by Holley Trent
She’d been trying so hard not to look—not to stare. She’d seen him in photographs before, but he’d always been partially obscured. He always had on one of those salt-faded baseball caps that men who spent a lot of time on boats seemed to wear, and mirrored sunglasses. All she’d been able to tell from those pictures was that he had a competent dentist, probably used sunblock regularly, and that he didn’t bother shaving too closely.
In the flesh, he had an enthralling quality that made him almost too hard to stare at. Those steely eyes. That slanted smile that seemed as much of a warning as it was a sign of humor.
Tim Dowd was handsome, yes, but his carriage and confidence were what had her reflexively rubbing her thighs together.
She wasn’t sure if it was dominance or magic, but he was hitting her radar as the sort of man she’d consider going home with. Too bad she didn’t do that anymore. No commitments, no random hook-ups, no distractions—in spite of what Leah would have her do.
Leah should have been able to come up with enough reasons on her own for why Valerie chose to be single, even without knowing the salacious bits. Their father had gone out for cigarettes a couple of days after Leah was born and never returned. He’d left their mother with two children under two, a big stack of bills, and no options. Their mother’s career prospects dried up and never got back on track. When she’d died fifteen years ago, she was in exactly the same place she’d been when Valerie was born—an adjunct professor still praying for tenure.
That wasn’t going to happen to Valerie. She’d sworn off distractions of all sorts to be sure of it.
“Have you ever been on a boat?” Tim’s deep voice pulled her from her despondent musings.
Furrowing her brow, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry? What?”
“A boat. Have you ever been on one?”
“Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, ferries and cruise ships. A pontoon boat, once. Why?”
“So, you’ve never been on a yacht?”
She scoffed put her gaze on the road ahead. The new asphalt was ending. She cringed as the truck shuddered over the rougher, older surface. “No. People who own yachts don’t tend to run in my circles. I’m way too middle-class. Again, why do you ask?”
He hit his blinker switch and cut across the road to the left turn lane. “I’m docked nearby. Mind if I get your opinion on something?”
“On something pertaining to boats?”
“Hey, sure.”
Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a breath. What is it with people tonight? “Try again and sound a little more sure of yourself.”
He made some low, purring sound that she supposed was chuckling, but she couldn’t be sure. She could hardly think through the pounding of her pulse in her ears. It was the laugh of a satisfied man—one used to having his way—and she wasn’t so naive to think he wouldn’t try to have his way with her.
Her brain betrayed her, flooding her mind with thoughts of what Tim Dowd having his way might look like—teasing her with the possibility that those rough hands of his would restrain her.
Tease her.
Undo her.
She dragged her tongue across her dry lips and tried to regulate her rough breathing.
She could go home and put fresh batteries in her vibrator so she could slake the ache between her legs, or she could relent for just one night and embrace flesh instead of cold plastic.
She tracked her gaze down Tim’s strong profile, taking in every detail that mattered. The bit of gray at his temples, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that had probably come from squinting into the sun, the hand with the long, thick fingers gripping the steering wheel. Muscular forearm. Long, athletic body inside those pressed clothes.
One night. That’s all. One night isn’t a distraction.
Valerie ignored the buzz of her phone inside her purse and put on a grin when Tim glanced over at her. She’d always preferred warm dark eyes on men, but on Tim, the pale blue didn’t seem so cold.
Tim parked in a numbered space at the wharf and killed the ignition. “My boat is just a few slips down.”
“I…” Valerie gave her head a clearing shake and cleared her throat. Perhaps she was being a bit reckless, but she still needed to keep her wits about her. “Should I leave my purse here?”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for long enough that she knew he was either thinking up a lie or becoming impatient with her.
Already, Mr. Dowd? Really?
She knew not to expect too much. In fact, she shouldn’t have been expecting anything from him at all. She’d just needed the reminder.
She slung the purse’s strap over her shoulder and opened the truck door. She jumped down from the truck and slammed the door.
Tim locked the vehicle and canted his head toward the waterfront. “This way.”
She followed. “Do you really need my professional opinion about something? I generally bill for that.”
“I’ll pay you if you like. You’ll have to go through my accounting department, though, and the lady in charge prefers to cut checks fifteen to thirty days after service just to make sure I’m satisfied with the quality of work I’ve received.”
“I don’t even know where I’m going to be in thirty days.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Shora project is ending. Or at least, my part of it is. I had to be there to make sure all of the models went up to spec and make sure there were no regulatory issues. I’m a licensed architect, but they don’t really need an architect on-site for the next phase. They can get one of the young, bossy project manager guys at the firm to handle the rest. Everything else going up on the residential end are just going to be exact cookie cutter replications of the six models. And, no, I did not design them.”
He grunted, sort of noncommittally.
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t care? Why’d you bother asking?”
“Didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t care. You just tossed a lot of information at me. I’m mentally triaging and trying to decide what’s the most important. Give me your arm.”
“What?”
“Your arm, please.” He indicated the wooden walkway to the pier, which was elevated several inches off the ground.
“Oh.” It was hardly a climb, but she appreciated the small act of chivalry all the same.
She stepped up, and he got her walking on the edge of the waterfront.
“How long have you been here?” he asked.
Her exhalation came out sounding like a scoff. “Six months.”
“Really? You’ve been in the area for six months and tonight’s the first time I’ve seen you? That’s unheard of in this area, especially since we seem to have a handful of mutual acquaintances.”
“I keep myself busy. Work, work, work.”
“I see,” he murmured.
Tim marched her past a few cabin cruisers, probably used for day trips and fishing, and she slowed upon approaching a forty-foot Dowd craft.
“Nope. That’s not mine.” He got her moving again.
Realizing where they were pointed, she dug in her heels to stop them and nudged his hand away from her elbow. “That big beast at the end?”
He shrugged insouciantly. “It’s only eighty feet. That’s not even the biggest we make.”
Out of words, she blinked at him. She’d worn the wrong kind of shoes for an eight-foot boat. That kind of luxury demanded blinged-out stilettos and designer bikinis, not pantyhose and machine-washable sandals.
“Climb aboard,” he said spiritedly. “It’s old but reliable.”
“What do you call old?” she asked in an undertone. “Three?” The vessel looked brand new to her, but she could admit she didn’t know much about boats. Houses she knew. Things that floated? Not so much.
She stepped on and he closed the little door behind them.
Guiding her toward the front by pressing a hand to the small of her back, he said, “This one’s fifteen. It was custom designed
for a client who wanted to take a long anniversary trip with his wife.”
“If it was so special, why do you have it? Did they not take the trip?”
“Oh, they took the trip. But the thing about people who have more money than sense is that they sometimes waste what they’ve got. He didn’t really plan on using it after the trip, so I bought it off him for a steal. Or rather, I bought it off the guy on his staff who handled such things. Dude probably doesn’t even know it’s missing. Maybe one day he’ll reminisce and ask about it and will end up buying a new boat from me to replace it.”
She shook her head but was actually impressed by his high level of transactional prowess. Something about the idea of rich people eating each other alive gave her the warm-fuzzies. “Tim Dowd, you’re a shark.”
“I sure am.” He opened the cockpit door and gestured toward the inside.
She stepped into the dark room and stood very still so as not to break anything until he turned on a light. “I’m surprised you’d want a secondhand boat when you could just make yourself a new one.”
“Nah. I put a lot of blood and sweat into this boat.”
“No tears?”
“I leave the crying for my staff to do. Come on. What I want to ask you about is down in the living area.”
He got her moving again, and she could only hope he wasn’t walking her to her doom. She couldn’t see a damned thing, but she had seen Dead Calm far too many times for comfort. Bad things happened on boats. She’d watched the movie because she’d liked the looks of young Billy Zane, and around the fifth time or so that she’d watched, she’d decided she was some sort of masochist. That had turned out to be truer than she’d expected. Sometimes, she liked a little pain mixed with her sex. She didn’t want to live in a horror movie, though.
Tim turned on the light in what appeared to be the boat’s galley.
It was sleek and modern, flush with stainless-steel-everything, with the exception of the built-in table and benches, which were wood in a deep mahogany tone that matched the wall paneling.
She whistled low and pondered dollars and cents. Not only were the materials expensive, but the salaries of the guys who installed the stuff had to be up there, too.
“Like it?” He chuckled.
“I see why you’d want to keep it.”
“I haven’t yet topped it. I keep trying, but I think I sabotage myself so it’ll never happen.”
“So, you never built a boat for yourself? If I ever settle down, I’m designing a house with top-of-the-line everything.” She cringed. “Well, top-of-the-line within my budget, which will likely be less than you’d expect.”
She’d been asking for a raise every six months for the past two years, and Lipton threw a bit of pocket change at her each time, but she still wasn’t earning a salary commensurate to her skills and experience. She couldn’t blame anyone for that but herself. After graduation, she’d been so happy to get a job offer that she didn’t negotiate ruthlessly enough. Deep down, she knew that if she wanted more money, she’d need to move to another firm.
She’d been with Lipton for so long, though, and worried the next place she went would be far from home. She didn’t want to leave her grandmother and sister all by themselves. Her grandmother had been getting along just fine without her, but still—Valerie wanted to be able to get home in a few hours if she had to.
“Well, I might be able to give you something else to customize in the meantime,” Tim said. “Open-ended budget.”
“You’re speaking my language. What do you have?”
He reached into a low cabinet and pulled out a long poster tube.
She jammed her hands onto her hips and clucked her tongue. “So, you weren’t kidding. You’re trying to eke free labor out of me.”
He stood the tube on its end atop the table and fixed that beguiling gaze on her. “If you’d prefer me to have my way with your body than your mind, just let me know.”
She swallowed hard and dragged her stare down from his narrowed eyes to his full, smirking lips. They were the most recognizable thing about him in all those pictures of him she’d seen. Especially the cleft beneath the bottom one that seemed to beckon for her touch.
She cleared her throat and righted her gaze.
Focus.
“Either way, you’re going to have your way, huh?” she asked.
She’d thought that was why she was on that boat, but evidently, he’d been completely aboveboard about his intentions. She shouldn’t have been so surprised by that.
“I intend to,” he said. “Want me to pour you a glass of wine first?”
“Bossy and considerate. Be still, my beating heart.”
“Hey—in the circle I run in, that’s a desirable combination.” He pulled out a drawer that turned out to be refrigerated and stuffed to the gills with wine bottles. He lifted a bottle of rosé from the bin and held it up to her eye level.
The name was “Valerie’s Secret.” The irony wasn’t lost on her.
“Want to share a secret?” he asked.
“Sure. Why not?”
“Snacks to go with it?”
“Are you trying to make me comfortable?”
“So you’ll take your clothes off. Yes.”
Again, she blinked wordlessly at him. He was as unpredictable as a feral tomcat, and yet there she was, still hoping she could pet him.
“You really are unfiltered, aren’t you?”
He did that indifferent shrug again. “Often to a fault. Would you remove your clothes if I asked?”
Ignoring the question, she peered into the cooler drawer. “That Moscato would probably go down nicely, too.”
“So could I, if you were good.”
Oh my God.
Suddenly, she went lightheaded.
He closed the drawer, keeping his heated gaze locked on her. “I enjoy spontaneity. Taking a woman off-guard, teasing her when we’re in inappropriate places for it. Hard for me to be spontaneous when you’re wearing pantyhose, though. Or are they stockings? I could work with stockings.”
“My…hose don’t really concern you one way or another,” she said thickly. He looked at her like he could see right through every layer of clothing she had on. A floor-length parka probably wouldn’t have deterred his thorough inspection.
Do you like what you see?
She hated that she cared.
She needed to get them back on topic. “Pour the wine and point me to the snacks. I’m hungry. I think Carine meant for me to eat at your brother’s thing.”
“If you’d stayed a while, you could have had barbecue.”
“If I’d stayed a while, I wouldn’t be here giving you free services.”
He leaned his forearms onto the counter and pushed up an eyebrow at her. “What kind of free services? And I’ll pay for anything you give me, one way or another. Cash or carnal favors. Your choice.”
“Okay, let’s get something straight here. Just because I was there”—she pointed in the general direction of Clay’s house—“doesn’t mean I do the things the people there do. I was tricked, remember?”
“But you know I was there, and you can probably guess why I was there, and yet here you are.”
“I just wanted a ride.”
“I haven’t given you a ride yet, honey.”
Cheeks burning hotter than a summer sidewalk in Savannah, Valerie shifted her weight and tried to keep her expression neutral.
The thing she really liked about her vibrator was that it didn’t say things like that and make her feel like a naïve virgin when she was anything but.
The man was unsettling, and she’d bet money he reveled in that.
He rooted a bottle opener out of one of the drawers and drilled it into the cork. “No slick comeback? I’m disappointed.”
“I’m all out of them.” She dragged her tongue across dry lips and let her gaze track down Tim’s long body.
He was delicious. Big hands, lean waist, killer calves, nice ass with some meat
for her to dig her fingers into. He could probably fuck her into subspace and maybe even into worlds beyond.
And nobody else has to know.
“There’s cheese in the fridge.” His deep voice rattled her out of her mental downward spiral. “Crackers are in one of these cupboards. I usually don’t keep much stocked here unless I’ve got a trip planned. I usually keep this thing parked at my house, but I moved it yesterday because my dock is being repaired.”
“Where’s your house?”
“East bank of the river between Edenton and Rocky Hock.”
“Why don’t you park in Edenton?”
He bobbed both eyebrows in a Do I really need to tell you? sort of way and poured the wine.
She sighed. “Let me guess. You have more than one boat, and you have one there.”
“Occupational hazard. I’ll try to sell a couple one of these days.”
In the fridge, she found the cheese he mentioned along with some peaches that didn’t look too old and a length of salami.
“I love salami.” No sooner had the words fallen out of her mouth did she pull herself upright and point at the smirking asshole. “Don’t say anything.”
“You keep setting yourself up for it. Freud would probably have a field day with you.”
“If I only had sex on the brain, perhaps that would be the case. I am legitimately, and only, thinking of food right now.”
“Looking forward to that morning-after breakfast? I make a mean omelet.” He crooked his thumb toward the stairs that led to the deck. “You want me to run to the superstore for eggs real quick?”
“I have no intentions of waking up next to you.”
“How about on top of me?”
“You just don’t quit, do you?”
“I figured I might as well be upfront. Eventually, the lasciviousness will taper off some and you’ll know what I’m thinking just from looking at me.”
Probably. She was easily trainable. More than one dom in the past had told her as much. She attributed her ease with submission to being exceedingly observant and having a good memory. Just because she was good at things didn’t mean she had to practice them, but Tim almost made her want to go running back to into the open arms of Fetish.