing knot of need. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I didn’t need you to take pity on me. When I said I wanted to make love to you, I planned to hold up my end of the bargain.’
‘How?’
Anger surged through him. He’d been on a knife-edge all damn day, his emotions in turmoil, his hunger for her driving him nuts—but not nearly as much as his yearning to ask her to stay with him. Which was even more nuts. They’d grown up, gone their separate ways. They had nothing in common now—nothing that should make him want her this much. And now she was accusing him of... What?
He didn’t even know what she was talking about. He’d given her the one thing he was capable of giving her without sinking them both any further into the mire. And she’d just told him she hadn’t wanted that either.
‘You were exhausted—barely awake,’ he ground out. ‘Because you’d been up all night doing my damn job for me.’ Blood was pulsing into his crotch, making it hard for him to regulate his temper. Or his voice, which had risen to a shout they could probably hear back in Manhattan. ‘You needed to sleep.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘So you decided to help me with that? Well, thanks a bunch. Next time I have insomnia I’ll be sure to order up Dane’s pity orgasm remedy.’
‘You ungrateful little witch.’
Fury overwhelmed him. He’d wanted nothing more than to feel her come apart in his arms, make her moan and beg and say his name and only his name. But she’d been tired and emotional. And then she’d struck him right through the heart with that statement about him being the only one.
It had taken him a moment to figure out what she was telling him. But when he’d got it—when he’d realised he was the only guy she’d ever slept with—it had felt like watching his boat shoot across the finishing line of the America’s Cup and being knifed in the gut all at the same time.
The burst of pride and pleasure and possessiveness had combined with the terror of wanting to hold on to her too much—throwing him all the way back to the grinding fear of his childhood. So he’d held back. He’d given her what she needed without taking what he wanted for himself.
And now she was telling him what he’d given her wasn’t enough.
‘Ungrateful?’ She seared him with a look that could have cut through lead. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be grateful. I’m not a charity case. I want to be your equal. In bed as well as out of it.’
He grabbed her arms, dragged her close. ‘You want to participate this time? I don’t have a problem with that.’
She thrust her hands into his hair, digging her fingers into the short strands to haul his mouth to within a whisper of hers. The desire sparking in her eyes turned the mossy green to emerald fire.
‘Good, because neither do I,’ she said, then planted her lips on his.
The kiss went from wild to insane in a heartbeat. The need that had been churning in his gut all day surged out of control as he boosted her into his arms.
He couldn’t keep her, but he could sure as hell ensure she never forgot him.
* * *
Rough stubble abraded Xanthe’s palms as her whole body sang the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ Her breasts flattened against his chest and their mouths duelled in a wild, uncontrollable battle for supremacy.
His tongue thrust deep, dominant and demanding, parrying with hers as wildfire burned through her system. She hooked her legs round his waist, clinging on as he staggered down to the cabin with her wrapped around him like a limpet.
Barging through the door, he flung her onto the bed. She lurched onto her knees, watching as he kicked off his trunks. The thick erection bounced free, hard and long and ready for her.
Everything inside her melted. All the anger and agony and the terrifying vulnerability was flushed away on a wave of longing so intense she thought she might pass out.
This was all they had ever been able to have. She had to remember that.
He grabbed the front of her T-shirt and hauled her up, ripping the thin cotton down the middle. His lips crushed hers, his tongue claiming her mouth again in a soul-numbing kiss. Drawing back, he helped her struggle
out of the rest of her clothing, his groans matched by the pants of her breathing.
At last they were naked, the feel of his skin warm and firm, tempered by the steely strength beneath. Muscles rippled with tension beneath her stroking palms. He cupped her sex, his fingers finding the heart of her with unerring accuracy. She bucked off the bed, his touch too much for her tender flesh. He circled with his thumb, knowing just how to caress her, to draw out her pleasure to breaking point. His lips clamped to a nipple and drew it deep into his mouth.
Sensations collided, then crashed through her. She sobbed as the blistering climax hit—hard and fast and not enough.
‘I need you inside me,’ she sobbed, desperate to forget about the aching emptiness that had tormented her for so long.
He rose up, grasped her hips, positioned himself to plunge deep. But as he pressed at her entrance he froze suddenly. Then dropped his forehead to hers and swore loudly. ‘I don’t have any protection. This wasn’t supposed to happen.’
His dark gaze met hers, and her brutal arousal was reflected in those blindingly blue eyes. She blurted out the truth. ‘It’s okay. As long as we’re both clean. I won’t get pregnant.’
‘You’re on the pill?’
The gruff assumption reached inside her and ripped open the gaping wound she’d spent years denying even existed. She slammed down on the wrenching pain. And on the urge to tell him the terrible truth of how much she’d lost by loving him.
Don’t tell him. You can’t.
‘Yes,’ she lied.
He kissed her, his groan of relief echoing in her sternum, feeding her own need back to her. Then he angled her hips and thrust deep.
Her body arched, and the sensation of fullness was overwhelming as she struggled to adjust to the thick intrusion. He began to move, driving into her in a devastating rhythm that dug at that spot inside only he had ever touched.
‘Let go, Red. I want to see you come again. Just for me.’
The possessive tone, the desperation in his demand felt too real, too frightening. She’d given him everything once. She couldn’t afford to give it all to him again.
‘I can’t.’
‘Yes, you can.’ He found her clitoris with his thumb. Swollen and aching.
The perfect touch drove her back towards the peak with staggering speed. Her whole body clamped down, euphoria driving through the fear. His eyes met hers, the intensity in their blue depths reaching out and touching her heart.
She gripped broad shoulders, the muscles tensed beneath her fingertips as she tried to shield herself against the intense wave of emotion. But it rose up anyway, shaking her to the core as her body soared past that last barrier to plunge into the abyss.
He shouted out, the sound muffled against her neck, as he emptied his seed into her womb.
* * *
She came to moments later, his body heavy on hers. The bright, beautiful wave of afterglow receded, to be replaced by the shattering feeling of an emotion she hadn’t wanted to feel.
Lifting up on his elbows, he brushed the hair back from her brow. The shuttered look in his eyes made her shudder with reaction. The feeling of him still intimately linked to her was too much.
‘Are you okay?’ he said.
The wariness in his expression made her heart feel heavy. How could he protect himself so easily when she’d never been able to protect herself in return?
One rough palm caressed her cheek and she turned away from it, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyelids at this glimpse of tenderness.
This was just sex for him. That was all it had ever been.
‘Never better.’ She pressed her palms against his chest, suddenly feeling trapped. And fragile. ‘I need to clean up.’
He rolled off her without complaint. But as she tried to scramble off the bed firm fingers caught her wrist, holding her in place. ‘Xan, don’t.’
She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t run off.’
He tugged her back towards him and slung an arm around her shoulder, and—weak and feeble woman that she was—she let him draw her under his arm until her head was nestled against his chest, her palm resting over his heart, which was still beating double time with hers.
His thumb caressed her cheek, and the rumble of his voice in her ear drew her in deeper. ‘Why has there never been anyone else?’
She considered denying it. If he’d sounded smug or arrogant she probably would have, but all he sounded was guarded.
‘I wish I hadn’t told you that.’ She sighed. ‘It was a weak moment. Can’t you forget it?’
‘Nope,’ he murmured into her hair.
It occurred to her that he probably didn’t want this burden any more than he’d wanted any of the others she’d thrust upon him.
‘If it’s any consolation,’ he said, his fingers threading through her hair as his deep voice rumbled against her ear, ‘there hasn’t been anyone important for me either.’
Her heartbeat hitched into an uneven rhythm. Ten years ago that admission would have had her bursting with happiness. She would have taken it as a sign. A sign that she meant something to him. Something beyond the obvious. But she wasn’t that optimistic any more. Or as much of a pushover. And she couldn’t risk letting herself believe again. Because it had already cost her far too much.
‘I guess we’ve both been pretty busy...’ She tried to smile, but the crooked tilt of her lips felt weak and forced.
‘I guess,’ he said.
The husky agreement let them both off the hook. Until he spoke again.
‘That scar—low under your belly button. How did you get it?’
She stilled, unable to talk, struggling to stop her eyes filling with unshed tears.
‘Was it the baby?’
The hint of hesitation in his voice made her heart pound even harder, emotion closing her throat.
She nodded.
His arm tightened.
She needed to talk about this. To tell him all the things she’d been robbed of the chance to tell him then.
Perhaps this was why it had always felt as if there was more between them? She clung to the thought. So much of their past remained unresolved. Maybe if she took this opportunity to remedy that they could go their separate ways without so many regrets?
All she had to do was get enough breath into her lungs to actually speak.
* * *
Dane’s heart thudded against his collarbone. He could feel the tension in her body, her silent struggle to draw a full breath. He’d known it had been bad for her. He hadn’t meant to bring all that agony back. But the question had slipped out, his desire to know as desperate as his desire to comfort her. And for once his anger at her father was nowhere near as huge as his anger with himself.
Whatever the old bastard had done after the fact, Dane was the one who’d stormed out of that motel room and hadn’t contacted her for days.
So when all was said and done it was down to him that he hadn’t been there when she’d needed him. However much he had tried to put the blame on her old man.
‘Can you talk about it?’ he asked, the husk of his voice barely audible.
She nodded again and cleared her throat. The raw sound scraped over his temper and dug into the guilt beneath. When her voice finally came it wasn’t loud, but it was steady.
‘I have a scar because they had to operate. I was bleeding heavily and they...’
She hesitated for a moment, and the slight hitch in her breathing was like a knife straight into his heart.
‘They couldn’t get a heartbeat.’
Hell.
He settled his hand on her head, tugged her closer. The urge to lend her his strength impossible to deny, however useless it might be now.
‘I’m so damn sorry, Red. I should never have insisted on marrying you and taking you to that damn motel. It was a dive. You would have been okay if you’d stayed on daddy’s estate...’
She pulled out of his arms, her
eyes fierce and full of raw feeling as she silenced him with a finger across his lips.
‘Stop it!’
Her voice sounded choked. And he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes, crucifying him even more.
‘That’s not true. It would have happened regardless. And I wanted to be with you.’
He captured her finger, his heart battering his ribs so hard now he was astonished that it didn’t jump right out of his chest.
‘He was right about me, though,’ he said.
‘What was he right about?’ She seemed puzzled—as if she really didn’t get it.
‘He called me a wharf rat. And that’s exactly what I was.’
He pushed the words out, and tried to feel relieved that he’d finally told her the truth. The one thing he’d been so desperate to keep from her all those years ago.
‘I grew up in a trailer park that was one step away from being the town dump. My old man was a drunk who got his kicks from beating the crap out of me, so I hung around the marina to get away from him until I got big enough to hit back.’
Even if the squalid truth about who he really was and where he’d come from could never undo all the stuff he’d done wrong, at least it would go some way to show her how truly sorry he was—for all the pain he’d caused.
‘If that doesn’t make me a wharf rat, I don’t know what does.’
Xanthe clutched the sheet covering her breasts, which were heaving now as if she’d just run a marathon. Her mind reeled from Dane’s statement. So it was his father who had caused those terrible scars on his back. She’d always suspected as much. Sympathy twisted in her stomach—not just for that boy, but for the look in Dane’s eyes now that told her he actually believed what he was saying.
How could she have got it so wrong? She had believed his silence about himself and his past had been the result of arrogance and pride and indifference, when what it had really been was defensiveness.
‘I’m sorry your father hurt you like that.’
And what did she do with the evidence that it still hurt her so much to know he’d been abused?
‘Don’t feel sorry for that little bastard,’ he said. ‘He didn’t deserve it.’
Of course he did. But how could she tell him that without giving away the truth—that a part of her had never stopped loving that boy.
