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Her eyelids flutter shut, her taste undoes me, and I’m too high on this girl to stop for anything short of a brick to the head.
My tongue slides across her lips, so eager to feel her. She opens her mouth and strokes my tongue with hers, inviting me in like prey.
Her hands cradle my face, then pull with an energy that lets me know exactly how bad she wants this.
How much we’ve both been in grim denial for so long.
I slide one arm firmly around her and cover the hand on my face with my other palm.
The circles I trace over her tongue, the back of her lip, taste like a litany of sin. Every frenzied whimper slipping out of her is a one-way trip to hell become heaven.
“Oh—Ward!” she moans into my mouth.
God. If she sounds like this just kissing her, what the hell sounds will she make when I take her? When I’m finally in her?
I will be soon.
Maybe not tonight, but before this is over, I’ll claim her from the inside out.
Her hands leave my face, her blond hair a mess from my roaming fingers. Her arms lock behind my neck, and she shudders in my arms with a ragged moan.
“Paige,” I snarl her name half a second before I rake my teeth against her bottom lip.
“Oh,” she breathes, too deep in it to speak.
She moves to her knees, lifting up, straddling my waist.
Holy fuck.
I’ve got to get this situation under control, or our first time’s going to happen on the upper deck of my VIP client’s boat.
It can’t be here, not like this, even if my dick damn near turns into a blue fist and shakes at me.
Breaking our kiss, I rearrange her in my lap so she’s not straddling me anymore.
Startled green eyes connect with mine. Her face goes rosy and then crimson. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
She’s sorry?
Grinning, I shake my head and press my lips to her forehead.
“Stop. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”
“I—I thought you wanted—” She sucks in a breath, face redder than Winthrope’s cartoon suit, tripping all over her words. “I mean, I thought you liked—”
“Paige. I practically mauled you and thoroughly enjoyed it. There’s no confusion here,” I growl.
“Then why—”
“It isn’t obvious?” I cup her face and devour her lips again, but I don’t dare linger. “The Winthropes could barge in any time. It’s their boat and we’re about to dock.” I pick up a strand of her hair, threading it through my fingers. “It’s gonna happen and it’ll be every bit as fuck-hot as you imagine—just not here. Not yet. Tonight,” I growl.
Her blush deepens, and I chuckle.
“Oh, right. Because I’m not the kind of girl who’d want to—er—because I’m not hot enough to—”
Because you’re the kind of girl I’ll need more than one time with, I think instantly.
I hush her with a finger pressed to her lips.
No way am I saying that last thought out loud, but I also can’t let this beautiful woman think she’s somehow not enough.
“I’ve never left any project unfinished. I just make sure I have time to complete them thoroughly, with all the details and attention they deserve,” I whisper.
Paige relaxes into me, tightens her hold on my arm, and giggles softly.
Fuck.
“You have a cute laugh.” I close my arms around her.
The boat comes to a stop.
“I think we’ve docked. We should say our goodbyes to the Winthropes. Reese is probably here.” I stand and hold out my hand.
She nods and uses my grip to pull herself up. “Oof. My legs are jello.”
“Because we kissed?”
“Because of how we kissed.”
Yeah. We’re saying our goodbyes and getting the hell off this ship. We walk down the staircase hand in hand.
Winthrope leans against the rail of the deck with a fresh cigar, blowing out a contrail of smoke. It’s a miracle he’s lived this long.
His wife sits in a lounge chair, working at her cross stitch.
“Did you enjoy the view up there?” Winthrope winks at me.
“Absolutely. It’s a fine ship made for sunset cruises. Thank you for inviting us.”
“Care to come back to the hotel for a drink?” he asks.
Any other time, I’d love to. I could get the contract signed before I leave, even, but I have plans. I look at Paige and then Winthrope. “It’s getting late. I need to get her home. Early bedtime.”
Paige tenses and shoots me a wicked look.
Ross Winthrope nods firmly, the joke clearly lost on him. Supposedly, he and his wife sleep in sensory deprivation tanks several times a week...or else the Roland Ospreys of the world always pull rumors out of their asses, which is more than possible.
Mrs. Winthrope stands and hands Paige the cross stitch she’s been working on. “Here, why don’t you take this. You caught on right away. A lot of girls your age don’t. You can finish it for me. It’s a ring-billed gull, just like the kind we saw at sunset.”
