by Ash Harlow
Oliver started swimming and was at the boat to help me up before I’d reached it. He gripped my arm and boosted me up the ladder before quickly following. On board he pulled a couple more towels from the locker, wrapping one tightly around me.
I was still exhilarated and unable to wipe the huge grin off my face. When I caught my breath I discovered my teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.
“You’re cold. Come here.” Oliver pulled me against his warmth, briskly rubbing me, his hands working quickly over the top of the towel.
I wanted to lean into him and absorb his warmth. My body tingled wherever he touched but my teeth continued to sound like castanets.
“You know there’s a very good method to fix hypothermia?”
“You mean you have one of those foil blankets?”
“No, but fortunately I’ve warmed up.”
I was warming up, too, and I wondered how long I could stay pressed against him before it became indecent.
“You should really remove that wet bikini. It’ll be keeping your temperature down.”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered. He was right. Reluctantly I pulled from the shelter of his arms and undid the tie at my neck and back. Still wrapped in the enormous towel, my top slid to the floor of the boat.
Getting my bikini bottoms off would be a less graceful move. What’s more, I had no underwear to replace them with. “I’ll be okay in my bikini bottoms; they’re quite dry.” Since he’d been holding me, a heavy warmth had blossomed between my legs. It’s likely my bottoms were anything but dry.
He passed me a sweatshirt from the locker that appeared to hold an unending supply of things I needed. It swamped me and certainly did a great job of concealing my curves and my starkly pointing nipples.
“Arms out.”
I lifted my arms in front of me and Oliver carefully rolled each sleeve, so that I had use of my hands again.
He stood back and admired his work. “Definitely the most stunning creature we’ve had on this boat.” With that he turned and started the engine. It was a relief on one hand and a lost moment on the other.
9 ~ OLIVER
I scooped Darcy back in front of me as I increased the throttle and got the boat back up on its plane. I was as hard as fuck and trying not to think with my dick, but it was impossible to keep my mind on anything more than the idea of her in a bikini. She’d relaxed more, leaning in against me as we sped toward the islands in the distance.
Ten minutes later I slowed the boat and we cruised in and out of small bays and around rocky outcrops. Darcy was startled by the number of stingrays we saw.
“You’d be surprised how often you share the beach with them.”
She tilted her head back to look at me, and I pushed her sunglasses up so I could see her eyes framed with eyelashes salt-tipped from our swim.
“I’m never going swimming again, Oliver.”
“Of course you are. The ocean hasn’t changed, you’re just more aware of who you’re sharing it with.”
“Believe me, my ignorance was bliss.”
So was mine until I kissed her that first night at her door. Since then, all I could do was think about how she tasted, how her warm mouth fit perfectly against mine. I wanted to do it again every time I saw her.
I pulled her glasses back in place, traced her cheek and touched the corner of her mouth. She smiled, a small shiver rippling through her body.
“Do you know what else was bliss?” she said.
“Tell me.”
She reached for the back of my head and pulled our mouths close together. “When you kissed me the other night,” she whispered.
I knocked down the throttle so that the engine idled leaving the boat to drift, and turned Darcy, pressing her back over the console.
“On your doorstep?” I asked.
“That one.”
“Before you signed the contract?”
“Yeah.”
I was stalling while my blood surged. If I kissed her now, there was no going back. I’d feel her warm mouth. Taste her again. Feel her tongue stroking mine. I’d press my hard dick to her and she’d grind against me. Beneath my sweatshirt she wore was nothing but skin, breasts, nipples. Below the reach of the sweatshirt, a pair of tiny bikini bottoms covered her pussy. Fuck. I don’t think I’d ever wanted anyone this badly.
“The contract, Darcy.” I wanted to remind myself as much as her.
“Is just a piece of paper.”
“You work for me.”
“You work for me, too.” She giggled.
“That’s not what I meant.” I pushed her glasses up again so that I could see her eyes. The chestnut flecks turned gold in the bright sunlight, and she searched my face. I put up a filter that trapped every reason I should turn away right now, before they formed fully in my mind. “If I kiss you now, I won’t walk away from this.”
She nodded. “Me neither.”
I took her face and pulled her closer, pressed my mouth to hers. Her tongue flicked across my lips. I breathed her in, connecting with every one of my senses as our tongues entwined. I still had hold of her face, couldn’t let her go as our kiss went on until we were nothing more than the hot, wet, urgent sensation of our mouths.
“Put her down, Oliver.”
The shout came from across the water. Darcy and I groaned together, and reluctantly, our mouths parted. My forehead stayed against hers. “I don’t believe it.” I eased Darcy off the console and noticed we’d drifted into a small inlet where twenty feet away Angus sat in his boat.
“What are you doing here?” I asked
“Monitoring. And getting some scallops. Has Darcy had a medical emergency?”
“No. Why?”
“Looked like some sort of resuscitation going on.”
“Smart ass. Of all the bays, why did you choose this one?”
“I could ask you the same question. I’ve been monitoring here for two months, and I’m picking up data. What’s your excuse?”
“We drifted in, but don’t worry, we’re going to motor right back out again.”
I engaged the throttle and turned the boat out of the small bay. “We’ll finish that kiss later,” I told Darcy. “The tide’s right so I want to see if we can catch some fish for dinner.”
We left the bay and motored straight toward an enormous rock offshore. I cut the engine. “We’ll drift around here and see if there’s any action.”
Darcy laughed. “Like the last time we drifted?”
“Fish action. This is serious stuff.” I pulled out a couple of rods, checked the lure on one and handed it to Darcy.
She looked at the rod in her hands. “I have no idea what to do with this.”
“You’re going to catch a fish. Let me cast it for you.” I threw out the line and handed her back the rod before organizing one for myself.
Within minutes I’d caught a good-sized snapper. Just as I recast, Darcy’s rod dipped with a sharp tug. Immediately the rod bent at an acute angle.
“You’ve got something decent there, start reeling it in.”
The reel spun and I showed her how to add more drag, and to slowly bring the fish in.
“Oliver, shit, I think I’ve got a shark.”
I thought I was going to damage myself, I laughed so hard. “Keep going,” I said, “don’t let it off.”
“I feel like Zane Grey,” she gasped.
“You’re prettier.”
“Shaving off my beard was a smart move,” she said, following my instructions to lower the tip of her rod to the sea before lifting and winding again.
“Very smart.”
I grabbed a net and got close to her. “Here it comes,” I said as we caught sight of the silvery outline and a large black smudge on the fish’s side. I dipped the net into the water and scooped the fish onto the boat. It looked annoyed, and I couldn’t honestly blame it. The great mouth gulped as if it was choking while I worked my hand into the large hinged jaw.
“Watch this,” I said, feeling like
a conjurer, as I slid my hand back out, gripping a tiny snapper—the original fish she’d caught.
Darcy’s eyes looked as though they’d pop from her head. “You’ve caught a small snapper, and as you’ve reeled it in, the Dory has gone after it and swallowed the snapper, whole. In effect, you’ve caught two birds with one stone.”
I put the fish on ice and reeled in my line. “That will be perfect for our dinner. Have you ever eaten Dory?”
Darcy shook her head.
“You’re in for a treat. Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll cook it for you.”
10 ~ DARCY
Oliver dropped me at home and I jumped from the car, grabbing my stuff and dropping a shoe on the path as I mumbled about a shower and getting the salt out of my hair, and, no, I didn’t need help to find my way to his house. It was only a five-minute walk at most.
After showering I adopted my customary stance in front of my wardrobe wishing the fairy seamstress had popped by while I was out to throw an awesome collection onto the hangers. No such luck, but I found a simple, figure-hugging but modest-length dress to wear. It was neither flashy nor casual and I thanked the other fairy, the one who had dropped off all those clothes made exactly for me, at the charity shop in town. Shoes were a different thing altogether but I had a reasonable pair of plain black sandals that were neither orthopedic or fuck me heels.
I made myself a cup of tea because I didn’t want to appear too eager to be back in his company. I had no idea about the science behind why I believed a five-minute delay would make him think more of me than if I showed up two minutes early, but I was nervous enough to think it mattered.
That kiss on the boat. There was no denying I forced it, even if he pretty much instigated it. I threw myself at him. He’s my boss. Catching fish was a perfect distraction, but motoring home, pinned between Oliver and the console, we were even more liberal, less guarded, about the way our bodies molded against one another.
I tried to walk at a normal pace to Oliver’s house, even stopping to pat a ginger cat which called to me from on top of a wall as I passed by.
Oliver met me at the door before I had a chance to knock. I liked to think he’d been standing there, brimming with anticipation, but he probably had a clever security system alerting him to anyone crossing the threshold from the street into his walled property. His jeans hung low on his hips and the tight, faded, navy blue T-shirt hugged him in a way that almost made me jealous of the stretch cotton. There was the glimpse of hard abs, and the low arrow of muscle. Pleasure this way.
He stood back from the doorway, his eyes roaming over me, and a small crease appeared on his forehead. Something bothered him. My shoes? The dress? I chewed my lip.
He reached up and touched a finger to my mouth. “Don’t bite your lip like that, Darcy, it does unbearable things to me.”
Those words, said in that voice, brought a rush of heat to my cheeks.
“Great dress, it suits you. I couldn’t have chosen better myself.”
Now I was the puzzled one as I followed Oliver through the house toward the kitchen. Once through the doorway the room opened out onto the large patio and lush lawn that flowed down to the river. The kitchen had bi-fold windows and French doors all flung wide to welcome the settled spring evening.
“Would you like a drink, wine, or an aperitif?” he asked.
“My mother and her cronies drank Dubonnet before dinner.” Oliver’s eyes widened. Why on earth had I said that?
“I don’t think you’re old enough to drink Dubonnet,” he joked.
“Or regal enough.”
“Are you sure, princess?” he winked.
Princess. Oh, god.
“Anyway, when it comes to aperitifs, my liquor cabinet doesn’t run beyond a dusty bottle of Campari. That said, I make a wickedly dry martini. Interested?”
“Yes, but no. One martini and I’ll be falling over.”
He looked as though the idea of me horizontal wasn’t such a bad one.
I shuddered. “It would be ugly, I’ll stick to wine.”
Standing here in his kitchen suddenly felt so intimate. I propped a hip against the bench and watched him prepare dinner. Some men are awkward with food prep, but Oliver built a salad of gourmet standard, simple but with clever touches, and made a dressing from scratch. All the while we chatted comfortably about our day and the dolphin experience which was still blowing my mind.
He washed his hands, dried them and stepped toward me taking hold of my hips. His hands closed around each side, his long fingers almost making it to that sensitive spot low down on my back, and my knees threatened to buckle. I thought he was about to kiss me.
“Jumpy?”
I nodded. I’d left my spontaneity on the boat, and now his casual touches felt super-charged with sex and innuendo.
“I need to move you slightly in this direction,” he steered me to the right, “because there’s a dish I want in this cupboard.”
I’d overreacted again. “Sorry, I’m in your way, I’ll go and sit over there.” Reluctantly I pulled out of his grip, heading for the other side of the island which had a row of stools.
“Stay where you are.” He held onto the hem of my dress, crouching to retrieve the bowl, then he placed me right back where I’d been standing. “I like having you there. You improve the kitchen decor immensely.”
Annabelle, the ex, must have spent nights like this with him and I had a moment of feeling totally inadequate. It was an emotion I thought I’d banished doing those exercises from a self-help book, but in truth the feeling of never being enough for someone to love simmered just within my manufactured exterior. I imagined them preparing meals together, as a team, and I pinged that thought out of my head.
By some sort of miracle the fish we’d caught now lay in neat fillets on a plate he pulled from the fridge. Oliver seasoned them with a little sea salt and threw them into a pan with some butter. While the fish was cooking he removed from the oven a heavenly-smelling potato dish where the potatoes looked all crispy and the scent of fresh thyme and garlic filled the room.
We sat at a table on the patio. Oliver lit a mass of candles arranged haphazardly on a rough piece of driftwood. They were all different sizes and stages of use with intricate layers of wax drippings that had built up over time. I had the feeling he sat out here often.
“Did you honestly cook all of this?” I asked.
“Sure. When my mother left us I became fairly self-sufficient. If I didn’t want to live on eggs, beans and bacon—the only dish my father managed to cook—for the rest of my life, I had to do something about it. After a few months Dad hired Drake to help with housework and cook a meal for us most nights, but I guess I never believed the women in my life would stick around. Drake taught me the basics and I pestered my friends’ mothers to teach me specific dishes.”
“Mrs…Ms. Drake—”
“She prefers Drake. She never married and I guess that removes the spinster label for her.”
“Does she still come here?”
“Up until a year ago. She’s retired.” He picked up his fork and sliced off a piece of fish on my plate. “Taste this and tell me what you think.”
I opened my mouth and he slipped the warm fish onto my tongue. The texture of the fish was perfect, the flesh falling apart in my mouth, the flavor delicate and unique. I swallowed. “Stunning. Those women taught you well.”
“Which fish is it?”
I was no expert when it came to fish and it had been a long time since I’d had it fresh from the sea. I guessed it wasn’t the snapper, which has a distinct, full flavor. “My fish, the John Dory.”
“You’re right, and thank you for catching it.”
I made a dismissive wave with my hand. “It was nothing. Beginner’s luck and an expert teacher.”
The wine relaxed me and after dinner we sat on low chairs by the outdoor fire. I couldn’t think of a better day I’d had in a long while.
Oliver nursed a whisky and I had t
he remains of wine in my glass. I stared at the fire wondering where the evening would go now. He’d been attentive through dinner, filling my glass, adding to my plate until I had to stop him or hunt for a larger-sized dress.
“I wanted to say, Darcy, that I really appreciate the dedication you’re putting into the project.” The ice rattled in his glass as he placed it on the ground beside him.
Ah, so today was a ‘thank you’ for my work.
“Getting the rehab center going in Waitapu is so important to me.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. What’s your motivation? I mean, there are so many worthy causes out there. Why drug rehab?” I needed his answer for a number of reasons, although part of me was scared to hear his truth. When I saw the pain in his eyes I wished I’d never asked.
“Rocco Alberini,” he said.
I shook my head, the name meant nothing to me.
“My half-brother. My mother’s son from her second marriage to Ant Alberini. Rocco was four years younger than me, and grew up in Australia.”
Referring to his half-brother in the past tense meant only one thing. My stomach knotted. I had a good idea how this story would pan out, and if I was right then I had no future with Oliver Sackville.
He carried on speaking as he walked to the outdoor fireplace and added more wood. “Rocco came and stayed with us some holidays. Only now that strikes me as odd because Dad was no relative of his at all. Sure, he and I were half-brothers but I was loathed by my stepfather and I would have thought he’d have wanted to keep Rocco well away from us.”
“Perhaps he thought two brothers should have a chance to bond.”
Oliver swung to face me. “Believe me, my stepfather is not that compassionate, and Mother can’t think beyond the fifty-eight facets of her next diamond.”
I said nothing. He didn’t need my opinion on his dysfunctional family.
He went back to the fire, prodding the embers with a poker. “Whatever the reason, I was grateful to have a firm base to our relationship when Rocco needed help.” He took a moment to set the poker against the wall. “When he was twenty-two Rocco turned up on my doorstep. He’d been kicked out of the home, dropped out of varsity, and was addicted to meth. He’d stolen and sold some of Mother’s jewelry to fund his habit. I took him in to care for him, tried to get him into rehab, but he died before a space in a unit became available.”