“I’m okay,” she sobbed.
“If you’re afraid of Estebe tracking us, I had Amnon turn off the radio. He won’t be able to track or contact us in any way.”
Simone was waving her hands in front of her face, palms out, negating his words. “No, no. It’s just so sweet. You are just so sweet. It’s hormones. It’s pregnancy hormones. I can’t watch a TV commercial without crying at everything,” she wailed.
Maxence glanced down the narrow hallway, his back nearly touching the wall on the other side. Gita and another crew member were watching him out of the corner of their eyes as they wiped down a spotless wall with window cleaner at one in the morning.
He asked Simone, “Can I come in?” and pushed his way into her stateroom, closing the door behind himself and locking it without waiting for her to answer.
Simone sat on the side of the bed, bending in half and sobbing into her hands. “I’m sorry. You’re so sweet. I can’t believe you brought me a silk scarf.”
“Tying up your hair in a piece of silk is protective for Black hair, right? I mean, I’ve heard. I mean, people have mentioned that, and I’ve heard. My hair is different.” He pinched a loose twist of his own silky, onyx-black hair between his fingers and dragged it out to where he could see the end of it just past his cheekbone and jaw. “I have this kind of hair. So, I wouldn’t know. You just have to tell me. I’m yammering on. Please tell me to shut up.”
“No, you’re sweet. I’m fine. It’s just pregnancy hormones. I appreciate it, but I just can’t stop crying. I hate being pregnant.”
“You don’t even look pregnant. You barely look like you ate half a potato with supper.” Maxence toppled the tiny containers onto the bed and crouched in front of her, his fingers gently touching her knees and shoulders as he tried to make amends. “I can get something else. Just tell me what to get for you. As soon as we dock in Genoa, I’ll make sure you have it. Just please stop crying.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m trying, but there’s so much wrong. I just can’t stop.” She grabbed the hem of her gown and wiped her face with the crystal-beaded silk. “Ouch.”
Maxence unbuttoned a few of his shirt buttons near his throat and dragged his tuxedo shirt off over his head, leaving him in just an undershirt. A chill from the air settled on his back. He wadded the shirt into a ball and offered it to her. “Here.”
She grabbed the shirt and buried her face in the wadded white silk. “I’m trying,” she sobbed. “I really am. It won’t stop.”
He gingerly patted her shoulder. “You did so well to hold it in while we were in the casino. It’s . . . it’s okay. We’re okay now. You can stop crying now.”
“Don’t be nice to me. It makes it worse!” she wailed.
She hadn’t objected to being touched, so Maxence stroked her silken shoulder and upper arm. “I’ll get you back to Mauritius. I’ll get you back to your family even if I have to fly the whole way with you. Just please stop crying.”
She was gasping into his shirt crumpled in her hands, nearly hyperventilating, so Maxence rocked forward to his knees so he could lay his arms around her shoulders and pull her face against his shoulder. “Come on, you’re with me now. Harmless ol’ Maxence from Le Rosey.”
She gulped against the white cotton of his tee-shirt, and it almost sounded like a laugh had tried to break through her tears. “That was not the reputation you had in high school.”
“Oh, sure it was.”
Her arms sneaked around his waist. “You know it’s not.”
“We can pretend it was if it will make you stop crying.”
She leaned back enough to wipe her face with his limp shirt again, and then she looked up at him.
Red puffiness from weeping rimmed her dark, lovely eyes. He’d liked her in high school, both as a chemistry study partner and more, but they’d never managed to get together due to one intervening relationship or another.
She said to him, “That’s not the reputation you had at all.”
Shame misted over him. “We don’t have to talk about that. I’m different, now.”
“I wish you weren’t. Pregnancy hormones are awful, the ones that make me cry and the other ones.”
“What other pregnancy hormones? I—oh.”
She’d leaned forward. Maxence had thought she was going to press her forehead against his shoulder to cry some more or sleep or something, but her lush lips brushed his neck under his jawline.
His pulse pounded under her warm breath.
His mind—always a spinning, bright landscape of chatter calculations—focused down to a laser-tight beam, and all he could feel was her.
This moment.
This woman.
Simone was absolutely beautiful, from the tender puff of her hair to the glittering, high-heeled sandals on her feet and every soft inch of her in between.
The gentleness of her lips moved on his throat.
His breath grew restless in his lungs, and his heart sped.
The satin of her fragrant skin with a hint of rose scent on her neck and shoulder and the plush silk of her under his fingers aroused his body and darkened his mind.
His soul was dying to touch her.
He’d wanted to taste her for fifteen years.
He clamped his arms around her slim figure. The energy coursing through his veins lifted him to stand on his knees, dragging her along with him. “Simone.”
Her answering hum near his shoulder drove him mad.
He lifted her as he stood, and she scrambled backward to settle her feet on the low bed. “My shoes,” she whispered against his skin. “I’ll ruin it.”
“Leave them on,” he said.
With Simone still wearing her high heels and standing on the bed that held her a foot above the floor, she was a bit taller than Maxence. She settled her arms over his shoulders. The corners of her lips lifted in a small smile with her lips parted as she realized her altitude and that her nose was above his, and he loved that joyful smile instead of her tears. She bounced a little on the mattress and straightened her posture, obviously enjoying her temporary height.
Maxence grabbed the back of her neck and held her while he kissed her, his mouth on hers, tasting the sweetness of her and showing her that even though she currently had about two inches on him, he was still in control.
Her arms tightened around his neck and shoulders, and she slumped in his arms like her knees had gone weak.
He almost laughed as he swept her long, curvy legs in that pink-shaded skirt from under her and caught her as she fell back, and he laid her on the bed.
As he clambered over her and she reached for him, Maxence said, “Are you sure? You’re married.”
Her onyx eyes were alight with passion. She whispered, “I’m quite sure that Estebe has screwed the entire cabin crew on his ship. I’m going home to Mauritius, where my father is a government minister and my uncle is a judge. My divorce will be final in a week. Besides, Estebe lost his privilege to be my husband when he laid his hands on me.”
“That’s my girl.” Maxence ducked his head, nipping where her neck met her shoulder. “But are you sure you want this?”
“Yes. God, yes. Wait, do you?”
“I’ve wanted you since we were sixteen. Maybe fourteen.”
“We don’t have a condom.”
Maxence tugged his wallet from his back pocket and stood on his knees to poke inside. When he saw a metallic packet, he grinned, plucked it out, and held it up in his fingers.
Simone’s smile widened, and she reached her arms out to him.
He slid his fingers, and the second condom packet popped out from behind the first like a magic trick.
Simone laughed and wiggled her fingers.
He tossed his wallet on the dresser with a tiny railing around the edge and the condoms on the bed where he could reach them, and he caught himself on his arms as he dropped back over her.
Her fingers clawed at his tee-shirt still tucked into his slacks, and he su
cked in his stomach and ducked to let her pull the cotton undershirt over his head. Her dark eyes widened looking at his rounded chest and the hard ripples of his abs. She fluttered her fingers over his stomach.
Yeah, Maxence just bet Estebe Fournier wasn’t built like he was.
Oh, pride. He shouldn’t—
Yeah, well, so what?
He kissed her hard because she was beautiful and he’d always wanted to have Simone Maina, his chemistry partner and study buddy and the one he’d never managed to seduce.
His mouth crashed down on hers like he’d wanted to do when they were sixteen. Her whimper was like he’d imagined it. Her body was curvaceous now, not willowy like when they were teenagers. Max wanted to touch her, to feel her curves, but he was holding himself above her on his straight arms.
She’d said she was pregnant. He didn’t want to hurt her.
He tucked his shoulder and rolled, taking her with him.
She ended up with her thighs straddling his hips and her arms braced on his shoulders, giggling.
He asked, “Okay with you?”
“God, yes.”
Simone scrambled backward off the end of the bed and stripped off her dress, flinging it away, and she grabbed his pants at his waistband and barely gave him time to unbutton and unzip before she was dragging his clothes off of him.
Maxence was laughing by this time, overjoyed that she wasn’t crying anymore and was so into this. There was just really nothing better.
As she rolled his pants and underwear off his hips, her tilted eyes widened for a moment, and she jumped a little.
“It’s okay,” he told her. He had a usual line he used because he didn’t want to hurt people. “It’ll be okay. You just have to relax, and I won’t go fast. We’ll take it slow. If it’s too much and it starts to hurt, I’ll make sure you’re satisfied anyway.”
Instead, she smiled a little. “Go for it.”
Oh, wow, and he wished he could keep her on this boat for a month, but she needed to go home to Mauritius.
As she clambered back over him, her arms and legs bending the bed around his body, he almost forgot that he was on a damned boat. She was certainly giving him something else to think about.
He slid his arms up her thighs, and she stretched above him, her raised arms lifting her breasts. The curves and dips of her body enticed him.
Damn, everything about her was magnificent.
There was just one thing more that he knew she wanted him to do.
He knew what his reputation at school was.
When she fell back down to kiss him, he spread his palms over her cheek and throat, and he smiled as he gazed into her obsidian eyes. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, letting love roll in his voice. He felt the truth of it. “I love everything about you. You’re amazing.”
Simone blinked, and he could see the thought lodge in her mind, and then her lips curved in a smile as she believed it.
With that, she kissed him, and Maxence wrapped his arms around her back. His hand drifted down the curve of her hip to her ass, and she moaned as he palmed the softness.
From that moment, it was heat and flesh and sweat, a kaleidoscope of the brass and white fabric of the room when he opened his eyes, her satiny skin and his tanned arms and legs and paler chest and hips, the faint rose scent still striped on her skin, and his tongue, his hands, and his body under hers. He rolled her over for a few minutes to run his fingers and tongue over the voluptuous swells of her breasts and her hips and the sweetness between her thighs, but she arched under him too soon, thrashing and rolling him back, and he didn’t want to get rough with her.
An instant of fumbling as he managed to grab the condom and slap it on. He tried to lie still as she pushed her body onto his straining cock, but as soon as she settled, he couldn’t hold back. He gripped her hips and rocked her, forcing her clit to rub on his skin and the roughness of his body, and he watched her luminous eyes close in ecstasy.
She bit her lip, and lines gathered between her neat eyebrows.
He jutted up into her, a little rough, a little harsh, but he held all the rest back.
She was pregnant. She’d just escaped from an abusive husband. She was too fragile, physically and emotionally, for what he liked best.
This wasn’t the moment for anything more.
Her stiletto high heel dug into his thigh exquisitely.
Simone pushed backward with her arms, sliding herself over and down his shaft, a silken friction that was driving him out of his mind.
He didn’t have much time left.
It had been months since a woman had touched him.
He arched under her body, changing his angle into her, and drove her hips down on himself again and again.
Simone curled, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, and her cries sharpened as she writhed, her body out of control. She whipped back hard, straining in his hands, and cried out, and then her body throbbed around his cock.
Got her.
His orgasm gathered and took him to that dark nothingness, an eternity of bliss out of time, and then the pulses as he emptied himself into her.
Simone was gasping and lying limply on his chest, and he closed his arms over her, kissing her temple.
She groaned, “If I’d known you could do that, we would have both failed chemistry.”
He chuckled and stroked his hand down her arm, feeling the smoothness of her feminine skin under his palm.
Hey, she wasn’t crying anymore.
Chapter Seventeen
The Hugger
Gen
Gen was trying her best not to throw up over the side of the boat as Flirting with Disaster motored into the marina in Genoa, Italy. The skipper had slammed on some proverbial brakes as they’d neared the boat parking lot, and they putt-putted toward the dock at a much more sedate pace.
Thank the heavens and all the stars in the sky.
A speeding yacht was no place for a pregnant woman who was prone to morning sickness.
The boat bobbed on another boat’s wake, and her throat tightened.
“There it is!” Casimir shouted, pointing to a yacht tied up at one of the docks. He stood right on the prow of the boat, holding onto the railing and scanning the marina. “I can see the name on the bow, The Last Toy. There’s an empty slip right beside it. Have the captain pull up alongside.”
Arthur bounded up the stairs and gesticulated from inside the wheelhouse until a mahogany-suntanned white man craned his head around the side of the door to see which boat Arthur was trying to point out to him.
Gen held onto the railing with both hands and swallowed hard, thinking calm-sea thoughts. She could get off the boat soon. She just had to hold on a few more minutes.
The Genoa Cristoforo Colombo Airport lay directly beside the Marina Genova, across a small road from the Mediterranean Sea. A good-sized jet airplane roared over the boat, its huge shadow streaking darkness over the boat’s deck and the turquoise sea below.
Gen didn’t watch it. She was looking at the horizon, a sawtooth silhouette of boats and industrial buildings, maybe the airport terminal, but she sure as heck wasn’t twisting her neck to look at the plane that seemed so low that it must have nearly sheared off the yacht’s radar display on top.
As they neared the open slip next to The Last Toy, their captain turned the whole ship quickly to back into the parking space.
Gen swallowed hard and turned to keep watching the direction the boat was going to keep from gagging. Sweat broke out on her scalp and upper lip, and she staggered toward the rear of the boat as they chugged in backward. Did he have to do that so quickly or so soon? They were still a good hundred yards or so from the parking space.
On the sidewalk next to the dock, a very familiar man sauntered, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He appeared to be wearing formal navy-blue slacks and a tight white tee-shirt, which seemed odd. His black hair blew around his head.
Gen didn’t even need to see his face to know who
it was. She yelled, “Arthur! Casimir! There he is! Max is right there!”
Arthur darted out of the wheelhouse and hastened down the stairs. “Yes, my love? What is it?”
Casimir, who was over on the other side of the deck, turned quickly and followed where she was pointing. “There’s Maxence! Shit!”
With Casimir’s expletive, Gen turned back.
On the sidewalk, two men were running toward Maxence. One reached under the jacket of his dark suit.
“No!” she yelled.
The yacht was still much too far from the dock to get there in time, perhaps fifty yards away, and they were backing in slowly for safety.
Casimir raced past Gen, and she grabbed the railing for balance. He pounded down the stairs to the lower level of the yacht.
Arthur followed, leaping over the railing to the lower level.
That’s right. That was her husband, looking all athletic and hot. She liked it.
Less than ten seconds later, a tiny motorboat shaped like a crystal drop leaped out of the rear of the Flirting with Disaster. The tender streaked for the shore, churning the seawater as the engine shrilled.
Arthur waved his arms and shouted to Maxence as Casimir drove the small boat toward the dock.
Gen paced toward the rear of the boat to see better.
Maxence straightened as he realized that the men signaling to him were his oldest friends Arthur and Casimir and, a split-second later, that people were chasing him. He sprinted for the dock where Arthur and Casimir were aiming their tender.
Gen gripped the rail, watching.
Roxanne slammed into the rail next to her. “Did they get him?”
“Not yet,” Gen said, trying to will the tender to fly faster and Maxence to run more quickly toward it.
The tender turned sharply, throwing a plume of water onto the dock.
Maxence was almost there.
The splash missed Max but slapped the three guys chasing him, slowing them just enough for Maxence to hurl himself into the tender.
Casimir slammed the accelerator.
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