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She didn’t suffer from seasickness. St. Sebastian owned several boats—mostly small yachts affiliated with their properties in the Caribbean and French Polynesia—and while she’d never actually hoisted a sail, she enjoyed spending time on the water. But curiosity got the better of her. “What happens if I say yes?”
“We have a five-star sunset dinner at the club here.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then dinner’s going to be simpler, but the view will be kick-ass, and the predinner activities will involve an authentic version of something you tried to fake last night.”
Yes. Yes. Mother of God, yes. “I don’t get seasick.”
He pulled the Jeep up to a valet and tapped the brake. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
…
Nick adjusted the anchor line just as his guest emerged from below deck holding a bottle of wine, with two glasses dangling upside down from her fingers. Behind her, calm water glistened in the afternoon sun. The green slopes of Kahoolawe rose in the distance.
“Found it,” she said, making her way toward him with the easy grace of someone with a ready pair of sea legs. He’d had a feeling. Any Russian princess with the rubles to call the villa at St. Sebastian home for a week could—and probably did—cruise anytime she chose, though possibly in a vessel less stripped-down than his fast, maneuverable, forty-foot Odyssey. If so, the lack of villa-level luxury hadn’t put a hitch in her stride. She’d boarded the sailboat nimbly and taken him up on his invitation to explore the deck and cabin while he did the pre-sail prep. During the sail itself, she hadn’t minded the elements. She’d lounged on a cush
ioned bench seat, turned her face to the wind, and inhaled the salty spray. Nor had she minded fetching the wine while he’d lowered the anchor and slacked the sails.
“Over there.” He indicated the table with a nod of his head and finished securing the line. “Be there in a second.”
A lighter version of the wind that had carried them here now flirted with her ponytail and blew her loose top against her body. The neckline draped as she leaned over the small table in the sitting area built into the stern, treating him to a view of swaying cleavage semi-contained by a tiny black bikini top. A tug at the bow behind her neck, another at the center of her back, and those two triangles would land in a tangle on the deck.
She moved around until her back was to him, and he took in the view from that angle. The cutoffs would go next, and then the little black bottoms he got a glimpse of every time her shorts gaped. Like they did now, as she leaned across the table to plant the wine into the silver ice bucket clamped to the other side. When she was standing there, naked except for the flimsy excuse for a shirt, he’d tear the thing right off.
She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. When she caught his eyes on her, the corner of her mouth lifted. A knowing smile, which almost made him laugh because she had no idea what he had in store for her.
He smiled back. “Are you reading my mind, Czarina?”
She turned to face him, grin still in place. “Like a neon sign.”
“Think so?” He stepped around the wheel and closed in on her.
She crossed her arms and propped her hips on the table. “You’re planning on getting me naked.”
Her smile faltered when he reached around her, opened a small drawer built into the table, and snagged a corkscrew. “Can you grab the bottle for me?”
“Um. Sure.”
Messing with her wasn’t the most gentlemanly thing, but he knew her well enough to know she enjoyed the game. Predictability didn’t sit too high on her priority list, and he liked that about her. While she held both glasses, he stripped the foil from the bottle and then finessed the cork out with the old-school corkscrew. He filled both glasses and then leaned past her again to resettle the bottle in the ice bucket. When he straightened, he let his arm brush the side of her breast, enjoying the way she shivered from the light contact. He took the glass she offered him. “Still think you can read my mind?”
Her smile said she did, even before she tipped her head to the side and laughed. “You’re planning to get me tipsy and naked.”
“You’re not looking hard enough if that’s all you see.”
She raised her head, the gesture less coy than curious. “What am I missing?”
“Somewhere between last night at the bar and now, I developed an obsession for you. You and your elusive orgasm. So yeah, I am thinking. I’m thinking about how I’m going to extract one from you tonight, and tomorrow night, and the next. I’m going to train you to have complete and utter confidence in my ability to make you come—anytime, anyplace, in any position. Then and only then, Czarina, I’m going to introduce my cock to you again, and give you exactly the kind of experience we both know you want.”
The low-hanging sun cast a honeyed glow over her skin, turning her cheeks a deep, endearing pink. She took a healthy gulp of the wine. After swallowing with an audible gulp, she cleared her throat. “To that, sir, I say cheers.”
He tapped his glass to hers. “Cheers, Czarina.”
She took another drink, another swallow, and then sighed and slowly circled her head, working kinks from her neck. “I don’t know if you’re right about the orgasms, but you were right about one thing.”
“I’m right about the orgasms, but that’s still on me to prove.” He put his glass on the table and then turned her around so they both faced port, and an unobstructed view of the horizon. “What have I already proven?”
She relaxed against him. “This definitely qualifies as an escape from all my worries.”
