Docked

by Wade, Rachael

  “Anya?” Tanner calls out.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you up to?”

  “Just getting ready to go for a swim.” I walk to the dresser and pick up a clean towel from the pile of neatly folded ones. “I’ll be out on the beach.”

  “Have you eaten anything for breakfast?”

  “No, not hungry.”

  “I’m going to grab a bite and then I’ll meet you out there.”

  “Okay. Hey, do you have any sunscreen in there? I think I left mine back at the cabana.”

  “Sure.” The bathroom door clicks open and I walk toward it, slowing when I see him brushing his teeth, wrapped in a towel. It’s hanging low on his waist, droplets of water dotting his rigid abdomen. He wipes the steam from the mirror and catches my gaze. He stops brushing and rinses his mouth, a slow smile spreading from ear to ear. “You’re wearing a white one today,” he comments on my bikini.

  “You ruined the teal one.”

  “I did.” He smiles with all the pride in the world. “But I won’t let you return to the mainland without a replacement, Miss Banks. Let me know your size and the name of the brand, and I’ll see to it that a new one is delivered to your doorstep when you arrive.”

  “Tanner, that’s really not necessary.” I glance down at the white suit and shrug. “I like this one just fine.” Spotting the sunscreen on the bathroom counter, I reach forward and pluck it up, then turn to leave him be, but his hand closes around my wrist.

  “Anya,” he says softly. “Whatever my mother said to you, please forget it.”

  “She didn’t say anything I don’t already know.”

  He pulls me into the bathroom and takes the towel and sunscreen from my hands, setting them on the sink. He lifts me and sets me next to them. My legs dangle over the edge, and he holds me there, his palms flat on the marble, next to my thighs. “And that is?”

  “That I’m just another one of your playthings. That’s not what upset me.”

  His eyes narrow with confusion. “It’s not?”

  “No. I mean, the reality is we are just…playmates. It’s the other thing she said. Or more so assumed.”

  “What did she assume?” He watches me carefully.

  “Just that I do this sort of thing all the time.”

  “This sort of thing?”

  “Roll around in rich men’s beds.”

  His eyes drift shut and he sighs. “My mother is used to seeing me with different women. I would say that is no reflection on you, but that isn’t true. She sees you all the same. Out for my money, out to corrupt me.” He laughs darkly, glancing up at the ceiling. “When I’m the one doing the corrupting.”

  “Mothers see what they want to see.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.”

  As his gaze falls back to mine, I’m suddenly stricken with the same earlier pang of guilt, and the words begin to tumble out before I can stop them, much less process them. “I heard everything. Earlier, I mean. Between you and your mother.”

  “I kind of figured that.”

  “I’m not just a neurotic writer, I’m a nosey one.”

  “And honest, too.” His irises light up with playfulness. “What would you like to know?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Always.”

  I plant my palms on his bare chest, sliding them up until they split over his collarbone and meet his shoulders. “I’d like to know more about your father.” I recognize I’m treading shaky ground here, especially after his shouting match with his mother, but I really do want to know, not just on a professional level, but a personal level. How will I ever know who Tanner Christensen the businessman is, if I don’t get to know Tanner Christensen, the man?

  A cloud hovers and smothers the glimmer in his eyes, and he backs away from the bathroom sink, guiding my hands away from his shoulders.

  I feel my face fall. I’ve pushed it, and now he’s closing up on me. “Forget it,” I murmur, sliding down from the sink. I collect my towel and sunscreen. “I shouldn’t have gone there.”

  “Miss Banks.”

  I stop in the doorway. “Anya. It’s Anya, right now, Tanner.”

  “Anya.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll see you out on the beach.”

  “Sounds good.” I give him a brisk nod and head out the back door, planting my toes in the sand and dropping my towel the second the sun hits my skin. I’m just feet from the water, lounging out on Tanner’s very own stretch of sand. I revel in the privacy of the beachfront property, and push all thoughts of Tanner’s father’s legacy from my mind. Today, I’m in the beautiful, sunny Caribbean, and I intend to enjoy every second of it. If I can’t make any progress with the business part of my trip, I’m determined to do so with the pleasurable part. And every part of spending time with Tanner Christensen is certainly pleasurable.

  I flip the cap on the sunscreen and begin to apply it generously over my arms and legs, then move on to my face and neck. The calm, blue-green water beckons me. This time Jonah isn’t here to distract me. This time, I’m alone. This time, I will swim if it kills me. I stand and stalk forward to meet the ocean head on. Flashes of Zoe’s face assault me the closer my feet come to the water, but I push on. Despite a horrid run-in with Tanner’s mother and the roadblock that Tanner’s placed in front of my research efforts, today is all about fun.

  It’s time to play.

  ***

  “You’re glowing,” Tanner says as I trudge back up to the shore.

  “I am,” I grin, gratefully accepting the fresh towel he hands me. “And you’re a stalker.”

  “It’s not very nice to name call, Anya.” He tugs the end of the towel and lightly wipes at my face. My nose scrunches and I dodge the contact, but I can’t escape. Tanner’s been sitting on the beach, watching me swim to my heart’s delight for the past hour, and now he’s turning and wrapping me in the huge towel like a burrito. He spins me, and once I’m folded snugly, brings me against his chest. I stare out at the ocean, relaxed and triumphant.

  For the first twenty minutes in the ocean, I simply kept my head above water, focusing on my breathing and treading with my arms and legs. As time went on and I realized I had control, my body grew more lax. Eventually, I was able to float on my back. Just float and stare up at the clear blue sky and big, white fluffy clouds. Stare as my demons scattered and the sun kissed my skin.

  It was heaven.

  “How about some lunch?”

  “You just had breakfast a little over an hour ago.”

  “I did. But you haven’t eaten. Shall I make you something?” He rests his chin atop my head and joins me in staring out at the horizon. Warm, balmy air swamps us, the same summer breeze I experience back home, in Florida, but there’s a nice breeze here, distinctly tropical.

  “You, fix me something?”

  “I do know how to make a sandwich, Miss Banks.”

  “I thought you had a maid or cook or something to handle all of that for you.”

  “I did my own grocery shopping last night, didn’t I?”

  “I’m shocked you even did that.” I laugh, and his arms tighten over my chest. He bites at my ear.

  “What do I have to do to prove to you that just because I’m rich, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of taking care of myself?”

  “I don’t know, do some laundry?”

  “Laundry is too easy.”

  “So is making me a sandwich.”

  “Making a sandwich is serious business.”

  “Um, no. No it isn’t.”

  “You clearly haven’t enjoyed a proper sandwich, then.”

  “Give it up, Tanner. You’re not feeding me. I’m not hungry.” And really, I’m not. I’m still full from all the junk food Lana and Brie have been shoveling my way since the cruise began.

  “So, no laundry, and no sandwich making…”

  My eyes gleam as an idea manifests. I squirm and turn around in his arms, clasping my hands along the back of his wa
ist. I grin up at him deviously. “I know what you can do to prove it to me.”

  He peers down at me suspiciously. “I’m listening.”

  “Clean the living room.”

  “That’s as easy as folding laundry.”

  “Oh, cleaning a living room is an art. It involves more than straightening couch cushions, you know. It means organizing and dusting. Yes! You need to dust.” I turn my nose up in the air and swing my arm out to the side, calling on my inner Margaret to mimic his snooty mother. I think I even have her voice down pat. “After all, Tanner William Christensen, those living room shelves are filthy.”

  His white teeth flash as he shakes his head and glances in the distance. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Miss Banks?”

  “Well, do you accept the challenge?”

  Tanner releases me and folds his arms over his chest. His muscles flex with the movement, and I can’t help but eye his beautiful build. He reaches out and brings a finger to my chin, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. “I never turn down a challenge.”

  “Then it’s time to get to work.” I drop my towel and dart around him, racing back up to the beach house. His feet pound the sand behind me. The second we’re back inside the house, my mind is churning. I’m a woman on a mission. I hurry into the kitchen to search the pantry, grabbing a duster, some cleaning spray, and an apron that’s hanging from one of the hooks on the wall. My eyes light up when I see it, and I can’t resist.

  “That isn’t happening, Anya,” he says sternly from behind. When I turn from the pantry, I find him staring me down, arms casually draped over his chest.

  “This is one of my conditions.” I hold out the white apron.

  “You didn’t say anything about conditions.”

  “I’m saying something now.”

  “Aprons are for cooking, not for dusting.” He eyes the duster in my other hand, arching a disapproving brow.

  “Not in Anya’s fantasy world.”

  A speck of amusement teases his lips, but he clears his throat and bites it back. “Is that so?”

  “Yup.” I shove the apron into his abdomen. “See, in Anya’s fantasy world, rich, sexy men such as you clean the house naked. Covered in nothing but an apron.”

  “Men with dusters? That’s what you fantasize about? Oh, baby, we really need to work on broadening your horizons. It’d be my pleasure to enlighten you.” He begins to prowl forward, ready to take charge, but I match his steps, moving backward until my back bumps into the pantry doorknob.

  “Ah, ah,” I singsong, wiggling my finger at him. “You drop the trunks and wear the apron or no deal. I’ll remain convinced that you are incapable of handling simple, domestic tasks on your own.”

  A cross between a groan and a growl vibrates in his throat and there’s a flare of resistance in his baby blues. He snatches the apron from my fist and rolls his neck, looking to the ceiling as if he’s counting to five and practicing some sort of breathing exercise. A giggle is on the verge of exploding from my chest, but I swallow it down. I don’t want to kill his cooperation.

  With one swift movement, he drops his swim trunks and wraps the white apron around his waist. He’s hard beneath it, and it’s utterly distracting, but my eyes travel greedily up to his bare, sleek abdomen. He’s insanely scrumptious. I’m going to enjoy every second of this.

  “Does this please you, Anya?” His voice turns silky and seductive, and my eyes flick up to his. He’s smiling down at me, well aware of what he’s doing. This same tone is the one that turned me to mush the first time I went to bed with him.

  “Very much.”

  “Do you mind?” He gestures to the duster.

  “Be my guest.” I hand it to him and my smile widens as he turns to walk toward the living room. His ass is perfect, as is the slope of his chiseled back. This view is certainly what dreams are made of. There’s simply nothing like a strong, hard male in nothing but a scrap of white material, ready to clean house.

  I sigh happily and follow him into the living room, settling into the chic cream-colored sofa. It’s plush and sophisticated, just like the décor back on the Trident Voyager, but with a touch of casual flair.

  “Where shall I start?” He stops in front of the entertainment center and faces me.

  “The shelves.” I point and gesture for him to spin around. He gives me a knowing smile and pivots, starting with the top shelf. He sweeps the duster over the white wood, humming to himself as he goes, and I sit back and enjoy the view. A grin is plastered to my face, my arms cradling the back of my head as I lounge back. Tanner moves on to the next shelf down. “You missed a spot.”

  “Anya Banks, if you think there won’t be repercussions for this, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “Hey, this was all your idea.”

  He glances over his shoulder, eyes dropping to the white string over his lower back and then up, to the duster in his hand. “This was not my idea.”

  “Just think. You’re proving me wrong, Mr. Christensen. Wasn’t that your goal?”

  “Why do I get the feeling this is somehow payback?”

  “Payback? For what?” My brows lift in interest.

  “For not answering all of your interview questions to your satisfaction.”

  “Aha!” I sit up, placing my palms on the couch cushions. “So you admit you’re being difficult.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  “There you go again, being difficult.”

  “This topic is closed for discussion.” He swipes at the shelf and continues downward, brushing the space above the television.

  “You just blew it wide open.” I stand and stroll toward him, stopping just behind his back. I reach up on my tip toes and press a kiss to his shoulder. His skin jumps beneath my lips and he turns slightly, thick lashes drawing down as his blue eyes find my brown ones.

  “There’s nothing about me—or my father, for that matter—that you can’t Google.”

  “That’s a crock if I ever heard one.”

  He turns to face me fully, revealing an austere expression.

  “The media only tells us what they want us to know. The internet can’t tell me what your father meant to you. Or how you view his legacy. It can’t tell me about the emotions that swamped you when you heard of his death or what your fondest memory of him is. It can’t tell me about you, Tanner. It can only tell me about Tanner William Christensen, owner of Trident Voyager.”

  “Why do you need to know those things?” he asks quietly. The playfulness is sucked from the air around us, our banter going straight with it. I watch him closely, realizing I’ve yet again opened a wound. I seem to keep reinjuring the same one, but I can’t help myself. I’m thirsty to know, and something tells me it would do him good to let it out.

  “I don’t need to know them; I want to know them.”

  “So you can use the information for your magazine?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  It dawns on me what he must be thinking of me right now. And what likely made him turn cold on me earlier. “Tanner,” I say carefully. “You don’t think…you don’t honestly believe I’d hurt you, do you?”

  “I don’t know you. I don’t know what you’d do.” His expression is so grave, so earnest, it nearly blows me back.

  “I suppose that’s true.” I fall back a step, blinking as I process his words. “I’m just another girl in your bed. You must be used to women sleeping with you for your money all the time. Why would magazine writers sleeping with you for information be any different?”

  “Anya, I don’t mean to insult your professionalism.”

  A dismayed laugh passes over my lips, and disappointment pulls at the smile that was there just seconds ago. “Of course not. I’ve already done that myself.”

  Once again, his hands snakes out and wraps around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks before I can move away. “All I mean to say is that this…this information you’re asking me for is very
personal, do you understand? No one is privy to it, not even my family. To share it with a writer who might use that to her own advantage—”

  “I get it.” I hold up a hand. “You’re only watching out for your best interest.”

  “I truly hope you understand.”

  “Of course.” I shrug, and I know I can’t help but appear insulted. Despite the practicality of it all, I’m offended by the precaution. “I guess I just thought…”

  “Thought what?” His fingers loosen around my wrist and he studies me.

  “Well, I hoped I’d made a better impression than that, that’s all. I’m not the type of girl to sleep around, that you already know. And I’m certainly not the type of girl to sleep with someone just so I can deceive him to get what I want. I don’t know much about the other women you’ve been with, but I’m not one of them. You said I’m a woman of integrity. When you first met me. If you meant that, you wouldn’t lump me in with thieves and liars.”

  “I never called you a liar. Or a thief.”

  “Well, you certainly implied it.”

  “I’m only being cautious, Miss Banks.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall, above Tanner’s head. “It’s after one. I better get going. I promised Lana and Brie I’d join them at the cabana.”

  “Hey.” His hand suddenly cups my face and he bends to kiss me. This kiss is soft and careful, sensual to the core. A surprised whimper rushes up my throat and I melt into him, leaning into the kiss. “I’m sorry.”

  “Lana can still have the review,” I pant against his mouth, my head dizzy from his change in direction. “Or I can find another angle for the feature. I’ll think of something. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I never should’ve crossed the line. I never should’ve slept with you and blurred the—”

  He cuts me off with another kiss. This one’s more heated, firmer and demanding. “Anya,” he whispers, “I said I’m sorry. And you shouldn’t be for sleeping with me. I propositioned you, not the other way around.” He gives his apron an abrupt tug and tosses it to the floor, dropping the duster along with it. With a quick heave of his arms, he lifts me off the floor and wraps my legs around him, kissing me deeply, until his tongue delves to the back of my throat.