Going Under (Wildfire Lake Book 2)

by Skye Jordan

  I sure as hell know why she attracts so many men. She looks utterly edible in those skin-tight jeans and a fitted charcoal sweater that shows off all her curves and makes me want to run my hands all over her. The contrasting ivory scalloped edge draws attention to the subtly sexy, almost-off-the-shoulder style and a deep V between her breasts exposes her smooth, golden skin.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said at the house, about your plans after the marina is finished,” I say. “It’s so damn cool to meet someone who doesn’t just dream of sailing the world but has actually done it working on cruise ships and has concrete plans to do it again on her own.”

  She smiles. “I was just thinking about how damn impressed I am with the way you father those girls. You’ve so completely got your shit together.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Oh, no. I definitely do not have all my shit together. Not even close.”

  “Anyone who sees those babies of yours dressed to the nines will agree with me.”

  I’m still trying to get my mind around her plans. “How does this sailing thing work? How do you know where to go, when to go, what you’ll find when you get there? Is it safe for a single, gorgeous woman to sail into these ports of Third World countries? I’ve been losing sleep thinking about you out there on the open ocean alone. I have to admit, it freaks me out.”

  “This won’t be the first time I’ve done it. I sailed quite a bit when I was young, with my dad. And I often spent my breaks between ship gigs sailing on my own.”

  “What do you mean between gigs?”

  “I worked under contracts that last between four and eight months. When I can, I take off a month or two in between, rent a sailboat wherever I happen to be, and just chill.”

  “That’s so… It’s just such a different way of life than I ever knew about. I mean, I know people live on boats, I just never met one who did. It all seems so exotic to me. Where did you go as a kid?”

  “Oh, man, a lot of places. From about eight years old on, I spent every school holiday on a boat with my dad. Short holidays, we’d sail to different places in the Great Lakes and dive, and we spent three summers at sea. The summer between fifth and sixth grade, we flew to Seattle, rented a sailboat, and sailed to Hawaii.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “It took a month to get there, a month to get back, and we spent a month sailing to the different islands.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “I think that trip hooked me. We couldn’t do it as often as we wanted because Dad had to shut down the business.”

  “And your other two trips?”

  “Summer between eighth and ninth grade, we flew to Florida and sailed to Brazil.” She smiles, remembering. “I begged him to skip over to Africa, but we didn’t have time, and the social climate wasn’t safe. Then, for my graduation from high school, we flew to Portugal and sailed north, hit Spain, France, Ireland, Norway, and on the way back, we stopped in Iceland.”

  I stare at her, mouth agape. “That’s seriously unfathomable. I can’t even imagine it.”

  “Sure, you could. It’s really just a matter of learning something new. If you can manage medicine and something as crazy and unique as the human body, you’d get your head around a sailboat in a heartbeat.” She shrugs. “It’s just something you’ve never been exposed to.”

  I let out a breath and shake my head. “The stories you must have. I want to hear them all.”

  “A lot of good memories,” she says with a smile. “Really, all good. You’d think being cooped up together would cause issues, but I’ve found the exact opposite happens. You get closer. My dad instilled a lot of wisdom in those months we only had each other. Wisdom that’s made my life so much better than it would have been had I been sitting in the house playing video games.”

  “I could see that. You’re forced to figure out a way to get along.”

  She nods. “Never felt forced between me and my dad, but I’ve had a number of roommates on the ships I would have liked to smother in their sleep.”

  “You had roommates?”

  “I’ve shared seventy square feet with another person for the last ten years. Not to mention being around thousands of guests. This houseboat is the most room I’ve had to myself in what feels like forever.”

  “I guess that makes having a whole sailboat to yourself alone at sea pretty compelling.”

  “I don’t think it’s the space I particularly love. It’s more the freedom to move around at will.”

  This is seriously fascinating. “How do you choose your destinations?”

  “I do a lot of research. Check on weather and political climates and crime rates. I have friends all over the world, people I’ve either met working on the ships or during day trips I’ve taken at ports of call. I check in with them when I’m headed their way, not just to schedule a meetup, but to get a local’s take on the situation where they live.”

  There were those “friends” again. I’m irritated with myself for feeling so insecure about her interactions with other men.

  “I keep a variety of self-defense weapons on board—pepper spray, mace, flare guns, and several dive knives. I’ll also equip my boat with an extensive security alarm. They alert when doors, windows, or hatches are opened. There’s also motion detectors and deck vibration alarms, so if someone steps on board, I’m alerted. There are sensors to signal the engine being started, glass breaking, the boat moving from its mooring, disconnected mechanical equipment, and they have GPS tracker systems, like LoJack for boats.

  “All the security features they’ve come up with gives me peace of mind for sailing alone. In reality, the chance of something happening out on open water is rare. I’m at a much lower risk of violent crime on a boat than I am in my normal daily life. I wouldn’t be traveling anywhere near waters with pirates or countries with severe strife, because desperation breeds crime, but I’ve heard enough stories to always keep my guard up.”

  I’m awed by her depth of knowledge and her practical, well-thought-out approach to this dream. “I’m impressed. Really impressed.” But this information also drives home just how completely different we are. “Your life has been so adventurous. I guess I could see why you wouldn’t want to settle down.”

  She studies me a minute. Something’s going on inside her, but I can’t tell what. “And I guess that’s a no-go for you.” She looks at the deck and nods. “I can respect that.” She meets my gaze again. “I don’t like it, but I respect it. You’ve already lost someone. I could see having an aversion to losing another.”

  “That hasn’t been a problem with other people I’ve dated, but with you, yeah. I can already see how easily I could fall for you. And losing you would be a serious blow.”

  Her gaze goes soft, and she curls her fingers into the front of my shirt and slides her hand toward my belly. It’s a gesture that has already programmed desire to spike inside me.

  “You’re different for me,” she says. “You’re not the typical guy I’d go after. And I’m really curious to figure out what it is about you that makes me…”

  She stops.

  My heartbeat picks up speed. I’m standing on a cliff edge, leaning forward. “Makes you what?”

  “A little crazy.” She sighs and looks down the street. “I find myself thinking about you all the time. I’ve lost interest in other men. I’m obsessing over Laiyla’s relationship with Levi, trying to figure out how she’s okay with staying here when she’s always loved traveling for work.”

  She shrugs. “I feel like I’m in as much of an identity crisis as Violet. I mean, I know that neither of us fits the description of someone either of us needs right now, but the truth is, I never need anyone. Least of all a man. I never have.” She meets my gaze, serious and intense. “But, that said, there’s no denying that I want you. I want you more than I’ve wanted anyone in longer than I can remember.”

  Heat surges through my body. Her distinction between need and want catches in my mind like a bro
ken cog in a wheel.

  Jana always needed me. She needed me for everything—financial security, emotional stability, friendship, love, belonging, confidence, happiness. I always felt like she’d fall over if I wasn’t supporting her in every conceivable way. In fact, I believe she had the affair because I was so entrenched in work, I wasn’t able to give her all she needed. And now, I have three precious little lives needing me for all that and so much more.

  I’ve been needed for so long, I couldn’t see the difference between need and want. And the idea of having a woman as strong as KT wanting me without needing me feels…surprisingly powerful. Wildly liberating. Potentially essential—for my soul, for my heart, for me.

  Only now, in this instant, do I recognize that somewhere amid all this need, I lost my sense of self. I forgot that what I want is important too. And those wants don’t always have to correlate to a need to be essential to my happiness.

  “But I get it,” she goes on, interrupting my pivotal thoughts. “I understand that I might not be what you need or want. I wish I could give you everything you’re looking for. I’m even inclined to tell you I can. Or at least try. And maybe, if it wasn’t for the girls, I would. But you’ve got too much riding on keeping your life together, and I don’t want to—”

  I cup the back of her neck and pull her in to shut her up with my mouth. It’s an impulsive, reckless move when everyone in town is hovering in the next room, just waiting for a little morsel of gossip to spread around.

  I’m not ashamed of KT, or ashamed of wanting her, but there are a lot of families here. Families whose kids go to school with mine. Families who gossip over the dinner table. Gossip that finds its way to school and ends up gouging my girls. It happened with Jana’s cancer. Happened again with Jana’s death. It was torture for all of us, and I don’t want it to happen again.

  A sound rolls in KT’s throat. Surprise, hunger, relief. She tilts her head and opens to me before I can get my thoughts straight. Fists the front of my shirt, pushes up on her toes, and offers her warm mouth in a way that screams of abandon. That makes me think of so many erotic ways I’d like her to use this mouth. Maybe even in ways I can’t quite understand yet. I get the very distinct impression KT could teach me a lot in the bedroom.

  But now, I grip her waist and push her backward until she hits the wall and we’re better hidden in the shadows. Her hands slide up my chest, over my shoulders, behind my neck and she presses her body to mine, then pulls my head down while pushing up on her toes at the same time. Her mouth is open and hot and hungry. I don’t know what she sees in me that she didn’t see in the younger guys she was talking to inside, but I can’t wonder about that now, because my hands are beneath her sweater, sliding over warm, smooth skin, and her tongue is telling me exactly what she wants.

  I’m completely gone by the time I slide my hands lower, covering her ass and pulling her up against my erection. She moans into my mouth and wraps one thigh at my hip. I lift her and fit her perfectly between my body and the wall. She rocks her hips against me, and it’s my turn to moan.

  When she breaks the kiss, she rests her forehead against mine. Her hands slide into my hair, nails grazing my scalp. Everything she does is such a turn-on.

  “Touch me,” she says, her voice breathy and quiet. I’m about to ask her to repeat it, but she drags one hand from my neck, pushes it between us, pops the button on her jeans, then shoves the zipper down. “I can’t stop thinking about it. Touch me, Ben.”

  The woman has created a sexy scale all her own. I turn my hand over, press my palm to her belly, and hold her gaze as I push it slowly into her jeans, underneath her panties, and between her legs.

  We moan at the same time. She’s hot and swollen and slick, and I feel like I’m tumbling head over ass down a waterfall, sure there’s got to be rocks somewhere down the line. This is way more adventurous than I’ve ever been before, but I have a feeling that’s going to be the norm with KT.

  “Fuck, that’s good.” Both her hands return to my hair. One tightens, and the pull helps me stay in the present. Helps me keep my mind on our surroundings. Then she leverages the security of her back on the wall and lifts her hips, rubbing against my hand. She laughs a groan. “I knew I’d love your hands on me.”

  She’s so sexy, I have no words. But I do have an unquenchable desire to please her. To prove her lusty needs aren’t misplaced with me. I slide my hand along her until my fingers are soaked, then push two inside her. Her eyes fall closed on a look of ecstasy, lighting fire to my nerve endings.

  “Oh my God.” Her eyes are dark, her lids lazy. Her lips are parted, and I lower and tilt my head to kiss her the way I finger her, deep and slow, until she whimpers. “Ben… Fuck…”

  Her body tenses, and her hips buck. I barely cover her mouth in time to smother her sounds of pleasure. And I’m marveling at how quickly she climaxed. That’s got to be some kind of record. Leading me to all kinds of thoughts about setting all kinds of other records.

  When her body goes loose, I drag my hand from between her legs and kiss her with her musky scent floating between us. I pull back to whisper, “I can’t wait to get you in my mouth.”

  She smiles, a soft, sated smile. “Mmm. You sure are full of surprises. You don’t back down from much, do you?”

  “Never, when one of my girls needs something.” I kiss her. “Your needs are my favorite to fill.”

  “Sex over making peanut butter and jelly?”

  “I know, I’m amazing.”

  That makes her laugh out loud.

  “Just don’t tell the kids they’ve fallen a step lower on the rungs.”

  She’s grinning when I ease her to the ground. Unexpectedly, her legs give out. I catch her, and she laughs. “Weak knees. Damn, I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.”

  Voices grow closer from inside, and I force myself to step away from KT, just as the door opens.

  Poppy and Jazz come out. “Daddy,” Jazz says, excited and blessedly oblivious. “Come see what we made.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets, hopefully hiding what has got to be a noticeable hard-on. “Okay, baby. Be right there.”

  They go back inside, and I see Jackie herd them through the crowd. KT starts laughing. Giggling, actually. Giggling so hard, she bends in half, supporting herself on her knees.

  “Sure,” I say. “Easy for you to laugh.”

  She shakes her head and starts to say something, but only laughs harder.

  When she straightens, I slide my hand under her hair and pull her close for a kiss.

  She eases away and looks at me with affection and heat. “Does this mean we’re on? Or do you want to keep things between us off?”

  Shit. She’s so direct, which doesn’t let me hide from anything, including my own delusions. “Let’s try on. If it’s too much, I’ll let you know.”

  She sighs, and her hand travels down my stomach and strokes my erection. A jolt of pleasure makes me suck a sharp breath. She kisses me again. “What time do the girls go to bed?”

  11

  KT

  “I should have slipped some Benadryl into their Kool-Aid.”

  I lie on the bed in the Roxie Blue beside Laiyla. Chloe is lying perpendicular at our feet. All three of us are sipping beer.

  “Potential-parent fail,” Laiyla says.

  “Whoa, whoa,” I say. “Exnay on the parentingay. That’s way out of my wheelhouse. This marina is about all the commitment I can handle.”

  “Just you wait,” Laiyla says. “First, you’re deciding he’s the only guy you want to date, and it seems effortless. The next thing you know, he’s dropping to one knee at Christmas dinner and you’re planning a wedding.”

  “No wedding bells here. I’m only in the market for some killer sex.” I glance at my phone for the time. It’s after ten p.m. “But I’m beginning to think he fell asleep with the girls.”

  “With a hot ticket like you waiting on his call?” Chloe says. “No way.”

/>   “Speaking of hot tickets.” I roll my head to look at Chloe. “What’s up with you and hot cop? Why aren’t you two sleeping together, for God’s sake?”

  “What? No,” Chloe says, turning her head side to side. “No, no, no. That guy’s got half of Wildfire willing to drop their panties for him, and I’m so over cheaters.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll cheat,” Laiyla says.

  “Maybe a great guy like Levi wouldn’t cheat, but I haven’t had that kind of luck,” she says. “Besides, I’d rather just fantasize. Fantasies are always better than the real thing.”

  “I hope and pray you are so damn wrong,” I tell her, then look at Laiyla. “Any more wedding plans?”

  A smile creeps over Laiyla’s face. “I think I’d like to hold off until August. I have a feeling running this place the first couple of months is going to be chaos.”

  “Good point,” I say.

  “August is an amazing time for a wedding,” Chloe says.

  “What do you guys think of using that spot on the bluff overlooking the lake as the wedding site we develop first?”

  We’ve identified several nice sites for outdoor weddings on the property. More than one site allows for more than one wedding in a weekend, and weddings are huge moneymakers, but we haven’t chosen which one to start with.

  “That’s my favorite spot,” I say. “It’s perfect.”

  “We should have Levi build a centerpiece between those two oaks,” Chloe adds. “Then the lake will be the backdrop for the ceremony photos.”

  “I was thinking of something a little daintier,” Laiyla says, “like an iron arch. Something that would be beautiful draped in fabric and decorated with flowers.”

  “Ooo,” Chloe says. “I like that idea.”