Forbidden Three

by Kira Blakely

  I walk her back to her villa, and we say goodbye on the doorstep. She makes to take off the shirt, but I stop her with a kiss. “Keep it,” I say, then walk off, still bare-chested.

  At least she’ll have something of mine with her.

  A part of me hopes Holden will see it and flip the fuck out.

  Chapter 9

  Danielle

  I’ve never been a wallflower, but Mystique Island has unlocked a whole other side to me. Here, I’m brave, carefree. I’ll have sex in the waves where anyone might see, so a banana raft is nothing, right?

  The two-cylinder yellow craft floats alongside the makeshift dock, attached to the back of what has to be an expensive yacht, if the silver and white sheen is anything to go by. The driver wears a pair of aviator sunglasses—no mask for him—while the rest of us, ladies and billionaires—everyone’s rich here—line up on the dock, giggling, chatting, wearing these ridiculous masks.

  We’re not allowed to take them off even now.

  I adjust my bikini top, two tiny triangles of wet-gold fabric, and rub my upper arms.

  I haven’t seen Holden this morning, and that’s fine. That’s the whole reason I’m down here. To prove that no matter what, I can still enjoy this weekend without being fixated on the man I shouldn’t have fallen for.

  Last night was a mixture of amazing and disappointing.

  I’m confused, and I despise that. I usually have my head on straight—it comes with the territory when there’s a five-year-old to look after.

  Besides, a clear head is something I inherited from my mother.

  A pang goes off in my chest, and I rub the spot over my heart. Years have passed, but I still miss her like hell.

  “Lifejackets,” the driver of the boat calls out. “There on the dock. Strap ‘em on, people. We’re not going anywhere until you’re wearing them.”

  We meander over to the pile of bright orange jackets, and I pick one out, then slip my arm through the puffed-out holes. I strap it on, while all around me, men help their sex partners slip into theirs.

  I walk back to the banana raft then sit down on the edge of the dock and stare at it. I’m really going to do this.

  I’m not afraid of the water. Cautious certainly isn’t my middle name, or I wouldn’t be on Mystique in the first place, but it still kinda gives me the chills. It’s the ocean, the beautiful turquoise ocean.

  The color is a replica of Holden’s gaze.

  That thought sends me into the water.

  Others join me and clamber onto the raft one by one. I join the back of the line and heave myself on board with a little help from the burly man in front of me.

  Women loop their arms around guys, and men chuckle. We’re ridiculous. The sun shines on our heads and bakes our backs, and our masks glimmer. We’re about to shed a metric ton of glitter into the water, and we’ll return to shore with sunburn in the shape of these damn masks, too.

  That’ll be the hot summer look this year.

  The boat’s engine roars to life, and I jolt, grabbing hold of the tiny blue handle in front of me. I squish around on the rubber and mentally prep myself.

  It’s all right. Just a raft. Gonna be fun. You’ve got a lifejacket. What’s a little water up the nostrils between friends?

  The driver eases the boat away from the dock and put-puts out toward the open ocean at a crawl. It’s nice, actually, what with the breeze whipping my hair back and the chill chasing off the sun’s heat.

  I can get used to this.

  Palm trees and white sands wane, and the sun’s glare on the open ocean is almost unbearable.

  I release a sigh and squeeze my eyes shut behind my mask.

  “Let’s go!” a man yells in front of me, and I jerk with shock, eyelids snapping open again.

  The boat’s driver laughs and throws a thumbs up toward us, then rams the accelerator forward.

  We leap forward, and I shriek, redoubling my grip on the stupid plastic handle in front of me. My stomach whoops. We zoom along the water, crash over a swell, and keep going. We’re far out, way too far out for my liking.

  I cast a glance over my shoulder, and my insides burn.

  The sand is a pale white strip, the trees barely visible. There’s a figure on the dock, but I can’t make out who it is.

  “I don’t like this,” I say, but my words are taken by the wind and dissolved by the rush.

  The boat turns in a long arc, and I let out another shrill squeal, along with several of the others on the raft. At least, I’m not the only pussy, ha. But there’s no comfort in that thought. My terror does not subside.

  My eyes squint from the sun and the speed. The maniac behind the wheel turns again, this time sharply, and the raft flings out sideways.

  One of my legs slips free with a rubbery squeak of doom. “No, no, no, no, no,” I yell, but once again, my words are snatched away, and my mouth is crammed with wind.

  Violated by nature, god damn. This is not how I envisioned my weekend.

  My other leg slips free, and I ram my mouth shut, tight.

  This is it. This is how I die.

  Melodramatic, sure, but warranted. I cling to the raft for my dear life, but it’s like my fingers are coated in butter and the raft’s handle is made of… well, butter. I slide free in a great swoosh and smack into the water so hard it takes the air from my lungs.

  I’m under for a second, before the lifejacket—thank God for it—shuttles me toward the surface. I break it and splutter, choke. Hair clings to my forehead and gets in my eyes. There’s saltwater up my nose, and I sneeze-wince at the pain. It’s like my whole head is stuffed with water.

  My neck pains, probably from whiplash, and that glittery mask is gone. I flail for a second, then calm myself.

  OK, I’ve got a lifejacket on, and the boat will circle around, right? I can’t be the only one who’s fallen off.

  I tread water and turn in a circle, ignoring the horror at what may be lurking beneath me. Sharks? Some great mythical beast, like, uh, the Kraken from Pirates of the Caribbean?

  “Stop,” I say to myself, and saltwater laps into my mouth. I spit it out in a fountain. “Ugh.”

  I search for the boat, but it’s already streaked off in the opposite direction. It’s way too far away. And it’s getting farther by the second. No one else has fallen off. They’re all still there on the raft, happy-go-fucking-lucky while I’m out here, crapping myself over sea creatures.

  “Hey,” I croak, but it’s never going to work. I’m hoarse from screeching.

  I lift an arm, then flop it down, turn toward the distant strip of sand and refuse to panic. It’s still there, and the palm trees, and the dock, but… wait, what?

  It’s getting farther away.

  Farther by the second.

  I gasp and kick my legs, bob up and down like a cork. “No!” I can’t propel myself forward. I’m sucked backward by the sea. A rip current.

  My mother taught me about these as a kid. She told me—

  Don’t panic, if it happens. Don’t panic, there’s nothing you can do. You’re at the mercy of the ocean. Keep swimming. Swim parallel to the shore.

  Tears streak down my face, and I do as she told me long ago. I try for an easy breast stroke, but it’s useless. My arms are weak. I choke and sob.

  “Stop it, you can do it. Don’t give up,” I whisper and keep going. Water laps my lifejacket. My legs burn. “Keep—”

  The sound of an engine cuts across my panic.

  I stop swimming and turn in the water.

  A boat!

  “Hey!” I croak-yell. “Hey! Hey! Help me, help. I’m over here. Oh, my god, please see me.” I wave my arms over my head and bob again, go under, and resurface. My vision is blurred by rivulets of sea water. “Please,” I splutter.

  Whiteness spreads in front of me.

  It’s the side of the boat. The side of the boat! I’m saved, thank god.

  Strong, tan arms reach down and grab hold of me. I’m lifted free of the
ocean, astounded by the strength of the person who’s saved me and tugged me on board.

  He wraps me in his arms, and I’m enveloped in spicy, slightly sweet warmth.

  Holden. It’s Holden.

  The thought brings a fresh wave of tears. I sob and rest my forehead against his collarbone, the top of my sopping wet head tucked under his chin.

  “What are you doing out here? Why would you come out here? Don’t you know it’s dangerous? You could’ve died.” Anger snarls every word in the last sentence. “What would I do without you, Danielle? What would Jessie do without you?” He gives me a little shake. “I can’t lose you.”

  I can’t speak, can’t think. I cling to him and choke on my own tears.

  Finally, the iron grip softens, and he strokes my back. “It’s all right. You’re safe now. You’re safe with me.”

  Chapter 10

  Holden

  I couldn’t be more fucking angry.

  What was she thinking?

  What is she even doing out here?

  She could’ve fucking died, and I would never have seen her again. Only heard about it from Port Authority after the fact. My nanny, the woman I’ve fallen for, dead out at sea.

  I stroke her back and use that soft brush of my skin on hers to calm the beast raging inside me.

  Guilt sweeps through me.

  And if she had died? Her last memory of me would’ve been me telling her that I can’t do this with her, anymore. That I have to leave. How can I love this woman and let her go so easily?

  Simple, I can’t.

  I can’t.

  I kiss the top of her head. “Don’t do that again.”

  She’s stopped crying, at last. She pushes back from me, and I suck in a breath. A weight drops onto my fucking ribcage. She hasn’t got the mask on, now, and neither do I. I didn’t exactly anticipate any company out here.

  It’s the entire reason I left the island behind. I need time to think about everything that’s happened.

  How am I supposed to think with her here? Her beautiful face is exposed. Puffy eyes, red nose, and still she’s stunning. My gaze drifts lower. She fiddles with the straps on the front of her lifejacket, shivering, fingers wrinkled.

  I gently nudge her hands aside and rip the straps off, then slip her out of the life jacket. I inhale sharply a second time.

  She’s lost her bikini top. It must’ve slipped out from under the vest, tugged free by the current.

  Her breasts are exposed to the open air, drying in the breeze, baked by the sun, two white triangles against tan skin.

  I look away and walk to the boat’s wheel, taking hold of it. I don’t start the engine or turn it. I’m just trying to hide the fucking erection tearing at the front of my shorts. “What are you doing out here?” I ask, again, and this time it’s arousal that snarls my words.

  She hiccups but clears her throat. “I was on a banana raft thing,” she croaks.

  Christ, she’s hoarse, battered, afraid, and I’m worried about my cock. The thought sobers me and helps the situation downstairs. I walk to the cooler beside one of the benches and flip it open, I reach inside and grab a bottle of water then take it to her.

  She accepts it, still shivering, then unscrews the lid and drinks deeply.

  Water snakes from the side of her mouth and down her throat. I track the droplet all the way to her collarbone then leave her above deck. I duck down and rustle around in the small cabin on board, finding a towel in one of the tiny cupboards beside a single bed.

  I return to her then wrap it around her shoulders. “Here. That will help. I have candy bars. You’ll need sugar for the shock.”

  “I don’t want any,” she replies and sits down on one of the benches, clutching the bottle between her hands. “I don’t want to eat.”

  I stand over her, my shadow shielding her from the glare. “You have to be more careful. You can’t go on one of those things alone. You need a buddy. Or friends who’ll make sure you’re safe.”

  “I’m not a child,” she replies, through chattering teeth.

  “Then don’t behave like one,” I snap.

  “Excuse me?” She levels me with a glare. “What’s your problem? I almost died and all you can do is—”

  “Almost died,” I growl. “Don’t you fucking get it, Danielle? You can’t die. I can’t be without you. I can’t live—” I cut off because that’s too far.

  She bows her head and focuses on drinking the water instead. The sun is hot to me, but the cool breeze is enough to offset it, and Danielle is in shock. She won’t stop shaking, and I hate it. I hate every second of this.

  “Come,” I say and open my hand. “You need rest.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Come!”

  “No!”

  This damn woman doesn’t know what’s good for her. She’s endangered her life and is refusing sense all in one.

  I bend and tuck one arm under the backs of her knees, run the other under her back, then lift her from the bench and cradle her against my chest.

  She stiffens. “What are you doing?”

  “What’s best for you,” I reply and march her toward the stairs that lead below deck.

  “Are you crazy?”

  Only for you, dumbass.

  I take her under, to the single bed with its salt-kissed sheets, and lay her down on it, carefully. She doesn’t argue or flail around at least, just lies back on the sheets. The towel falls open and exposes her breasts and, again, I’m fucking hard for her in an instant.

  What is it about this woman?

  She’s my addiction, and I don’t even have an addictive personality, for Christ’s sake.

  “Sleep. I’ll drift a while longer then take us back to shore. Sleep, relax. Warm up. When you’re ready, there’s a candy bar waking for you on deck.” I turn to go, but she lets out a little noise that stops me mid-stride.

  “Wait,” she whispers.

  There’s an iron rod between my shoulders. The temptation is too much. Her chocolate brown gaze bores into my back and I picture her, lips parted and quivering ever so slightly—the way they trembled in the throes of her orgasm at the banquet.

  “Please, Holden,” she says. “Stay with me.”

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  Now, I can’t leave. Not even if I want to. Which I don’t.

  “Stay with me.”

  I turn slowly, rocking along with the lap of waves against the sides of my boat. We’re anchored, we’re not going to get lost at sea, and I’m an experienced sailor. I can afford to stay here for a while, just until she falls asleep.

  “Please,” she repeats.

  I face her and take in the sight of this woman, this tan goddess lying tangled in the sheets. Not a goddess, no, she’s a mermaid I’ve caught off the side of my boat. My personal siren, her ankles crossed, her dainty toes pointed toward the end of the bed.

  Her caramel hair is spread across the pillow, like slow-drying seaweed, and her pink-brown nipples are puckered still. She opens her arms and beckons.

  I walk to her side then lower myself next to her. I kiss her forehead because I can’t stop myself from doing it. If touching her is my sin, take me straight to hell.

  Danielle sighs and snuggles closer to me, runs her fingers down the side of my face, then cups my chin. “This is good,” she whispers. “I like lying with you.”

  I lift myself onto one elbow and trail my fingers down her body, over one breast and then the other.

  She arches her back toward my touch, her eyelids fluttering open and shut. “Holden,” she whispers.

  This can’t go further. I did mean what I said yesterday, though I wish things could be different.

  “More,” she pleads.

  Fuck, I’m lost all over again. I bend and kiss her nipple, suck it between my lips, nibble gently.

  “Oh god.”

  She tastes of salt and the sea, my mermaid, and I lap it up, work my way from one breast to the other, gentle sucks, ni
ps, and kisses, claiming her skin again. I’ve yet to fuck this woman, because doing that would mean losing myself completely.

  But she needs me now. She needs pleasure. She’s scared. Her adrenaline is high.

  Eat her out.

  That I can do.

  I kiss a trail down the flat plane of her stomach, dip my tongue into her belly button and bring another gasp from her lips. I could subsist on them. Christ, she’s delicious. She’s everything.

  I make my way lower and lower, to the line of golden bikini bottom. I tug it down, just enough to allow me access, then feast on her clit.

  She cries out and shudders, tangles her fingers in my hair and tugs me into her body.

  Her pussy is cold, still moist from the ocean, but each lick warms it up, and the moisture becomes dripping, smooth wetness. Her cum is like honey to me, and I lick a line from her hole to her clit, relishing that flavor.

  I insert two fingers inside her and go slow, hooking them and brushing her clit.

  She moans and rolls her hips, accepts what I have to give, pulls my hair again.

  “That’s right,” I say, against her clit. “That’s my girl. Come for me, Danielle. Come for me.”

  “Anything for you,” she whispers, and her tone warbles it’s so full of emotion. It’s not only pleasure—it’s danger.

  All of this is dangerous. I’m already in love with her. I haven’t even been inside her yet, and I’m in love with her.

  Nothing scares me except this.

  I’ve conquered the world. I’ve created my own space transport company. I’m on the verge of the next frontier. But Danielle, this sweet, precious nanny, brings me to my fucking knees.

  I pound my fingers inside her, dive in and out, suck on her clit, tap it with my tongue then sweep it across. I even out my motion, creating a steady rhythm that will surely break her.

  Danielle cries out. “Holden, I’m coming. I’m coming for you.”

  She clenches around my fingers, pulses and moans, kicks her legs out.

  I watch her, the mounds of her breasts thrust upward, her long slender neck exposed, head thrown back. My Danielle.