Quinn
Cocky and arrogant; two adjectives far too mild when describing Hawke Sterling.
I don’t believe him for a second. The man has a one-track mind. That should offend me, but I agree with one thing he says. The air sizzles when we’re close. The fine hairs on my arms lift, almost as if they’re reaching out, wanting to feel that first jolt of electricity when he touches me.
I shouldn’t, but somehow, I agree to his tentative truce.
I consider it a truce because this feels a little like a battleground. Will I fall to his charm? Will I succeed in guarding my heart? Or will he sweep in, take what he wants, and leave nothing but devastation in his wake?
Fine, that might be a little overdramatic.
The question I keep asking myself is what’s the harm in a little fling?
This is where he’s going to get me. His logic. It makes perfect sense and he’s not one for commitment. Ten days of pure, unadulterated sex? No strings? We both walk away when this is done? Sounds pretty amazing.
I never have to see him again. It’s the perfect opportunity to work Scott out of my system.
There’s only one problem. That’s not me.
I don’t do that kind of thing. I’m a bonder. Using people and walking away feels all kinds of wrong. He’s right about one thing. If I want to step out of my comfort zone and do something I would normally never do, this is the perfect place to do it.
I can be whomever I want to be.
I rub at the side of my arm. Goosebumps pebble my skin. He walks beside me, closer than a stranger would walk but not so close that we touch. Not that it matters. Every swing of my arm sends shivers of sensation shooting up my arm.
I feel every inch of him.
We return to my suite in relative silence, enjoying a perfect day. It doesn’t take but a minute to grab my sunglasses, hat, and the sunscreen I prefer. Everything else is being provided. It feels a little weird walking around with barely anything, but I guess that’s the point.
We take another meandering trail to the main beach area. Shimmering sunlight makes the sand sparkle like a million tiny gems. Seagulls fly overhead, soaring as they hunt their next meal, diving below the majestic turquoise waters to make the kill.
I kick off my sandals at the edge of the walk. Hawke does the same, and we step out onto the beach. Waves crash against the shore, and the birds overhead screech as they call out to one another. The wind blows lightly, easing the tropical heat. And I take a moment to absorb all of it.
Simply majestic.
Warm beneath our feet, the sand gives our feet a gentle massage as we walk down to the cool water. Three boats anchor just beyond the breakwater. Two are large catamarans, perfect for snorkeling tours. One is a schooner; its sails lash tight against the masts. The brochure in my room boasts a sunset dinner cruise, but I have yet to decide if I’m willing to go on that alone.
Although, with the rules of engagement defined between us, I might get Hawke to accompany me. All I need is to resist the romantic pull embedded in everything around me.
There’s a fourth boat, a smaller catamaran. Instead of anchoring beyond the breakwaters, the staff ran it aground on the beach. A rope anchors it to the sand, and I wonder if there’s a smaller tour going out. It’s not big enough to fit more than four, maybe six people.
“A perfect day for a sail and snorkeling.” Hawke reaches for my hand, taking it in his. While I should resist, I don’t. As long as I don’t kiss him, I’m safe.
A sense of calmness washes over me. This really is one of the most peaceful places on the planet.
I glance up at the infinite blue sky full of the sun’s warmth and breath in the salty air. Some distance away from the beach, a boat tows a parasail with two people dangling from its canopy.
“Have you ever gone parasailing?” Hawke takes note of the direction of my gaze.
“No, but I’ve always wanted to try. Is it scary?”
“Are you afraid of heights?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not scary. It’s a lot of fun. Once you get up there, all you hear is the whistling of the wind. It’s quiet. We can sign up if you want.”
“And if I don’t like it?”
“We stop.” He gives a little squeeze of my hand. “There’re lots of activities we can enjoy together. You up for it?”
“Maybe tomorrow?”
“It’s a date.” His voice turns husky, low, throaty, hungry. “If you get scared, you can squeeze my hand.”
“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.” A smile fills my face. The last time I squeezed his hand I’d been locked inside a flying tin-can death machine.
“Are you kidding? I’m hoping it does.” He gestures toward the small catamaran beached on the shore. “Our chariot awaits.”
“We’re going on that one?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s everyone going to fit?”
“It just you and me.”
“Just us? I thought it was a snorkeling cruise—like, with other people.” A buffer between me and him. Something to keep me safe from that kiss I very much want him to take. Only he won’t take it. Not if he’s a man of his word. Which means, I must make the first move, and that will never happen.
“It is a snorkeling cruise with just two people.” His smirk returns, punctuated with a wink. Bastard smoothly maneuvered me into this.
Well done, Hawke. Well done.
Why am I complaining? I could be here with a cheating bastard. Instead, I have Hawke, and I’m willing to listen with an open heart.
He steps ahead of me to the boat, climbing on board, and offers a hand down. I shield my eyes against the dazzling sand sparkling in the golden sunlight. Light which is nearly the same color as the spark flaring to life in Hawke’s remarkable eyes.
There’s a certain serenity on the beach. Something about crashing waves, seabirds calling overhead, and the heat of the sun shining down to warm bare skin. The smell of saltwater travels up my nose, flooding my senses with memories of happiness and carefree times. I’m entranced by everything around me, but mostly by the man standing above me, hand lowered, ready for me to climb on board.
One glance out toward the horizon, however, brings different emotions. Something about the vastness of that space stirs agony, pain, regret, and frustration. It pushes out the peace and calm from moments before, reminding me of everything Scott took from me when he cheated. Not only is our personal relationship ruined, but also the business we hoped to build together.
There’s no way to move forward as a team after what he did. Which leaves me where? This is the question I need answered.
For now, with the infinite blue sky promising a day full of sunshine and the crystal-clear waters offering relief from the heat, I can forget about Scott and focus on nothing but the present and a man with glowing golden eyes.
I reach for his hand, clasp it, and before I can jump, he hoists me up as if I weigh nothing at all. He pulls me tight against him.
I’ve yet to see Hawke without a shirt but have a pretty good idea what I’ll find when I do. Our bodies momentarily connect, chest to chest, hip to hip, lips inches apart. My body riots with sensation.
Broad-shouldered, his cotton shirt strains against the muscles beneath. Angling down to a trim waist, there’s no paunch on Hawke like there is on Scott. Hawke keeps himself fit and I ignore the way his shorts cup his ass. How the muscles of his quads bunch and flex. How incredibly tanned and toned his body is; it’s perfection.
He’s a lady killer for certain, but I’m too gun shy to step in front of that kind of devastation. I’m practically plastered against him and place my hands on his chest to push away. Hard. Firm. He’s chiseled perfection.
“Um, sorry.” Why am I apologizing for standing too close when he’s the one who lifted me into his arms? A smirk ghosts across his face. Bastard knew exactly what he was doing.
“Take a seat and we’ll get going.” Hawke points toward the back of the catama
ran. Two staff members jog up to the boat. One releases the sand anchor while the other one pushes us out, using the rise of the waves to get us moving. Hawke leaps into action. Clearly, this is not the first time he’s done this.
I sit in awe, watching him work, or rather salivate over the rippling muscles as he puts his body to work. We float backward. Hawke engages the engines and we slowly make it over the gentle surf rolling in. Once free of the breakwater, the engine cuts out and Hawke tackles the sails.
We’re officially alone.
Seventeen
Quinn
As someone with zero knowledge of how to sail, I do my best to stay out of Hawke’s way. Before I know it, wind fills the sail on the main mast and we head along the shoreline. Water rushes along the hull and the boat lifts and falls with the rolling swells.
I lean back, letting the sun kiss my face, then remember to put on sunscreen before I forget and spend the rest of my vacation nursing a sunburn.
Hawke’s attention shifts to me as I lift the crochet top over my head. His admiration heats my cheeks and I glance away to cover my unease. Sunscreen in hand, I spread a thin layer over my face, making sure not to miss the tip of my nose or the tops of my ears.
Now that we’re in motion, the wind whips at my hair. I gather it into a messy bun and secure it with a hairband. Hawke returns to my side, finishing whatever it was he was doing to the front forward sail. It has a name, I’m certain, but I’m clueless.
“Need help putting that on your back?” He sees more sun than I do, as he has a golden tan to match his golden eyes.
The smart thing to do is to refuse and tell him I can do it myself, but I can’t. Since I burn easily, I cave and hand him the sunscreen.
“Thank you.”
His attention shifts from the top of my string bikini to my shoulders. He fills his palm with the cool white cream. and places his hands on my shoulders. Instant heat licks up and down my spine.
A shiver lodges at the base of my skull. I try not to move, but a low groan escapes me when his skillful hands go to work.
He’s supposed to be putting sunscreen on my shoulders and back. Instead, I’m subjected to the most amazing shoulder and back rub of my life. His deft fingers attack the tight muscles of my neck, digging in until I wince in pain. His fingers press hard until the poor muscles beneath them fatigue and relax.
“Wow.”
“You’re really tense.” His husky voice whispers past my ear. “Take a few breaths and relax.”
My shoulders tense when he finds another hard knot. He attacks it with his fingers, digging in.
“It’s hard when it hurts.”
“Breathe through it. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be limp and completely relaxed.”
There’s no doubt about that.
“Don’t you need to steer the boat?”
“Don’t worry about that. I know what I’m doing.”
No arguing with that. He moves from my shoulders to the base of my neck, squirting out more sunscreen to allow his fingers to glide across my skin. His thumbs dig in along my back, and I close my eyes in ecstasy. Slowly, he works his way down my back, until his fingers dip beneath the waistband of my shorts.
“These need to come off.” His throaty growl demands a response, and my hands go to the front of my shorts, flicking open the button and lowering the zipper before I fully realize what I’m doing. There’s no helping it, not with the thread of command laced in his tone.
I don’t think about it as I wriggle out of my shorts and kick them off my legs with my feet. A sharp intake of breath sounds behind me, followed by a low groan.
“Damn, Quinn, you don’t make it easy.” He doesn’t stop his massage.
His hands dip lower, trailing along the top of my string bikini. His fingers sweep around to my hips where he hooks his thumbs under the flimsy thread holding everything together.
My entire body vibrates beneath that touch, long slumbering nerves wake up and desire sweeps through me. My body heats. I lean into his touch, wanting more but knowing only a fine line separates us from something I can’t take back.
“I regret our little pact.” His voice is a low rumble. “All I can think about is stripping you out of these tiny scraps to take what I need.” He presses his lips to the tip of my shoulder. It’s not a kiss exactly. It’s more like a reverent sigh. “I want to fuck you, Miss Quinn Hayes.”
He’s not afraid to speak his mind, that’s for certain. My entire body stiffens. I’m well aware we’re in the middle of nowhere, too far from shore to think about swimming to safety.
I’m his captive.
The thing is—the moment he said he wanted to fuck me, heat licked between my thighs. The needy pulsations are making me squirm. He’s not the only one affected.
It’s not my fault he looks every bit like the faceless man of my sex dreams. Now, I must face my fantasy, because that fictional man is blessed with not only a face, but a name.
Hawke grips my hips, tight, controlling, desperate for what comes next. He’s unlike Scott in every way. No flabby chin. No beer paunch. No weak grip. He’s not afraid to tell me he wants to fuck me.
Hawke is flawless, from his sun-kissed skin to the rigid set of his jaw, the molten heat simmering in his eyes brings my fantasies to life. It’s like someone reached inside my head, sifted through my fantasies, and wove together every detail I find appealing in a man and created something incredible in Hawke Sterling.
To make things worse, the living embodiment of my dreams wants me. He just said so. He wants to fuck me. I’m almost of a mind to let him do whatever he wants.
I don’t mind that at all.
What does that say about me?
If he wants to have his way with me, I won’t say no.
I won’t resist. He’ll have my complete and utter surrender as I cave to his demands and fulfill his fantasies.
It would be nice if he took the burden for whether that happens away from me. But Hawke is a man of his word.
I know that.
He releases me and steps away. Something happens with the sails. The mast, or beam? The long horizontal thing-a-ma-jig, shifts from right to left. Or from starboard to port. Ha, at least I know those terms.
Hawke takes a seat at the tiller, not hiding when he makes an adjustment to his shorts. He’s long, engorged, and sporting one hell of an erection. It practically pokes a hole through the fly of his crisp, white shorts.
“Sorry.” My shoulders lift to my ears, and I turn away to give him the privacy he needs to fix himself and get as comfortable as possible.
“Don’t be.” The tone of his voice sharpens. “And, Quinn?”
I spin to look at him, then gasp at the way his fist wraps around the fabric of his shorts.
He grips his cock. “Don’t be ashamed of what you do to me. I’m not. I’d have to be dead not to react to you.” He releases his cock and shifts his hips away from me. “It doesn’t mean I’m going to break my promise, but while I will refrain from kissing you, I can’t not get hard around you.”
I lick my lips. They’re suddenly, incredibly dry and I wish I’d thought to bring Chapstick with me.
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable.” He flashes me his panty-melting smile. “You’re hot and mine for the day. I’m the luckiest man on the planet.”
“Not exactly the luckiest.” My gaze flicks to his crotch and the tenting of his pants.
“The day’s not over, Miss Hayes. You’ll cave sooner rather than later. When you do, you know what happens next.”
“What’s that?”
“After you kiss me, I’m finishing what you start.”
“And what if that’s not what I want?”
“I strongly suggest you never kiss me.” His eyes flash in the sunlight, molten hot, powerful, lusty, and full of promise. He means exactly what he says. “Think very carefully before you do. Kissing me ends only one way and that’s wi
th me buried deep inside of you.”
Silence descends between us, floating over the promise of his words. My breath hitches as I piece together what that might feel like, our naked bodies moving in unison, him braced over me. Hips moving, thrusting, as we chase our release. Desire blooms within me, coiling in my belly and pulsing in my sex.
Scott never made me feel this way. We had sex. It was good. Nothing earth-shattering, but this longing? The sensations rioting in my body?
This must be what lust feels like.
Delicious.
Decadent.
Maddening.
Frustrating.
I am in deep, deep trouble.
“Awfully cocky, aren’t we?” I desperately need to gain the upper hand because mere moments separate me from making a very bad decision and launching myself at him. I sense he’s a dominating lover, taking what he wants, and that only makes things worse. Not only does he embody my fantasy man, but I bet he’ll deliver on the dark, depraved fantasies I hide from myself. Something along the lines of a captive to a nefarious sea-faring captain comes to mind.
“More like I’m certain of the outcome. You have my word. I won’t kiss you first, but it’s going to happen. Be prepared for what happens next.”
I squeeze my thighs together as that needy ache intensifies. He’s right about one thing. My chances of making it through the next two weeks without kissing him are slim to none.
I want everything promised in that panty-melting grin and smoldering eyes.
But I’m not the kind of girl who hops into bed with a stranger. It might be fun in the moment, but as soon as things are done, regret will consume me.
I vow to be incredibly cautious around Hawke. Unless I’m in dire need, my lips will not be pressing against his anytime soon.
Eighteen
Hawke
Fuck me. I’ll be sporting a woody all damn day at this rate.
Note to self: DO NOT touch Quinn Hayes unless it’s an emergency.
Her buttery smooth skin feels like heaven beneath my hands, and shit if she doesn’t react wildly to my touch.
Hawke: Christmas in Paradise (Billionaire Boys Club) Page 12