He is so distracting; my eyes can’t stop sweeping over every inch on display. His eyelashes are thick and full. I am almost jealous.
“Are you wearing mascara?” I flirt, still intent on cracking a smile on his glum face.
“No,” he grunts.
“I almost don’t believe you.”
“I’m not gay,” he hisses.
“Not even a little curious—?”
“No.” He slides his eyes menacingly across to meet mine, narrowing his eyebrows slightly. “Will you quit?”
There is a first hint of a small smile in his eyes and it is so beautiful, it urges me on. “I would never judge. It’s slowly becoming socially acceptable for men to wear make-up. A lot of men in Europe and Asia use it.” I watch his teeth grind, feeling like I’ve gone too far. I guess the tabloids must have hounded him to breaking point. “Straight men,” I add, attempting to placate him. “Lots of straight men … manly, butch men…” He exhales slowly, his eyes deeply set on my ankle. “Come to think of it, that picture of you in the tabloids did look rather staged. You didn’t look like you were enjoying kissing a man—”
“With all due respect — keep that mouth shut. Just for a little while.” He shoots me a warning look, and I utterly obey his call for silence, zipping my mouth shut with my thumb and forefinger.
Soon enough, I am distracted again. His sexy thick dark hair is shaved at the sides and longer on top. I wonder if it would turn him on if I pulled at it while he kisses me. There is only the slightest hint of a five o'clock shadow on his face. I wonder how it will feel if he rubbed it in between my legs.
Mostly, and worst of all, I am completely and utterly distracted by the thickness of his thighs. His combat shorts are drenched and they have sort of tugged tight around his thighs — that can only be described as the size of tree trunks. They speak of absolute power, and that … well, that makes my breathing just a little bit more difficult.
His attention still on my ankle, he adds ointment before placing gauze over it. “How’s your head feel?” he asks, his tone softening enough that I know he’s asking because he is worried. That makes the two of us. “Any dizzy spells?” He cuts a bandage, using his fingers to measure the width and length of the wound before he does.
“I have a pounding headache," I reply honestly, rubbing on a spot at the back of my head that feels like I was hit over the head with a hammer.
“Don’t think it’s a good idea to take painkillers when you’re juiced up on alcohol — keep still,” he orders.
Oh dear God … that commanding do-as-I-say voice. It is gruff. Strong. Domineering.
“Are you always this bossy to the girls you save, Tempest?” My voice is flirtatious.
He ignores me. “I’ll make you a drink in a minute. An old remedy my dad taught me. It’ll help with the headache. Do me a favour, alright, let me know if it gets any worse.”
I glance over at him and the consideration in his gaze makes my heart do the ba-ba-boom against my chest. I nod in agreement, not feeling the headache so much that has been scratching at my skull. His touch is better than any pain reliever I've ever tried.
He sticks the tape in his mouth and uses his straight white teeth to rip off a strip. It muffles his next sentence. “You moved to Saint Mary’s Square a few months back, right?” God, I want to be that piece of tape right now. I bet he is a biter.
After ten seconds, I realise I've been staring like a lovesick fan-girl and shake my distracted brain, finally nodding in response. I smile a little inside.
He’s noticed me?
“My gym’s across from you. Reevus and Cross MMA Gym.”
“Oh, you own it?” I ask, as if I don’t know. As if his gym isn’t directly opposite my home.
“Co-own with a mate of mine — my manager and trainer. You new to town?”
“Actually, I grew up here. I left five years ago to attend Brighton University. That’s where I met my friend. The one you met tonight. We were on the same Digital Media course.”
He runs the pad of his thumb along the seam of the bandage. “Missed Stonebrook, huh?”
It was probably overkill as far as what is required to cover the wound, but I am not about to complain, especially now, as he turns his gaze up from the bandage to meet mine, and I find myself looking into a pair of dark eyes that make me stop breathing altogether.
“My grandpa passed away six months ago," I explain, gazing around the room like I half expect the old man to appear from behind the bedroom door. “I inherited his house and … I don’t know … I think I decided to move back to my childhood home to be close to him … He was like a father to me … You must think I’m silly…”
“I don’t think you’re silly … It’s admirable.” His voice is gentle and I’m still not looking at him, but I feel a hint of surprise at the words. It certainly wasn't the response I was expecting. His hand curls tightly around my ankle, and I feel it through fabric rather than skin. The intimate hold draws my eyes to meet Lenic’s own. “Did you go swimming with other sharks tonight?”
The unexpected question and the touch on my ankle make it impossible to respond, but then maybe Lenic doesn’t want a response, not with the way he is looking at me. Despite our initial conflict, despite having ample opportunities tonight to flirt and go to bed with another man, I hadn’t and I wouldn’t. “It’s only been you.”
He licks his bottom lip and then leans in, with sudden intent on tasting my lips. I can’t remember ever being this nervous about kissing a guy, at least not since I was, maybe, fourteen.
A knock on his bedroom door has Lenic leaping up from his bed, the tender moment of warmth through my bandage gone. When Delphine comes in, he moves farther away, clearing his throat loudly. Her presence seems to ease the tension in the room as it is suddenly filled with the familiar buzz of … reality.
Lenic reaches to gather his tape and scissors, putting them back into the first aid kit as if he hadn’t just been about a millimetre away from kissing me. I silently curse Delphine on the other side of the room, wishing a plague upon her and half hoping she will get lost when I give her the I’m-about-to-get-lucky-so-take-a-hike-Third-Wheel look. No such luck.
Delphine Bray is a cock blocker.
She passes a bottle of water over to me, and stifling the bile rising up my throat, I drain the entire bottle in one sitting.
Lenic surveys us with a derisive expression. “You two — no more drinking.” He shakes his head, and grabbing a pair of jeans, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a grunt. I blow out the air that has accumulated in my lungs while I've been in the same room as him.
Delphine rushes over and sits next to me on the bed. “Bloody hell,” she breathes out. I drop my head into my hands because it feels better this way, especially when I close my swollen eyes and the room stops spinning. “You were naked in front of him,” she laughs. “He’s seen your vagina.”
“It’s not funny,” I reproach.
“It kind of is.” I shake my head and then wish I hadn't. My stomach rolls, and I need to shut my eyes and silently count to ten while the urge to throw up passes. Lenic had been a good distraction from the pain. My friend frowns. “I didn’t mean the drowning.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I mean the naked part. Are you OK? I was so worried when I saw you … when you nearly…” She cuffs me lightly on the arm. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear me? I thought I was going to lose you, Flick.”
“I won’t.”
I glance down at the Royal Marine logo printed on the front of the T-shirt. It fits me like a tent, reaching below my knees, and I suddenly feel as if I've been wrapped up in a favourite old blanket next to a roaring fire.
I hear his footsteps, his movements across the other side of the door. This is real. I am in Lenic Reevus’ home. He is just outside, making an old remedy his father made him.
Just for me.
“You’re alive, Flick, that’s all that matters.” Delphine brushes her hand over
my hair and smiles. “You OK to go out?” I glance at her and nod. “Good. Let’s go thank your hero.”
Taking a deep breath, I drape an arm over her shoulder, then get carefully and slowly to my feet, making sure that the room doesn't start spinning. I let Delphine guide me to the open-plan living room, and shuffle to the white circular sofa, despite the immediate and blinding pain in my sore leg.
I glance around his boat home in wonder. Growing up, this boat had always looked like it had been shipwrecked, and nothing like the bachelor pad it is now — rustic, dark with wood-panelled walls, and not a speck of dust anywhere.
There are two glasses of water already set on the wooden table in front of us. I reach for a glass and take a sip, glancing over to see Lenic cooking something in the kitchen. He turns to us.
And smirks.
“I almost didn’t recognise you with clothes on,” he says.
Delphine laughs beside me. I give no reaction at first, although the fire building within me is pretty intense. But the only response I give him is a warm smile. This is the first time I’ve seen him show a little sense of humour. And I'm starting to gain some awareness that he likes to play dirty.
I like it.
A lot.
“Gonna have to stay the night,” he tells us. “The storm’s hit hard. Doesn’t look like it’ll stop any time soon. Besides, think you need to get some sleep, ASAP. I’ll take the sofa and drive you two home first thing in the A.M. We good with that?” Delphine and I nod in unison like two disciplined soldiers serving our Sergeant. “Remembered your name yet?” He’s smirking again.
He is a beautiful bastard when he smirks.
“It’s—” I clear my throat. There is still a burning sensation from swallowing copious amounts of seawater. I don’t want to think about the insects I could have swallowed. “Felicity … Felicity Saint James. And this is—”
“Delphine,” he cuts in. “Yeah, I remember.”
Lenic strides over and sets two plates on the table. “Seeing as you two been drinking for England — thought you could do with sobering up.” I peer down at the table and realise he’s generously prepared us an omelette.
“Thank you so much,” Delphine says gratefully.
I look up at him. “This looks heavenly, it really does. But I usually, always, eat omelettes with maple syrup.” My body is begging for a decent sugar fix.
“Your version of ‘thank you’ sounds different to most,” he grumbles.
“Ah, that means you don’t have any.”
“Not sure. I’ll just bring out the menu, Miss,” he says, thick with sarcasm. “Were you sick the day they taught bedside manner?” His question is rhetorical as he heads back into the kitchen, returning shortly to press a short glass of dark liquid into my hand. “Tastes like arse, but sorts you out, good and plenty. So suck it up.”
I don’t know why, but I trust him. I try and knock it back in one mouthful, but choke midway and manage it in two uncouth gulps instead. I grimace. It does taste like arse.
“Can’t offer you a shower or a bath because the plumbing’s broke,” he says, reaching for a plate in the kitchen. “Been busy with training. Fixing it tomorrow.”
Delphine and I turn to one another with amused looks on our faces, remembering the morning I’d caught him using the outside shower. We try our hardest to rein it in, but it is too difficult not to rock back in laughter.
“Something funny, I missed?” he spits, confusion lining his forehead.
“No,” I respond, biting back the laughter. “Not at all.”
“There something on my face?” He starts to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and it only ignites our mirth.
“No it’s nothing, really. Your face is perfect.”
I have no filter.
Great. Now he is the one to smirk.
I quickly pretend to brush off a piece of lint from my T-Shirt to distract myself. “‘Your face is perfect?’ Nice one,” Delphine whispers in a chortle. I nudge my elbow into her arm.
His father’s arse drink seems to kick in while I eat the omelette he cooked for us, and everything hurts a little less. I thank him for the food as he clears away our plates.
“I’m surprised this boat could be fixed to liveable conditions. You’ve done an amazing job,” I say to him, as he cleans the dishes at the kitchen sink. “It must have taken you a long time and a lot of hard work to do it all.”
“Wasn’t a problem. There’s a lot of peace working on building something here,” he replies. “Well, most of the time there’s peace.”
I wait a beat before apologising. “I’m sorry for trespassing. I honestly didn’t know Old Marsden had sold his boat. I wasn’t aware you lived here.” If I had known, I would have found myself regularly camping out in the nearby forest.
He turns around, leans against the counter, flinging the tea towel over his shoulder. “Sleep on it. Things always look different in the daylight and with a clear head. You two been drinking and I suspect you’re still drunk.” He tries to hold my gaze, but I am acting like a shy girl on a first date, looking at everything and anything but the star player. “Trust me,” he adds, “I’m looking forward to taking it up with you tomorrow.” His eyes are like a friendly Labrador’s, but then his lips turn up in a mischievous grin of a Rottweiler.
He is being kind and merciful, but there is a cool unease uncurling in my belly, something I can’t put a finger on or ignore. Something in his eyes implies I should be worried for tomorrow. In a few short seconds, my paranoia grows from a tiny seed to a full bloom.
I toss and turn all night in his bed, the haunting sounds of the boat settling in the darkness, mixed with an uncomfortable fever that has my body flushed and aching. Not because I humiliated myself in front of my celebrity crush. Or that he has seen my vagina.
Lenic Reevus helped me survive tonight.
He really is a hero.
4
“THOUGHT YOU DIDN’T LIKE GUYS COMING FROM BEHIND?”
LENIC
I CLING TO the edge of the sink.
Where did you put them, Delphine?
I need a chance to redeem my dignity. I need a chance to show Lenic I’m sophisticated and classy.
Everyone deserves a second chance in my book. And when I woke up this morning, listening to the birds chirping, like Snow bloody White, I thought as much. But then it hit me. If he sees them, if he catches sight of them, then I’ll only confirm his accusation that I’m a gold-digging party bimbo.
Like last night’s traumarama wasn’t enough.
I upend Lenic’s mouthwash into my mouth and tip my head back, swishing the strong stuff around until I can no longer taste seawater in my mouth. I spit it out and glance at my reflection in the mirror over the sink.
A sharp slice of daylight cuts through the dimly lit bathroom, spotlighting my face. I grimace and let out a groan. The day-old make-up doesn’t cover up the dark circles under my eyes, and my messy sticky hair is a tangled mane. I could audition for a ghost in a horror movie. I fix myself as best as I can, but nothing anyone is going to wax poetic about.
It is five a.m. Delphine is sleeping. Lenic is missing. Which is a good thing, because I am in the middle of a crisis. Again.
FML, number two.
“Where did you put them?” I grumble, and close my eyes. Delphine carried my clothes inside last night, but I can’t find my underwear. They’re not in his bedroom, or the living room, and they’re not in here either. I plant my face in the palms of my hands. I really do need to find them.
Before he does.
I suck in a long breath and press my ear to the bathroom door, closing my eyes as I try to sense movement on the other side. Nothing. The jarring noise of the bathroom door creaking aloud in the silence of the boat does nothing to abate my nerves as I rush into the living room, cast in a warm twilight, and begin another frantic search. Getting on my hands and knees, I reach under his sofa and blindly feel around, muttering a string of colourful expletives wh
en I disturb a spider.
“Lost something?” I freeze, that husky morning voice causing the small hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I close my eyes and imagine myself invisible.
Great ... just great.
A quick glance over my shoulder confirms that the voice does indeed belong to the imposing six-foot-four frame of Lenic Reevus. “Please don’t creep up on me like that,” I hiss. “Especially from behind.”
“Alright — remembered. You don’t like it from behind.”
I shoot up and slowly turn towards the source of that sinful voice and try to forget I look like death not so very warmed over, especially when he looks so handsome.
I think I've found that distraction I was looking for yesterday.
Butterflies start fluttering in my stomach. He is wearing a pair of low-slung black running joggers and … no shirt. Topless, Lenic? Really? My heart isn’t beating hard enough?
“You lost something?” he repeats.
I meet his gaze with what I hope is a plea not to ask me for more of an explanation on why I had been searching underneath his sofa. “Uh … no…” I answer his dubious gaze with what I hope is an innocent one.
His obvious eight-pack draws my gaze like a magnet, but his broad shoulders and the smooth golden skin of his chest are distractions in and of themselves. I force myself to look up and smile.
“If you’ve lost something, two pairs of eyes are better than one.”
“Uh, no, I’m quite alright, thank you. I really am fine.” My voice sounds too high and squeaky for my answer to be even remotely taken as sincere. Damn it. I can't lie to save my life. I turn beet red and immediately turn my back on him, searching in secret.
I hear him get closer. “You sure?” he asks, and I listen to the sound of his footsteps as he paces slowly around me like a lion. “Either you’ve lost something … or you were looking for loose change under my sofa?”
The Tempest Page 4