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The night breeze lifted the hairs on his arms as he climbed onto the deck. The helm was empty, the autopilot was on, the storm sails were furled and the standard rigging was engaged as the boat coasted on a shallow swell.
Xanthe lay curled up in the cockpit, out cold, her PFD still anchored to the safety line, her fist clutching the alarm clock.
His heart hammered hard enough to hurt his bruised ribs.
He cast his gaze out to sea, where the red light of a Caribbean dawn hung on the horizon, and struggled to breathe past the emotion making his chest ache.
She’d seen them through the last of the storm, then kept watch all night while he slept. How could someone who looked so delicate, so fragile, be so strong underneath? And what the hell did he do with all the feelings weakening his knees now? Feelings he’d thought he had conquered a decade ago?
Desire, possessiveness, and a bone-deep longing.
He’d convinced himself a long time ago that Xanthe had never really belonged to him. That what he’d felt for her once had all been a dumb dream driven by endorphins and recklessness and desperation. He didn’t want to be that needy kid again. So why did this feel like more than just the desire to bury himself deep inside her?
He crouched down on his haunches, forcing the traitorous feelings back.
He was still tired—and more than a little horny after three days at sea with the one woman he had never been able to resist. It had been an emotional couple of days. And the storm had been a sucker punch neither of them had needed.
He pressed his hand to her cheek, pushing the wild hair, damp with sea water, off her brow. She stirred, and the bronco in his chest gave his ribs another hefty kick.
‘Hmm...?’ Her eyes fluttered open, the sea green dazed with sleep. ‘Dane?’ she murmured, licking her lips.
The blood flowed into his groin and he welcomed it. Sex had always been the easy part of the equation.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said, affection and admiration swelling in his chest.
This wasn’t a big deal. She’d done a spectacular job and he owed her—that was all. Unclipping her harness, he lifted her easily in his arms.
‘Let’s get you below. I can take over now.’ The way he should have done approximately twelve hours ago.
He realised how groggy she was when she didn’t protest as he carried her down the steps into the salon and headed to his own cabin.
He wanted her in his bed while he took charge of the boat. By his calculation they’d reach the Bahamas around twilight. They’d have to anchor offshore, and dock first thing tomorrow morning, but he intended to keep his hands off her for the rest of the trip. Even if it killed him.
Then he’d sign her divorce papers.
And let her go.
Before this situation got any more out of hand.
Sitting her on the bed, he crouched down to undo her jacket. She didn’t resist his attentions, docile as a child as he pulled it off and chucked it on the floor. Her T-shirt was stuck to her skin, the hard tips of her nipples clear through the clinging fabric.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pounding in his groin. The desire to warm those cold nubs with his tongue almost overwhelming.
‘How’s your head?’ she murmured sleepily.
He glanced up to find her watching him, her gaze unfocused, dark with arousal.
‘Good,’ he said, his voice strained.
She needed to get out of her wet clothes, grab a hot shower. But if he did it for her he didn’t know how the heck he’d be able to keep his sanity and not take advantage of her.
‘Have you got it from here?’
He tugged the clock out of his back pocket. Fifteen minutes before he had to check the watch.
‘I should head back on deck,’ he said, hoping she couldn’t see the erection starting to strangle in his shorts. Or hear the battle being waged inside him to hold her and tend to her and claim her again...
Because he knew if that happened he might never be able to let her go.
