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I bet they were callused enough that, when he stroked me, I would quiver beneath the scrape of his touch. I could practically feel what it would be like, and I remembered his lips on the soda. Soon, I panted with need. His dark eyes would stare into mine, and he’d be indulgent and not hurried.
Michael would sayit takes as long as it takes, Bridget. Don’t hurry it. There’s no rush. But it wouldn’t take me very long, because he was so hot and experienced. Pleasure crashed through me, liquid heat rushing through me, and my knees nearly buckled. I let go as my clit throbbed and pulsed in release. Panting was the only way I could breathe.Wow. That was incredible. But, still, as I shivered, my head thrown back against the wall, it wasn’t enough. His arms weren’t around me as he cooed nice things in my ear. I couldn’t smell him, couldn’t hear the intake of his breath.
It was better than usual but not what I needed. Not what I wanted.
I caught my breath, washed up, and dressed in something appropriate for yacht time with my dad. Fortunately, I had something suitable in my trunk, which I’d packed for school. My blue collared t-shirt and the khaki skirt that fell just below my knees worked well enough. I slipped on a pair of beige slides and headed upstairs.
Some women wore bikinis on yachts, but I probably looked like I just stepped out of a casual women’s catalog. Of course, I only knew about fashion because of Layla and her interest. My hair would have to be okay, since I had no idea what to do with it. Long and almost to my rear—it hung where it had been for years. I made my way on deck to find my father, Michael, who looked out over the docks below, and three men I didn’t know. They all turned to look at me and I managed not to wilt under the attention.
“Bridget. Oh good.” My father nodded upward, to where the captain and crew probably waited for his indication to pull out into the water. Sure enough, the deck started to vibrate beneath my feet as we headed out to sea. It took me a second, but I recognized one of the men with my dad was the father of Layla’s boyfriend Kit. The other two? I didn’t know them at all.
My dad introduced me to them, but as much as I might try to remember their names, I sucked with names, particularly when I was nervous. Not that I could tell them that, despite the fact my heart raced in my chest. I don’t like this.It was weird. Other than Kit’s dad, whose last name was Allard, the other two had Russian names.
“This is Bridget. She’s one of my triplets.” My dad gave them a fake smile, one way too jovial for introductions, and he didn’t have a bubbly personality. “She’s the only smart one of the bunch, but she’s got an incredible intellect, and she’s good at this. The best, really.”
I blinked. What did he even mean? I didn’t have a clue what was going on, but I wouldn’t stand by while he insulted my sisters. Not at all. “That’s hardly true. Layla and Hope are both geniuses, far smarter than me, hands down.” If he wanted proof, I could start listing all the ways. Goosebumps broke out on my arms as the men around me laughed.
“I know Layla pretty well,” Allard grinned. “I’ll take your brains any day of the week, but she does know how to dress, and she looks good in photos. Layla has her role, and I don’t know Hope at all.”
One of the Russians outright cackled. “I’ll take Hope any day of the week.”
“Excuse me?” I raised my voice. “Those are my sisters you’re talking about. And…”
My father waved his hand. “It’s a triplet thing. Okay, not-smart one, come over here and see what I brought you here to see.”
On the table in front of him, three open laptops displayed scrolling numbers. I couldn’t see what they represented, so I took a step and then stopped. My goosebumps became more profound.I don’t like this. Not at all. I wanted to go back to school or head to Manhattan where, if I couldn’t procure an internship, I could at least nanny all summer. Whatever was on those computers would be a problem—I already knew it, and I hadn’t even looked yet.
I closed my eyes and remembered how when I was a teenager, this was all I wanted.To be part of my dad’s company.He’d brought me from school to help him. Wasn’t it my goal?
I lifted my head and met Michael’s gaze. Why did I look at him?
He has nothing to do with this.
But he was always in charge of safety, and fear practically choked me, clogging my throat. I swallowed and met his stare evenly. He didn’t like the situation, either. In fact, he was closer to us than when we’d left the dock.
I was about to be on the Atlantic Ocean with two Russians and Kit’s father, not to mention my own. I could pretend I was seasick. I could have a fit like a teenager and go back down to my room. Or I could walk to the computer.
As a terrible liar, I wouldn’t be able to pull off any scenes or sickness. Besides, deep inside of me, Iwantedto look at those screens. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more.
Well, almost nothing.But the person I craved more than anything would also always be unavailable to me.
I walked toward the screens.
* * *
Thanksgivingat our home always proved a problem. We catered it, if one of us remembered—Layla did the honors for our current meal. The five of us sat around the table, staring awkwardly at each other. Layla worried about the calories, so I guessed she probably had to be seen in public the next day. Maybe she was worried about how disgustingly drunk Kit and Justin had been the night before, when we all went out together? I worried about it, and I shot my brother a look. His bloodshot eyes looked as red as the wine he was eyeing like he might like to down it then start on the rest of the bottle.
My father held his phone, scrolling through things and grinning. He was happy at least. Hope’s gaze seemed distant, and I wondered if she was okay. Her expression seemed very un-Hope-like, but if I pressured her, she would likely say something about how I never tell her anything, so why should she tell me? I would gladly share if there was something interesting to share. Did she want to hear about my classes, or how I sat in my room and worked on Dad’s project all the time lately?
I chewed on my lip, working up the courage to say something. Finally, I managed, “Dad.” My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat before I continued. “Can we talk after dinner?”
“We can talk now.” He abruptly got up and walked out of the room. I supposed I was meant to follow him?
I turned to Layla, catching her hand and squeezing her fingertips. “I didn’t mean to disrupt this lovely meal you ordered for us. Thanks for doing this.”
“Go,” she waved her hand. “Who cares?”
Well…I did, actually. Couldn’t we have some traditions, some nostalgic things we did every year? Eating one meal together at Thanksgiving shouldn’t be such an ordeal.We are family; that has to matter. What would our lives have been like if my mother lived? The thought jarred me, especially since I almost never thought about her anymore.
