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“Just hold her steady,” he tells me, his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear. I feel his lips brush the tender skin below my earlobe as his low voice rumbles against my back. When I shudder with kindling arousal, he compounds my body’s reaction by pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. “Steady now, I said. A good first mate can take any distraction in stride.”
I smile and pivot a wry look at him. “I doubt most first mates have to deal with the kind of distractions I do.”
He arches a brow. “Complaining, Ms. Ross?”
“Hardly.”
“Good.” His mouth curves in an unrepentant smile. With gentle fingers, he turns my face forward. “Now, just keep our bow aimed at that buoy over there.”
I give him a cheeky salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Barefoot and agile as a cat, he hops topside to trim the sails while I hold our course. I do my best to follow his instructions, but it’s damn hard to stare at a bobbing marker in the distance when Nick’s near-naked body and effortless athleticism are on full display. He manages the sails singlehandedly and with a level of skill that leaves me more than impressed. Not to mention, hopelessly turned on.
He returns, raking his scarred hand through his wind-blown hair as he hops into the cockpit. When I step back to give him the helm, he shakes his head.
“You keep her. The wind is steady and we’re on a straight course now. You’re doing great.” He gives my ass a firm squeeze as he leans around me and steals a kiss. “Besides, it’s my turn to watch you for a while.”
He takes a seat on the slatted-teak bench on the starboard side of the cockpit and lets me take us farther into the bay. When I glance over my right shoulder I find his arms draped casually along the back of the bench, one ankle resting on his knee. Beneath the dark slashes of his brows, his bright blue eyes burn steady as he appraises me.
I clear my throat, needing something else to focus on besides the inviting heat I see in his gaze. “So, you just putter around on boats from time to time, hmm?”
He smirks. “More or less.”
“After seeing you out here today, my money’s on more. How long have you been sailing?”
“Long time. I was practically born on the water.” It’s a vague answer, and I assume that’s all he intends to tell me when he shrugs, glancing out at the waves as we cut through them. “I actually grew up here in Florida. Started sailing even before I learned to ride a bike.”
“Oh.” I can’t hide my surprise, not even when Nick looks back at me. “Sorry. I guess I just assumed you were born and raised in New York.”
“Ah. That’s right.” He grunts, studying me. “One of those insufferable trust fund brats.”
I laugh, shocked that he remembers what I said to him the night we met at the gallery. Now I wonder if my offhanded remark had struck a nerve in him or if he’s just so exacting that no detail ever escapes him.
And now my own thoughts roll back to a comment he said back at the docks. I check our course and venture another brief glance in Nick’s direction. “And this boat was one of the first things you bought for yourself after you became successful?”
He nods, idly petting the gleaming mahogany trim. “Custom-built, forty-five foot Sparkman and Stephens yawl. I’d wanted one since I was ten years old and saw an old photo of JFK on his S and S. So, after I cleared my first couple million in investments, I spent half of it on the Icarus.”
My brows shoot up. “You’re trusting me with your million-dollar baby? Oh my God. Please, come here and take the wheel
now.”
He chuckles, but doesn’t make a move to relieve me. “I have no doubt she’s in good hands. After all, I speak from personal experience.”
I return his smile and go back to my duty at the helm with even more focus, now that I’m aware of what I’m steering. Although I’m not an expert in the subject, even I could tell that this boat was special. That it was classic, one of the best money could buy.
And isn’t that one of the constants I’ve come to understand about him? Dominic Baine surrounds himself with fine things. Beautiful, expensive things. How I ended up in that equation, I have no idea.
No, not true. I do know. And the taste of it is sharp and sour in my throat—especially when he’s letting his guard down with me since we arrived in Miami. He’s letting me in, little by little. And the only reason I’m here in the first place is because all this time, I’ve led him to believe I’m someone I’m not. I’ve pretended to be someone better. Someone who could actually belong with him.
How long I can expect my lies to hold, I don’t even want to guess. I’ve gone far past the point of no return, and I don’t know how I can ever hope to put things right.
I force my guilt and worry behind me as I glance at him. It’s often so easy for me to think of Nick in terms of how he projects himself to the world at large. The formidable business magnate. The super-rich financier. The commanding man who with a snap of his fingers can have anything, and anyone, he desires.
Right now, seated on board his sailboat in nothing but a pair of shorts, the wind ruffling his black hair as he stares out at the horizon lost in his thoughts, instead of the powerful force of nature who slices through all of life’s obstacles the way the Icarus cleaves the waves, I see Nick as a boy, fixating on something he wanted and resolved to make it his.
He’s never looked more mortal. With the scars that riddle his right arm and hand, he’s never looked more real, nor more earthbound.
“Why the name Icarus?”
