by Violet Paige
I groaned at the sound of my alarm going off, early in the morning. As usual, the sun wasn’t up yet, and as if on reflex, I rolled out of bed, preparing myself to get my running outfit on and get that out of the way as I watched the sunrise.
But when I stood up, I realized I had an erection so stiff I might as well have been inside Jillian already. I ran my hand through my tousled, bedhead hair and groaned. The thought of Jillian really wasn’t cutting me any breaks. I went to the bathroom to splash cold water in my face while I waited for my erection to lessen, but it was taking its damn time, and my whole body was keyed up.
I gave some serious thought to skipping my morning routine and instead spending some time in the shower, massaging my cock at full mast until I could release myself in the steaming-hot water.
But with the prospect of seeing Jillian in person today, I wasn’t going to let that happen. I kept my body disciplined, obedient to my will, even when it wanted something more than it had wanted anything in a long, long time.
So I slipped into my shorts and tank top, jogged one last time around my usual beachside path, watched the stunning Florida sunrise kiss my body with morning light, got back to the yacht, and showered off.
I didn’t care about being overly professional, this time. Once I was out of the shower, I dressed myself in deep blue jeans, brown dock shoes, and a tight-fitting white henley, all top-of-the-line designer brands from my last visit to Milan.
All I had to do now was wait, and the morning routine was good for keeping my mind from getting agitated. Because if there was one thing that had frustrated my younger self more than anything in the world, it was waiting around. I could have paced around the yacht like a caged animal if I’d wanted to, easily.
But that wasn’t me anymore. That was a younger man. I was experienced with my body and my mind, and I knew how to handle both.
And if I had my way, I’d be handling Jillian’s before the day was over.
After I was dressed and had put on a spray of Italian cologne, keeping up the theme, I headed to the dining room, where Miguel already had a mug of fine Jamaican coffee brewing for me. It was a brand I’d gotten a taste for during a two-week stay on the island a few years back, and starting each day with the smell of it still brought me back to that drop of paradise in the Caribbean. The mug Miguel had by the machine was handmade in the same place, too.
“Big day, Mr. Kincaid?” Miguel asked as he poured a mug for me, glancing at my outfit. He’d worked for me long enough that he could tell when I was out to have a good time.
“Something like that,” I answered. “But one way or another, we’re going along with the preparations I ordered last night. I assume everything is ready to go?”
“Just waiting on your orders, Mr. Kincaid,” Miguel said with a smile and a nod as he poured my coffee and set it on the rich wooden bar for me to take when I was ready. For anyone else, he’d offer a wide selection of creamers and such that I kept on hand for guests, but he knew I took my coffee black.
“Good,” I said. “And the arrangements for the course I charted?”
“All settled,” he replied with a broad smile. “There’s not a port in the Caribbean that doesn’t like seeing your name show up, Mr. Kincaid. And on a more personal note, I have to say, what you’ve got planned out is a cruise even I’d be jealous of, and I’ve been between the islands most of my life.”
“High praise,” I commented with a laugh, “I’ll make sure you have enough time to enjoy it, too. Expect me to be preoccupied most of the time.”
“I believe it, you’re in high demand,” he added as he poured himself a coffee after I gave him a nod to do so.
“By the way,” I explained. “Rhett’s staying at my place in Santa Barbara, since I’ll be gone longer than I expected. He’s doing me a solid by keeping an eye on everything, so if he calls and needs anything, it’s okay to patch him through to me.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for Mr. Anderson’s name,” Miguel said.
I knocked on the bar with my knuckles and gave him a nod. “Good man. Keep me posted and stay ready for my signal.”
“Aye-aye, sir,” Miguel answered, and I made my way out onto the deck.
Drinking in the humid air was almost as good as the steaming coffee in my cup. I strode across the vast deck of the ship and leaned against the railing, letting my eyes scan the marina. I checked my watch.
It was a few minutes to nine.
For the first time this morning, despite all my discipline, I felt my stomach turn. Ultimately, despite everything I’d gotten ready, it all hinged on whether or not Jillian was going to listen to her heart and do what we both knew we wanted.
I was going out on a limb, making all the last-minute preparations for that insane offer I made her last night. I said it like it was nothing, but I had to move around business meetings and burn a few clients.
Personally, I didn’t care, though. They were a drop in the bucket compared to what the payoff could be.
I glanced at my watch again and saw it hit the hour. I took a long drink of the nearly scalding coffee, and when I lowered the mug, I saw her.
My jaw nearly dropped.
If she showed up, I had been expecting her to be wearing something beachy, maybe even a wide-brimmed hat to hide herself as she came to see me. But no, Jillian was making her way down the marina in a black cocktail dress that exposed her shoulders and black pumps that gave her a stride that turned heads.
And if the sight of her wasn’t turning heads, the sound of her massive suitcase rolling along the wooden planks was.
A cocky smile emerged on her face, and I made sure those green eyes of hers got a look at it before I pulled out my radio.
“We’re about good to go. Pull anchor,” I ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the captain replied, and I finished off my coffee and made my way down to meet Jillian.
By the time she rolled her way up to the yacht, I was leaning over the side of it, smiling smugly over at her.
She stopped in her tracks and gave me a hard look that was full of so many feelings. Nothing but desire could have brought her here, but she looked up at me with defiance, anxiety, and so much more.
“Good morning, trouble,” I greeted her. “Got your things packed?”
“If I step on this boat,” she started. I could tell she had rehearsed this little speech all morning. “Then Bruin, we need to be really clear. You will sell this boat, and no matter what, Jeff can never find out we did this.”
I slowly strode down and stepped off the boat to stand over her, looking down to that face that I wanted to kiss so badly.
“We have a skeleton crew,” I said in a low tone. “And as far as my records show, you don’t exist on board. On paper, you’re still on land for the next seven days, far away from me.”
She didn’t respond or nod. She just stared up into me, letting that storm of a gaze brew under long eyelashes. “Seven days?”
“Seven days.”
She took a breath, and finally spoke. “Okay.”
A smile spread across my face, and I took her by the hand while waving for one of the crew members nearby to grab her bag.
“Well then, Miss Hargrove,” I said, leading her onto the ship while keeping our gaze locked. “Let’s get to business.”
I had her exactly where I wanted her.
14
Jillian
This morning, when I’d first awakened I was still in a daze. My alarm went off just before dawn, and I crawled out of bed feeling like a zombie. I had opened up my suitcase and rifled through it, wondering what in the world I had packed that I could possibly wear on a seven-day impromptu cruise. A pleasure cruise, that little voice in the back of my mind whispered. A secret cruise I was not supposed to be going on.
I had stared at the contents of my luggage for a solid three minutes, taking in the neatly-folded stacks of starched white, beige, and gray button-up blouses. Black and navy-blue pencil skirts. High-heeled pumps chose
n specifically to make me look taller and less diminutive. Blazers and preppy neck-scarfs. Pantyhose. Perfume that was more “formal” than “fuck me.” Not a single tank top or pair of shorts. No bathing suits, of course. Not even a pair of sandals.
I was facing a week of God only knew what kinds of shenanigans on the open sea with the hottest, most potentially dangerous billionaire playboy I had ever met, and I had nothing to wear. I ended up just taking the whole damn suitcase, hoping that maybe my businesslike wardrobe would help keep the upcoming week on track, remind both Bruin and myself that the whole, sole reason I was there was to broker a deal for Mirabella. For Jeff. For the sweet, protective older brother who would be absolutely devastated and deeply offended to find out that his former best friend and his baby sister were… doing whatever the hell we were going to do on that godforsaken, beautiful boat.
Since I was already going to take everything with me, I decided to go ahead and check out of the hotel. Of course, I knew better than to tell Jeff that I was leaving to go on a seven-day joyride with his womanizing college buddy. That would not go over well. But I needed some kind of excuse, some reason why I wouldn’t be available for a whole damn week.
So, as I was walking out of the hotel with my luggage to meet my driver, I called Jeff’s phone. It was eight-thirty, and I knew he was likely to be on his morning run, so I was pretty sure he wouldn’t pick up. My heart raced as I listened to the line ringing. If he had picked up, I had no idea what I would have said to him. To my relief, he didn’t answer. I left a short, cheerful message explaining that I had suddenly gotten sick with food poisoning and needed to lay low, under a doctor’s orders. I told him I had checked out of the hotel and into a different one, under my own name and bank account so that I wouldn’t run up the bill on his. And then I promptly hung up and turned off my phone. I made no mention of which hotel I would supposedly be staying in. I didn’t mention Bruin’s name at all. And I did not even bring my phone charger with me. If I was really going to pull this off, this ridiculous week-long stunt to get Jeff this stupid yacht, I needed to be extra cautious. I couldn’t have Jeff calling to check in on me, only to hear the rush of the ocean waves or the boat motor in the background and get suspicious.
I knew it was a risk. A big risk. Jeff would immediately be worried about me. He would want to check on me and bring me chicken soup or something. But in the voicemail, I explained that I didn’t want any visitors, that I felt so sick I wouldn’t be any fun to visit anyway. I assured him, in my most convincing voice, that he would be better off spending the week golfing while I was holed up in my hotel room, sick as a dog and poring over the documents for acquiring Mirabella for him. I didn’t know if it would be enough. I didn’t know if my cover story would fool him even in the slightest, but it was the best I could come up with on such short notice. I certainly hadn’t planned for any of this. I had not flown all the way down to hot, humid Fort Lauderdale to play hooky for a week and lie to my big brother.
But that was just the way Bruin did things. He didn’t think twice about the consequences of his actions. He never had. Jeff had told me more than enough stories about the crazy stuff Bruin did in college to convince me of that. I was dealing with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer and would not worry about what the future held. He was all about living in the present, squeezing as much fun and excitement out of every day as he could. If he had something or someone caught in the crosshairs, he got it.
And this time, for some reason I couldn’t understand, I was what he wanted. It made no sense. Bruin hadn’t seen me in years. Had he really just made the snap decision to seduce me when I accidentally walked in on him in that stateroom a week ago? Was that really all it took? Just a second’s glance and suddenly I was the helpless prey in his sights?
As I followed him into the yacht, I tried to quiet the thumping of my heart. I needed to play it cool. Stay calm. Keep my head and my wits about me. If I was going to survive this week unscathed, with my stellar reputation in one piece, I would have to be one step ahead of Bruin.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Especially because he looked like a Greek god when he came to collect me from the dock. I was already on red alert, waiting for him to try another move like he pulled last night in my hotel room. I was still hanging on by a thread. After he’d left the room last night, I had gone straight to bed. I had wanted so badly to touch myself, to finish what he’d started. But I knew that was setting a bad precedent. I couldn’t give in so easily.
My competitive nature was starting to kick in.
Bruin wanted me helpless, defenseless, putty in his strong hands. But I had to fight him. I had to prove that not even the sexiest man alive could shake me. He had already tricked me once, but I wouldn’t be fooled again. No. If he wanted to spend a week with me, he would get a week. But I wouldn’t let him forget why I was there. To broker a deal.
“Come along,” he said, reaching back for my hand.
I hesitantly took it, allowing him to help me up the gangway. Miguel and a few other young men in identical white uniforms greeted us as we stepped onto the main deck.
“Welcome back, Ms. Hargrove,” said Miguel with a nod.
He was smiling, but I detected a hint of nervousness on his face, too. Surely the whole crew was aware of what was about to happen. That we were about to set sail on perhaps the most scandalous ride of my life. I couldn’t help but wonder how many times Bruin had done this. How many women he had seduced and taken on a long, one-on-one cruise out on the water. How many times had the crew sat idly by and tended to one short-lived fling after another?
What number was I? Ten? Twenty? One hundred?
As far as I could tell, Bruin rarely spent a single night alone in his bed. It was a new girl every night. And the crew were here all the time, hardly ever taking time off. I had been in the yacht business long enough to know that for most crew members, this was a lifestyle. It paid extraordinarily well, and it was exciting to travel around, almost like a free vacation except for the fact that, well, they were working. There were certainly worse jobs to have. But in this case, these crew members had to know exactly why I was here. And it wasn’t to inspect the ship or have a polite, buttoned-up business meeting. Bruin had brought me here for one reason and one reason only, and I knew they knew.
Awkward.
“Miguel, take our guest’s luggage. She brought an entire closet’s worth of stuff, it looks like. Must be awfully heavy for one woman to carry,” Bruin remarked with just a hint of a smirk on his handsome face.
I blushed. I probably looked ridiculous, carrying all this stuff with me. I hated looking high-maintenance. I mean, I kind of was, but not by choice. It was important to my job, and my job was the most important thing to me. Well, besides Jeff.
Oh, God. Jeff.
Miguel stepped up and took my suitcase from me with a smile. “I’ll take that, ma’am.”
“Thanks, Miguel,” I replied, my cheeks still hot.
“Where will I take it, sir?” he asked Bruin.
Bruin waved his hand. “To my stateroom. Just put it in the closet.”
What? His room?
“Wait,” I interrupted before Miguel could walk away with my stuff in tow. “Why your room? Shouldn’t my stuff be in my room?”
Bruin grinned. “One and the same, Jillian. My room is your room.”
“That seems awfully unprofessional,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Besides, Mirabella is massive. There are plenty of rooms to choose from without us having to bunk together, Bruin.”
He didn’t waver for even a second. He took my arm and began leading me to the stairs and down to the hall where his room was located. Miguel followed behind dutifully.
“Bruin, I’m serious,” I said firmly.
“Well, there are other rooms, but I think you’ll have to agree that mine is the best one. The largest, the most comfortable, the best view. And the services provided in my room are the best of the best,” he growled.<
br />
“S-Services?” I repeated, frowning in confusion.
He nodded slowly as he led me to the room. He stood back to let Miguel walk by and put my luggage away. I pulled away from him. “Bruin, I am not staying in your room. I’ll take the one next door. Final offer.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he shrugged.
“Okay. Whatever you say,” he agreed with a radiant smile. “Here, let me show you your room, then. We’ll get reacquainted.”
“I think I can figure out how to use a bed on my own, thanks,” I said, a little sharply.
Bruin simply laughed. “Damn, you’ve really changed since I last saw you.”
“Well, yeah. I’m twenty-five now. I was a dumb kid back then.”
We walked into the smaller stateroom and he closed the door behind us, then said to me meaningfully, “Jillian, you may have been a kid, but you have never, ever been dumb.”
I blinked a few times, surprised at the compliment. I kept waiting for the punch line, but it never came. Instead he simply started showing me around the room. “Right. Here’s the en suite bathroom, the wardrobe, the linen closet with towels and extra sheets for the bed.”
“Thank you,” I said. Then, I opened my mouth to say something else and stopped myself. I didn’t know what to say. Bruin caught it, though. He caught everything.
He sauntered up to me wordlessly and cupped my face in his hands. I stared up at him, afraid to even breathe. His hands were huge and warm and I could feel my whole body tingling with desire. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he murmured.
“Bruin…” I trailed off.
He bent down to kiss me, softly at first, and then harder. Forceful. Passionate.
My plan to avoid all bodily contact evaporated. Suddenly, I couldn’t get enough of his touch. And he knew it. He picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, and he carried me to the bed. He pushed me down onto my back, spreading my legs apart with his hand roughly. I gazed up at him, breathing hard, afraid that he might stop before we even started.