by Jay McLean
“Do I know you?” I didn’t, nor did I entertain conversations with drunk men without my hand inside a pocket. Why was I still standing there?
His strong jaw punctuated the chiseled etch of his face. I couldn’t drag my focus away from his pronounced cheekbones and the fullness of his lips. His attractiveness was as illegal as his drunkenness. Every nerve-ending in my body stirred and warmed in response.
“Saw you dancing back there.” He stepped into my space, and my knees loosened. “I’ve been watching you.”
A chill trickled down my spine. Watching me? For how long? Holy shit, what had he seen? I tightened my grip on the bag, and my muscles heated to run. A warm breeze caressed my face and rippled the dress around my thighs. I stepped back, and he stepped with me.
“Love the way you move your hips.” The timbre of his voice was almost as calming as the meaning of his words. He’d been watching my ass not my hands. He bit his lip and swayed closer. “I want to see them moving over me.”
That was exactly the kind of filter-less dribble I expected from a plastered college boy. So why the hell was a throb awakening between my legs?
His deep, lazy tone and the piercing way he watched me was dangerous. I clenched my thighs. I would definitely be jilling off to horizontal fantasies when I got home. “Thanks, but I’m calling it a night.” I averted my eyes from the intensity of his and glanced back, magnetized. “See you around?”
He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Gorgeous women everywhere, and there you were at the center of the dance floor, rolling your hips and setting the standard to which all beauty should be compared.” His thumb stroked the skin beneath my ear. “All legs and devious curves and confidence. I had to see you close up, to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.”
My lungs panted and filled with the heavenly scent of sun-soaked ocean, exotic spice, and something wholly male. “Um...” Wow. “You’re drunk.”
He laughed, staggered, and regained his footing. “I’m good.” His thumb continued its torturous teasing along my throat, his fingers pressing against my nape. “And now I know you’re not an illusion—” He shook his head, his eyes roaming my face. “I’m really good.”
My mouth moistened, and my pulse tingled sparks through my body, fluttering downward and settling in a rhythmic beat in my pussy.
Oh, good grief. Was I really swooning over a pickup line? He’d probably used it a dozen times that night.
I turned my face, and the luminescent dials on his watch filled my view. A silent gasp shuddered through me as I devoured the chronograph workmanship. What in holy hell was a college guy doing with a Richard Mille watch?
Jesus. He’d thoroughly distracted me from my usual scrutiny. I inhaled deeply and solidified my stance. If I looked, I’d find a Tommy Bahama tag on his floral shirt. Pricey, but not over the top. The braided leather necklace around his throat wasn’t worth my time, but the diamond stud in his ear? Hot damn. How’d I miss that? I wanted to lick it—to stealthily remove it with my tongue, of course.
His finger trailed over my jaw, caressing, teasing, disintegrating my brain cells, the rich sexy bastard. He bent his knees, and his lips hovered a kiss away.
What was I doing? Maybe he hadn’t seen me poaching my way through the beach bar, but my drunken gig was up. I had a bag of incriminating evidence and a very strong desire to avoid a six by eight cell with a bedmate named Griselda.
His proximity surrounded me as his finger traced my lips, shooting a shiver through my body with enough force to part my thighs. I cleared the lump of girly infatuation from my throat. “I need to go—”
“I have a yacht.” His tongue tapped his top lip. “Come with me.” His low, sensual tone slipped around me, intimate and persuasively virile. He pivoted in the direction of the marina and held out his hand.
How many drunken girls would be wandering off with strangers tonight? Hell, I’d gone home with much less attractive men who didn’t have floating estates filled with crystal and fine liquor and high-tech gadgetry. Hooking up with Dark Eyes was like hitting the lootery.
My lips twitched, and thoughts of retreat drifted out to sea. With the bag on my right, I laced my left hand with his and followed him inland toward Estero Blvd.
His stride faltered every few steps, moving at a slogging pace, but he led us along the most direct path toward the road. He seemed to know exactly where he was, even as his attention remained locked on my face. How drunk was he?
One hand in his pocket, the other clasped in mine, he didn’t attempt to kiss me like a typical horny drunkelton, yet the promise saturated his eyes. His pupils flooded his gaze, made darker by thick blades of lashes. A dimple appeared in his cheek. My belly fluttered, and I clenched my teeth. Get a fucking grip.
The bag’s strap dug into my shoulder, nagging at me to ditch the most damning of its contents before he completely distracted me. Of course, the smart thing would be to ditch him.
My stomach sank at the thought. When was the last time I actually looked forward to spending the night with a man? Was my racing heartbeat a sign of desperation? Or excitement? Regardless, my endgame was a yacht filled with valuables, not a satiated libido. Focus, Addy.
The sand cooled beneath my toes, thinning with each step to higher ground. When we reached the street, he tugged me back from the curb by my hand. “Where are your shoes?” He narrowed his eyes at my bare feet.
His concern kindled a warm ember low in my belly. I removed my flip-flops from the bag’s outer pocket and slipped them on. “I need to go to the bathroom.” Would he wait for me or take off? I ran a hand through my hair.
Again with the attentive eyes. They held me in place, sanding away my ability to look anywhere but at him. He squinted. “Can you wait till we get to the boat? It’s just down the road.”
The marina was harbor side and would be a ten-minute stroll through traffic and crowds. The longer I lugged around the wallets, the more risk I invited. Images of handcuffs and red and blue lights made my hands sweat. He would only need to peek in my bag to become suspicious about what I’d been up to.
He lowered his clean-shaven chin, studying my face as if decoding every blink and twitch. “If you’re trying to lose me, just say so.”
I pressed my lips together to muffle an objection and pointed at the bustling seafood restaurant beside us. “I really need to go to the bathroom.” I bounced and squeezed my legs together. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He leaned in and cupped my jaw with both hands. Slow and deliberate, his minty breath fanned over my face, his eyes holding me immobile. A shiver swept down my spine. Could he hear the frenzied drumming of my heart?
A brush of his lips against mine redoubled my pulse. He drew back, watching me as the atmosphere heated and stirred around us. Okay, maybe the air wasn’t doing a damned thing, but I trembled against a perceptible energy that permeated my skin. Goosebumps cropped up along my arms. My mouth parted, and I leaned forward.
He straightened and staggered back. “I’ll be here.”
Holy shit. I dashed toward the front door, inhaling deep to fill my lungs. What the fuck was that? I pressed through the sea of customers loitering in the entrance and weaved around the tables toward the back.
The briny aroma of grilled fish chased me into the restroom. Three women crowded around the vanity, applying makeup, and slurring compliments to one another. In the last stall, I hurried through the wallets, stripping only the cash and discarding them in the sanitary bin. A few fifty-dollar bills and dozens of twenties went in my billfold.
That done, I emptied my makeup bag, dumping the contents at the bottom of the beach bag, and refilled it with watches, rings, and pocketknives. Dark Eyes would have to snoop through my cosmetic bag to find the suspicious assortment of men’s accessories.
Outside, I found him sitting on a bench, elbows on his spread knees, hands clasped, and watching the door. His gaze collided with mine, and I tripped, as did my heart. Ch
rist, this guy knocked me off balance. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
He rose and met me halfway, his nearness enveloping me and weakening my knees. “Feel better?”
“Lighter.” Or light-headed. I was damned dizzy in the fog of masculine hoodoo seeping from him.
“Name’s Drake Miller.” He grabbed my hand and led me across the street. “What’s yours?”
“Iva Bangsum,” I said, emptying my face of all expression.
He stared at me, open-jawed, and threw his head back, releasing a deep, rumbling laugh that curled through my insides. “No, really.”
I shrugged. Why did he want my real name? Wasn't he just looking for a good ol’ hit-it-and-quit-it?
He sobered. “Fine. But I will know your name by the end of the night.”
We stood face-to-face on the sidewalk as his promise hovered between us, tangling with a sensation so potent I felt it vibrate in the depths of my core. I rubbed my neck and his eyes followed the action. In the next heartbeat, he swooped in and captured my mouth, stroking his tongue inside. His full lips grabbed my lower one gently, and I lifted my chin, wanting, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
His fingers swept jolts of electricity over my jaw, around my nape, and twisted in my hair. I gasped, meeting the slash of his tongue, and placed a palm on his abs through the opening of his shirt. To steady my wobbly legs? To solidify the connection? Hard-packed muscle contracted beneath my fingers, and holy hell, I wanted to rip the damned shirt off.
I followed along the low-hung waistband of his jeans, around his waist, memorizing every indentation and tracing curves of his ass just below the denim. Seriously, I should go for his wallet and make a hasty escape. This thing with him felt less like a job and more like a complicated entanglement. The hammering of my heart agreed.
His mouth was so soft and enticing, his lips gliding and sucking with a skill that awoke every cell in my body. A few more kisses wouldn’t be detrimental.
With his hands in my hair, he pulled me closer, chest-to-chest, deepening the kiss and increasing the pressure of his tongue against mine. He tasted warm and clean with a tingling menthol zest.
A hum spread through me. I craved his touch, trembling to slide my pelvis over every inch of him. Good God, I wanted to dry-hump him right there on the sidewalk. I pulled back and gave myself a mental slap.
He licked his lips and regarded me beneath hooded lids. “That was even better than I’d imagined.” He turned in the direction of the marina and offered a bent elbow. “Shall we?”
I wanted to run. More than that, I wanted to lose myself beneath the crush of his rock-hard body. I hooked my arm through his, and our ten-minute stroll turned into thirty minutes. I lost track of how many times we’d stopped to kiss, each moment growing bolder and more familiar. I tried to tell myself it was just a routine seduction, no different from teasing my other targets. But his lingering touches on my chin, my neck, my breastbone, amplified my anticipation for his next kiss.
We reached the dock just after midnight, and he stumbled around, unlocking the gate with a key ring from his pocket. The water slapped softly between the slips. A mosquito buzzed past my ear.
No one loitered. Not even the late-night spring-break crowd. Few college kids spent the kind of money required to rent a yacht, and these weren’t rentals. It was a private pier, accommodating yachts with decaled names like Breakaway, Ever After, and Robyn Me.
I crossed my arms, realized it was a nervous pose, and lowered my hands. “Are you from around here?”
He stopped behind an average-sized cruising yacht, stepped onto the boarding deck, and climbed the stairs. “I’ll tell you where I live when you tell me your name.”
Giving him my identity would be counterproductive with my plan to sneak off into the night after a five-finger dismount. “Fine. But you own a yacht, which means you live around here.”
“Uh huh.” He moved into the cabin, glancing over his shoulder. “You coming?”
My muscles tensed as I registered that dangerous question. I pressed my sandals against the wood planks of the jetty. “We’re staying docked, right?”
He leaned against the railing, looking down at me. “What’s the point of that?”
Let’s see. Stuck on a boat in the middle of the Gulf, with a serial murderer, surrounded by a sea of sharks. My mouth dried, and I jumped at a fish splashing in the boat slip behind me.
He moved down the steps and erased the distance between us in a few long strides. Damn, his jeans accentuated his physique, stretching over his strong thighs and cupping the teasing prospect between his legs. When he reached me, his hands framed my face, and his lips covered mine. I sighed into his mouth.
Tilting his head to deepen the kiss, he swished his tongue with mine in warm, wet swirls that made my skin flush and my fingers itch to explore. I slid my palm beneath the back of his shirt, caressing his spine, delighting in the velvet skin over solid brawn. He shuddered beneath my touch.
I gripped his ass through the denim, and he flexed it in response. Heat surged through my veins, followed by a shiver of impatience. It was desire in its most anxious, purest form without games or alcohol or hidden agendas to distract me—
My fingers bumped the wallet inside his back pocket.
In that moment, I resented being a thief. I wished I was just a girl with the kind of nervous jitters that ended in a sweeping pleasure-filled night in his arms.
His kiss grew in strength and urgency, his tongue rolling with mine until I could feel him in my blood, melting and shimmering down to my toes. It was too much. He was disarming me with every lick and stroke.
I focused on the wallet beneath my fingers. I should just take it and tell him I felt ill and needed to go. I pinched the edge and lifted it.
He broke the kiss and reached behind him, grabbing my wrist. His fingers cinched my bones, yanking my hand from the wallet still lodged in his pocket. His other hand snatched the bag from my shoulder, his eyes twin sparks of fire.
My pulse jumped in my throat as I wrestled with the straps, tugging to keep ahold of it. “What are you doing?” I wheezed through clenched teeth.
He wrenched the bag away and held me back with a strong arm and a palm on my chest. “Get on the boat.” He held the bag above his head.
“Go fuck yourself.” I hopped, tried to climb his body to reach my loot, but he was too tall, too fast.
He spun out of my grip and sprinted onto the boat, up the stairs, and disappeared inside the cabin.
Fucking hell. My pulse sped up, and my cheeks inflamed. I kicked a nearby post and stubbed my toe in the stupid flip-flops.
The engine rumbled and the stench of exhaust wafted around me.
“Am I leaving without you, Addy?” his voice called out from somewhere on the yacht.
Son of a bitch! I clenched my hands, my lungs pumping. The bastard must’ve read my name off my ID, which meant he was going through my things, which meant... Oh God, was he calling the cops?
I jumped aboard and climbed the stairs. Cozy benches and tables lined the interior of the cabin. Footsteps thumped on the outer deck. I changed my direction mid-stride, sucking in the warm salty air, and followed the sound of his movements along the narrow starboard walkway.
The bag was nowhere in sight, but my view was damned distracting. Bent over the bow, he unhooked the mooring line. With a hard yank, he freed the rope, the sinews in his forearm flexing. The pockets of his jeans molded to his ass, and his narrow hips struggled to hold the denim up. The black band of his briefs peeked above the belt, his shirt inching up the sculpted lines of his back.
“Can you free the ropes on either side?” He gestured behind him without turning around.
Could I run up on him, shove him overboard, and find my bag before he swam out? He weighed at least eighty pounds more than me, and his swift reflexes made me question his level of intoxication. “You violated my privacy.”
He knotted the rope around a cleat at the bow, his profile clenched
in concentration. “Told you I’d learn your name.”
Had he looked through the makeup bag? He glanced up, captured my eyes, and a sexy grin tickled the corners of his mouth, stretching across his moonlit face.
I fought a hard swallow. “You rifled through my stuff?”
The smile clung to his lips as he paced along the railing, releasing and gathering the lines as he went.
A dropping sensation shifted in my gut, and I could feel my control of this arrangement slipping away. What was he planning? What did he know? “Where’s my bag?”
He sprinted up the stairs to topside, his long legs skipping every two steps. My heart thumped. I needed to get my bag back and scram.
I squared my shoulders, but I couldn’t put any strength behind it. When I caught up with him, he was perched in the captain’s chair with his hands on the wheel. The boat lurched forward and I bumped into the dash.
“Addy Goldner, resident of Fort Myers Beach,” he drawled as he steered out of the cove, “your stuff doesn’t belong to you.”
Blood drained from my face, chilling my cheeks and tingling my lips. “What are you talking about?”
He steered past a few yachts anchored in the harbor for the night, his expression blank. “It wasn’t just my wallet you shamelessly fingered tonight.” His lips curved up, and the warm wind tousled his dark messy hair.
Shit, shit, shit. “I didn’t—”
“You stole wallets, jewelry, sunglasses, knives, and iPads. I told you, I’ve been watching you.”
Where the fuck was my head? I stared at my feet. Stupid. So damned stupid.
He sped past the final stretch of twinkling lights on Fort Myers Beach and accelerated into San Carlos Bay. The further we moved from the shore, the slimmer my options became. When he reached the open water, he throttled the motor and turned toward me.
Waves splashed lazily against the boat. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and his Richard Mille watch glimmered at me. He caught my gaze. “You’re not getting my watch.”