That One Summer: A Collection of Steamy Contemporary Romance

Chapter 5

Our transfer takesus to the airport where we board a small aircraft for a thirty-minutes hop to Great Harbor Cay. From there we zip to the harbor where a yacht waits for us in the quiet waters. Sally is bug-eyed through the whole business, and my heart goes out to her—she”s never put a foot out of her own State until she went to college. The first thing I told her when I signed her up was to get a passport. I had plans, very big plans.

The captain and steward greet us and once onboard, we maneuver out of the harbor and into the big blue.

I drop my beach bag on a bench and go stand by the bow railing, needing to distance myself from the group and breathe. Everything reminds me vividly of the day trip Graeme and I took to Rose Island all those years ago, from the breeze that toys with stray wisps of my hair, to the almost blinding clear turquoise tones of the sea. Its beauty is almost unnatural, filtered to such perfection it looks fake.

As the first drops of sweat gather in my lower back, the temptation to strip off my dress and lounge around in my bikini gains momentum.

I glance back at the others, but nobody is on the deck anymore. Graeme and I had no more time to talk and tease, what with Sally and Florian in the car and negotiating the airport and harbor. I hope my carte blanche will play on his mind the whole day, stir up fantasies and make him burn. Don”t men think of sex all day long? An invitation to some might be enough, but I still plan to implement Strategy #2: lots of inconspicuous touching.

Graeme said there”s no other woman, and I believe him.

Minutes latersoft footing falls behind me and my grip on the railing tightens. I don”t turn—from the gait”s rhythm, it”s Graeme.

He comes to stand next to me and leans against the railing with his hip. He”s dressed in a white shirt, arms rolled up, collar open, and khaki shorts. ”So, Miss Brooke, this is your first trip to the Bahamas?”

Miss Brooke?He hasn”t called me that in years. I frown and give him the weird eye.

But the blank canvas is in place and all I can read is the sweet cup of the lines around his mouth. They’re moving a barely perceptible millimeter into the smile zone.

He”s joking. No, he”s playing with me. This whole scene...he”s getting on board with the affair business as if we are complete strangers. My pulse, already running amok with him standing so close, goes off on a racket. Not only is Graeme playing along, but he is also taking the lead.

”I—” For a second I hesitate, then give him a shy smile. The game is on. ”It”s my first time, actually.”

”And do you like it?”

I lean into him, just enough to feel his radiating body heat and to make sure he”ll smell the perfume I dabbed on this morning. ”I love it. The color of the water is unbelievable.”

Graeme raises his hand and traps a strand of hair from its whirl in the wind between his thumb and forefinger. The motion is so slow, I still, and around us, the world quiets. With the softest gesture, he soothes it back behind my ear. Every little touch, every heated connection, stall my breath. His hand hovers close, a finger rests on my temple, and he turns his hand to caress my cheek with a single knuckle.

I stare at him in wonder. He hasn”t touched me so tenderly in years, probably because I haven”t allowed him to. Every need in my body surfaces for a breath of him.

”The water,” he murmurs, ”is the color of your eyes. Breathtaking and the first thing I noticed.”

Gorgeous, handsome, sexy flirt. He lets go of me, and all I want is to magnetize the connection. He leans on the rail with his forearms and stares into the ocean and I copy his pose, letting our arms nestle against each other. ”Where”s Florian and Sally?”

”Inside. Florian is on his laptop and showing Sally some of his other Anderson projects.”

”How convenient...” For us, to have this time to ourselves and our budding liaison.

”You don”t say.” Graeme nudges me with his arm and we both laugh.

For a moment we let the breeze carry our laughter away and I catch Graeme smiling, a warm smile of pure pleasure as he breathes deeply. How long has it been since I”ve seen him laugh and smile like this?

”I”d like to get to know you better, Miss Brooke. Let”s go to the upper deck where there’re drinks on offer by the steward.”

It’s too early for Champagne but I”m ready to pop a bottle.

”Call me Tessa, please. If we are to work together it would be nice to be more... informal?”

”Maybe.” He smirks and takes me by the elbow to lead me to the upper deck. I take the stairs first, making sure to add just enough sway to my ascent to make him aware of my butt. The breeze trifles a tad with my skirt, forcing me to push the fabric down once or twice, but in a lazy, neglectful way.

Once I reach the upper deck, I glance back only to find Graeme still below, gazing up at every sneak peek I”ve cunningly delivered. I suppress a giggle, having a hard time to admit how horrified I was last night when I caught Sally giggling at Florian. That poor man—to be saddled with Sally. Maybe she was playing a game of her own. Heavens bless her and keep her out of my hair today.

Graeme scales the stairs and reaches for my hand, then pulls me down to the U-shaped seating that overlooks the blissful view.

I extract my hand and make a weak attempt to shift a few inches away from him. We don”t need to rush this business. I only want him to become desperate for me by tonight, and not have myself wound up so tight that I can”t help but combust at his simplest touch.

”So, tell me about your business?” Graeme says as he leans back and settles his arm on the backrest. His hand is so close to my neck, but he does nothing, only tensing me up in anticipation.

”My business. Well,” I breathe, waiting for him to touch me again, but nothing. ”I”m in Sterling Ridge if you can imagine there’s space for one more interior designer there.”

Graeme chuckles. ”Do you like living there? You seem very much Big City to me?”

”Sterling Ridge is quieter and peaceful. And green. What”s not to love?”

”That”s everything to love.” His fingers steal into the silken strands at my nape, delicately stroking in intoxicating circles. The touch is so soft every circle turns lower in a spiral ending in a pulsing sensation between my legs.

He”s going to make me beg for it before we get off this yacht, isn”t he? The sexual attraction between us has never been the issue, but I”ve managed to kill this spark between us with scheduled, unspontaneous attempts at pro-creating. For years.

Somehow, being in character made the past slip away, bringing to the foreground who we were in the first place. I hitch up my skirt to expose my knees and the white of my thighs, as I”ll tan if I sit in the sun for half an hour.

Graeme”s gaze drops to legs as I pull the skirt even higher. His hand stills as if he is trying to control himself. ”You should take the dress off and catch some sun,” Graeme murmurs and swallows as his other hand reaches for my exposed skin and brushes his fingers from the tip of my knee to the border of my skirt. If he slides his hand down my inner thigh and lower, he”ll be able to graze my sex with his thumb. The encroaching need for him to do just that and not stop, make me collapse my thigh against him, opening myself up to his gentle caress.

Footsteps sound on the stairs, startling us. I snap my legs closed, and he jerks his hand away.

The steward”s head appears first as he carries a tray with bottled water, juice, and some freshly cut fruit. We both exhale audibly as the steward shoots us a knowing glance.

He puts the tray down on the corner table and offers us drinks. I accept with a blush I didn”t know I could still conjure up, but this thing between Graeme is taking many naughty turns so quickly. There are enough drinks for four, and after serving us, the steward casually let slip that the others will join us from downstairs in a minute.

As the steward descends the stairs, the heat on my cheeks intensifies as Graeme devours me with his gaze. He leans in and captures my mouth in an all-consuming kiss that lasts all of a few seconds. When he pulls away, he shifts so that we have some distance between us. ”This is going to be a long fucking day, isn”t it?”

I rearrange my skirts, hot flushes of desire pulsing through me. I want his hands on me, now, like everywhere. It should be a long day of fucking, and not a fucking long day. ”You have no idea,” I murmur, as Sally”s voice sounds from the lower deck.

* * *

For the rest of ourforty-five-minute-long cruise to Anderson”s private island, our team discusses the project. The client”s expectations, his ideas, and needs, which appear a bit incongruous with our original discussion of going back to the wild. Sally makes herself handy and takes notes on her laptop all the way, and I”m eternally thankful, having myself turned into a blob of needy jelly. Graeme keeps me on tenterhooks with sly glances and promising smiles as he interjects and highlights elements of the proposal that Florian fails to mention.

I see how they work together and why they certainly make a formidable team. Florian”s expertise plaits perfectly with Graeme”s and they challenge each other on every level, often laughing and making light of each other”s criticism.

When we finally reach our destination, I stare gobsmacked at the island from the yacht. A band of white sand stretches towards us and circles a beautiful, symmetrical space with two clusters of palm trees that stir in the gentle breeze. The island”s vegetation appears to have been cleared in the middle to make space for the masterpiece Florian and Graeme are going to design.

Already my head is spinning in several directions with colors, textures, and fabrics that will suit this secluded spot. They”ve spoken about a courtyard pool, paparazzi secure and closed in to keep from view whatever happens inside. Unless a drone flew over the property—which Anderson means to shoot down with some new tech—nothing will disrupt the peace here.

My feet itch to touch the water, to wriggle my toes into the sand, and to make the soft squeaking sound of the powder white surface as I walk over it.

The steward has the dinghy ready for us and helps us each clamber on board. We are sitting tighter than what we had before in the smaller inflatable boat, and Graeme, still teasing, bumps into me with a sly smile. ”You like it?”

”I love it.”

”What”s not to love?” Sally sighs, sweet and forlorn. ”Imagine spending all your weekends here.”

”Let the creative juices flow, ladies,” Florian says as he settles next to Sally to balance the dinghy. ”We still have work to do here.”

His comment is sobering. Juices are flowing all right, but I have work to do and a client to impress. Graeme and his knee, which kisses mine with every little movement of the dinghy, will have to pause this game of seduction for a few hours.