Devin stared back, a cool look on his face. “I’m very aroused right now.”
She let go of his collar and gave him a sharp shove before running to the sink to throw up.
When he slinked toward the door, she wiped her mouth again and demanded, “How did you know I was here?”
“I care deeply for you, René, and your ancient vessel. When René’s grandmother first contacted me to act as a go-between, I was suspicious of the whole affair. And yet, I knew I could be of service. I owe you all for the Carrothers incident. Maybe in this small way, I can still be helpful. And I will continue to watch over you.”
“How?” CeCe asked, but deep down, she had her suspicions.
“I have my ways,” Manning said mysteriously and disappeared into the hallway.
He must have a tracking device on the Tourbillon, CeCe thought, maybe even an audio recorder. What the hell?
* * *
René was confused. After all the hours spent sitting on a hard plastic chair in a waiting room, the doctor had been vague and evasive about CeCe’s concussion. Yes, the hard knock on the head had no doubt brought on the violent nausea, but his first mate would be fine to finish the crossing.
The receptionist had rolled her eyes and given him a sly wink after the doctor’s rambling speech about the care and feeding of his first mate.
A trip to the pharmacy with the long list of prescriptions had ended with CeCe toting a shopping bag bulging with bottles of rainbow-colored pills.
Between the special needs of Chienne and CeCe, he would be lucky to have enough time to sail Tourbillon the rest of the way to Portsmouth. He doubted there were enough hours in the day for CeCe to hork down all the various medications and still take on her share of watches on the crossing. And not only that, the doc had given him a stern warning: no more head bonks for CeCe and plenty of rest. How the hell could he even leave her alone?
Then a feeling of calm came over him. He could do this. This was the woman he loved. And he was French, Dieu merci.
On impulse, he leaned across the bag full of pill bottles on the back cab seat between them and put his arm around CeCe.
“What?” she said, irritation in her voice.
“I love you, you wonderful Swedish woman full of life.”
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.
He pulled back as if bitten by an adder.
“I meant …I love you,” René repeated.
“No, no. I mean the last part,” she said, a pout creeping into her tone.
“The last part?”
“You know …the part about being full of life.”
René leaned back and sighed. “Well, you are, most of the time.” He paused and thought for a moment. “Except when you’re wearing your ‘Whirled Peas’ shirt. But the little skirt, the little skirt is the love of my life. That is when you seem most full of life,” he hastily amended.
She sank back into the corner of the worn, plastic covered cab seat, crossed her arms, and glared at him. “You hadn’t better go off assuming things,” she said.
“What things?” Now he questioned his sanity as well as hers.
“You know what things,” she snapped, and then subsided into silence unbroken until they returned to the marina. Chienne bounded out from the manager’s office to greet her with paws to either side of her shoulders and sloppy dog kisses.
Merde. Loving this woman was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he refused to give up. Napoleon nearly took over the world. René could take on a dog and a woman.
Chapter Seventeen
32.3078ºN, 64.7505ºW
Day Seventeen, Late Day
St. Georges, Bermuda
CeCe stood in the middle of Tourbillon’s galley and surveyed the boxes full of supplies delivered by the provisioner once they’d returned to the ship.
She still smarted from René’s comment about her being full of life. Did he suspect? Did he know? She was so tired, she was almost tempted to tell him the truth about the baby. The minute the thought entered her head, she snapped herself back to reality and the job at hand.
The baby was safe. All she had to do was make it across the Atlantic, get to England, and then she could fly away from this out-of-control romance with René. She tossed the contents of a box of apples and oranges into a net hanging across the galley. René didn’t need to know.
The onions came next, lobbed into a three-tiered set of colanders hanging in a corner next to the galley sink. She’d nearly revealed all in the cab that afternoon when she misunderstood René’s oblique reference to her being full of life. Maybe it wouldn’t matter if he knew. But then considering the reactions of all the people she’d encountered that day who knew she was pregnant, she just didn’t want to go there with René.
She’d debated whether to tell him about Devin showing up in the examination room, but then she’d have to explain why the spy-wannabe was there. Too awkward. Though she did find it kind of reassuring he was tracking the Tourbillon. If anything went completely wrong, at least Devin Manning would know their location.
She stared at her reflection in the tiny mirror she’d hung off one of the cabinet doors. She did look full of life. Her face reflected a glow that was more than just the result of days spent in the sun. Once the “little skirt” began to bulge, she wouldn’t have to tell René anything. He’d know.
She’d burn that bridge when she came to it. Or was it cross the bridge? Uh-oh. Can’t cross a bridge after you burn it. CeCe decided uncertainty about language was the least of her worries and moved to the next box of provisions.
* * *
René spent the late afternoon after they got back trying to convince a marina carpenter to come to the Tourbillon and look at the diesel’s water discharge pipe that sat low on the stern. He hoped there was a way to move the pipe up higher, re-position the hose, and patch the lower hole so big waves didn’t cause the hose to backwash.
The officious Brit had droned on and on about angles, engine capacity, and diesel drivel until René was afraid he’d nod off.
“But the ship,” René explained. “She takes on too much backwash from the waves when she is at sea, and then the engine, she won’t run.”
The Brit gave him a blank look before repeating the technical information, more slowly and loudly, as if René were a small child, or a deaf old man.
René thanked him for his advice and then threaded his way back through the marina slip walkways to where CeCe waited on deck with Chienne, drinking a tall glass of sparkling water, chewing on cherry-flavored antacids, and absently ruffling the fur at the dog’s neck. Chienne moaned her love for the massage therapist’s talented hands. René’s mouth went dry at the memory of his own moans beneath those hands not so long ago.
The warm smile she beamed at him was nearly one-hundred-eighty degrees away from the chilly conversation earlier during the cab ride from the pharmacy.
“Are you feeling better, beautiful lady?” he asked.
“I think so,” CeCe said. “Now I’m peeing all the time from the fluids they gave me in the IV, instead of yakking up my guts.” She leaned closer to René and asked, “What did the carpenter say about the diesel exhaust pipe?”
“Damned if I know,” René said, and disappeared below to find a beer. He knew less about what was going on with his gorgeous first mate than the diesel exhaust. He did know one thing. Parting ways in England seemed more and more like something he wouldn’t be able to endure.
He couldn’t imagine looking up and not seeing this warm, voluptuous woman across from him.
He returned with a beer and sat down next to CeCe. Chienne gave him an evil look and then sank her chin back down on CeCe’s thigh.
“She is not liking me,” René said. “And I thought we had a very fine moment during the storm. But then, we were worried about you.”
“Which you both can stop doing,” CeCe said. “I’m fine. And I have a doctor who agrees. So, let’s celebrate the first part of
our journey with an expensive dinner at Ascot’s in the Royal Palm Hotel. Have you eaten there?”
“Eaten food there, no?” René grinned. “Have I eaten there? Yes.”
She punched his shoulder. “And I thought you wouldn’t make the sex jokes.”
“No sex jokes. Oui, I agreed to that,” René said. “Oral sex jokes? I can’t help myself.”
They dressed in the best they could muster from their shipboard duffels, René in his wrinkle-free khakis and navy travel jacket over a white silk T-shirt. CeCe smoldered in an orange dress she had snagged from the sale rack at the marina boutique and her strappy high-heeled sandals she never traveled without. The slinky, clinging knit accentuated the luster of her glowing tanned skin.
Chienne barked when they left the Tourbillon. “You keep watch,” René called. “Bite anyone who comes aboard. And that is an order, you filthy animal.”
CeCe shushed him. “You’re a good girl, Chienne.”
The two entwined hands and caught a cab to downtown Hamilton. The garden sparkled with lights and fountains. The smells of exotic flowers and wonderful food mixed in a grand bouquet of romance and adventure.
The maître d’ recognized René, gave his compliments to René’s grand-mere, and took them to a quiet little table with a view of the courtyard. They both had the asparagus soup followed by the special house ravioli. CeCe dined on the homemade pasta and sautéed vegetables while René enjoyed a small prime cut of beef and the duck confit. For dessert, they shared the house crème brûlée. It was good, but not as good as Grand-mere’s.
When the waiter brought the check, CeCe stood and pressed a note into his hand. He read it, gave her a slow grin, and came back a few minutes later with a small box he handed her.
René gave her a quizzical look, but when she remained mysterious, he just shrugged.
After dinner, they strolled through town, holding hands. CeCe traced feathery circles into the sensitive skin on the palm of René’s hand. He squeezed tighter and flashed her a warning frown. “Don’t start a job you can’t finish,” he said, and waggled his brows.
When they returned to Tourbillon, Chienne welcomed them with licks for CeCe and growls for René. “She hoped I wouldn’t come back,” René said.
“She will learn to love you,” CeCe said. “And maybe I will too,” she added.
He widened his eyes.
“Eventually, maybe,” CeCe said.
René pulled her below decks toward his cabin. At the end of the companionway, he held her face in both hands and kissed her thoroughly. He kept tasting her lips and suckling on her tongue until she pushed him against the cabin bulkhead and put one finger to her lips. CeCe took the box she’d kept hidden behind her back and placed it on his untidy desktop. Then she stood in front of him for an agonizing minute or two, just staring into his eyes. Finally, she spoke. “Do you know what I’ve been wanting to do to you for such a long time?” she asked.
René shook his head and looked uncertain.
“Lie down there,” she said, and pointed toward his wide bunk. She knelt and reached into her canvas duffel, taking out something he couldn’t quite see in the dim illumination of the cabin light. When she whipped back around, she held two silk scarves in her hands.
Without any emotion, she said, “Get onto your bunk and don’t say a word. When he made as if to protest, she covered his mouth and moved close. “I don’t like men who argue,” she insisted, and stepped him backward until the back of his knees struck the side of the bunk. When he sat down hard, she quickly tied one of his hands to the bookshelf above with a scarf through the retaining slat.
He wasn’t exactly resisting, but she could see uneasiness quirking in his eyes.
“Are you afraid of me, a poor, helpless woman? You, a big, strapping man who could stop me if he really wanted to,” she continued. When he tried to protest again, she grabbed his other hand and secured it as well.
“I know you could get away,” she teased, “but you don’t want to, do you?”
René shook his head, slowly, and seemed a little dazed by the way she’d taken over.
She stooped and unbuckled his belt before pulling down his zipper and slowly peeling his khakis down. He kicked his ankles free, his cock immediately springing to attention. They hadn’t done laundry in a while, so both of them had taken to going without underwear.
CeCe took a small, peremptory lick, and his penis made a joyful bob toward her lips. She laughed out loud. “Oh, you are such a good, bad little boy,” she said, and took a quick suck on the head of his cock before turning to the mysterious box she’d carried back from the restaurant.
She flipped open the lid, revealing mounds of fresh whipping cream, with little dribbles of chocolate sauce. René moaned and tried to extract his hands from her soft bonds.
“Uh, uh, uh,” CeCe scolded, “No talking.” She checked the knots before tightening them. Her hand scooped into the box and came out full of cream and streaks of chocolate. She piled the handful onto his stomach, surrounding his belly button. When she licked at the sticky treat, René gave out a loud groan and his cock hardened even more.
After she’d eaten her fill, she stood in front of him and stripped off her stretchy orange dress. Her breasts bounced free, and she leaned in and kissed his forehead before moving back down to finish off the decadent dessert.
When she was finally done, his cock was quivering. In a wicked quick move, she lowered her sex onto his face. She continued to tease and suck on his cock while rubbing her clit across his lips. He lapped at her until she angled back so he could get his tongue into her. His breath blew across her bottom, making her shiver.
“Suck me,” she gasped. “I’m ready to come.”
He complied.
She stroked his cock and sucked on his inner thigh, letting the pleasure build within her. Sucking and licking, he brought her over the brink while he strained to breathe.
Once her orgasm subsided, she still felt empty. She didn’t want his tongue, she wanted his cock.
She slid down from his mouth, across the tickle of his hairy chest, and then seated herself on top, taking all of him inside.
When she began to move, a little bit at a time, René’s guttural grunts and groans intensified, and he surged in and out of her. She clenched at his cock when she came again, and he followed, wrenching free of the ridiculously easy-to-get-out-of bonds.
He took her hips in his hands, moving her up and down. Her breasts swayed in time to his gasps. His strong hands grabbed her breasts, and he pounded into her until he found his own release. When his juices filled her, she screamed in pleasure.
She lay back against him, enjoying his heat and sweat as he held her.
“I love a woman who lets me know what she likes,” René whispered into her ear.
“I had a lot of bases to cover,” CeCe said, loving how he held her close.
* * *
The next morning, CeCe, René and Chienne crowded around the wheel as they left Bermuda and headed toward their final northeast arc toward England. She touched her usual glass of sparkling water to his beer.
The clear, blue-skied Bermuda day felt good with the sun drenching her face and body with warmth. However, that would all change once they were out of the range of the warming effects of the Gulf Stream.
She even poured a mix of her water with a splash of beer into Chienne’s water dish. The greedy creature emptied the dish with one slurp of her tongue and then whined for more. CeCe bent over and took the dog’s snout in her hands. She gazed into the spoiled creature’s big, begging chocolate eyes. “Too much alcohol is not good for you, Miss Chienne,” she said.
Chienne continued to whine, and finally CeCe petted her and called her min älskling because those Swedish words always managed to soothe the old dog.
She straightened and turned to René who held the wheel steady while they cruised through the harbor toward the channel. From the look on his face, she realized the folly of bending over in the “
little skirt.” Even after the sex-fest from the night before, he wanted her again.
The ancient diesel roared as they motored toward the open ocean. The marina mechanic had given the engine a tune-up but, like the carpenter, had counseled against moving the exhaust.
René thought they could make it all the way to England without an issue. CeCe was relieved he didn’t mention the Azores. She didn’t want to see her father and brothers, especially not with René and especially not pregnant. No, they’d get to Portsmouth, René would by her a plane ticket to Portugal, Porto to be exact, and their tryst would be over.
Whenever they talked about Portsmouth and the plane ticket, René’s face would darken. But she’d been clear from the start. And regardless of her feelings for René, she had to get to her next spa gig and save some money before she entered Mom mode.
René gave her a tentative smile once he realized she knew he’d been staring at the “little skirt.” She winked and turned back to watch for shipping lane traffic.
The whole experience in the doctor’s office of being treated like nothing more than a vessel for the little life swimming around her womb had left her a little wobbly. And then there was the unexpected appearance of the moronic Devin Manning. His revelations confirming René’s feeling for her had kept her off-balance ever since.
Although she wanted René as much as before, she first needed to sort out her feelings about her body. And besides, her stomach was starting to pooch out a little. As if the trip to the physician had turned the little munchkin into a performer.
Could she trust Manning to keep what he knew to himself? He and René were pretty tight. What if? She stopped the endless loops of thought. Since Manning’s behavior was borderline manic, he was out of her control. She needed to focus on what she could control—getting to Portugal and on with her life without men. She and her little “bump” were going to be just fine.
She still wondered how Manning knew René’s grand-mere.
Up Too Close Page 14
