"What? You get what?"
"All fluttery inside. Nobody has ever said anything to me the way you say things."
"It's just the truth."
"Flatterer," she murmured, smiling.
"It is not flattery if it is truth."
"Yeah, well...flattery can actually get you pretty far. As long as you mean it."
"Where would it get me?"
Her hand drifted up my chest, and then her fingers danced through my hair. "I have a feeling you just may find out."
My heart was crashing, skipping beats, staccato and arrhythmic. My lungs were squeezing, and my veins were on fire.
It seemed impossible to misread the intent behind her words, behind the way she was behaving with me. Dare I take the bait?
What if she was like Brittany, though?
God, the doubt, the fear, the panic--combined with the overwhelming barrage of sensations her physical proximity engendered inside me--it was too much. Too much.
"Low," I muttered, her name falling from my lips. What did I want to say? I had no idea.
A buzzing overhead broke the moment. It was a loud buzz at first, and then a roar--the distinct sound of a double-engine airplane. I looked up to see Brock's seaplane approaching. Low backed away from me, watching Brock's passage overhead--he waggled his wings as he swooped down toward us, getting close enough that Low shrieked in fear, curling in against my chest, huddling into me until the huge red and white aircraft angled upward and away, heading southeast.
"He buzzed us!" Low shouted. "The jerk! That scared me!"
I only laughed. "He used to be, and still is, I suppose, a stunt pilot. He performed in airshows all over the world before coming back here."
She eyed me. "Really? You said he flew an air taxi thing."
"He does...now."
"So he can do loop-the-loops and stuff?"
"Yes, among other much more complex maneuvers. I only say that so you know he was never in any danger of actually hitting us. He was in complete control. He just did it for a lark. Probably to force out of you the very reaction you displayed."
She smirked, smacking my chest. "Playing literal wingman for his baby brother, huh?"
"Well I certainly didn't put him up to it, but I suppose so."
"Not like you need the help," Low murmured, something I'm not sure I was meant to hear. She leaned away from me, now. "I'm hungry again. You want to head back?"
I tugged out my phone and glanced at the time, realizing we'd passed the entire morning away together out on the water, and that it was now well after noon. "I did not realize so much time had gone by."
"Me, either," Low said. "Hey, you like lasagna? I've got some my chef prepared for me. All I gotta do is heat it up."
"That sounds good."
"We could watch a movie." She winked at me. "Maybe even something sexy."
I felt my cheeks heat. "I have been watching something sexy all morning."
Low's grin widened, her laugh merry and intimate. "Boy, you are good."
"It is merely--"
She licked her lips. "Merely the truth," she said, interrupting me. "I know. You could give a masterclass in sweet-talking, you know that?"
"You bring it out of me. I didn't know I was capable of it, until I met you."
"What else do I bring out of you, Xavier?" Her eyes were serious, and sparkling, and iridescent, and full of heat and meaning and intensity.
"So much I honestly don't know how to even express it all."
"Try," she breathed.
"I am."
Low's stomach rumbled noisily, then, and we broke apart with a laugh. I started the engine and guided us back toward Ketchikan.
After a few minutes, Low's hand tangled with mine. My heart slammed in my chest hard enough I worried I was at risk for a heart attack despite my youth and fitness, but I didn't let go, even as doubts haunted me:
Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?
Oh my god, you're so dumb it's honestly adorable. You actually thought I meant any of that? You really are naive, aren't you?
Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?
That last one, especially, ran through my brain on repeat--the way she'd said it, the hidden ridicule behind it, which I'd only understood after it was all over, the thinly disguised cruelty behind everything in the whole scenario.
I ended up putting both hands on the steering wheel as I brought us to Low's yacht, missing the feeling of her hand in mine, but too consumed by the doubts inflicted by memory to trust my own read of this situation with Low.
The doubts were winning.
I wanted to think she was genuine, that she really did like me.
But what if?
God, what if?
What if this was all another hoax, another game, another dare, another bet, another tease...
It was very elaborate, if it was.
What else could she mean? What else could be behind Low's words and actions, behind the veiled hints and subtle cues, and some perhaps not so subtle, which I was too afraid of misreading to believe.
You really are naive, aren't you?
You're so dumb it's adorable.
Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?
You like me, don't you?
Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?
Again and again, I could hear Brittany's words. Heard the hissing mockery behind it that I'd missed the first time around. The obvious pretense I'd been too stupid and naive and gullible to see, back then.
Was I doing the same thing now, with Low?
God, the desire I felt for Low was so potent it hurt. My zipper had been tight all morning, the excitement never abating even for a moment, even as we fished. When she touched me, innocently or not, my arousal throbbed to new levels of agony. When she'd pressed her backside to me, as I helped reel in her fish, I'd been dangerously close to the threshold of mortification. Merely from her presence. From accidental contact.
Was it accidental? Could she have done that on purpose?
I drove the boat up to the larger yacht, slowed, and then stopped as we approached the garage-type enclosure. After some investigating, I figured out how to get the boat inside, and then closed the door behind us. As the door in the side of the yacht slid down, I stepped out of the boat and extended my hand to help Low.
She reached out for my other hand as well, and I helped her step from the launch to the platform. With a stumble, she landed up against me, and I instinctively caught her. She was...so close. Too close. God, too close. I felt her breath on my lips, her breasts flattened against my chest, and my hands were in hers and her eyes were searching mine, and her scent was almost cloyingly strong--though I knew it was my sensitivity to sensation rather than through any fault of hers.
Have you ever been with a girl, Xavier?
I backed away, choking on memory, aching from the delirium Low's proximity incited. Dizzy with a need and desire I couldn't even begin to understand. What did I do with this desire? It was so furious, so intense. More than I'd ever thought possible.
"I..." My words caught in my throat.
I ached. God, I ached.
My hands clenched into fists as I fought the urge to flap them against my thighs--an instinctive reaction to being overwhelmed. I was one wrong move away from embarrassment, and I had to recite pi in my head until the furious volcano of pressure inside abated.
"I--I must--I must go," I bit out, stepping away from her. "My apologies. Perhaps I could take a rain check on lunch and the movie."
"Are you sure?" she said, frowning, extending a hand as if reaching for me, to stop me from leaving. "Is everything okay?"
"I...yes. I am well. But I must go. Thank you for spending your morning with me, Low, it was an honor and a pleasure."
"If you're sure you have to go." She reached out, pulled me in and hugged me. "I had a wonderful time, Xavier. Thank you."
Her scent was heady, intense. The hug was a wreath of softness and scent and heat, h
er breasts squishing against my chest, her back under my palms, her hair velveteen and silken and scented against my face.
I recited pi again, and this time I didn't stop. I backed away, unable to even fake a smile. I waved, a stilted, awkward movement, and left. I was at the fiftieth digit of pi, and hit the dock running.
I was still reciting pi in my head when I got home, and locked myself in my room.
I got past the thousandth digit before I felt anything remotely resembling control of myself.
4
Harlow
* * *
I stood in the dimly lit space, the launch next to me. Xavier was gone, he'd fled at a dead run.
What had happened? There had been so many moments this morning I'd been absolutely sure he was going to kiss me, but he never did. His eyes had landed on my lips several times, as if contemplating the idea. We'd gotten cozy, more than friendly--holding hands. I'd pressed my ass against him, not overtly sexually, but less than subtly--I'd felt the shockingly huge and hard evidence that he was attracted to me. And I'd been barely touching him, had never made any contact with him that could be construed as sexual, until he'd come up behind me to help me reel in the monster fish I'd hooked.
When I'd felt his presence behind me, my breath had caught. My heart had started thumping a little harder. My thighs had tensed, and my skin had tingled. My core had, well, not gone damp, exactly, but had definitely let me know that we really, really liked Xavier's proximity.
But he'd not even kissed me, or touched me. Except for that split second of intimacy when I'd intentionally stumbled against him as I got in the launch, I'd almost wondered if he was even interested in me. That moment, however, had convinced me beyond all doubt that Xavier Badd wanted me.
And good god, I wanted him.
Had I ever felt this kind of desire for a man? The most intense chemistry I'd ever experienced had been with Harrison, my boyfriend at NYU.
But with Xavier it was definitely different. The chemistry was different. Subtler. Deeper. Less overt, less pushy. If my attraction to Harrison had been like curling white-capped waves, my attraction to Xavier was a wickedly, deceptively powerful riptide. A riptide grabbed you as you swam, like an icy, invisible hand, and sucked you out to open sea before you knew what was happening--Xavier had that same power over me. I'd thought I just liked him, at first. He'd shown up on my boat, helped me, talked to me, had been funny and kind of awkward, and unpredictable, and unassumingly charming and devilishly sexy. His physical presence and sensuality made all the more potent by the fact that he seemed utterly unaware of it.
Today, however, the true power of my attraction to him was beginning to reveal itself--there was no overt, obvious sexual element to our interactions, but I was intensely aware of him as a male, as a physical being, and as a sexual creature. I'd seen his abs, his chest and arms, and a hint of a V-cut. I'd seen him move with unprepossessing power. I'd felt a hint of the manhood he was packing behind those tight jeans.
I wanted him.
I wanted more.
But...I also just wanted to talk to him. I wanted to know him, on a personal level. I wanted to understand him, to figure him out.
There was an element of the chase, too--how long had it been since I'd had to do any work at all to catch the interest of a man? Never, possibly. Harrison had pursued me, and I'd not exactly put up much of a fight. When fame came my way, men threw themselves at me left and right--celebrities, crew on the sets, screenwriters and scriptwriters, directors, producers, fans, cashiers, baristas, servers, and even people I'd thought were friends. A snap of my fingers, and I could have any of them. A phone call, and I could have a ripped, shredded, A-list actor--one who'd played a certain well-known superhero--in my bed; he'd made that clear more than once, and I'd thought about taking him up on it simply because I knew another celebrity would have the same vested interest in keeping our tryst quiet.
I wanted more than a quick tumble with someone who understood the pressures of fame.
I wanted more than a few quick orgasms with a guy who knew nothing about me other than what was on the screen and in the tabloids.
I wanted more.
I just...I'd never known how to get that.
Xavier was, possibly, the only heterosexual male in the western hemisphere who didn't know who I was, which made him all the more attractive to me.
Which made me feel like shit, in a certain way. I mean, if he knew, what would he do? Would it change how he felt about me?
Could I tell him?
God, how would that even go? Oh, by the way Xavier, I'm a world-famous celebrity. Just so you know. I mean, yeah, better to have that conversation now than after things had gotten even more complicated. But telling him risked ruining what we had, which was by virtue of my temporary presence in Ketchikan, only a temporary thing. I'd told him I was on vacation, so he had to know that whatever we were doing could not be anything but fun in the moment.
Ugh. I'd been standing in the dark, alone, lost in my thoughts for several minutes. What was Xavier doing to me?
I've met presidents and worked with the most famous actors and directors out there...and an awkward but gorgeous twenty-something Alaskan local boy was turning my brain to mush and my libido into an inferno.
What a mess.
I wondered if I was making a mistake, getting involved with Xavier? Nothing had happened, yet, so it wasn't too late to cut things off. I could recall my crew and leave. Or I could act disinterested until he stopped coming by. I could just flat out tell him I didn't want to hang out anymore. But no, the thought of doing any one of those things made everything inside me constrict in denial.
I wanted him.
He wanted me.
It was obviously a temporary situation, and was proving to be a challenge, which meant it would almost certainly turn to be even more fun and rewarding.
I was on vacation. Relaxing, spending much-needed me-time. Recharging my batteries, rejuvenating my spirit. What better way to do that than by indulging in some harmless fun with a hot guy?
If the path to getting anywhere with him was a challenge, the more the better.
I went upstairs to the main lounge, heated up a bowl of chicken and rice stir-fry, and tossed in a sappy but fun rom-com, and tried to put Xavier Badd out of my mind.
* * *
I had trouble falling asleep, that night. I was restless, antsy. My legs kept scissoring and twisting, and my pillow was too hot or too cold or too lumpy or too flat. I was hot, I was cold. Too much sleep lately, maybe? I'd had a late cup of tea, so maybe it was caffeine? My mind wouldn't stop racing, darting, flitting.
Eventually, I fell asleep, but it was a fitful sleep, and filled with dreams.
Manic, weird, intense dreams. I woke up thirsty and disoriented and flustered, but unable to remember the substance of them.
After waking up and getting a drink of water, I was once again unable to fall back asleep. And this time, remembering a session I'd had with a mindfulness therapist once, I decided to do some internal investigating. Why was I so restless? Why couldn't I sleep?
The answer became obvious almost immediately: I was horny and flush with sexual tension, and in denial of it.
How long had it been since I'd last been with a man? Months. A cute sound tech and I had spent a couple of fairly memorable nights together during the shoot in Ireland. But that had been during the shoot, before editing, and the press tour, and the premiere. Six months ago? Something like that, possibly more. Definitely longer, now that I thought about it.
A long, long time. Enough that it was difficult to remember what a man's touch felt like, what an orgasm I didn't give myself felt like.
Speaking of that, when was the last time I'd done that? Before buying the boat, I think.
Maybe it was time for self-care. Maybe if I relieved some of this ache, some of this pent-up frustration, things with Xavier would be less complicated?
Dammit, I shouldn't have thought about him. I mean, n
o sense dwelling, right? What would happen would happen, and in the meantime, I needed to just enjoy the novelty of stimulating conversation with an articulate, intelligent, intellectually challenging man.
Who happened to be sexy as sin.
A tactile memory assaulted me--the fishing rod in my hands, nearly tugged out of my grip by the powerful fish on the hook, and then Xavier behind me. I hadn't paid any attention to how he reeled in the stupid fish, having been more focused on him. I'd leaned back, just slightly. That's all it had taken. My butt had brushed up against his thighs and groin and I'd felt a firm, thick ridge bulging against his zipper, nudging my butt.
What would he have done if I'd turned in his arms and unzipped him? I wondered what he looked like, bare. Long and thick, I knew that much. Straight as an arrow, or curved a little? I imagined him to be slightly curved, the tip nudging his belly. Cut, or uncut? I didn't care. He'd have a thatch of curly black pubic hair, almost certainly--he didn't seem like the manscaping type. The pubic hair would be coarse against my knuckles as I stroked him.
I felt my core ache, dampening at the mental image I was conjuring. God, he'd feel so good in my hands. There'd be no rush. He'd slowly unzip my jeans and pull them down, and then remove my underwear. His lips would touch my knee, and then my inner thigh, and I would willingly let my thighs open for him.
I kicked my blankets away, spread my thighs, and brought my fingers to my clit. His tongue would be firm and hot and slithery and wet, and he'd devour me like I was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Oh god, his tongue would feel so good, circling my clit, flicking against it. Maybe he'd slide a finger inside me.
Thighs quaking, I reached over to the drawer beside my bed and grabbed my vibrator, a clitoral stimulator. But...I needed more. I needed something inside me. I pictured Xavier's fingers sliding into me as I slid my giant purple vibrator inside. Immediately, I felt myself clenching around the humming silicone as the stimulator suctioned around my clit, driving me to climax within seconds.
Screaming, imagining Xavier's hands on me, his mouth on me, I came hard and fast, shaking, gasping.
Reminding myself to clean my toys later, I tossed them back in the drawer and collapsed back onto the bed, sweating, panting.
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