47. Meg
47
MEG
T he lights from the nearby marina shimmered off the ripples on the water, casting golden reflections across the boats.
Byron held my hand as we walked along the dock, the only sounds the soft murmur of the water lapping against the wooden posts. Most of the yachts were just sitting there, bobbing lazily in their slips.
He’d given me his jacket because the night air was cool and crisp with the breeze rising from the sea.
“Thanks, but now you’re going to be cold,” I said.
“Let me be a gentleman, please. I’m practicing my selflessness, it’s a new thing for me. So, I’ll probably get frostbite, but I hear the kiss of a beautiful woman is the cure.”
I laughed.
He continued with mock sincerity. “The joke is on you because you’re about to get suffocated by my goodwill. It’s been waiting anxiously to be unleashed.”
And I laughed some more.
“God, I love your laugh,” he murmured, pulling me flush against him. For a heartbeat, his hands cupped my face, and I thought he was going to kiss me. But then, just as quickly, he let go, his fingers lingering on my cheek before he turned toward the yacht beside us.
“Here she is. Meet Aurora. ”
The moment was still crackling in the air when my gaze landed on this yacht, and I almost swallowed my tongue. It was big and sleek, but not obnoxiously so, its hull a soft silver-gray that shimmered in the dim light, almost blending into the night.
“Wow. I was hoping it would be a nice boat and that it at least had a cooler to keep the food fresh, but I see now I underestimated its potential. This little canoe has a full-range kitchen, doesn’t it?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Yes, it does.”
The name Aurora was painted in fancy letters on the hull
“Pretty name,” I said.
Byron helped me carefully onboard. “You don’t want to know the story behind that name. It’s very sad.”
“Hey, I’m all in for stories that make me cry. Like The Fly. I cried my eyes out. Have you seen it? One of my favorite movies.”
The way Byron looked at me, I could tell he wanted to say something, but it was as if he had to be careful picking his words. “You mean the one with Goldblum, right? Why they call that a horror movie, I don’t know. It’s actually very sad.”
I took a moment to contemplate. What were the chances of crushing on two men who both got choked up watching The Fly? I was here to tell you, apparently the chances were pretty damn good.
I was beginning to believe that Fate was using me as a guinea pig. Like it was shoving every option right in my path to see what would stick.
Inside the Aurora, the splendor continued, and in the lounge area, oversized sofas with buttery leather begged me to kick back and unwind. Which I did, and then some.
Byron watched me kick off my shoes and stretch out on the couch. “Please don’t be shy,” he said, smiling. “Make yourself totally at home. Their casa, your casa.”
I snorted into my fist. And it was the way he looked at me, and this tingly feeling whirling and twirling, working itself up into a Cat 5 storm inside me, and the stupid nerves that kept me from ripping off his clothes were hanging on by a gossamer thread.
"What would you like to drink, Meg?” He asked, his gaze lazily traveling over me.
“How about a Belvedere 10 neat?” I told him. “I mean, if they have that here.”
A surprised grin flickered at the edge of his lips. “If I knew you drank Belvedere 10, I would have made sure we got some on the way.”
“That’s not what I usually drink. But it sounds like something I’d like to try.”
Byron didn’t need to search for long before finding a bottle of Belvedere 10. He poured us each a glass, his movements effortless, almost mesmerizing.
A bookcase caught my eye. What does someone with a yacht like this read? I slipped off the couch, trailing my fingers over the spines. A mix of unfamiliar titles and the usual suspects. But then, nestled between the heavy classics, I found The Alchemist . My heart rate picked up. It was a favorite of BB’s. I pulled it out, curiosity piqued.
And then Byron was behind me. “Here you go,” I heard him say, his breath brushing the shell of my ear, his scent of soap and spice like heat and home.
I spun around, and he handed me a glass. I pinged my glass to his. “Cheers.”
I took a sip, lost in the blaze of his eyes, setting fire to my every limb.
“This vodka is really good,” I said. “Beats the stuff I have at home.”
His finger feathered over my cheek. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorite drinks.”
It seemed Fate was pulling every string, because it was BB’s favorite drink too. “Okay then,” I said as casually as the molten ache seeping into my lower belly allowed. “It’s going on my favorite list too.”
Then his eyes drifted to the book in my hands, as though it held some secret just for us. “Have you read The Alchemist ?" he asked.
I shook my head. “No, but someone told me about it, and now I’m curious.”
He smiled knowingly. “Turn to page 126.”
I handed him my glass, my fingers blistering where they brushed his, before I opened the book.
“Now, read the last sentence on that page,” he said, never taking his eyes away from me.
I carefully skimmed the words, then lifted my gaze to meet his. He was a man on the verge of an epiphany that was about to change everything. Without missing a beat, he quoted the line from memory.
“ So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you .”
The heat in his voice oozed through my skin like water finding its way through the tiniest cracks. I slowly took my glass of Belvedere 10 back from his hold, my blood on fire, pulse hammering in my throat.
There was the soft lapping of water against the hull of Aurora, the gentle sigh of the boat rocking ever so slightly, and all the while, it was as if the world was quietly holding its breath to see what happened next.
I sipped some vodka, my gaze never leaving his. “In case you’re wondering, I’m not nervous anymore.”
He took a sip from his drink, too. “Good. Neither am I. If you want to, I can give you the nickel tour of the canoe.”
My eyes might have dipped to his mouth for a second or two, or three, but they wandered right back, meeting his gaze. “I take it the bedroom is included in this tour.”
“Not only will it be included, but it will also be the main attraction,” he said, his voice scalding every nerve ending beneath my skin.
“I’m not familiar with canoe protocol,” I hummed. “Do we take our glasses on the tour, or do we leave them here? “
He took a deep sip of his vodka and leaked it into my mouth drop by drop, his tongue finding mine, gliding against it, sweet and slow, hard and demanding, going deeper until my knees became as weak as my will to resist.
When he took a breath, he murmured into my mouth. “We’re taking the glasses. And the bottle is coming with us. We won’t be doing anything by halves tonight.”