The first thrust inside her stole her breath. She gasped, then froze at the top of the inhale, like she knew it would be hard to take another.
Hard to fucking breathe? He knew the feeling. She had him twisted inside out from a hand job.
* * *
If Cara had any doubts about whether this was a good idea or not—and she really hadn’t, not after that first kiss—they would have been evaporated by the intensity of this moment.
Mick slid another finger inside her, whispering how beautiful she was. How wet she was for him, like she couldn’t feel the slickness at the tops of her thighs.
He was wet, too. As she jerked him slowly between their bodies, warm, sticky lubrication slowly coated her fingers. She was on the Pill, and took it regularly. Every morning with her breakfast, even after moving into that ridiculous tent.
They could…
But no. They weren’t even dating. They hadn’t talked about their histories.
This was a freak event, spurred on by the storm and their constant fighting. This was chemistry, nothing else.
He stared down at her, watching her so solemnly as they worked each other closer and closer to the dirty, sweaty pinnacle they both so desperately wanted.
Nothing more than chemistry?
Try another lie, she told herself. That one didn’t work. She cupped his cheek with her free hand and he bent down, their lips brushing in an almost kiss as her desire started to spool inside her. Tighter. Faster. His breath fanned across her mouth as she arched beneath him, tipping her head back. His lips fell on her neck, searing her skin as she exploded around his fingers.
Her own grip flew faster, up and down his shaft until he cried out, his release spilling hot and wet against her fingers, her belly…
And then he was on her again, no space between them. Nothing left but their lips and their sighs, and they were one as they kissed. He rolled onto his side, taking her with him, holding her tight against his body.
She yawned. She couldn’t help it. “We should shower,” she said drowsily.
“Wait here.”
She lay flat on her back, staring up at the bunk above as he crawled over her. A few steps and he was out the door. Water ran, then he returned, and carefully cleaned her belly, her hands, and between her legs.
She blushed, but it was too dark for him to see that—she hoped.
When he returned, he rolled her over and spooned her from behind, his big, solid arm warm as it wrapped around her. “Go to sleep, kitten.”
She kissed his biceps. “Hell of a first kiss.”
He chuckled against her hair. “I know, right?”
“Are we going to get to do this again?”
“Hell, yes.” He growled.
She grinned as she closed her eyes. “Do you want to talk about—”
“Nope.” He pressed his hand to her belly. “Go to sleep.”
She’d never slept naked with someone before.
It turned out, it was pretty wonderful.
10
Mick watched Cara drift off to sleep. Her eyelids fluttered shut, her lashes sweeping against her cheeks. The tips of them were blonde, then darker against her skin. He wondered—not for the first time—if her wild hair was a natural mix of blonde and brown or if she did something to make herself look even more the part of the perfect, exotic Caribbean princess.
He chuckled to himself. Would she hate that? She was ruthlessly professional. But on the other hand, she wore those short shorts that made him crazy and danced like nobody was watching while she worked.
He was quickly learning that this island beauty didn’t play by any rules he recognized.
When his phone vibrated what felt like a minute later, he was surprised to see dawn breaking out the window. Huh. He’d slept after all—hadn’t been sure he could, because he didn’t want the night to end. Maybe he’d drifted off somewhere between competing thoughts of could he be any sappier and how did she smell so amazing?
His phone sounded again. It would wake her up if he didn’t check that message.
He climbed out of bed, rubbing his thigh with the heel of his hand, more out of habit than actual pain. That was a fucking relief. Cara was the first woman he’d slept with since before he was injured, and it wasn’t like he’d given any thought to being careful the night before.
Except for with Cara. Of course he’d been careful with her. The wave of tenderness that washed over him should have surprised him—and, if it had ever happened in the past, would have embarrassed him. But he couldn’t stop looking at her, marvelling at how right it ha felt to be with her, to hold her and love every inch of her body.
Would they do it again?
Fuck. He wanted to wake her up and do it again right now, but the woman had earned her rest.
He swiped his phone and punched in his password to read the text.
Will: Just hang tight.
Three words. How many messages had he sent? He’d gone into town to email the guy before a God damned hurricane struck, and that’s all Will could say?
He glanced over at Cara, curled up in his bed.
Okay, so his friend had called yesterday. And Mick had hung up on him.
But he’d gotten out of bed for Just hang tight? He sighed and threw his phone into his bag.
His stomach rumbled. He should make them breakfast. Cara made a mumbling sound in her sleep and snuggled deeper into the blanket. He looked outside. He should make them breakfast in another hour or two.
Until then, he should burn off some of his frustration in the ocean.
* * *
Cara found Mick at the beach. Dawn had barely broken, but she’d woken up to an empty bed and a quiet sky, and there was a note left on his pillow. Went swimming.
He was a man of few words.
As she watched him move effortlessly through the surf, racing away from shore with huge, powerful strokes through the water, she found herself wondering what he would make of the plantation—other than the gun range and all the other horrifying renovations he threw at her that first day.
An executive training facility, he’d said. Mick? Training people? That would require talking. Although he had a certain charm, when he wasn’t thinking about it. When he was teasing…
She blushed and burrowed her toes in the sand.
It was a lovely stretch of beach.
Awful rocks in the water, but maybe those could be moved.
That wasn’t in the Historical Society’s mandate, of course. Nor its budget. But a girl could dream.
Turning the plantation into a bed and breakfast or an inn. Letting her mother run an establishment instead of just cleaning one.
But the millworks—the only fully intact ones remaining on the island—were a national treasure. They didn’t deserve to be abandoned so the property could be a commercial venture. They needed to be protected.
She frowned and dug her toes a little deeper. She couldn’t lose sight of the importance of protecting the historical value behind her. And now she had her girls on her side. They’d figure something out.
In the distance, Mick turned around and headed back.
She stood up, holding the towel she’d brought down to him.
“Were you watching me?" he called out as he stood up, twenty feet out from shore, and made his way carefully over the rocks.
Cara let her eyes drop to the scar on his leg. Whatever surgery he was recovering from it hadn’t interfered with his ability last night. But in the cool, grey, early morning light, she could see how he held himself carefully. Maybe when he wasn’t thinking about it, his body was capable of a lot more then he thought it was.
She stowed that thought away for another time. They had more pressing concerns to deal with.
“Yes, I was watching you. Enjoyed the view, too. You're quite a capable summer." She laughed. “Is that a ridiculous thing to say to somebody who was in the Navy?”
Mick took a long slow breath and set his jaw as he gave her a hooded look. “I don’t remember t
elling you that.”
“You didn’t,” she said quietly.
He took a few more steps towards her, stopping just outside her reach. “There's probably a lot that we’ve learned about each other that we haven't shared, isn’t there?”
She nodded.
He held out his hand. “I’m Mick.”
She stood up and took it. “Cara.”
“I’m recently retired from the U.S. Navy.”
“I’m the director of the island’s Historical Society.”
“Ahh,” he said, giving her a wry smile. “What brings you to Villa Sucre?”
She let go of his hand and turned around, pointing back up the path through the jungle. “It’s a property of some historic significance.”
“Is that so?”
She handed him the towel and stepped to the side. He fell into step with her as they walked back toward the servants’ quarters. “The mill is the only remaining sugar works on the island.”
Mick stopped suddenly and looked at her, his brow wrinkling. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?”
“When would I have done that? When you were yelling at me to get off the property? Snooping on me?”
He rolled his eyes. “How about while I made you dinner?”
“You weren’t very talkative.”
“‘Hey, Mick, let me tell you why this place is special.’ Is that so hard?” He lifted his voice, mimicking her, and she wanted to growl.
Yes, it was that hard. “You showed up out of the blue,” she protested, her blood pressure rising with each word. “Seriously? Now you’re putting this on me? How about you stop for a second and say, ‘Hey lady, why are you working so hard to restore this place, anyway?’”
He started laughing as she copied his voice, but stopped when she glared at him. “Hey, that was funny.”
“This isn’t funny,” she said, shaking her head. “One minute together, awake, and we’re fighting again.”
“Maybe that’s because we haven’t had our good morning kiss yet.” He gave her a half smile and brushed his fingertips against her temple. She twisted and pressed her cheek against his palm.
His warmth grounded her and she nodded. “Maybe.”
“Come here.” His fingers curled around the nape of her neck as he tugged her closer, and she didn’t care that he was still damp from his swim. She folded right up against his body and parted her lips for him, tasting the salt of the sea and the reassuring warmth of his tongue.
His lips pulled and pushed against hers, coaxing her into an extended, breath-taking embrace that had her reeling when they finally pulled apart.
“Good morning, Cara,” he said quietly with a wink.
She grinned and pressed her fingers to her swollen lips. “Good morning,” she murmured.
“Can I make you breakfast?”
Her stomach rumbled. “Yes, please.”
11
After Mick made breakfast, Cara took him on a tour of the grounds. The sugar mill, the fields, the main house. He made a list of storm damage on his phone. It wasn’t that bad, although the roof needed to be repaired before the next one hit. It was a miracle the house had stood vacant for a decade and not been destroyed.
They held hands and talked and didn’t fight, which was a minor miracle.
That didn’t mean they weren’t talking around the elephant in the room—or on the estate, as it were.
His future plans meant taking all of this history and turning it into something ruthlessly modern, ruthlessly commercial.
She wanted to ask him about it, ask him to explain it to her so she’d understand, but she had to be honest with herself—she wouldn’t hear it. Wouldn’t hear anything past, “this all has to go.”
So she didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer.
They stuck to what the plantation once had been, and the island’s history in general. She told him more about her friends and how they were sisters from other misters.
Mick teased her that for a French girl, she didn’t have much of an accent, and she explained about her years away at university in California.
“I can’t believe that for years we were only an hour apart, and the universe never put you in front of me,” he said quietly. They were in the hammock together, their legs tangled up. He was stroking his fingers up and down her bare arm, and the late morning heat was making her drowsy.
“Maybe our paths crossed,” she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut.
“I would have remembered you.”
“Maybe Fate didn’t want us to meet until now.”
He was silent then. Well, she wouldn’t take it back. She felt strongly about him, separate from any drama over the property. She was drawn to him and it wasn’t just sexual. If he didn’t feel the same way, better to know that now before her heart got too attached.
It might already be too late.
“You believe in fate?” He settled his hand on her waist. Big and warm. Solid. Sure.
“I actually hate to think about life like that,” she admitted. “My dad died when I was a teenager—a car accident—and ever since, the idea that life events are destined to happen makes me want to cry.”
“I get that. I’ve seen a lot of awful shit. I’d prefer not to think it’s part of a master plan.”
“But…” She snuggled closer. Their breathing patterns had matched up, slow and lazy, and she felt his chest rise and fall with her own for a few beats. “I don’t know. There’s something different about the good things in life.”
“Like they’re special gifts and should be appreciated?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed her forehead. “I do appreciate whatever or whomever put you in my path, Cara Levasseur. I appreciate the hell out of that.”
* * *
Mick had a serious fucking problem. He was pretty sure he was falling hard and fast for a woman whose heart he was about to break.
Cara’s history lesson had completely dismantled his cocky perspective on what they should do to Villa Sucre. But it wasn’t his estate, and he knew his best friend too well to hope that Will would be similarly swayed.
If anything, Will might even be annoyed that Mick had let a woman get under his skin. Could he choose Cara over his only viable career option? Would she want him, broken and unemployed?
And all of this was a stupid place for him to let his head wander when he hadn’t slept for shit the night before and was enjoying a perfectly amazing mid-day nap with a gorgeous woman in his arms.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on her face when she talked about restoring the plantation to its original beauty. Open it to the public as a museum.
Not that she’d ever get that opportunity—the more he thought about it, the clearer his picture became of what had happened. Someone, probably an intern, had sent a letter to the Historical Society based on an earlier will. Then they’d forgotten to retract that letter, or maybe the intern had kept that oops to themselves.
Either way, there was no reason for Mick not to believe that his letter—the more recently dated one—was accurate. It was the only inheritance Will had received from his grandmother. Surely the old woman wouldn’t have forgotten to give her grandchildren something? Or if she had, she’d have realized the error and corrected it.
Will was blood. That trumped a charitable donation.
It was just a matter of time until Cara had to face the fact that she’d lost the estate.
What would she do then? She obviously had a lot riding on this project—so much so that she’d moved in to maintain a claim of possession.
A stab of fear gripped his heart. Would her job be riding on it, too?
He couldn’t do that to her.
Fuck.
“What are you thinking about so hard?” she asked, her voice jarring him back to the hammock and their cuddle.
“Stuff.”
“The same kind of stuff I asked you if you wanted to talk abou
t last night?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna talk now?”
“Nope.”
She sighed. “We’re grown-ups, right?”
“You more than me, probably.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
He was silent for a long while. She didn’t say anything else. Finally, he opened up, just a little. His voice caught on the words and it took a few tries to get out. “I don’t have a lot of prospects, Cara.”
“Mmm.” She rubbed his chest, then down to his belly. “That’s a scary place to be.”
“You know about that, maybe?”
“A bit.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, that’s life, right?” Another sigh, and she stretched her legs out as far as she could, making a satisfied sound as her toes brushed his. “I’ve got a friend. Arielle. And her father’s a successful businessman, but…he’s mixed up in some stuff. I don’t know what. Drug smuggling, maybe. I hope not, but he comes and goes, disappears sometimes without warning. It’s stressful for her. Meanwhile my mom and I have cream tea every Wednesday afternoon at the hotel where she cleans rooms. So who am I to complain about what I don’t have?”
“I wasn’t complaining.” At least he hadn’t meant to.
“Oh, no…I know that. I just mean…maybe this isn’t what you thought you were getting down here. But maybe it could be good anyway? No matter which way it goes?”
“Would you still…” His eyes were hot and scratchy. Fucking emo bullshit. He squeezed her hip, then palmed her ass. The teenage boy deep inside him gave him a fist bump. It wasn’t whether or not she’d still want him. Fuck that noise. It was his job to be worthy, no matter what. “Yeah. It could be real good. I’ll land on my feet, kitten. Don’t worry about me.”
* * *
She did, though, and even after he fell asleep, she thought about their conversation over and over again, looking at it from all sides.
When he started snoring lightly, she slipped out from under his arm and lightly twisted her way out of the hammock.
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