Chapter Twenty-Six Lucky
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lucky
Our next charter guest, Rodney Whitlock, was what my mother would have called an odd duck.
He had arrived on the yacht precisely on time and totally alone. He visibly startled when he was introduced to Hunter, a reaction I completely understood, as I wanted to do the same thing every time I saw Hunter.
Especially when I woke up to him in my bed.
I’d never been on a charter where there was only a single guest. And I had mistakenly thought it might involve less work, but there was always plenty to do.
Rodney spent most of his time reading in the main salon. He didn’t want to go to shore or have any excursions, didn’t want to use any of the water toys or head into any ports.
He was happy to stay put in the middle of the ocean and read. He took all his meals in the salon as well. He had requested that Andre make him the exact same grilled steak (but without grill marks) and baked potato dish every night. The chef highly disliked not being able to flex his creative muscles and I got an earful in several languages every night at dinner.
There was only one more night left on this particular charter, so I wouldn’t have to put up with Andre’s exasperation for much longer.
It wasn’t too upsetting, though, because other than Andre, the week had gone extraordinarily well for me. Hunter and I had stuck to our routine of watching a movie when we got off shift and then sleeping together in my bunk.
Every morning when I woke up, I felt like a princess out of a Disney movie. Like woodland creatures should have come and assisted me with my chores because everything in my life felt so magical.
My feelings for Hunter deepened at an alarming rate. This was part of sea goggles, too. Everything happened quickly on a yacht because of that impermanence thing. People developed feelings faster than they might normally.
That also meant they went away quicker, too.
I didn’t know if I could risk my heart that way again. I was afraid that losing Hunter would be a million times worse than when my other relationships had ended. Because he was such a better person and I liked him so much more.
I really wanted to keep Captain Carl’s rule, wanted to remember that relationships never worked out for me, but it was getting harder with each passing night.
I adored Hunter Smith. I might have even been a bit in love with him.
We had both been able to call off a bit earlier than normal, as Rodney went to bed at like, nine o’clock in the evening. We weren’t going to have an early evening tonight, though, because Thomas had asked Hunter to come help detail the Jet Skis. The bosun was taking advantage of the fact that Rodney wasn’t a demanding guest to get deeper cleaning done.
I was doing the same thing. I’d assigned additional jobs to my stews, which Emilie had grumbled about and basically ignored.
It was getting pretty old doing her work. Especially because she took an equal share of the tips.
Whenever I complained to Hunter about my Emilie situation, he would listen. He wouldn’t offer suggestions unless I asked for them, something I appreciated. Men I’d dated in the past had always wanted to fix things and thought they had some brilliant insight that I couldn’t have possibly come up with on my own. Not Hunter.
I knew the situation annoyed him, and he sometimes might say as much, but he treated it like it was my problem and he would respect whatever decision I made.
Only I wasn’t making a decision. I continued to just do it myself and be upset about it.
Since Hunter wouldn’t be off shift until later, I decided to watch some massage therapy technique videos. I had some coursework that I probably should have been reading but I had always been a visual learner. Watching people do the work was the most helpful.
I got into bed and found a video from one of my favorite YouTube channels. They were doing some deep tissue massage and the woman on the table seemed to be very enthusiastic about them digging into her back.
My cabin door swung open and there stood Hunter.
“What are you watching?” I heard the delighted implication in his voice that I might be watching some kind of naked movie. I hurried to hit the pause button, but because his presence was flustering me, it took a few attempts.
“A massage training video.”
“Why?”
“When you’re a stew it’s good to learn new skills. Lots of owners want to have a massage therapist on board. It might even lead to a pay bump. I’m taking an online massage course for stews. And after this season is over, I’ll use my vacation time to do my five days of practical training in order to get my certification.”
He kicked his boat shoes off and wriggled his toes. “You would spend your vacation getting certified in massage?”
“I already travel the world as my job. I don’t mind spending my vacation time doing something practical. And I need to learn.”
“If you ever want to practice on someone, let me know.”
“I do!” I blurted it out quickly. Way too quickly. “I mean, I do need to practice.” And I tried to tell myself that this was just about working on my techniques and not about getting to run my hands over those magnificent muscles in his back.
This was for ... science. Yeah, science.
“But I don’t have a massage table,” I added.
“We’ll just do it on your bunk.”
Then he took off his shirt and I had to stifle a gasp. He climbed onto the bed and lay face down, waiting.
Gorgeous. Those lines and curves and hard planes all over his back ... I might have slightly salivated.
Apparently I was just going to ignore the fact that I’d basically picked up a stick doused in gasoline and held it above an open flame.
There was only one way this was going to end—with me being burned.
This was a bad, bad, bad idea.
Just because it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it won’t be a good time, a voice that sounded remarkably like Georgia’s said inside my head.
The good-time part was the problem.
“Lucky?”
I realized that I’d been quietly sitting there contemplating what I was about to do for an uncomfortable amount of time. “This is a weird angle,” I finally said. “I’d probably need to ...” Straddle you did not sound appropriate, so I went with, “Sit on you.”
“Okay.” He said it like I had made a reasonable request. Did he not understand the magnitude of what I had said?
“I don’t want to squish you.” That wasn’t the reason I was afraid to climb up on top of this man. I was far more worried that I wouldn’t be able to remove myself later.
He turned to look at me over his shoulder with an expression that said “be serious.” “You won’t.”
I knew he was right. I wouldn’t. I could have put an actual armored tank on his back and he would have been just fine. I had been desperate for an excuse. So before I could reason my way out of it, I moved over and then sat at the base of his lower back. I was allowed to touch him. My fingers tingled.
But that might have been due to how badly my hands were shaking at the prospect.
Be a professional, I told myself. And I tried. I really did. Unfortunately, the second my hands made contact with his warm skin, I was lost.
I attempted to focus on the different muscle groups and pressure points that I’d learned about, but all I could think about was how firm he was, wanting to outline the light brown freckles on his shoulders with my fingers, making constellations.
It didn’t help matters that he seemed to be enjoying what I was doing. There were soft sighs, happy murmurs, little imperceptible half groans as he relaxed into the mattress.
His sounds did not help with my situation.
“Is that okay?” I asked in a slightly strangled voice.
“What?”
“The ... everything. The massage.” Me rubbing my hands all over your back, touching you in the way I’ve wanted to since the first time I saw you without a shirt.
“It’s really, really good,” he rumbled in a sexy tone that made my pulse thump and my bones melt.
It also made me want to find out what else I could do that would make him say that again.
I realized then that I was gripping the sides of his torso with my thighs. I tried to slacken my hold, all too aware of the masculine strength that lay beneath them.
What if he rolled over? Ran his strong hands up my thighs and then up my torso until he reached my neck and then he would pull me down to him, crashing his lips against mine and then ...
My stomach throbbed with want. I had to shake my head hard to get those images to stop. My imagination was always getting me in trouble one way or another.
A few months ago I had given meditation a go in order to help with my anxiety. But I’d spent all my time feeling anxious that I was doing it wrong and would somehow mess it up, so it did not help. It had taught me about developing a mantra, or a word or phrase to repeat to help distract my overactive mind.
Nothing can happen was the phrase I decided to use. Nothing can happen, nothing can happen, nothing can happen. Over and over until it was the only thing in my mind. So I would stop thinking all the things I shouldn’t be thinking.
The next sound he made caused my mantra to falter.
He was snoring.
I had put the man to sleep. Well, I guessed I knew exactly how much appeal I had. So sexy and desirable that he could drift off in the middle of me touching him. If I hadn’t been so bummed about it, I might have laughed.
Would he wake up if I moved? I had to. I couldn’t just drape myself across him like a blanket and fall asleep that way.
Even though I very much wanted to.
Get up, I told myself.
But instead of lifting my leg to move away, I found myself studying his face. It was one of my favorite things to look at. The next thing I knew, I was leaning down and kissing his cheek.
Horrified, I immediately pulled my head away and hit his bunk. I rubbed the top of my skull and finally rolled away from him.
Not okay. Not okay. I couldn’t do anything like that again.
My lips were scalded. I lifted my fingers up to make sure they weren’t actually on fire.
I had kissed him. Put my mouth on his skin. When he wasn’t even awake. That felt wrong. I regretted what I had done. I wished he were awake so that I could apologize.
Maybe that was a small blessing, though. He wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t have to give me the “you’re a really great girl” speech.
We could continue on with things as they were. Nothing needed to change.
Even though I hadn’t meant to do any of it, it was like I had crossed some bridge and the way back to the other side had completely washed away.
“Lucky.”
I gradually became aware of the fact that someone was pressing small, warm kisses along my throat.
“Hunter?” I asked groggily.
“You made me feel so good. Now let me make you feel good,” he murmured against my skin, and I was instantly awake.
“What?”
“I’m going to kiss you.”
It was both a warning and a promise. A still-functioning part of my brain registered that he was giving me the opportunity to stop him.
When I didn’t speak he turned my head toward him and crushed his lips to mine. I was so shocked that for a moment I couldn’t react. He moved his mouth against mine in a rhythm that had my body pulsing in time to the motion and my nether regions tingling.
Then I had the presence of mind to put my hands against his shoulder and push slightly. He immediately broke off the kiss and looked down at me.
“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said. My body was urging me to shut up. And my fingers, of their own volition, began stroking the skin of his pectoral muscles, marveling at how warm and strong he felt. The shirtless sight of him made me breathless and I didn’t know why. I had seen him this way a million times.
Maybe it was because I was finally allowed to touch him.
His right hand went over mine and he brought it up to his mouth for a butterfly kiss. I curled my fingers in against the sensation.
“I want to be close to you,” he said.
“We are close.”
I felt his smile against my hand. “Closer.” His velvety voice did something unspeakable to me.
Why had he suddenly decided to rewrite the rules?
Then he was slipping his arms around me, bringing me flush against him. He held me tightly and kissed the underside of my jaw, that sensitive spot just behind my ear. I shivered and he smiled at the effect he was having on me. His right hand began to travel down. Along my ribs, squeezing my waist, and then settling on my hip.
He dug his fingers in, gripping me toward him, and I sighed.
The heat from his fingers was scalding me and I found myself desperate to know what it would be like without any clothes between us. His lips explored every piece of my skin that he could reach—my throat, my jaw, my face, my eyelids. He had me aching and burning and nothing had even really happened yet.
My heart kept up a steady beat of his name, Hunter, Hunter . I wondered if he could hear it.
And then he finally returned his mouth to mine with a hunger that both surprised and thrilled me. I hadn’t known that it could be like this between us. My lungs felt like they were going to burst, my skin throbbing and heated, like I had a delicious sunburn.
His tongue slipped into my mouth, fitting and stroking against my own, and I moaned at his sensual caresses. Streaks of intensity shot through me and an undeniable pressure began to build.
Then his fingers were at the hem of my T-shirt. “May I?”
Him asking made the moment even hotter. I wasn’t sure I could have denied him anything. “Yes.”
He had it up and over my head in one swift motion. I only had about two seconds to worry about my ratty sports bra before he moved over me and pressed himself against me. My softness against his hardness, our burning skin moving and creating the most amazing friction as he kissed me over and over until I was dizzy and breathless and lost to everything but sensation.
His mouth went back to my throat. “You are so sexy. I have wanted you for so long.”
While his touch and kiss were incredible, his words did me in.
I melted. I wanted everything he had to give me, and he had so very much that he wanted to share. Sweet fire raced through my veins, making me burn so hard for him. His mouth was hot on mine and his hands were everywhere and I couldn’t even register what was happening because I could only feel.
Like I was about to drown in pleasure.
Everything was happening so fast and all I knew was that I wanted him and wanted this and I didn’t care about anything else.
He pulled himself away from me and I whimpered in protest, only to realize that he had his fingers on the waistband of my pajama pants. He looked at me and I nodded.
And as he began to tug them down, I became aware of the fact that someone was calling my name.