21. On The Siren
21
ON THE SIREN
PRENTICE
“Mal, what did you think about that engagement?”
He was stroking me lazily, his hand running over my naked hip. “Nicky and Ian? I thought it was awesome.”
“Me too. A little public, maybe.”
He chuckled, his powerful chest lifting me marginally at his laughter. “What, you think the Milt McAllister Show audience is a few too many people for such an important question? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I laughed with him and pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “And you like Nicky okay?”
“She’s the best.” I looked up at him. His head was tilted back against the bulkhead. His eyes were closed, and he wore an easy smile. “She’s my little sister, as far as I’m concerned. And the only person worthy of Ian.”
“That’s good, then.” I relaxed against him, but the question in my brain would not be quiet. “Mal,” I said uncertainly and then lost my nerve.
“What?” He slid his hand down to pat my rump gently. “I can hear you thinking. What is it?”
This wasn’t just some guy. This was Mal. My protector. My champion. No matter what he said on the subject, he would be kind. I raised my eyebrows and plunged in.
“So, you’re not opposed to the concept of marriage. I mean, academically. Theoretically. You know?”
His inhale stayed where it was for a long minute. Mal had forgotten to breathe. Surprise will do that to a guy.
“No,” he said on his exhale. “Not academically. I mean, my mother wasn’t married, and she raised me on her own, so I never had firsthand observation of a good marriage. But I hung out with Ian’s family, and Archer’s, so I’ve seen it . . .” His voice trailed off.
I traced patterns on his chest and decided I’d been as brave as I was able to be on a subject that was either silly for people who had been dating for a month or decades overdue for people who’d been in a hero/help-me relationship since childhood.
When he spoke again, he startled me. His deep voice rumbled in my ear. “I’ll tell you what I do like.”
Then he didn’t follow that up with anything. My own eager interest made me smile. “What a tantalizing beginning,” I said. “Tell me what it is you do like.”
He laughed and the arm around my waist tightened, pulling me in closer. “I like the idea of partnering up with someone. Of finding that person you really want to be with. Not just for hot sex on a boat, you know?”
He tilted my chin up so he could press a soft kiss to my lips, and I went willingly. “I do know,” I whispered.
“I mean the person you can sit in a diner with. Or travel with. Or just, I don’t know?—”
“Just talk to?”
“Just talk to. Someone who knows you. Who likes you anyway.”
“Who likes you anyway,” I repeated, astonished that he might think there was a downside to my infatuation. “I’m still waiting to see you grumpy. Or angry. Or . . . I don’t know, sad?”
He made a pfft noise. “That’s because I’m a paragon of virtue. A little beam of sunshine.”
“I’m so sure.”
His roving hand wandered down my neck, across my shoulder, down my arm, and back to my hip. “Are you cold? I’ve got my foot on my shirt. I could fish it up here and cover you if you want.”
“I’m not cold. You’re nice and warm. I like being skin to skin with you.”
“Mm. Me too. I love having you naked. In fact, I love?—”
Now I was the one who forgot how to exhale. I looked up at him in surprise. He looked startled himself.
“What?” I asked, suddenly terrified and thrilled.
He blinked and looked down at me. “Is it too soon for this? Is this just infatuation? I don’t want to say something stupid.”
My jaw was tired. Apparently, I was clenching my teeth. And my toes. I made a conscious attempt to relax and tried to sound casual and easy when I spoke. “I see. So, since first grade isn’t long enough for you?”
His beautiful mouth broke into a grin, and his eyes sparkled. “You’re right. I guess that’s long enough. Then I’m just going to say it, and you can throw me overboard to cool me off when I do.”
“Go ahead.” My mouth was dry. My fingers were clutching his shoulder.
“I love you, Prentice,” he said simply. “I’m in love with you. Is that okay?”
I was paralyzed. Had I hallucinated this? Had I heard him correctly? Was I dreaming?
Then I let out a whoop that scared the hell of him, and I assaulted him with a kiss.
Astonished, he was an unequal partner in the embrace for a moment, but then he shifted so he was closer to sitting up and I was bent over his lap, being very thoroughly kissed in return.
“So I guess it’s okay?” he said with a smile.
“It’s totally okay!” I spread kisses over any part of him that I could reach. Jawline, neck, strong shoulders. “But you can’t really be in love with me. Why would you?” The paranoia came on me fast. I put a hand out to stop him. “You’re not kidding me, are you? You wouldn’t tease me?”
He growled, his hand finding my breast and pinching lightly. “I would tease you. I have teased you and I intend to tease you again. But not about this. I’m in love with you.”
Mal’s natural goodness—his sincerity—was undeniable. I lay in his arms and looked up in wonder. “Why?”
“Why? Because you’re you. Because you don’t let anyone push you around. Because you care so deeply about The Arts Council. Because you love your mother even when she makes you crazy. Because you’re funny and kind and sexy as hell. Because of these legs and those eyes. Because you’re Prentice, and no one else has ever felt so right.”
This time, the kissing didn’t end in discussion. It ended with Mal fishing out his second condom and taking an impossibly long time to drive me insane—at first as I sat sideways across his lap, then when I spilled over to one elbow on the bench with him behind me, and at last with him kneeling on the cramped floor of the cockpit, with just enough room to work himself inside me as I clung to those broad shoulders.
He loved me. Mal loved me. It was so much more than a girlish dream come true. He was so much more complex, so much more interesting than I’d known. His soul filled me with light as his cock nearly split me, driving me deeper and deeper into the madness of raw pleasure.
He held me as I came down from my third powerful orgasm of the morning, and I might have died there happily if we hadn’t heard a pair of kayakers wandering past. We scooted into the cabin naked and giggling, where we sprawled across the bunks.
I lay on my side, tucked against his chest. “What did happen to your father?” My question was an idle one, but he tensed up. He didn’t speak for a moment, and I looked up to see what was going on. “Mal?”
He hissed an inhale. “My mother always said he died in Germany in a motorcycle accident.”
His eyebrows were drawn in together. He didn’t like the question. My curiosity grew. “But you don’t believe that?”
His eyebrows went up, and his expression cleared. He rolled over, trapping me under him. “I don’t want to talk about my father. Isn’t there something you’re supposed to have said to me by now? I think this conversation has been a little one-sided, don’t you?”
He kissed my neck, and I giggled as I held him to me. “Why, sir,” I said in my best Southern-belle accent, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Truly, I don’t.”
He lifted his magnificent head, his mane of dark hair framing his face. “What is it you say when someone you care about says they love you?”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself here, aren’t you?” I teased, my heart filled with light.
“Not as sure as I was a little bit ago. Did I rush you?”
Pure joy spilled out of me. “Mal, I’ve been in love with you since the very first day. Back then, it was a little girl’s crush on her hero. Then it was a teenager’s fantasy. Next it was a groupie listening to your music on the radio with my heart beating along with your drums. And now?”
“Now?” His smile was tender, his face so beautiful.
“Now I’ve met you as an adult. I’ve seen that your kindness and your generosity haven’t faded. I’ve watched you care for your mother and form a strong partnership with your band. I’ve discovered you have a sly, clever sense of humor and can wear the hell out of a tuxedo. But mostly, I can trust you. You don’t have a mean bone in your body, and I’m in love with you because of it.”
His kiss was soft and sweet. “I hope I can always live up to that,” he said. “Even though I do have mean bones.”
“And mean boners.” I grinned as I rolled my hips against his, and he laughed and pulled me back over again.
“So, you and I are in love,” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.
“We are. I’ve always been in love with you, but at last you’ve come around.”
He growled and pulled me tighter. “Guys are slower than women are,” he said.
“That’s all right. We forgive you.”
My vision was filled with the expanse of his chest and the sight of my hand lying right there, caressing him. Caressing the man I loved.
The man who loved me.
“This is kind of wild,” I whispered.
“It really is,” Mal agreed. “Wild. And awesome.” He put his hand over mine, and our fingers wove together. We drifted in peace. Then his movement startled me from my satiated doze. He shifted, sliding his arm out from under me and turning so we lay face-to-face. He watched my eyes. “Tell me the real story, Sapphire. Why did we throw this race?”
I rested my hand against his cheek, and he turned his head to kiss my palm. “Lots of reasons,” I offered. “The two biggest are that I don’t like Johnston thinking he gets to decide what I do with my day.”
“Amen to that. What’s the other one?”
I blushed but found the courage to admit the truth to my lover. “I wanted to get you into this cove again and have my wicked way with you.”
“Which you did, you devil temptress.” He shifted his hips to bump into mine. The lewdness was implied more than in evidence. We were both pretty sated. “O’Connor forwarded me the recording of her interview with you.”
I nodded. “I told her to.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have listened to it otherwise. Johnston nearly raped you, didn’t he?”
“Well.” I cuddled closer. “There’s no telling how far he would have taken it. But I can tell you the memory is a victory for me, not a source of terror. That was the day I started getting strong.”
“And you are strong.” He stroked my hair. “But I still think I get to kill him for it.”
“Kill him? No, not kill him. Maybe beat him up a little.”
“I can castrate him, though, right? A guy who would do that to you is likely to be bullying other women too. Why don’t we take him out of the gene pool?”
“Bad DNA,” I agreed, feeling a pleasing lassitude beginning to creep over me. Time for a nap with the man who loved me.
“DNA is right.” Mal’s hands formed fists. His comment implied that it wasn’t just Johnston who was evil. That reminded me of the moment when Johnston’s father had murmured something to Gerta.
“What did Jack say to your mom on the dock this morning?”
“Nothing.” His answer came too quickly, and I rolled my eyes at him. He tried to be evasive, but I wouldn’t let him squirm away. Finally, he coughed up the truth. “He said, ‘Tell your son to stay away from Prentice Luce.’ The bastard.”
My anger bubbled up in me again, washing away my delicious post-orgasmic buzz. Bad enough that the son thought he could rule me—now the father was getting in my way too? “Like Jack Furneau gets to say what I do! He and Johnston both seem to think they own me. But I am naked and wrung out from coming so hard with the man I love, and that has nothing to do with either Jack or Johnston!”
Mal stopped my rant with a kiss. Suitably distracted, we made out for a while, trying to decide if we had the energy for another round or if we were going to back off and enjoy some recovery time.
“You feel so good,” Mal murmured.
“I feel wonderful. And lazy. Sleep with me a little. And we’ll castrate Johnston together. We’ll do it at the annual Furneau spring bash on Sunday, when he awards himself the sailing trophy.”
“Maybe it won’t be him who wins. There are other boats out there.”
With my naked toe, I found the edge of the cotton quilt and pulled it up, victorious at not having to leave my position in Mal’s arms.
“It’ll be Johnston,” I said, snuggling under the blanket with Mal. “He’s going to win. He’ll cheat to do it too. He’s got a ringer on board. I have good sailing instincts, but that Australian guy is going to blow everyone out of the water. Bet it’s killing him that Johnston cheated the starting line.” I yawned.
“First we nap.” Mal smiled at me. “Then we explore all this food we’ve got on board.”
“Yeah. Then I’ll show you my condom stash.”
“Insatiable.”
I grinned sleepily and turned over, tucking myself into the curve of Mal’s body. Safe, comforted, and warm, I fell asleep.
But I was pulled back to awareness when I heard Mal’s voice behind me.
“The annual Furneau spring bash,” he said clearly.
“What?” I rolled over to find clarification but found that Mal was deeply asleep. “What about it?”
“I hate that fucking party,” he said, lost in a dream.
“What do you mean, Mal?” I asked gently. But he didn’t answer, and he didn’t speak again.
Now, what was that all about?