Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel

by Starling, Lib

  “So, uh…” Davis fished for a safer approach to the subject. “Is it weird having Jordan as your boss, since the two of you are so close?”

  “Nah.” Storm sat easily on the deck, crossing his ankle over his knee and bracing his hands behind his head, the very picture of leisure. He leaned against the mast with a contented air. “She’s so good at her job, you know? I trust her judgment one hundred percent. I know she can be a little snippy sometimes, but that’s only because she takes her work so seriously. Sailing means everything to her, and I know she’d never make a bad call.”

  “Yeah,” Emily added, sinking down beside Storm. “She’s so careful, so cautious… I know she’ll never steer this boat wrong. That’s the one good thing about her total lack of spontaneity—it means you can trust her with your life.”

  I don’t think she’s really the stickin-the-mud you believe she is, Davis refrained from saying.

  Flustered by the thought—the memory of Jordan arching and crying out in his arms—he spoke without thinking. “You know, I kind of envy what you guys have—that family connection. Wish I could say my family is as tight as yours.”

  Why the hell did I mention my family, of all damn things? Incredulous at his own stupidity, Davis snatched his guitar from its case again and strummed a few quiet chords. The music took the edge off his freshly-rattled nerves, and he felt the flush fade from his face as he regained his cool.

  “Yeah?” Emily asked lightly. “Not such a great group?”

  Davis picked out an intricate fall of notes. “They never miss a chance to let me know how disappointing I am.”

  Emily and Storm both guffawed in disbelief.

  “What?” Storm blurted. In the same moment Emily said, “Um, your band is like the biggest thing ever. Do your parents live under a rock?”

  My band was the biggest thing ever. Not anymore.

  Davis shrugged, as if he didn’t care a bit what his parents thought of him. “Oh, you know. They wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer—something respectable. Ever since I started getting serious about my music career, my parents have been on my case, constantly reminding me how unstable my field is.”

  And they’re right, Davis thought glumly. Even the guitar cradled against his body, sending its gentle notes humming through his chest, couldn’t take away the hurt he felt at facing just how damn right his parents had been all along.

  Emily ran her fingers through her waves of golden-yellow hair, combing out knots made by another day of wind and salty spray. “If I were your parents, I’d just shut up and be proud of you. You’ve made it all the way to the top! How many musicians get to say that?”

  Davis smiled at her gratefully and strummed a few chords of her favorite Local Youths song, trying to keep the volume low enough to appease the captain. Emily clapped her hands softly, but the song sounded bitter in Davis’s ears. I made it all the way to the top, he told himself sadly as Emily sang the lyrics in a near-whisper. And now I’m falling down the other side.

  When the song finished, Davis heard light footsteps treading along the deck. He turned and found Jordan approaching. The sun was close to setting; it cast a halo of brilliant orange light around her; she seemed to glow like a vision, like an angel. She looked so beautiful and confident in that moment that Davis’s chest constricted. His throat burned with the force of his longing to touch her again, to kiss that full, curving mouth.

  Storm and Emily climbed to their feet. Davis could see the respect shining in their faces, and he felt a stab of envy.

  If my parents respected me half as much as these two respect their captain… If Tyler respected him half as much, if Christine and Matt had given him one molecule’s worth of respect compared to the love Jordan received from her crew…

  Then Davis’s stomach lurched. A wave of disbelief and nausea washed over him as he realized that he hadn’t shown Jordan enough respect. He had taunted her into having sex with him—had done it all as a power trip, to reassure himself that he wasn’t losing his edge, that he still had what it took to be the sexy, charismatic, irresistible rock star. True, she had been consenting—he wouldn’t even have considered it if Jordan had said no. But that didn’t make it right. He had pushed her beyond control—beyond the sense of command that was so important to her, and so important to her crew.

  You were right, Davis thought sadly as he met Jordan’s eye, flushing with shame. I really am the worst.

  “I was thinking of getting dinner started,” Jordan announced.

  “Sounds great,” Emily said, bouncing off across the deck. She called over her shoulder, “Thanks for the concert, Davis!”

  “I’ll give her a hand,” Storm said.

  Jordan checked him with a quick shake of her head. “You’re a terrible cook, Stormy.”

  “Then I’ll just put the water on to boil for you lady-chefs. I can’t mess that up, can I?”

  “You probably can,” Jordan called, but Storm was already scurrying off toward the ladder and the cabin below.

  Davis shrugged as a thick, uncomfortable silence fell between him and Jordan. Then he realized he was still holding his guitar—and it was probably annoying the hell out of her. He pulled the strap over his head hastily and turned toward his guitar case with a mumbled, “Sorry, captain.”

  Jordan’s soft, quiet laugh stalled him. “It’s okay. You guys kept the volume down, and I guess that’s all I can ask for. After all, you are the client. It’s your vacation, not mine.”

  He turned back to her with a tentative smile, holding his guitar by the neck.

  “It’s none of my business if you want to have your own private Lollapalooza,” Jordan said with a smirk.

  “Listen,” Davis said, “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t.” She shook her head emphatically. “Don’t say what you’re about to say.”

  “Oka—y…” Davis let the word trail off into silence. Did she want his silence because she still insisted that they pretend nothing happened between them? Or did she refuse to hear his regrets because she didn’t regret the sex? Davis figured it could be dangerous to make assumptions one way or the other, so he held his tongue and held his guitar contritely at his side.

  “Maybe after dinner you can play for us again,” Jordan finally said. “Like you did the first night. I mean… if you want to.”

  The fact that Jordan actually wanted to hear him play and sing made Davis’s heart leap with unexpected happiness. He shrugged casually, fiddling with the guitar’s strap. “Yeah, sure. It’s no big deal.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Then, just before she turned to descend into the galley, her dark eyes dropped from his face and roamed over his body, taking in his chest, his arms, his narrow waist and the region below with deliberate, lingering appraisal.

  Jordan was nearly at the cabin’s ladder before Davis’s comprehension surged up and eclipsed his earlier misgivings. There was no mistaking the look she had just given him. Jordan was still thinking about their hot encounter. He couldn’t blame her—the feel of her body and the sound of her gasps and moans hadn’t left him over the past two days. If anything, Jordan had only imprinted herself more indelibly in his mind, along his keyed-up, thrumming nerves.

  The next time Jordan came to him, Davis felt sure he’d have nothing to feel guilty about afterward. But how the hell could they find another chance to be alone together? There weren’t many days left on this vacation. And when it ended, there was a good chance Davis would never see Jordan again.

  .12.

  The early afternoon sun turned the expanse of Fisherman Bay into a blanket of sparkling light. The Coriolis rocked gently against its anchor; the ripples running out from its hull fractured the light on the surface of the water and dazzled Jordan’s eyes all the more. She squinted against the glare—even with sunglasses on, it was intense—and stared out across the bay to the small village that clung to Lopez Island’s low, green shore.

  It was day eight of the sailing trip—o
nly two more days left, and this job would be over. In two days, Davis Steen would be out of Jordan’s life forever.

  Not too many days ago, that knowledge would have cheered her. Now she wasn’t sure how it made her feel. Davis was still the same cocky prick she’d first met on the pier—the same overly confident man whose perfect body and rich, deep voice had pushed her beyond her boundaries into a whole new realm of experience. He was still the same man who ran from the sound of silence as if something terrible waited to ambush him from the peace and solitude of the islands.

  It was strange, being back at Fisherman Bay—the site of their ill-advised encounter. The place filled Jordan with an unexpected poignancy, a force of longing so strong that she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She leaned against the helm’s wheel and studied the shore in thoughtful silence.

  Storm and Emily stood close together in the bow where the anchor chain was stretched taut. They spoke to each other quietly, absorbed in their conversation, oblivious of Jordan’s melancholic mood—or so she hoped. She still felt a pinch of anxiety around her crew, a worry that they might suspect what had transpired between her and Davis, and would lose all respect for her. Jordan had no worries about being thought a slut, or anything of that sort. Neither Storm nor Emily was judgmental in that way. But she had been the steady, predictable, unsurprising one of their trio for… well, as long as they’d known each other. And that was a long time. If they knew that a totally different Jordan lurked beneath her steady exterior, would they recognize her at all?

  I don’t even recognize myself anymore, Jordan thought grimly. What she’d done with Davis had been so out of character. But what troubled her even more was the way she liked it. Not just the sex—though God knew, that was great enough on its own. She liked the new her—the spontaneous, wild Jordan who took what she wanted without planning and saving and charting her course for years in advance. The Jordan who could give up control… who could do just what she was told.

  Jordan shivered as she thought of Davis’s slow, easy commands, the confidence with which he’d guided her through their encounter—and the delicious, enthralling certainty he displayed, the knowledge that she would go along with his games, that she would do whatever Davis pleased. She didn’t know whether the shiver was one of desire or fear, but she liked the sensation as it raced up her spine.

  I’ve got to figure this out, Jordan thought. I’ve got to figure myself out, before I drive myself crazy. Am I the captain of my own life, or not?

  Could she be a woman who was in command, and also… not?

  “Hey, Captain,” Emily said, breaking into Jordan’s musings. “If we head ashore now, we should have plenty of time to get all the groceries we need for the last two days of the trip before the store closes.”

  Jordan glanced down at her watch. “Yeah… that sounds good. Hey, why don’t you and Storm take a little extra time ashore? Grab some coffee, walk around on solid land for a while. Maybe take advantage of showers that aren’t the size of Altoid tins?”

  Storm wrinkled up his nose. “Are you saying we stink, boss?”

  “Always.” Despite her dark mood, Jordan smiled.

  Emily said, “Do you think Davis will want to come ashore?”

  Jordan shrugged. “He’s taking a nap right now. Or at least, he’s been shut up in his cabin and I haven’t heard him blasting his music, so I assume he’s sleeping. I do trust now that he can pass within sight of a bar and not get stuck there forever, ‘partying.’ But he’s seemed a little down lately… a little quiet.”

  “Unusual for Davis,” Storm agreed.

  “Maybe he just needs the rest. But if he wakes up and is mad you guys left him behind, I’ll call. You can bring the tender back and get him—give him the grand tour of Lopez Village.”

  Emily and Storm agreed to the plan and were soon zipping off across the bay in the tender. Solemnly, Jordan watched them go. She wasn’t quite sure why she hadn’t gone below to wake Davis up and send him ashore with the crew. He would have liked to check out the island’s quirky little village, Jordan was sure. He certainly would have welcomed the chance to stop in at the local pub and have a few beers. But Jordan wanted to know that she was alone on the boat with Davis again—to feel that thrill of knowing exactly what could happen, if she’d let it.

  And oh, she knew every detail of what could happen. Jordan hadn’t forgotten a moment of that hot encounter with Davis—that delicious hour when she had released all her inhibitions and jumped into the unpredictable, wide-open now, feet first. If anything, each kiss and every touch had embedded itself in her mind, replaying again and again, amplifying its effect so that night and day she was tormented by longing for him, possessed by a desire to do it all again—and shocked at how quickly she had changed from the steady, level-headed planner to this wild, yearning animal.

  Maybe I haven’t changed at all. Maybe this has always been the real me—but I didn’t realize it until now.

  The thought disturbed her. How could she exist in her own skin and not truly know herself? It threw her whole adult life into question. Had everything she’d worked for—her business, her professional reputation—been in service to somebody who wasn’t really Jordan at all?

  Davis had done this to her. Davis with his taunting smirk, his gorgeous body, his persistent closeness in the cockpit, his presence reigniting the smoldering memory of his touch, distracting her from her work.

  She should hate him for it. She had hated him, when they’d tangled in his cabin—and somehow her furious passion had made everything hotter than she could have imagined.

  But she couldn’t hate him now. Two nights before, when she had invited him to sing after dinner, she had watched his face as he’d leaned over his guitar. She had listened to his voice, to the haunting sadness in the deep, smooth tones as he sang. And she’d remembered the earnestness on his face when he’d tried to apologize to her. Against her will, Jordan was beginning to like Davis. Or if she didn’t exactly like him, she was starting to see him as more than just another rich, exasperating client. There was something deeper to his personality. There was something that chased him, that even followed him across the waves as they sailed. The mystery of what ate at him compelled her to draw closer to him, almost as strongly as her longing for more of that blindingly hot sex.

  Before Jordan realized exactly what she was doing, she’d descended the ladder into the cool, dim interior of the Coriolis. She paused and gazed down the ship’s great length to where his cabin door stood, closed.

  She couldn’t keep away from him—Jordan realized that now. Somewhere, somehow, over the past four days of their travels she had given up her annoyance with his presence and had begun to want him in her orbit. She wanted to hear his voice rumbling softly as he conversed with Emily or Storm. She wanted to smell his dizzying, musky scent mingled with the salty air. She wanted to stare at his gorgeous, strong body and remember the way it had looked poised above her, as he slid in and out of her, as he brought her closer and closer to ecstasy.

  The memory shuddered through her. The banked fire that had glowed in her since that hour in Davis’s cabin flared up in a hot glow. She took another few steps toward his door and stopped again.

  To do it again would be crazy, unprofessional beyond belief. And Jordan just wasn’t certain that she could trust this new person inside her—this side to her she never knew existed. But she couldn’t deny what she wanted. And that craving—her acknowledgment of it, the acceptance—gave her a delicious sensation of loosening up, of growing more comfortable in her own skin.

  This raw desire was something she had never experienced before. But as much as this new Jordan intimidated her, she knew she had to give that side of herself a chance to be free.

  Jordan took a few more steps toward Davis’s cabin. What would she say—how could she possibly explain this? What would he think of her, coming to him like this after she’d insisted so strenuously that they pretend nothing had ever happened?

/>   He’ll think I’m a hypocrite. He’ll think I’m crazy.

  The thought pained her. Jordan realize with a flash of both anger and awe that she cared very much what Davis thought of her… that she wanted him to carry home good memories of this trip, and hoped he would think back on their time together with positive feelings. She stopped again and twisted her fingers together, fretting.

  He was on the verge of apologizing, a few days ago. He regrets everything we did. If I come to him like this, if I tell him what I want, I’ll only complicate things for him… and myself. He’ll think I’m—

  The squeal of the door’s hinges cut off Jordan’s racing thoughts. Davis let the door swing wide and leaned back casually against the jamb, his arms folded across his chest, his mouth curling in a slow, inviting smile.

  “Hey,” he said, and the vibration of his voice shivered through Jordan’s body.

  .13.

  Davis could see what his voice did to Jordan, the ripple of anticipation it sent through her body. He tried to stifle his inner surge of triumph. He really did feel badly about luring her into an encounter she regretted. If she regretted it at all. But he also wanted her again, with a desperation that clenched his stomach and made his blood race every time he looked at her.

  This time was no exception. She looked so damn tempting—positively inviting—in a light-blue tank top that showed off her smooth-skinned, lightly tanned shoulders and hugged the curves of her breasts. It was torture to know what that skin felt like against his lips, how her breasts fit perfectly into his hands. It was agony to recognize the wanting, half-accusing look in Jordan’s eyes, to see how her lips parted and her breath quickened when he moved a little closer to her.

  But Davis was resolved not to push Jordan again. She was worthy of respect—clearly, or she wouldn’t command it so easily from her crew. She wasn’t just another groupie. Those girls, Davis could toy with and toss away without any nagging regrets. And why not? Groupies did exactly the same thing to him. He was just a notch in their bedposts, a stamp in their sexual passports, an item crossed off their bucket lists. And he was perfectly fine with that; it was a mutually satisfying arrangement, with both parties getting what they wanted, no more, no less.