by Angel Payne
“Thanks.” She quirked a little grin. “Uh…I think.”
She looked at him with open inquisition, but Mark rose, evading that silent query. She was likely going to ask if he was okay, and he didn’t know that answer. He needed a few minutes to clear the debris of the mental detonation. He realized it had first hit him out on deck, when he’d still been balls-deep inside her. It struck again now with more brutal impact.
Shit.
It couldn’t really be…
Could it?
“Are you hungry?” He stroked her cheek after tugging his shirt back on. “Gervais has some food ready up top. Throw on a robe and join me.”
When she reappeared on deck a few minutes later, sending another explosion through him just by showing up in the fluffy white robe, he’d reconciled himself to the truth that now glared through his being. But what kind of words went with this? How did he say it? There was no way around it. The bomb had gone off at full strength. But that was the thing about dynamite. It found you. And its timing was always usually piss-poor.
“This is amazing.” Rose breathed it as she gazed out over the water, where the moon made a silver necklace on the waves and the lights of Nassau formed a rainbow ribbon in the distance. He took in her profile, so classic and timeless, again wondering if he weren’t going to be flung back in time once he spoke his next words.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
Her face snapped toward him. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“No. Strike that.” He leaned forward, palming her cheek. “I’ve already fallen. And I don’t want you to go to Baghdad. I want you by my side, here, forever.” A sheen appeared in her deep velvet gaze, and he rushed on. “I know, I know; it’s only been five days. But we’ve spent more time together even now than most couples—”
“I love you too.”
She pressed her hand over his as tears dragged down her cheeks.
“You do?”
She nodded. But that didn’t ease the fist in his gut.
“Then why don’t those look like tears of joy, honey?”
“Because this—us—still can’t happen.”
He pulled back his hand. And forced it not to form a fist. “All right,” he said from taut lips. “I’m listening.”
“Don’t be mad.” She threaded her fingers back into his. “You don’t think I want to tell Gervais to turn this thing around and set a one-way course to Jamaica? But that would be no better for you than I am, Mark.”
Fuck calm and controlled. He pushed her hand away before lurching to his feet. “Goddamn it! Really? Are we back to that?”
Her resigned slump did nothing to assuage him. “First of all, I’ve made a commitment to the project and to the team.”
“Which you can still fulfill, in other capacities, as a domestically based consultant.”
She pursed her lips. He was right, and she knew it. “More to the point then, I refuse to drag you into the public mess of my reputation.”
“Because of Tristan Rouselle’s bid for my vacant senate seat?”
Her shocked blinks were only a click better than the funereal mope. “You know about that?”
He nodded tersely. “I snapped it together the second I found out who your brother is. I figured that was why he called you, as well.”
She coiled her hands in her lap. “The call was well-timed, despite the reason.” She glanced up. Rolled her eyes. “Please don’t glare at me like that—”
“I’m going to do more than glare at that bastard.”
“Mark—”
He slashed a hand. “Let me take a stab at this. He probably started with the age gap. Then he went for the difference in our backgrounds and our social circles. Let’s see… What other shit did the prick uncover?”
“Stop!” She jerked to her feet, her spine stiff as the ship’s mast. “It has nothing to do with any of that, okay?” She brought up a hand to his shoulder. Her touch was insistent but gentle. “All those things…I have to admit that at first, I brought them up myself.” She shook her head, chuffing softly. “What silly arguments. I know my heart now. It treasures yours, whether you’re a senator, a sailor, a millionaire, or a mine worker; and whether you’re nineteen or ninety…”
“Ninety?”
They both chuckled at his quip. But the sadness reentered her eyes all too quickly. “Mark, my Sir…I adore you. I love you. But I’ll fail you.”
He grabbed her hand off his shoulder, squeezing it. “Probably,” he answered. “More than once. That’s what happens in relationships, honey. Guess what? Unlike that boy who almost ruined you for life, I can handle it.”
Her features twisted. “Even when the whole world’s watching?” When he took the chance to roll his eyes, she tugged back at his hand. “We have to think about this. You’ve worked too hard for your integrity, Mark. You’ve helped people. You’re still helping them. When I fuck things up, when I don’t get it right, what will they think?”
He laughed softly. “That we’re both human?”
“Yeah, right. What they’ll see is a head-in-the-clouds eccentric who’s thrown herself at a desperate older guy—”
“A happy older guy.” He pulled her close, taking her lips in an urgent kiss. “Happy and not giving a fuck about what they all think.” Tenderly, he stroked a thumb across her cheek, wiping the moisture there. She kept peering at him, looking so small and innocent in her robe, a startling contrast to the naked siren who’d pulled his soul from him an hour ago. “And oh yeah, ready to kick their collective asses for ogling his woman’s ass while her head’s preoccupied with the clouds.”
That got her to give him a bittersweet little giggle. He longed to kiss her again but didn’t. She took a deep breath, readying herself to say more. Things he wasn’t going to like.
“I love you even more for wanting to slay all the dragons. But not when it’s me who’s responsible for setting them loose. Not when I’m the disaster.”
“Rose.”
“Don’t.” She pushed away and went to the railing, gripping it with white knuckles. “Let’s treasure what we’ve had, okay? Let me go, Mark.”
He longed to go to her again. To yank her right off her bejeweled feet and crush her close as he kissed her until she couldn’t breathe. But he needed to let her feel the power of his intent from right where he stood. “I’ve told you, damn it; I don’t give up that easily.”
Her fists coiled tighter on the rail. “And I’m asking you to be stronger than yourself. To understand this is for the best. I know what I’m saying sounds insane—”
“You’re not insane!”
Fuck it. He did go to her, pressing himself against her, wrapping his arms and hands atop hers. “You’re not insane, damn it. You’re just wrong.”
Though she fitted herself into him, her body tensed. The breeze caught her hair, wrapping it around his jaw. He inhaled deeply. She smelled like vanilla and wind and sex, making him close his eyes, knowing he had only a few minutes left to memorize this. The ocean twinkled before them, a starlit carpet spreading to the coastline in the distance. He hated that strip of glaring pastel already. It was a reminder of the real world—and the words she was about to say.
“I love you, Mark Moore. Which is why I’m asking you to let me sail away now too.”
A million responses sprang to his mind other than the hard grunt he did give. He could tell her it was too damn late to accommodate her request. He could explain how he’d been dealt the worst DNA to deal with on this, the mate-for-life gene blended with the tenacity-to-the-point-of-stupidity trait. But he had a feeling she knew both already. She confirmed that with her next words, spoken with soft deliberation.
“It can’t all be a cruise into forever, even when you long for it. Some journeys in our lives only last as long as the wind…a sigh of time. That’s what makes sighs special. We have to treasure them for the beauty of their moments, in their moments, before they’re carried away.”
She stunned
him yet again, with her poem-worthy words describing such a crap-ass truth. He turned her in his arms and lifted her face to him, even if his breath got sucked from his body in the doing. Even glimmering with the rivers of her tears, her skin was flawless cream. Her chin, her cheeks, and her forehead were etched in proud perfection. The russet fans of her lashes framed those eyes he’d never bottom out in but longed to try. He clenched his fists until they shook to prevent himself from reaching out to run his fingers over all of her, to help him remember, to engrave her into his psyche for the thousands of shitty, solitary nights ahead. He couldn’t do it. If he did, this resolve would crumble, and he’d never let go.
“I love you,” she repeated, her voice steady this time. “And that’s why I refuse to ruin you.”
“I know.” The threads of acceptance in his tone made their way up his throat on fourteen-gauge needles of grief. “I…know.”
The next day, it poured again. And though Mark yearned to bribe the clouds into sticking around as drinking buddies for his shit-ass mood, they moved on to more cheerful destinations, like the Bermuda Triangle. He put on a decent face for the world, but Dasha saw right through it, picking up on his gloom within minutes at breakfast. That afternoon, she texted to say she “really enjoyed Nassau” and was going to “hang out” for a few days to explore with David and Kress. Mark didn’t buy her excuse for a second, but having her near made things just a fraction more bearable.
The sunshine and tropical breezes returned, taunting him with their glory like the Joker had joined forces with Gidget. The only relief he found to it all was one sight alone. Mahogany hair. Velvet eyes. Full lips. She always chose the back of the classroom now though was just as focused as she’d been day one. She still arrested his senses as she had on that day too. His cream-skinned dream. His misplaced Victorian.
His.
His.
Not her choice. Not their time.
Not to be.
He couldn’t wait to get the hell off this island.
He arrived early to the jet GRI had chartered for the group back to Chicago. A lunch spread was ready and waiting in the spacious living room area of the plane, but he barely looked at the food. He headed straight for the back of the leather seating rows, spreading out the paperwork that formed an implied Disturb Me At Your Own Risk sign. Even Dasha read the message loud and clear, giving him a simple wave and a sympathetic smile as she, David, and Kress, having decided to hitch a ride back to the States with the group, boarded next. They staked out seats near the front, sharing a row with Brandt, who’d gotten erased off Pennington and Moridian’s shit list the second he told them about the girlfriend back in Houston with whom he was “more obsessed than a cobra on a mongoose.” They joined in the chatter as everyone else filed on board.
Everyone, Mark noted, except Rose.
He kept his head low and his face set when she finally made it, refusing to acknowledge how her arrival changed the very air in the cabin. All too easily his senses picked out the magnolias and vanilla in her scent alone. It would pass, he told himself. Just another second and the craving to leap up and claim her would be a dull twinge instead of a goddamn torment. It would pass.
He was also counting on her sitting anywhere but across the aisle.
He glanced up as she lowered into the seat and gave him an apologetic shrug. She was the last to board, so the seat was her only option. Mark returned an understanding smile and then let it drop as he looked back to the cancer research grant upon which he pretended to concentrate.
It was going to be a long goddamn flight.
Sure enough, the miles came to be marked by every sound, movement, and word from the woman across the aisle. There weren’t many of all three. Against every order from his head otherwise, he constantly looked up to make sure Rose even continued to breathe. Every time, he found her the same: head dipped over her e-reader as if someone had written a modern-day Bible.
At the hundredth time he checked on her, he encountered a different view.
She was looking at him.
Intently. Unashamedly.
He savored the moment like a death row convict to a reprieve. The thick depths of her eyes, the love in her face, the submission in her smile…they filled him anew, like recognizing air all over again, reminding him of who he was. Her Dom. Her man. They’d part soon, separated by miles instead of feet, but this perfect sigh of a moment wasn’t going to change. Ever.
It should have eased the ache. Instead his muscles fired with the need to move. Managing to keep the flames from the juncture of his thighs, he snapped free his seat belt and rose. He didn’t release Rose’s gaze. He didn’t dare. He stepped in toward her, right past the boundaries of professional decorum, until they were dangerous inches apart.
He scooped her hand into his own and smiled softly. “Hi.”
Her face glowed. His chest swelled with the satisfaction of causing it. “Hello there.”
“Can I get you some food? You haven’t eaten at all today, have you?”
That was the moment the spell broke. She remembered. She let reality crash back in on them. Mark gripped her tighter, willing her to stay on the cloud with him, but she yanked free. “I…I don’t think so.” She pulled her own seat belt free and pushed past him. “I think I just need to throw some water on my face.”
She disappeared into the bathroom like a teen busted with pot. He would’ve snickered at the comparison if he didn’t feel like her supplier.
Or totally sure about rolling up a bigger hit for them both.
He closed the distance to the bathroom door with an economy of movement. Everyone was too busy enjoying their last round of cocktails on GRI’s dime, as well as a camera phone fest with Dasha, to notice him anyway. Standing at the door and bracing both hands to the portal, he leaned and listened. Running water. Frantic splashes. His little sub fuming at herself, probably intending to stay holed up in there for the rest of the flight.
For once, her retreat instinct was just fine with him.
He checked the door, hoping to find the green Vacant dot. A triumphant smirk spread across his face. She’d been too frantic to secure the lock. Fate had thrown him a bone.
She jerked up her horror-stricken face as he slid the door open and then sidestepped into the tight compartment. “What’re you—”
“Ssshh.” He jammed the lock home behind him. With his other hand, he grabbed a paper towel and pressed it to her face.
“This space isn’t made for two pe—”
He wiped the towel across her lips. “It is now.” He continued his ministration across her opposite cheek. When he concluded, he tossed the towel into the sink, picking up the excess water on her face with his mouth. “Honey,” he murmured with heavy meaning. “You’re all wet.”
“Oh.” It was more a sigh than anything, vibrating with the shiver that claimed her. “Yes. I suppose so.”
He’d taken this risk with half an expectation of getting his face slapped and his ass shoved back out the door. Instead, she gave him the sweetest shock of the week. He let it make him bold, pushing even closer, trailing his lips into her hairline. Her gasp escalated into a sexier-than-hell moan, and she drew the sound out as he descended the column of her neck. Lightning had hit the plane now, he was sure of it, and the jolt went straight for his cock. He let out a growl to match her passion as he raised his head again, losing himself in the velvet depths of her eyes.
“Are you wet everywhere, pet?” He asked it as he gathered both her wrists into one of his hands, securing them at the small of her back. He started up her thigh with his other hand, fishing beneath her skirt for the treasure of her sweet, hot core. She started to writhe, her movements seeming both protest and plea. He decided to heed the latter. The last ninety-six hours had been as much a hell for her, he’d bet solid money on it. She needed this last connection as badly as he did.
“Oh,” she stammered again. “Ahhh!” She yelped as he found the line of her panties. He tilted his face and ca
ught her bottom lip with his teeth.
“Sssshhh, honey.” He grinned, certain he could taste her rising lust on her mouth. “Unless you want everyone to know what I’m doing to you in here? What I’m about to do?”
“No!” She retorted it as her hips bucked, just as his fingers wafted over the warmth of her pussy. “I mean no, Mark! You can’t! We…can’t…do…”
He shook his head. “No isn’t a safe word, Rose. Neither is can’t. Besides, you still haven’t given me an answer to my question.” He tugged her panties down with two jerks and then slipped a finger between her moist curls, right into the heart of her steaming, tight sex. “I’ve had to go and find the answer for myself. And what have I discovered? Ohhh, you are wet everywhere, my love. Very much so.”
“Yes.” It was a strangle of sound now. Her head fell back as her face betrayed what her mind wouldn’t yet accept. “B-But that doesn’t mean we should— Oh!”
Her cry came as he pulled out his finger, only to deliver a firm swat across her whole mound.
He brought his hand down harder. “One spank for making me answer my own question.” He gave the command with his lips still against hers. “And another for making me seek the answer to my own question. Third and last, you’ll take a hard swat for protesting your Sir when he wants to give you a fucking to remember him by.”
He gave her the third blow with even more force, and she reacted with a long, needy whimper. Christ, she floored him. This woman was custom molded in heaven to be a submissive. The very tint of her skin changed, a delicious flush now illuminating her from within. He finally released her lips, though he lingered close, mingling his breaths with hers, transfixed by watching her arousal transform her.
“Now…pop quiz,” he challenged. “What does a good subbie say when her discipline is done?”
She swallowed deeply and then whispered back, “Thank you, Sir.”
He crushed his lips to hers. “My good little student.”
To his shock, a little wince creased her features. “Yes,” she said, returning the intensity of his stare now, letting him see the sorrow in hers. “Yours. Always.” Tears threatened the rest. “Damn it—”