"Aaaah!" I squealed as I was tossed over a large shoulder. "I won! I won! I wo––"
My shouts were cut off when Brandon hurled me into the water.
"Ha!" I pointed triumphantly at him when I reemerged. "I won! That's dinner and dishes on you tonight, buddy!"
But my crows of victory were quickly silenced as Brandon yanked me into his arms and steered us quickly against the wall of limestone that shot up one side of the inlet. His mouth found mine with a deep, forceful kiss, and my legs immediately twisted around his waist.
"Worth it," he said before he fastened his mouth to one of my nipples and sucked. Hard.
"Ah!" I yelped. All triumph evaporated as lust exploded through me at the feel of his teeth. My hands threaded through his wet hair as he switched to the other side. "Fuck," I breathed, urging him closer.
Below the water, his fingers busied themselves with untying the sides my bikini.
"What-what are you doing?" It was my turn to speak breathlessly.
Brandon released my breast from his mouth as he tore my suit away and threw it onto a ledge above us. He attacked my mouth, sucking and nipping with the same vigor he'd just applied to my nipples.
"You didn't think you were going to get away with that, did you?" he asked in between torrid kisses, again and again. His hand slipped between us, and I felt his shorts disappear, replaced by his long length between my thighs.
"I–oh!" I cried as he found my entrance. "You're not really going to––Brandon, people could be on the trails up there. They could––oh––they could see us!"
"Like I give a shit," Brandon growled against my mouth. "Now who's winning, Red?"
And with that, he buried himself fully into my slick center, his mouth a frenzy as it moved between my mouth, my neck, my ear, and my breasts, sucking and biting as he thrust deeply into me.
"Brandon," I cried, barely managing to keep my hands in his hair. I was helpless against his onslaught––and I loved it.
He pried one of my hands from his hair and pressed it between us, urging me to find my clit while he continued to show just how much control he had over the rest of my body. I shuddered as my fingers found their familiar rhythm, and I buried my face in his powerful neck, sucking the salt water off his skin while he moved within me.
"Fuck," he hissed as his muscles tensed. "Baby, I'm close."
I quickened the pace of my fingers, and he tipped his head down for another feverish kiss.
"I want to see you come," he ordered, leveraging my body up to take him even deeper. "I want to see you scream with my dick inside you, out here, where anyone can see it."
His words, as always, were my undoing.
"Fuck," I gritted out as I strained against his merciless palms. His thick length pummeled into me. "Brandon, I'm-I'm going to come!"
"Squeeze me, baby," he ordered with one, two, three more powerful thrusts. "Now, Skylar! Let them hear you!"
I came with a cry that seemed to echo off the sides of the cliffs, followed by Brandon's strained shouts as he emptied himself into my depths. We shook together, our delirium flying off the water until we slid back into the waves as one, both of our bodies totally and completely spent.
Brandon pressed a long, languid kiss to my mouth, taking his time to savor my saltwater cries.
"God, I love you," he breathed into the space between us. "You break me, Skylar. You really do."
How could I tell him that he had invaded my entire being; that I couldn't imagine a day without him; that when I thought about my future, I saw him and nothing else? How could I say everything I felt when most of it, I couldn't put into words? Not even close.
So instead I kissed him and cupped the strong, square lines of his jaw.
"I love you," I told him back. "Only you. Always you."
Brandon's bright blue eyes shined with a brilliance that was more than just the reflection of the water. He kissed me once more with soft, tender lips, and gave me a smile of impossible sweetness.
"Always you," he repeated softly. "Always us."
~
Chapter 33
We spent the rest of the afternoon lounging around our inlet paradise. Brandon spent a fair amount of it openly staring, as I remained topless in French fashion. Several times he insisted I needed help reapplying yet another coat of sunblock. I was generally happy to let him so long as I could repay the favor.
Just as we were starting to think about the hike back to Marseille, a small boat turned into the gully that formed our small corridor of paradise. It looked like a fisherman's boat, not much more than a rowboat with a motor affixed to the end: the kind we'd seen drive past the distant end of the inlet all day but never enter. In the front stood a man with a pair of binoculars. As the boat drove close, he dropped them and started waving so wildly I genuinely thought he might fall off the small boat.
"Who's that?" I asked Brandon, who was lying on his back and reading the latest Neil Gaiman novel.
He dropped the book to his chest, then propped up on his elbows and looked to the water, his hand a visor over his face.
"What the..." he muttered. Then, with more recognition: "Oh!"
The boat came as close as it could without hitting the shallow bottom of the lagoon, and the man hopped into the water with a splash.
"Christ, that's cold!" he yelped as he made his way to shore.
I frowned. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place him.
"There you are, man. Are you trying to outrun the law or something? I have literally been looking for you all fucking day."
My jaw dropped when I finally recognized who stood in front of us, clad hilariously in slacks rolled up to his knees and a dress shirt soaked through with sweat. It was Cory Stewart, head of public relations for Sterling Ventures and Brandon's potential campaign manager. My stomach dropped. What the hell was he doing here?
Brandon looked like he was wondering the same thing. Without even looking my direction, Brandon swiped my shirt off the ground and threw it at my bare chest. After catching several of Cory's furtive glances, I obediently pulled it on.
Now that the show was over, Cory dropped next to Brandon and took a seat on the pebbled beach while he wiped sweat off his brow. The boat driver, who couldn't have been more than sixteen, tossed out an anchor and pulled a beer out of a cooler.
"I have been going in and out of this goddamn maze all day," Cory said before taking several gulps from a water bottle. "If it wasn't for the tracker on your cell phone, I never would have been able to find you."
"You have a tracker on his cell phone?" I asked sharply.
Brandon darted me a quick, blue look. "It's a precaution. With everything that's happened with your dad, I thought it might be a good idea if someone could find me in a pinch. For safety's sake, just in case something happens. You have one too, by the way."
I gulped. Oh.
He turned a glare on Cory. "I'm pretty sure interrupting my vacation doesn't qualify. What are you doing here, Cory?" Brandon asked as he sat up completely and faced his subordinate.
Good question. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head.
"There are things we need to discuss. You've been avoiding my calls," Cory replied with a pointed finger at his boss.
"It couldn't have waited another few days?" Brandon asked with a deep scowl that made me very glad I wasn't on its receiving end.
"Unfortunately, boss, it couldn't." Cory glanced at me as if just realizing that, apart from my breasts, I was actually there. "Maybe you should go for a swim, honey," he suggested with a smile that felt about as warm as ice water.
I quirked an eyebrow with all of the Brooklyn attitude I could muster. "Excuse me?"
Brandon placed a hand on my leg. "She's not going anywhere," he said. "Unlike you, if you don't start treating her with some respect. What the fuck, Cory?"
I swallowed, not wanting to get involved or cause trouble, even though I already really didn't like this guy. "Brandon, it's fine. I'll just
pack up my stuff and start hiking back. You can catch up in a few minutes."
"You're not going anywhere," Brandon stated unequivocally, the hand on my thigh keeping me pinned to my towel.
I relaxed, and he released the pressure, although his hand stayed where it was. Considering how Cory was looking at me like a bug he wanted to squish, I was perfectly fine with a little territorial show. I was feeling a bit territorial myself.
Cory looked back and forth between the hand and his boss's face.
"All right, fine," he said. "To be frank, things are going to shit. Gary Crown just announced he's running for mayor, which means there's yet another competitor for the DNC's endorsement. They want you, of course, but they're getting tired of waiting around. The board is yelling for a decision on the IPO or else they are threatening to vote you out, and Miranda––" he glanced back at me "––you sure you want her here?"
"Spit it out," Brandon ordered. "We don't have any secrets."
Cory blinked at me like he didn't quite believe that. I forced myself not to flinch.
"Fine. Miranda, your wife, just told us she is planning to take her story to the press if you don't get back to Boston. Immediately." Cory looked back to Brandon, who was now tensed and approximately the color of a tomato. "Basically, I've been dealing with a public relations shit show since you left, and I've been trying to call you for the last five days. Five days, man. I finally had to steal your itinerary off Margie's computer and come hunting for you."
Brandon sighed and rubbed a big hand over his forehead. The movement made the muscles in his chest and shoulder ripple.
"Do we need to go back?" I asked in a small voice, although my heart sank at the thought of it. I didn't want our vacation to end.
"No," Brandon mumbled through his fingers. He sent me a small smile. I was unconvinced.
"Boss," Cory said, but was quickly cut off.
"I said no," Brandon barked. He exhaled a long, slow breath, then looked at Cory. "Miranda's not going to say shit about what happened with Ricky O'Neill. Not about anything that matters. Otherwise she'd be in as much trouble as I would."
I gaped. I wasn't aware that anyone knew about that besides me, Miranda Sterling, and her deceased father. Sixteen years ago, Brandon had been a twenty-one-year-old financial wunderkind still spending half his time hustling pool halls with a group of friends in Dorchester, his old neighborhood. One night, they'd hustled the wrong people and found themselves in a fight that ended with the other group's ringleader, Ricky O'Neill, shot and killed. Brandon hadn't shot the gun, but he had been a target of the prosecution, only to be saved by Miranda's (false) alibi in exchange for a ten-year contract at her father's investment firm. That lie had eventually led to his romantic involvement with Miranda and their essentially loveless marriage. At least, loveless from his perspective.
Cory blew a raspberry through his thin lips and scratched his cropped hair. The actions made him look like a grumpy chimpanzee.
"Not that story," he said with another look my way.
Brandon cleared his throat. "You don't have to talk in euphemisms. Skylar knows everything."
Cory blinked with obvious surprise, then wiped another layer of sweat off his brow.
"Christ, it's hot," he complained. "How can you be sitting out here all day like this? It's fuckin' maniacal."
"Spit it out, Cory," Brandon said as he reached into his bag and pulled out a few bottles of water.
He opened one, took a sip, then offered it to me before tossing the other to Cory, who drank from it like a dying man in the desert.
"She wants to tell the story of you and your friend here," Cory continued after he had drained half the bottle. "Cause a fuckin' public relations nightmare, that's what she wants to do. Turn herself into the wronged woman. Listen, your little stunt at that benefit last month really fucked things up. I thought you were going to keep things quiet until the papers had been signed, man. Instead you turn around and flaunt your sidepiece all over Boston. Did you really think your wife was going to let her humiliate her like that and get awa––Hey!"
He wasn't able to finish his sentence before he was lifted bodily off the beach and hurled into the water. Brandon stood at the water's edge, chest heaving with the sudden effort.
"What the fuck, man!" Cory yowled from where he sat chest-deep in the water. He stood up with another big splash. "This is Armani! What the fuck was that for?"
Behind Brandon, I couldn't help but laugh, although I tried to cover it as a cough. I wasn't successful.
"I told you, Cory. Respect," Brandon said as he stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You don't pay me for respect, boss," Cory retorted as he swished back to the beach. "Ah! What the fuck is that!"
He scrambled the rest of the way out, and I had to hide my face behind my hand to stop from laughing as he circled around his body, looking for signs of sea life that might be stuck to him. Brandon didn't even bother to hide his laughter, carved abs flexing with every loud hoot. Then he pressed a brief kiss to my head before sitting easily with his arms lounged over his knees.
"Skylar's off-limits," he said to Cory, who had finally calmed down enough to accept the extra towel as he sat down next to Brandon. "You're the best at what you do, Cory, but I pay you to tell me like it is and fix shit. The insults are done if you want to keep your job."
Silently, Cory nodded, although his jaw clenched as water dripped off his chin.
"And remember that one of these days, she might be your boss too," Brandon said.
My stomach flipped. What did that mean?
Cory's soaked, rodent-like gaze flickered between the two of us before he cleared his throat.
"I apologize," he said through clenched teeth, although he was barely able to make eye contact with me.
"It's fine," I said. I looked back to Brandon. "It sounds like you guys have a lot to sort through. Should we start hiking back?"
"Fuck no, we're not hiking. Not if you want me out of here by tomorrow." Cory stood up, brushed the tiny pebbles off his pants, and jerked his head toward the boat.
Brandon followed his gaze, then blew out a resigned sigh. "I think Cory's right, Red. We need to get back to the house sooner rather than later." He gave me a rueful grimace. "Can you forgive me?"
Cory didn't even try to hide the disgust on his face at the question, but I just smiled and nodded.
"Of course," I said. "Whatever you need."
Brandon rewarded me with a bright smile that seemed to reflect off the impossibly clear waters in front of us, then leaned in to give me a quick, but thorough kiss. His hand snaked around my waist and gripped my shirt. The electricity mounted between us again; it was always there, just below the surface.
He released me with a grunt. "Damn," he murmured, too low for Cory to hear him. "I was hoping to make you scream on those rocks again before we left."
Something buzzed inside me, and I tried and failed not to blush. Brandon grinned, then turned back to Cory, who quickly resumed a bland expression.
"Well, you should probably stay for dinner," Brandon said. "Apparently, we've got some shit to take care of." He looked over his manager's shoulder to the boat driver, who was sound asleep on the bench. "That is, if our driver isn't already passed out for the evening."
"I'll fuckin' tow the boat back to Marseille myself if I have to," Cory said. "Now, let's just get your shit and go."
~
I ended up sending myself to the local market to pick up dinner, since after sitting in a boat with Cory for the twenty minutes it took to get back to town, I was heartily sick of the man. He reminded me of a cartoon rodent, one of those Looney Tunes characters who played slick bankers and traveling salesmen. He never stopped talking. I had absolutely no idea what Brandon saw in him, other than the fact that he seemed to be obsessed with his job, which was protecting Brandon's image, and the fact that he seemed to be good at it.
When I came back to the villa, the sun was
already starting to set over the cliffs to the west of the city, and I paused for a moment on the front stoop to take it in. Pools of magenta, violet, gold, and tangerine streamed from the horizon, with craggy shapes of the cliffs blocking the rays like shadows of primeval ruins.
I sighed. Even though we still technically had a few days left, Cory's presence seemed to portend an early end of our blissful two weeks. I hugged myself close and closed my eyes, lost for a moment in the memories. Whatever stresses were coming for us, we'd always have this time. Brandon must have known we'd need it, and I was incredibly thankful for that foresight.
Voices filtered from the patio to where I stood below: Cory and Brandon, still debating how to resolve all of the drama.
"The board will keep as long as you call Karen Richards tomorrow," Cory was saying. "But you can't fuckin' forget, boss."
I moved to open the door, not wanting to eavesdrop, but stopped when I heard my name.
"Now, what about the Skylar situation?"
"What situation?" Brandon asked sharply. "You said it yourself. Miranda already knows, so it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I'm not going to skulk around like we're doing something wrong."
"So, it doesn't matter that to half of Catholic Boston, you're absolutely doing something wrong?"
"If Miranda doesn't want to be embarrassed, she should just sign the fucking divorce papers and be done with it!"
There was a loud screech of a chair leg on tile, then footsteps pacing––Brandon's, most likely. I could easily see him pulling his hands through his hair in frustration.
"It's not just that," Cory said. "The Miranda thing...it will blow over eventually. People will figure out that she's been hanging on you for years, and I agree that at some point she's going to realize it makes her look clingy as fuck. But Brandon, you asked me to vet you, and I did."
There was a long sigh. I couldn't tell if it was Cory or Brandon.
Cory continued. "That means I had to vet her. And her family's connections to the mob don't exactly make her a great candidate for First Lady, if you know what I mean."
Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2) Page 35
