13. Becca
Becca
I wake up at dawn, my body still humming from that kiss with Clive. All night, I've tossed and turned, replaying the moment his lips touched mine—the strength in his hands, the scent of his cologne, the roughness of his beard against my skin.
Sleep-deprived but somehow energized, I slip into my pale pink bikini—the one with the cheeky bottom that Jack once called "too revealing" for someone with "my body type." I smile at my reflection, admiring how the color complements my pale skin.
The villa is silent as I pad barefoot through the halls. Everyone must still be asleep, recovering from last night's cocktails and tension. The marble floor feels cool against my feet as I slide open the terrace door and step into the Mexican morning.
The infinity pool stretches before me, its surface perfectly still, mirroring the pink-orange sky. Beyond it lies the endless blue of the Caribbean. I dip one toe in—the water is perfect, not too cold. I slide in slowly, letting the water envelop me inch by inch until fully submerged.
Breaking the surface, I push my wet hair back and float on my back, eyes closed against the brightening sky. The water cradles me, washing away the confusion of being here with Jack while thinking about Clive.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
His deep voice startles me. I stand in the pool, water cascading down my body, and turn to see Clive standing at the terrace door. He's wearing linen pants and an unbuttoned shirt, his chest partially visible. His eyes seem to take all of me in at once.
"The sunrise was too beautiful to miss," I say, suddenly aware of how little my bikini covers.
He smiles, that crooked smile that makes something flutter in my stomach. "I was thinking of taking the yacht out. The water's perfect this time of morning." He pauses, his blue eyes intent on mine. "Care to join me?"
I should say no. We said we’d take it slow, and I’ve hardly burned through this untapped sexual energy enough to be alone with Clive.
"Yes," I hear myself say. "I'd love to."
Clive nods, satisfied with my answer. "Meet me at the dock in fifteen minutes? Bring a cover-up. The morning breeze can be cool on the water."
I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the brightening sky. My heart is racing, and it's not from my swim.
Back in my room, I quickly towel off and pull a white crochet cover-up over my bikini. I grab my sunglasses, a hat, and sunscreen, stuffing everything into a beach bag. In the mirror, I notice my cheeks are flushed, and it's not from the sun.
What am I doing? Going sailing alone with my ex-boyfriend's stepfather after we kissed last night?
But I can't stop myself. Something about Clive pulls me toward him like gravity.
The wooden dock creaks under my sandals as I approach the yacht. It's smaller than I expected—intimate rather than ostentatious. Clive is already aboard, checking something on the control panel.
"Permission to come aboard, Captain?" I call out, trying to sound light and playful despite the butterflies in my stomach.
He looks up, and his smile is like the sunrise—warm and full of promise. "Permission granted."
As I step onto the boat, he offers his hand. His palm is rough against mine, and I remember those same hands cradling my face last night.
"Have you ever been sailing before?" he asks, releasing my hand but staying close.
"A few times with my parents on the Hamptons, but I was always just a passenger."
"Would you like to learn how to sail her?" His eyes are bright with excitement.
"I'd love that," I say, meaning it. Jack would never think to teach me anything—he'd just expect me to watch him show off.
Clive is patient as he shows me the basics—the names of the sails, how to read the wind, and when to tack. His body occasionally brushes against mine as he demonstrates, and each touch sends electricity through me. When he stands behind me to help adjust the sail, his chest against my back, I can barely concentrate on his instructions.
We sail far enough from shore that the villa becomes a tiny white speck on the coastline. The water stretches endlessly around us, impossibly blue and clear.
"Let's drop anchor here," Clive suggests, showing me how to secure the boat. It's a perfect spot for a swim."
He pulls his shirt off completely, and I try not to stare at his chest—tanned and muscular, with just the right amount of salt-and-pepper hair. Before I can overthink it, I remove my cover-up, feeling his eyes on me.
"You're beautiful, Becca," he says simply, with no hint of the leering appraisal I'm used to from Jack.
I blush, unsure how to respond to his directness. "Thank you," I manage, my voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.
Clive steps to the edge of the yacht and dives in with a clean, powerful movement. The water accepts him like an old friend. I watch him surface, droplets glistening on his shoulders as he shakes his head, sending little rainbows of water into the morning light.
"Coming in?" he calls, floating effortlessly.
I take a deep breath and jump, the cool water enveloping me in a refreshing embrace. When I come up for air, Clive is closer than I expected, those blue eyes even more vivid against the backdrop of the sea.
"This is paradise," I say, treading water.
"It is now," he replies, and I know he's not talking about Mexico.
We swim around the yacht, occasionally diving to look at colorful fish darting between patches of coral. There's something freeing about being here with him, away from Jack and expectations.
"You're a natural in the water," Clive observes as I surface from a dive.
"I was on the swim team in college. Nothing serious, but I've always loved being in the water." It's a detail Jack never bothered to learn about me despite three years together.
After swimming, we climb back aboard. Clive hands me a fluffy towel, and I wrap it around myself, suddenly shy. He's pulled a small cooler from somewhere, producing two bottles of water and fresh fruit.
"I thought we might get hungry," he explains, cutting a mango with practiced ease.
We sit on the deck, the sun warming our skin as we eat. The silence between us isn't awkward––it's comfortable.
"Becca," Clive finally says, his voice serious. "About last night..."
My heart skips. "Yes?"
"I meant what I said. I won't push you. Whatever this is between us—" Clive gestures to the space between our bodies, "—it's your call. You set the pace."
I look at him, this powerful man who runs a global empire, deferring to me completely. It's so different from how Jack bulldozes over my feelings and choices.
"What if I don't know what I want when this is over?" I ask honestly.
He smiles, but a touch of sadness lingers. "Then we figure it out together. No rush."
Impulsively, I reach for his hand. His fingers intertwine with mine, strong and steady.
"I do know I want this moment," I say. "Right now, on this boat, with you."
His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Then that's enough for now."
We stay like that, holding hands and watching the horizon until the sun climbs higher. The moment feels perfect, untouchable. Then his eyes meet, and I’m moved by something I can't explain and don't want to resist anymore.
I glide closer, feeling the silky water flow between us.
"Rebecca," he murmurs, my name sounding different on his lips.
I reach for him, my arms sliding around his neck. His hands find my waist underwater, strong and steady, keeping us both afloat. I can feel his heartbeat against mine as I press closer.
"Why do I feel so good when you’re near? I ask him, watching his pupils dilate.
"Maybe because it’s where you belong."
My lips crash into his, a fervent, insatiable hunger driving us both. This kiss is nothing like the one we shared last night—raw, primal, and consuming. His beard scratches deliciously against my skin, igniting a fiery desire as our mouths meld together. I savor the taste of salt water mingled with a scent that is uniquely him.
His arms grip me tighter, crushing me against his solid chest. We sink into the moment, only to rise again, our breathless laughter mingling with the electricity between us.
"You make me feel alive," I confess, my fingers tracing his jawline. "I've been sleepwalking for so long."
"I've wanted to wake you since the first day I met you," he admits, his forehead resting against mine. "You deserve so much more than what you've settled for."
The truth of his words hits me hard. I have been settling—in my relationship, parts of my career, and how I've let others define me.
"I don't want to settle anymore," I tell him, meaning every word.
He kisses me again, his hands roaming up my back, fingers weaving through my wet hair as he holds my head with a possessive grip. The ocean cradles us, rocking sensually as we cling to each other, our bodies entwined and buoyant in the crystal-clear water.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pressing myself against the stiff, defined muscles of his body. There's nothing between us but the whisper of fabric and the warm, inviting Caribbean water. His hands slide to support me, firm and confident beneath my thighs, igniting a fiery desire between us.
"We should probably get back to the yacht," he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough.
"Probably," I agree, but make no move to let go. Instead, I kiss Clive again, feeling bold and free in a way I've never experienced.
As we finally break apart, his eyes burn with an intense desire that sends a shiver through me. We swim back to the yacht, our eyes locked in heated glances between each stroke. He swiftly lifts me onto the deck, his hands lingering on my waist, igniting a fire beneath my skin.
On board, the air sizzles as reality quickly sets in.This is happening.
Water cascades down his chest, and I ache to follow their trail with my fingertips. He hands me a towel, but the brush of his fingers against mine is like a spark, igniting a flame that threatens to consume us both.
"Should we head back?" he asks, though he doesn't move toward the controls.
"Is that what you want?" I step closer to him.
His hand rises to cup my cheek, his thumb gently brushing away a droplet of water. "Rebecca, you know what I want," he whispers, using my full name. But if we don't stop now..."
"Maybe I don't want to stop," I answer, surprising myself with my boldness.
His eyes search mine, looking for any hesitation. Finding none, he pulls me against him, his mouth claiming mine with an intensity that makes my knees weak. I melt into him, my hands exploring the broad expanse of his shoulders and the strong column of his neck.
We stumble backward until my back meets the cabin door. Clive breaks the kiss long enough to look at me questioningly. In answer, I reach behind me and turn the handle, pulling him with me into the cool shade of the cabin.
Inside, time seems to slow. Sunlight filters through small windows, casting dappled patterns across the simple space. A bed, covered in crisp white linens, takes up most of the room.
"Are you sure?" Clive asks, his voice husky.
I nod, unable to find words for how sure I feel. More sure than I've felt about anything in years.
His hands are gentle as they slide my wet bikini straps from my shoulders. I reach for the tie at my back, loosening it and letting the top fall between us. His sharp intake of breath makes me flush with pleasure rather than embarrassment.
"You're exquisite," he murmurs, eyes taking me in with reverence.
My fingers trace the waistband of his swim shorts. "So are you."