“To keep me company.”
“It looks like you’ve got plenty of company,” I say, tipping my head to his family where they sit at the bar just over his shoulder, pretending not to watch us.
“But they’re not the company that I want.”
“Is this part of my job?”
“Your job is to entertain the people on this cruise. That includes me.”
I search his eyes. He’s enjoying this—having me at his beck and call. And although some part of me thrills at the idea, another part is shying away from him and the pain he once caused me. But I remind myself that this is the means to an end. What could be a very good end for me. With that in mind, I give him a bright smile.
“Then lead the way.”
Reese makes no comment. He simply raises one brow and sweeps one arm toward the breakfast buffet set up at the bar. I take a deep breath and precede him, focusing on maintaining my smile in the face of curious looks from Sloane and Hemi, and a pleased one from Sig. But all the while, I can feel Reese’s eyes on my back, warming me to my core.
********
All day, I’ve been treated like a princess. I’ve been waited on hand and foot, I’ve eaten some of the most amazing food imaginable, I’ve sipped some of the most delicious cocktails on the planet, all while listening to the Spencers and the Lockes tell stories about their life and their childhood. And through it all, Reese has never been far from my side.
He’s barely let me out of his sight. He has lounged beside me on the deck, played beside me in the pool, soaked beside me in the hot tub and used every excuse under the sun to touch me. And every time he does, I get a little less immune to it.
Not that I was ever really immune to it. I’m just finding it easier to see the boy that I fell in love with in the eyes of the powerful man that he’s become.
We just finished a light afternoon snack of fresh fruits and rich cheeses, accompanied by some sort of lemon and coconut drink that has my head spinning lightly. That coupled with the brightness and heat of the sun is making me feel sublimely happy and a little drowsy.
Groggily, I lift my head from the padded lounge chair when a shadow falls over me. It’s Reese. He’d excused himself to go inside for a minute. And now he’s back.
“If you’re going to lie in the sun like that, you need some sunscreen. You’re getting a little pink.”
“Oh,” I say, not too concerned. I’m dark complected, so I don’t burn easily. “I’ll put some on in a few minutes.”
Without another word, Reese turns and walks back inside, returning a few seconds later with a white tube. “Here,” he says, sitting on the edge of my chair at my waist, “let me.”
It occurs to me that I should politely decline, but it’s not a very persistent thought in the warm honey that my mind has become, so I dismiss it easily. I watch Reese flip open the cap and squeeze a glob of lotion onto his palm and then rub his hands together. When his skin makes contact with mine, I let the sigh in my chest escape in a light puff of air that the wind carries away.
I close my eyes, lulled by the deep rumble of Hemi’s voice as he talks to his girlfriend and her brother, as Reese drags his fingers from my shoulder to my wrist, coating my arm in a rich layer of cream. I feel the tickle of his side against mine as he leans over me to give equal time to my right arm. After a short pause, during which I can hear him opening and closing the lotion tube, I feel his hand touch just below my throat as he rubs the scented balm into my skin.
Reese’s palm strokes a slow path—much slower than the ones he made over my arms—from left to right across my chest. Back and forth, he inches his hand toward the top edge of my bikini. My breath hitches in my throat the closer he gets. Deliberately, he dips his fingers under the edge of the stretchy material and skims the tops of my br**sts. My eyes pop open when I feel my ni**les pucker into tight nubs.
I find Reese’s eyes trained on me. He’s not watching what he’s doing or seeing how my body is reacting to him; he’s watching me. He’s observing my reaction in my face, in the tremble of my lips and the pink of my cheeks that I know is there.
Without taking his eyes off mine, Reese squeezes more lotion into his hand and sets his palm on my belly. Again, his fingers flirt with the edge of my suit, teasing the underside of my br**sts and starting a throb between my legs. We watch each other as he makes his way down my stomach, his skin moving slickly over mine as he circles my navel.
His hand skates over the curve of my waist, down toward my back on each side before crossing my belly again and heading for the skimpy band of my bottoms. My muscles tighten when Reese turns his hand, fingers pointing down, and slips the tips under the material of my suit. I want to glance to my left to see if the others are watching us, but I can’t pull my eyes away from the fiery grip of his blue-green ones. I know Reese’s body hides part of mine from the view of the others and something about that makes my belly flutter with excitement.
I lick my dry lips when I see the knowledge in Reese’s eyes. He knows that this is exciting me. He knows that he is exciting me.
“If we were alone, I’d put lotion on every silky inch of your skin,” Reese whispers. I hear it like I have super hearing, like my ears are attuned to his voice above every other sound in the world. “Unless you’d like me to do it anyway. No matter who’s watching.”
A wicked light flickers in his eyes and, for the space of a single shaky breath, I consider letting him. But then my foggy mind registers the sudden absence of other voices and I realize that all other conversation has stopped.
With sheer force of will, I drag my eyes away from Reese’s and glance at the trio sitting to my left. Hemi and Sloane are smiling and looking at one another. Sig is wide-eyed and focused on me.
“Damn, how’d I miss the sunscreen party? I’m next,” he says with comical enthusiasm as he smacks his hands together and goes to rise from his chair. Hemi and Sloane laugh.
The moment is lost, so I wind my fingers around Reese’s wide wrist and stop the movement of his hand. It’s like grabbing a shaft of iron. I know that if Reese didn’t want to stop, there’s nothing I could do about it. And the firm set of his jaw confirms it. Yet he stops anyway, a show of respect for me and my wishes. I can see the regret in his expression, though, a sentiment that is reluctantly mirrored in my own. I make a mental note to watch how much I drink around Reese. Evidently, I can’t afford to let my guard down for one second.