A Father's Bliss (A Holinight Novella)

6. Renee

While Marcus finishes unhooking the yacht, I walk down the sundeck and admire the vessel. The flooring is made up of a light colored wood while every other feature is either black or silver. The front is the longest part of the ship, slimming to a sharp point at the end, surrounded by thick, sturdy railing.

Back where I am, just in front of the stern, are two large wheels, and a covered aft deck, which houses a dining area near sliding glass doors that likely leads into the cabin.

It’s luxurious, and everything I’d expect Marcus’s yacht to be, but with the sun’s rays, nearly gone from the horizon, shimmering across the entire thing, it gives it an almost whimsical glow. It’s absolutely stunning, and takes a lot of mental effort to note this is not a date but a fishing lesson. A team bonding activity, if you will.

Heart heavy in my chest at the reminder, I step onto the main deck toward the grande wheel. My fingers glide over the smooth metal, and I wonder idly how difficult it is to steer something so large.

“What do you think?”

Jolting at the deep rumble of his voice, I whirl around to see Marcus hoisting himself onto the boat. At the sight of him, the realization that the ship is no longer swaying but moving with the waves and gentle wind settles over me.

Holy shit, we’re really doing this.

I think that as if it means anything of substance, but deep down, I still have the hope—no, the desire—that it could.

Is that wrong? Likely, but the sight of this man leaves me little room to care, especially right now as he takes the few broad steps required to reach me before placing a large hand over mine on the wheel.

My breath catches as he squeezes lightly to turn it left a few inches. “Are you ready?”

With words impossible to grasp, I simply nod.

Only an inch away, his eyes fall down my face before settling on my lips. But as if I’ve imagined it, along with so many other things tonight, he turns toward the front. “I’m going to let down the sails. Hold it right here.”

“Wait. You want me to steer?” Panic filters into my words and I think if my eyelids opened any wider they’d let the little orbs fall right out.

He grants me a soft smile. “I promise you got it. We’ll be moving extremely slow.”

“Still.” My voice borders on protest. “I don’t have that much faith in myself to steer a very expensive boat.”

Marcus shakes his head. “It can always be replaced—” He laughs when he sees my responding expression, and the sound melts over my skin. “But it won’t have to be, because you’ll do just fine.”

I open my mouth to tell him absolutely not, but a resigned, “Okay.” slips out instead.

When he removes himself from the wheel and walks toward the tied down sails, I send up a silent prayer to the sky that I make it through tonight without wrecking this man’s yacht, self combusting, or making a complete fool out of myself. I am a professional, on a professional exhibition with a colleague, where we will learn more about each other, and books. Yes, we’ll discuss books. Thrillers and mysteries, and not stories with naughty double entendres about fishing poles.

The black sails open and the wheel beneath my fingers jerks. I tighten my grasp, turning it back to where he instructed me to have it, and squeak out in surprise when I realize the boat is now moving moving. Not fast, by any means, but it’s for sure gliding away from the marina and toward the open water.

Nerves prickling my flesh, I hold steady, the sound of my heart in my ears so loud, all I can do is count the rushed beats. But then finally, a relaxed smile spreads across my face as the boat slides from the dock without hitting the long platform or worse, another boat.

“Atta girl.” Marcus calls from the deck as he hops down, and I’m pretty sure said heart drops between my legs with the praise. “Very good job.”

“Thank you, but, um—” My eyes flash to the shore. “Think you can steer us out?”

Marcus huffs out a bit of laughter as he steps behind me again, and gently takes over. “Of course.”

After releasing the wheel, I scoot over to the side near the railing. The boat remains at a slow but steady speed, slicing through the water until we’re free of the marina and positioned toward the center of the lake. As hues of dusty blue and purple begin to creep into the sunset, the surrounding forest grows darker, while the city light twinkle brighter.

It’s nothing short of breathtaking.

I turn back to Marcus who is clicking buttons on what looks to be a control panel. “What’s that?”

He finishes whatever he’s doing before he straightens. “An autopilot of sorts. It will ensure the rudders keep us on our very slow course so you can catch dinner.”

My eyes widen. “But what if I don’t catch anything?”

He smirks, opening the sliding glass doors. “Then we don’t eat.”

“Talk about pressure,” I mutter as he disappears into the cabin. First, steering a boat, and now, catching dinner. Who knew I’d be training to be a boat captain.

He’s only gone a second, and when he reemerges, he’s carrying a folded chair, small tackle box, and fishing rod. “I’m confident you’ll be perfectly fine.”

I prop a hand on my hip. “And why’s that?”

Marcus steps next to me, setting down the box and unfolding the chair before tilting his head in my direction. His lidded gaze is heavy. “Because you’re so very good at following instructions.”

My lips part, and my core squeezes as I force myself to not read into yet another string of words that feel like they mean something completely different. But doing so is getting extremely hard. “Fine. But don’t be mad at me if you end up hungry on Father’s Day.”

He gives me one last smirk before bending to the tackle box. “I won’t go hungry. I can promise you that.”

“Are you sure we aren’t moving too fast? Maybe they see the worm and they’re like, ‘hey, let’s stay away from that incredibly suspicious fast moving worm.’”

It’s only been twenty minutes, but I’m already sure I suck at fishing. That or I’ve decided it’s a lot hotter to read about in books than actually do.

Marcus, who’s been leaning on the railing, listening to me ramble on about the zodiac constellations in the sky, just shakes his head. “We aren’t even moving the equivalent of a mile an hour at this point. You just have to be more patient.”

I purse my lips. “I am being patient. But aren’t you hungry?”

He lifts a noncommittal shoulder. “Only a little. And you most certainly are not being patient. Guess you’ll be getting a crash course on that as well.”

At that same moment, my stomach contorts disgustingly.

With a deep sigh, he pushes from the railing and holds out a hand for the pole. “Alright, new deal because I can’t have you out here starving.”

I gladly release the infernal stick and nearly collapse into the chair he brought out. “Please.”

“I”ll catch the first one, but after we eat, you’re going to try again.”

“Yes, deal, but only if you start talking.”

He leans forward again, his forearms braced against the rails. “What would you like for me to talk about?”

Over the past four years, I’ve picked up bits and pieces of what makes Marcus Debois who he is. I know he comes from a wealthy, supportive family, forwent being a doctor and instead fell in love with books, and decided to pursue a career where he could consume them as much as possible. Had a baby his senior year of high school, and exclusively raised him while in college, only having a nanny’s assistance during the few hours he was in class.

I know he’s intelligent, kind, and won’t say no to a late afternoon coffee run.

But also, I feel like there’s still so much more to learn.

“Worst book you’ve ever read?” I stand and join him at the railing. Instead of facing the water though, I turn my back to it, and prop myself up by my elbows. “And why?”

For a moment, he simply stares at me, his pupils expanding into the pools of his irises. But then one corner of his lips twitch. “Corners of the House. It used numerous unnecessary plot devices, and the unmasked killer was a character the reader only met once. It felt as though the author didn’t want to make the reader hate any of the characters he gave depth to and took an escape route.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to break the readers’ hearts.”

He lifts a brow. “You mean, make us feel anything? There was no shock, disgust, redemption, or justification. Just a pretty bow to tie it all together.”

“I’m a fan of pretty bows. I like happy endings.”

“As do most people, but they also want to feel. You know the angst in a good romance? That tug and heavy weight on your heart?” I nod, and he continues. “I want that in my thrillers. I want to be at the edge of my seat, rooting for the wrong person only to have the carpet ripped out from beneath me.”

“I see.” I log the information away for when I’m reading blurbs and manuscripts. “So you want to be moved?”

“Yes. That”s the whole point, at least for myself.” He tugs on the pole before rotating the reel’s handle twice. “Isn’t that why you read romance? To be moved by a love story?”

I smile. Yes, but I also enjoy learning about all the ways a man can please me but hasn’t. “Of course.”

“Precisely. We get one life, but in books, we live a thousand. I only want to consume those that pique my interest, challenge my mind, and make me forget I’m reading and feel as if I’m living in another world completely.”

“You want it to consume you.”

His eyes flash, but before he can respond to my question, something else catches his attention. “Ah, we got one.”

I snap upright and spin around. “A fish?”

He huffs out a laugh. “I would hope.”

Excitement threads through me as he begins spinning the handle of the reel.

“Here, practice this with me.”

Before I can protest or even really process his request, he stops reeling, and quickly tugs me in front of him. He repositions himself behind me, placing my hands where he wants them before stepping back. “Alright, slow and steady.”

“But it feels like the line is about to snap.”

“That’s just tension and it’s a good thing. You want to keep it steady and start reeling in. Make sure to keep the rod tipped up.”

Adrenaline flushes through me as I do as I’m told and watch as the stick begins to bow. “Is that supposed to happen?”

“Yes, a slight bend is fine. Keep reeling and take a deep breath.”

My hand continues to rotate, my own labored breathing filling the air as I rotate the handle.

“You’re doing great, Renee.” His husky voice is close to my ear and despite my nerves flaring from the possible capture of a fish, butterflies take flight at hearing the praise paired with my name. It rolls off his tongue and over my libido like honey. “Don’t stop.”

Fuck, why does that sound so good?

A wave of arousal flushes through me, and my thighs squeeze together. I know I’m supposed to keep things professional, to not read into his words and instead focus on team bonding, but at this moment, I would do anything to hear him say those same words in another capacity.

To see what he’s like on the brink of an orgasmic bliss, brought about by me and only me. I want to know what it’d be like to bring him to his knees.

Lost in thought—or perhaps fantasy—I realize too late that when the fish breaks water, the tension changes. Off kilter, I also learn how weak my stance is, and find myself falling back.

A strong arm wraps around my waist and together we fall, only stopped when Marcus collapses in the chair with me on his lap.