“That’s where I come in.” Donald thumped his chest, and Brent wanted to punch him. Brie was his, dammit.
“How so?”
“Connections.”
“Those must be some pretty impressive connections.”
“My father was in the diplomatic corps, stationed in Spain for most of my life, and eventually appointed as the ambassador to Spain. I grew up with the kids of the movers and shakers. It took time, but we had our foot in the door.” He gave Brent a fist bump. “Best partnership in the world and now we’re on the hunt for sunken treasure.”
“What an amazing story.” She glanced at Donald, but when her gaze shifted to Brent, her eyes shimmered. “I take it I’m signing the NDA to keep the site secret?”
“The coordinates and whatever contents are recovered.” He gave a nod. “Standard stuff.”
She held out her hand and Donald gave her the pen.
“Where do I sign?”
Donald stood beside her, going over the contract, something Brent should have done. He cringed every time Donald brushed up against her arm, or leaned in a little too close. It was a surprise the grinding of his teeth wasn’t more prominent, but neither of them seemed to notice.
Brie signed the documents and the three of them remained on the bridge. Donald had tons of questions about Brie and how she became a captain.
Brent felt kind of like an ass for not trying to find out more about Brie before attacking her mouth with his lips. He wanted to do a whole lot more than that, but didn’t know how to get a moment alone with her. Then an idea struck.
“Hey, Donald.”
“Yeah?”
“Why don’t you go down and get that bottle of champagne? We should toast for good luck.”
“Now that’s a hella good idea.” Donald gave Brie a wink. “Back in a flash. Don’t miss me too much, okay?”
“I think I’m good.” She gave Donald a friendly smile, but that was all.
Brent breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that Donald presented a threat—there’d been too much heat sparking between himself and Brie—but rather Donald had a way of charming himself into a woman’s bed then kicking her out the next day without a second thought. Once Donald left the bridge, Brie’s attention shifted to him. Her lips parted. He didn’t have much time.
“You’ll have to forgive Donald’s enthusiasm.”
“Yeah, he can be a little over the top.”
“I warned you.”
She gave a sigh and her gaze flicked to the closed door.
“Um,” she began, “we should probably talk about that kiss.”
He took her hands in his. “As long as you don’t say we shouldn’t have kissed, or that it can’t happen again, we can talk about it all you want.”
“Brent…”
“I mean it. You can’t deny that heat.” He stooped down to get eye-level with her. “And don’t you dare tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
“I—”
He pressed a finger over her lips. “I mean it.”
“But—”
Whatever her protest might have been, he silenced it in the best possible way. He kissed her again.
Her lips pressed against his, parting as they had before. Her low sultry moan filled the bridge as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She rocked against him as he tugged her tight.
Instead of him taking the lead, she surprised him. She darted out her tongue, testing with a tentative lick. He opened for her, giving her the opportunity to explore. Their tongues twisted together as she tasted and cautiously investigated. The girl said No in the most delightful way, but he needed more than her shy advance.
Taking control of the kiss, he deepened it, claiming her with his need for more. He was hard again.
“This is insane.” She mumbled around his kisses and ground against his erection.
“Fucking insane.”
This time, he took a moment to explore more than her mouth and more than the curve of her hips. He allowed his hand to trail up the smooth expanse of her skin, fluttering his fingers over her belly as he traced a path to the swell of her tits. She gasped as he brushed his knuckles against the pillowy soft flesh, then moaned and arched into him as he gave a slight squeeze. His thumb brushed across her peaked nipple and it was his turn to hold back a moan.
Outside, the door below banged open and slammed shut. Brie gasped and pushed away, taking two steps back. Her cheeks colored the most delicious pink. She smoothed the fabric of her shirt back down and spun around, hands cupping her cheeks, as Donald climbed the steps.
“Hey, a little help here.” Donald called out. “I got my hands full!”
Torn between going to Brie and opening the door, Brent hesitated. He wanted to hold Brie and keep their crazy connection going, but he also needed to ensure there would be nothing to trigger Donald’s suspicions about what just happened.
He opted to help Donald. After holding the door open, he took the champagne flutes from his friend.
“Thanks.” Donald popped the cork and poured the bubbly. “Cheers.” He lifted his glass and the three of them toasted to a successful salvage operation.
Donald’s over-the-top overtures were getting on Brent’s nerves, but they made him rethink what he wanted. He didn’t want to be a douche-canoe who charmed a woman into his bed only to leave them when the sun rose.
He wanted more.
Heat simmered between him and Brie, just waiting for the right opportunity to explode. As the day lengthened and the sun sank below the horizon, he discovered something profound.
Brie wasn’t someone he wanted to fuck and leave. Donald would do that, if given a chance, and there would be no way that was happening. Brent knew about soulmates and instant connections developing between two people.
Love at first sight.
Not once had he thought any of it could be real, but with Brie he wondered if it might be true.
Could she be his one?
A romp between the sheets would be fun, but he wanted to make love to her soul. He must have been staring, because she lifted her champagne flute, toasting to whatever was between them. With a lift of his glass, he returned the salute and downed the contents of his glass.
This trip was going to be entirely too long, and yet not nearly long enough.
Chapter 7
Brie
Brie covered her glass when Donald tried to pour more champagne. He and Brent were on the second bottle. Strict about drinking and her duties as captain, she shared one glass with the men, then took an hour to sip on a second. A tense moment had passed between her and Brent when Donald ran down for the second bottle, but the two of them managed to keep their hands, and lips, to themselves.
Brent and Donald finished off the last of the second bottle, their voices growing more boisterous as the evening wore on. Not sure about the division of labor, she kept to her post and ignored the rumbling of her stomach. Surely one of them would head down to the galley to whip up something for dinner.
Should she say something?
The men sat together, heads pressed close, as they peered at a computer screen. She doubted dinner would ever come.
"Brent?"
He glanced up. "Yeah?"
"Do you mind taking over for a second. I need to use the head."
He popped to his feet. "Oh shit. I totally lost track of time."
When he came over, she made sure to take a few steps back, not wanting to accidentally brush against him, unintentionally grasp his hand, or worse, kiss him again. Less than a day into a new job and she'd already broken too many rules.
"While I'm down there do you want me to see about dinner?" He'd been warned about her cooking, but if they weren't going to do anything about food, she would step up. They'd already skipped lunch. Pulling her fair share of ship's duties was to be expected, but if it became a regular thing, there would be words.
"Oh no." Donald rolled his neck. Loud pops sounded as cartilage crunched in his neck. "First night out is a t
radition. Champagne and steaks."
"Steaks?" Her cooking abilities consisted of warming up the contents of canned food. Special events involved heating prepared frozen meals.
"Yes!" He lifted his finger in the air. "My specialty."
Brent settled back in the captain's chair. "Donald's steaks are pretty impressive, just make sure you order more well done than you're used to. His steaks have been known to go ‘moo!’ and crawl off the plate."
She giggled. The fraternal bond these two shared made her happy and reminded her of happier days with her brother. She missed Seth.
"My steaks don't moo!" Donald gave a wounded look, but he couldn't hold it. His expression cracked into a big grin. "But, yeah, I've been told my medium is pinker than normal.”
"His medium is rare.” Brent stretched. “Rare is bleeding."
"Well, I like mine medium, so should I ask for it to be well done? And is there anything I can do to help?"
Brent's scowl had her taking a step back, surprised by the heated possession.
"If you want,” he said. “You've been at the wheel for several hours. Probably time for a break."
"About that. It might be helpful to have a schedule." She couldn’t pilot the boat twenty-four-seven.
Brent swiveled in his chair. "Donald is a bit of a night owl. He usually takes graveyard shift. You'll be doing the brunt of the piloting during the day, and I'll spell you for your breaks. Usually, we do six hours on, couple hours break, then another four. Nothing is set in stone. If you want to work something else out, we can accommodate that."
"That's actually more generous than I'm used to. I usually do sixteen-hour days with a break mid-way through. I don't need a lot of breaks."
"But you do need sleep.” Donald chimed in. "Which is where I come in. I prefer ten pm to six am for my shift, but we can work around that."
"Sounds like a plan," she said. "Brent can spell me the rest of the time, but I don't need formal breaks. How about we play it by ear?"
If she judged his smile, and that twinkling in his eyes, Brent seemed happy with that.
"Sounds good to me." Brent swiveled back around and looked to the horizon.
The seas were calm. There was literally nothing for them to run into. The Pendragon had state-of-the-art navigation systems and all local boat traffic was on the radar. Still, it was necessary to keep an eye forward. There was always that one fisherman who ran at night with faulty lights, or none at all. Someone had to be on the bridge at all times. She was happy for Donald to take the night shift. That meant he would be asleep for part of the day. Dealing with his over-the-top obnoxiousness would be challenging. As for Brent?
They would have ample time alone together. That could be good, or very bad.
With schedules worked out, she headed down below. After hitting the head, she took a minute to unpack her duffle and stow her gear. When she headed back out, she stopped by the galley.
Donald was already hard at work. He had three massive steaks laid out on the counter and an array of seasonings lined up in a row.
"Do you need any help?"
He glanced up. "Thanks, but I got it."
"This is a tradition? Steaks on the first day? How long have you and Brent been sailing together?"
Pumping Donald for information about Brent might not be the best idea, but going directly to the source posed too many problems. Before she felt comfortable being in the same space as Brent, and not falling into his arms, distance seemed to be a prudent compromise. The difficulty would be in being trapped on a seventy-foot ship with him. There was literally no place to hide.
Donald grabbed a salt grinder. "We've known each other forever it seems."
"Really?"
"Yeah, you could say we grew up together. Our fathers knew each other at Harvard."
"That's cool. Did your dads work together?"
Donald gave a snort and salted the steaks. He dusted them with pepper next. "They attended Harvard law. My dad went into the diplomatic corps. Brent's went into the family business."
"What's that?"
"Corporate finance. He may not look it, but Brent is loaded."
"Most of the people I work for are loaded."
"Oh, yeah, that's right. I forgot. Luxury yacht captain. I bet you've seen a thing or two. What's it like?"
"Well, the luxury part of the yacht is for the owners. Staff don't get the benefit of living in the lap of luxury. We're usually crammed below like sardines, but I get to sail in some of the prettiest waters on the planet, and most of the clients stay away from the bridge. We don't exactly interact."
"You've got to have some cool stories." He flipped the steaks over and salted and peppered the other side. "Tell me the weirdest thing you've seen."
It was her turn to grin. "I'd love to, but that would violate those NDA’s. Let's just say, if you can imagine it happening, I've seen it. My job is to turn a blind eye. I take people out and bring them back; hopefully I bring back the same number I left with."
"Ha-ha. I'm a pretty imaginative guy."
"I bet you are." She glanced around the small galley. "You sure there's nothing I can do?"
"Nope. Salad's done. Meat's ready for the grill. Potatoes are already cooking and the broccoli won't take but a second."
"Okay, just let me know."
"Well, you can split the dishes with Brent. We have a rule onboard."
"Oh, he already told me. He who cooks doesn't do the dishes." She leaned in. "Fair warning, I'm a horrible cook."
"No problem. I love cooking. Brent's not too bad. He'll tell you he's better than me, but it's a lie."
"I sense a little competition there."
"Oh, there's always competition." The way he raked her with his eyes told her they were no longer talking about food.
"Um, I suppose. It's kind of cool that you're doing this together. Two friends hunting treasure. I hope everything works out."
He loaded the steaks onto a tray. "You can grab the door, if you don't mind, and it's totally going to work out. Brent spent years researching this find."
"I thought you did that together?"
"Me?" He gave a shake of his head. "Brent's the underwater archeologist. I'm just the schmoozer. He's got the brains. I've got the connections. I couldn't do this without him, and he couldn't do it without me." He paused for a second. "Well, I guess he could do it without me, but anything he found would have to stay on the seafloor and become a historic preserve like the San Jose. This way, he gets to do both, preserve a historic find, but profit from it too."
"What are you expecting to find?"
"It could be anything. We could be looking at a fortune."
"I can't even imagine how that must feel."
"It feels pretty damn great. I know I'm looking forward to it. Unlike Brent, I didn't grow up rich. The diplomatic corps doesn't pay what his family rakes in with their practice."
Donald headed to the main deck and she followed.
Was it bad that she envied them? Not the treasure. She’d never been one to seek out wealth. Keeping her head above water, yes. Getting rich? Not really a motivating factor. Brent and Donald’s potential treasure find wasn’t what she envied. It was the strength and durability of their friendship.
Her job didn’t lend itself well to making friends and in the service industry, whether it be luxury yachts or five-star hotels, people tended not to hang around. She was friendly with everyone she worked with, well liked and all that went with it, but she couldn’t say she had a single long-term friend, and she’d certainly never had a best friend. Brent and Donald didn’t know how lucky they had it.
When she emerged above deck, Donald headed aft and appeared to be setting up an over-the-gunnel grill. She found it easiest to take him in small doses and decided to limit her interactions with him as much as possible.
But what about Brent?
Her brain, the part that regulated all good decisions, said she was safer with Donald, the boorish duck, than with Brent, t
he sizzling sex-pot where good decisions went to die. However, instead of joining Donald, she turned and went to the bridge.
“Hey, just checking in,” she called out. “Donald started cooking. Do you need anything to drink?”
The smile on Brent’s face made her heart shudder. It may have skipped a beat or two, maybe three.
“I’m up to my eyeballs in champagne.” His tired gaze captivated her. Raw and unshielded, he revealed a vulnerability. It made him infinitely more sexy.
“How about some water?” She gulped and gripped the door handle. It was the only thing keeping her from rushing into his arms.
His pull was irresistible, a force she couldn’t deny and didn’t care to fight. The chemistry sizzling between them couldn’t be ignored. Her hand shook on the door handle, caught between coming and going. Her body might be standing still, but her soul flew across the room and wrapped itself around him.
This wasn’t something she understood. Their attraction terrified her because it was so bold. So brash. It was completely unconcerned with her wishes and desires.
Strike that.
She wanted Brent. An indescribable hunger drew her to him, but her mind told her to slow down. Why couldn’t she listen to reason?
“I don’t want water.” His gaze said he wanted more of that kiss, but that wasn’t a good idea. Not with the heat still burning on her skin where he’d touched her, or the way her lips still tingled with the press of his.
“Well, that’s all I’m offering right now. Water it is.” She was so screwed, because there was no way to slow down what was happening between them.
“Donald is trying to get you drunk. He wants you in his bed.”
“And what do you want? Are you like Donald? Is all of this just an attempt to get me in your bed?”
“Last night, I would have said yes.” His gaze hardened with the clenching of his jaw.
“And now?”
“A kiss or two will never be enough, but a night in my bed isn’t what I want.”
“You don’t want to sleep with me?” Her heart banged against her ribs with the effort it took to ask that question while remaining outwardly calm. She wasn’t calm. She was as far from calm as the raging seas amidst a furious storm.
Brent: Military Heroes (The One I Want Series Book 2) Page 5