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She knew he liked her cheeky remarks—he always had done. The humorous banter continued as they dried and dressed in suitable clothing. As they headed towards the stairwell, he pulled her into his good arm and planted a swift, hard kiss.
“Love you, babe.”
***
The crew assembled to see Jason’s wife dance. Unlike the previous time when she danced, he was present throughout, watching, with his injured arm supported by the armrest. He had to admit, Gaspar and Gemma made good partners. She seemed vibrant in her steps. Carefree and happy, her shoes clicking on the polished floor. Gaspar kept a professional distance, and occasionally, they would stop and discuss how to improve her footwork. The others watched attentively. Clapping, as an appreciative audience should, whenever they reached the end of a song.
Other than their forays into nightclubs, which remained rare, he had little opportunity to see her dance. His preference for socialising remained his own private BDSM club, the Nightshade. As co-owner, he could dictate the protocols and membership requirements. Raucous music and exotic dancing were forbidden. Her dance classes were conducted behind closed doors, often while he worked. His only insight came when he arrived home from the office to find her practising her latest steps in the kitchen as she prepared their evening meal. He enjoyed watching, seated at pine table, glass of wine in his hand, her twirls, fancy steps, and shapely hips jiving in time to the music.
Sharing her, especially with her dance partners, troubled him. They touched her, held her close to their chests, breathed on her neck, and gyrated their hips next to hers. He couldn’t hide his possessive nature, his need to control and care for her wherever she went during the day in his absence. Seeing her swirl, tap her feet, and spin about Gaspar, he witnessed nothing to perturb him. No touch too intimate. Nothing to spring forth jealousy. She simply was a woman who loved to dance, selfishly, and uninhibited by observers—a complete contrast to her reticence over erotic exhibitionism. He smiled to himself. In the grand scheme of things, the latter didn’t matter. He would show more interest in her dancing. Let her keep her classes and partners. He couldn’t deny her joy.
With Gemma content, he turned to his nearest neighbour, and for a while, he engaged in a lengthy conversation with Hans in German. He graciously accepted compliments about his fluency.
/> Eventually, Gemma retired from the dance floor with a bow to her audience. The group stayed long enough to see her drift over him. She slumped down between his legs, at his feet, and took off her shoes, rubbing her soles with a frown. She remained there while she drank a glass of water provided by Esteban.
Jason leant forward and whispered into her ear. “Up here.”
She put her glass down and climbed into his lap. Nestled together, they continued to murmur quietly into each other’s ears, words of love. He nipped her neck and nuzzled her hair. Unable to resist her scent, he buried his nose.
“You’re a gorgeous dancer,” he murmured.
“Why thank you, Sir.” She beamed.
“Don’t ever stop dancing.” He lifted his head, catching her vibrant green irises staring directly back at him.
She cocked her head to one side, her lips curving upwards. “Which dance? Ours or my own.”
He laughed softly. “Both. Naturally. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t dance for me. I am very grateful that you do. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course. Our dance is the best. It is the one I prefer above all others.”
Chapter 31. Castles and Caves
Day Eighteen
Gemma and her husband were about to spend a day in Trieste like typical tourists. Having arrived during the night, they awoke to find Sublime in a berth at the main marina, right by the heart of the city. She was no longer fascinated by marinas and other vessels. Jason had insinuated as much back at Marbella. The novelty had gone, and she preferred to cast her eye out to sea, knowing the cruise would soon be over.
Attempting to catch up on the lost sleep, they had retired early, not long after Gemma finished dancing with Gaspar. They fell asleep draped in each other’s arms with legs knotted together.
As the night progressed, they had gradually untangled and moved apart. Waking briefly, with a sense of dread, she lay listening to the sounds of Sublime. The movement of the sea about the yacht, and the engine noise purring distantly. With a deeply inhaled breath, she resolved to return to sleep as quickly as possible. Glancing at Jason, she was relieved to see him in a deep slumber and breathing tranquilly, his injured arm tossed over his head. Strangely youthful. If he could put aside the knife attack, so could she. He was the victim this time, not her.
Listening to the day’s itinerary, she could tell Jason planned to keep her relentlessly busy to help migrate her mind away from the yacht to life back on shore. They had one more night on board Sublime before they arrived in Venice. There would be no time for massages.
The launch piloted by Kevin took them to visit Miramare Castle by the waterfront. Using a small nearby marina, they disembarked and walked through the castle’s parklands. Gemma’s face lit up at sight of the extensive gardens. They had all the elements she loved: ponds, gazebos, and winding paths connecting open spaces and woodlands.
“Gemma, we haven’t got all day. There is the castle, and we have tickets booked for a guided tour.”
“In English?”
“Naturally.” He took her hand firmly. She scurried alongside him.
Lubinsky trailed behind them by ten metres or so. Sufficiently far away for privacy, but close enough to leap into action. Modesto’s attack on her husband had no doubt ruffled Lubinsky’s pride, even though there had been nothing to indicate Modesto had a problem with Jason. As yet, Lubinsky had received no news from his sources about why Modesto may have done what he did. The word from Croatia was the drugs the medics had given the Filipino had turned him into a tranquilized zombie.
Lubinsky waited outside during the tour. Led from one ornate room to the next by their guide, Gemma leant against Jason’s chest while they listened to the history of the Austrian family who built it. Explanations of the eclectic architecture and the craftsmen who created the sumptuous furnishings.
She whispered, “Could we afford to buy a castle?”
“Probably. Lot of maintenance, though, and the heating bill would be extortionate,” he replied quietly. “Though a real dungeon does sound very appealing.”
