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"I like it when you call me, Belle." She whispers the words, and I shouldn’t hear it above the breeze, but I do. Only, I pretend I don’t.
When the motorboat reaches the stern of the larger ship, the driver cuts the engine, then throws the line to one of the waiting crew on the yacht. He secures it, then signals that we’re good to climb aboard. The man moves toward Mira, but when I glare at him, he pauses.
I reach for her and help her onto the boarding ladder. When I follow her up, I realize I made a mistake. From my vantage point, I have a clear view of her pear-shaped bottom in that too-tight skirt outlining her lush curves. My fingers tingle, and the blood roars in my ears. I raise my arm, needing to touch her twitching arse, then stop before I make contact.
Why is my control so fraught around her? Why does she reduce me to the most basic of instincts? Why does she turn my emotions inside out? Why does she affect me so? Why did I decide to bring her here?I thought I’d punish her for daring to tempt me, yet I’m punishing myself by her proximity. She reaches the yacht, and the steward helps her aboard. When he touches her, a burst of anger sweeps through me. I don’t question my need to hurry up and reach her. I step between them, and steward’s arm drops away. He looks between us, then lowers his gaze, signaling he understands my unspoken sentiment.
I shrug out of my life-vest, then help her slide off her own. I hand it over to the steward. He accepts it, then half bows his head, "Everything you asked for is ready," he assures me.
* * *
"Belle, are you ready?" I rap on the door to the room she disappeared into. I told her she’d find fresh clothes laid out for her. She protested, but I glared at her, and she paled. I softened then, and told her, since I’d spoiled her evening with her friends, the least I could do was make it up to her. She finally relented and walked inside to change.
That was half an hour ago. Truth be told, I'm getting impatient. I want to see how she looks in the clothes I chose for her. I want to see her features—those plump lips, those rosy cheeks, the vulnerable column of her neck, the pulse that beats at the hollow of her throat. Every part of her is enticing and alluring, and I want… No, need to smell her and see her and be in her presence again.
"Open up." I bang on the door. "If you don’t, I’m going to break this down and—"
The door swings open. I stare.
11
Mira
"I’m not sure this looks good on me." I run my hands down the silken fabric of the dress which clings to my curves like it’s a second skin.
He runs his gaze from my feet, now clad in six-inch-Manolo Blahniks, up the gown which sweeps my ankles, over the slit which bares the length of my leg up to almost the top of my thigh, to the flare of my hips which are molded by the glossy material, to where it dips in the front to bare the valley between my breasts. His gaze stays there for a few seconds, and by the time he meets my eyes, I’m flushed to the roots of my hair.
"This wasn’t made for someone with my figure," I burst out.
He frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Don’t pretend you can’t see it."
"Can’t see what?"
"This." I gesture to myself. "I’m overweight. I always have been. Nothing I do has helped me get rid of the extra pounds I’m carrying on my body."
He slides his hand inside his pocket, which pulls the fabric across his crotch tight. It outlines the bulge which I’d noticed the time I spilled coffee on him. It only seems bigger… Ugh, I have no business noticing these things about my boss. Except, he’s the one who asked me to get myself off… And I obliged.
How am I going to face him in the office tomorrow? How am I going to get through the rest of this evening, for that matter?"Forget it. I changed my mind. I need off this boat. Can you arrange for me to leave, please?" I turn away, but he curls his fingers around my wrist. A flare of sensations run up my arm. My nipples tighten. A thousand little bees have taken up residence under my skin. I sense him draw a sharp breath, then he releases me.
"Look at me."
The authority in his voice forces me to comply. I slowly glance over my shoulder to find he’s looking at me with a strange fervor, one that raises the hair on the back of my neck. I’m trapped in the vortex of gold, which are his eyes.
"You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I don’t say that lightly."
"Oh." I swallow.
"You’re a real woman, earthy, sexy, voluptuous."
"You mean, I’m fat." I swallow.
"I mean, you're gorgeous. You’re curvy, shapely, full-figured, as Mother Nature intended you to be. The swell of your hips mirrors the beauty of spring, the dip of your waist and the thrust of your tits, hint at the passion within, your luscious thighs promise that softness which is your appeal. Your eyes, your lips, your flushed cheeks, your every inch radiates the appeal of a siren calling to every man in the vicinity."
"Everyone, except you."
"Especially me." His throat moves as he swallows. He raises his arm, then pauses, before curling his fingers into a fist and tucking it back into his side. "You’re perfect as you are, and never let me catch you saying otherwise."
