Page 86 of The Cruiser
I hold my hand out coquettishly. “Lead the way, sir.”
While he pops the cork on a bottle of champagne, I settle onto the thick mat designed for serious lounging and create a little nest out of the scarlet pillows in my immediate vicinity. Morgan returns with our bubbles and hands me the flutes. He strips off his shirt and shorts right in front of me without a stitch of self-consciousness. Under the wattage of bright sun, I realize he has no tan lines.
His hard, tight body is perfectly bronzed.
Everywhere.
And he’s already rising to the occasion.
“Is that my breakfast?” I joke.
“Before we both eat,” he says with a cheeky smile, “I want to talk about some ideas with you.”
He grabs the platter of mangoes from the table and sits beside me. We both smell like kids on the beach from the Coppertone Morgan massaged into our skin while we waited at the heliport.
I run my fingers through his hair. Soft, no gel today. “What’s on your mind?”
“I know your client base is in the US,” he starts. “But what if I made you an offer you can’t refuse?”
I glance at him, the surprise in my expression hidden by sunglasses. “Like what?”
“Whatever it is you want. Money, responsibility.”
“You mean, work for you exclusively?”
“That would be ideal,” he says. “I don’t know how that works with the rest of your business. Or with Vaughn.”
The enormity of that concept sends a shot of nerves into my belly. “I’m not interested in being an employee.”
“How does consultant sound?” he’s quick to add, and I know he’s thought of every angle long before this conversation. As I think on my response, his hand brushes the top of my thigh and he starts massaging the tight muscles, finding all the right pressure points. “I don’t expect a definitive answer right now,” he says. “But I think you’d be a great addition to the team.”
“If it means moving here, that’s a big shift. A major decision.”
His hand slips into the warmth between my legs, and it’s game over. I’m moist and blooming even before his thumb pad starts shamelessly circling my clit. “I understand,” he says. “But will you consider it?”
The depraved pleasure of his tactic rushes through my blood. It’s electric, unstoppable and most of all, ingenious.
“Is this your idea of negotiation?” I ask.
He laughs and kisses me deeply. “Didn’t I tell you the de Rohan-Chabot men are known for their persuasiveness?”
“I can still say no.”
And if I ever wondered what zero conviction sounds like, voilà.
“Let’s talk more after breakfast,” he says, his smile turning base as he sets his sunglasses off to the side. “Can you slide lower?”
Morgan’s already taken me places I’ve never been, and the wanton part of me knows there are plenty more destinations ahead. With my every muscle twitching in anticipation, I do as he asks. On my back, looking skyward, I catch a glimpse of the satellite navigation gear squatting on top of the captain’s deck.
“The captain can’t see us here, can he?” I ask.
He undoes the ties of my bikini bottom and whips it off me. “Not the way I designed it.”
As he wedges a pillow under my ass, a bird hovering high in the sky catches my attention. It makes a strange sound, a low hum, air over wings, I think. Or maybe it's the satellite. All that technology can’t run silently. I'm about to ask Morgan if he hears it, but he's busy setting up his morning buffet. He lowers himself onto his stomach with a spear of mango in hand and tells me to close my eyes.
I swallow hard and let my eyelids drop. I know it's coming. But I don't expect the mango to be so deliciously cold.
My breath catches in my throat, eyes flashing open. “Woah!”
