Chapter 13
DYLAN
T o say I was touched by Max’s concern was an understatement. But he looked so goddamn uncomfortable by the end of our conversation, I’d hoped a friendly dinner would put us back at ease with each other—for the sake of the book. Ignoring my body’s intense reaction to Max was another matter.
As I sat in another cramped room, in another musty basement, I was grateful that my confession to Rowan and Max had finally lanced some of the poison of denial that had been festering inside me for so long.
I had pushed aside my sexual desires for men because I was afraid for my career.
I thought alcohol would numb that need, maybe bury it forever.
Instead, I was feeding my denial, feeding my addiction.
Which fucked my career over anyway. Now it was up to me to own my truth, in every part of my life.
It was the only way that I’d be able to navigate this crazy voyage called life.
Once the meeting was done, I took a long walk around the cobblestone streets and wandered through the lively neighborhood that bordered the water.
As I passed by several shops and cafés, I noticed a restaurant with a tiny patio and an open-air bar.
It was bustling with locals speaking in rapid French as well as what looked like a few tourists.
I perused the café and my gaze caught on two men standing in proximity, one with his back to me and the other partially hidden behind one of the columns that flanked the bar.
The man standing leaned in to the other, chatting away, laughing.
The way he was smiling looked like flirting.
Maybe they were on a date? I wondered how it would feel for me to stand there and be able to do the same?
The possibility of that freedom sent a heady rush of adrenaline that filled me up, my stomach flipping over.
The man that was hidden stepped into view as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. I caught a glimpse of his profile, and my stomach flipped again. But in a very bad way.
Max.
Once the shock wore off, a wave of possessive heat racked my body.
The thought of Max, and whoever this guy was, together, didn’t sit well at all.
For a guy who hated attention, I suddenly, selfishly, wanted all of Max’s.
Fuck, this was messed up. I needed to get out of here.
If he saw me, I’d risk making a fool of myself, so I took off down the street.
When I was a few minutes away, I pulled out my phone.
Dylan: Skipping dinner, headache. Heading back to the ship. Charlie will come back for you when you’re ready.
Max: I was finishing up a drink at a bar. I can head back with you.
Dylan: Stay and enjoy the city. I’ve been occupying too much of your time.
Max: I’m here to work Dylan.
Dylan: See you tomorrow.
Max: Tomorrow
Texting Charlie, I made my way back to the marina and waited for the tender.
I hadn’t eaten since lunch, but all my appetite vanished as I replayed the restaurant scene in my mind.
I spotted Charlie and waved him over, then jumped in the tender and told him to hightail it as fast as he could back to the ship.
I thought the farther away I got from shore, the better I’d feel. But nope. All kinds of scenarios flitted in and out of my imagination. Would Max go back to that guy’s place? Would he fuck him? Or maybe Max liked to be fucked? Enough, stop thinking about Max having sex!
But then it wasn’t that lanky guy at the bar that I was picturing him with. It was me.
Never gonna happen.
After we got back on board, I listened to music and then read for a while which always calmed me. About two hours later, my eyes started to feel heavy until my phone chirped. I looked at it reluctantly. I wasn’t in the mood to communicate with anyone right now.
Max: Back on board. How’s your headache?
Dylan: Still pounding. night.
Max: Did you take anything?
Dylan: Yes. But being on my phone isn’t helping…
Max: Sorry
I was acting like a total asshole, but really, I didn’t want to think about, or talk to, Max. He was probably feeling great after his date, and I was unreasonably annoyed at that thought.
What would he look like now? His lips swollen, his hair mussed, a satisfied smile on his sexy face.
I tossed and turned, then punched my pillow in a way that was alarmingly aggressive so it was no surprise to me that a half hour later, sleep wouldn’t come.
I grabbed my e-reader, and I was almost finished my book when a soft knock at the door startled me.
Who was bothering me at this time of night? It damn well better be an emergency.
Grabbing my jeans, I quickly pulled them on, zipped up and yanked open the door.
“What do you want?”
MAX
I tried to pay attention to Mathieu, the charming French man who flirted with me at the cafe, but my mind kept wandering back to Dylan all night. I wondered how his meeting went. He seemed more settled after he’d talked to Rowan. Was he okay or was he placating me? And why did I care so much?
Mathieu invited me to stay for dinner and I agreed, even though I wasn’t keen.
Dylan headed back to the ship, and I was hangry by eight thirty, so I stayed.
And I’d hoped the charming French man would distract me from my preoccupation with Dylan.
But I should’ve known better. I was horrible at faking attentiveness and Mathieu was no exception.
I’d made small talk at dinner until my jaw ached and a headache bloomed.
My short, terse answers to his ongoing questions ratcheted up my irritation and none of it was my dinner companion’s fault.
“Sorry, Mathieu. It was very nice to meet you, but I have to get going,” I said when I couldn’t take any more of his animated chit chat. I pulled out my wallet and grabbed enough Euros to cover my portion of the dinner. He leaned over and touched my hand, but I quickly pulled it away.
“You seemed distracted after you checked your messages. Your lover?” he asked with a smirk.
The jolt I felt at hearing that word and conjuring up Dylan’s image at the same time was powerful. No, Dylan was not my lover. But I was having a hard time picturing him as anything else.
“It’s complicated. Thanks for the company this evening,” I said as I stood up.
“My pleasure. Or it could have been.” He pulled out a card and dropped it on the table. “If you’re in town for a while and would like to meet up again, maybe dinner at my place?”
Normally his flirty smile would be all the incentive I needed for a hook up, but I couldn’t care less.
I must be coming down with something, because why else would I turn away an uncomplicated opportunity for sex?
And for what? An empty bed back on the ship?
Turns out, I was the one who needed to sleep it off—whatever ‘it’ was.
“Thanks, but I’ll say adieu and leave it at that.” I ignored the card and headed out to the sidewalk, texting Charlie for a ride back to the yacht.
I waited at the marina, sitting on a bench at the edge of the pier. It was quiet at this time, most of the boats and yachts already docked for the night. I heard the rumble of a familiar engine and waved at Charlie as he pulled into the dock.
The ride back was soothing, the hum of the boat a burst of white noise that drowned out everything in my head. It was just after 10:30 p.m. when I arrived back on board, and I texted Dylan to see how he was feeling, since he’d complained of a headache.
Was he telling me the truth or was he upset?
Had something happened at his AA meeting?
And why was I obsessed with his state of being?
Outside of my family, I wasn’t a worrier by nature, so my agitation should have sounded an alarm bell.
Instead of heeding the warning and going straight to bed, I found myself wandering towards Dylan’s room, determined to get an answer.
I knocked on the door and held my breath. Shit, maybe he was already asleep? I turned to walk away but the door opened. Dylan stood before me in nothing but tight, ripped jeans and an angry expression.
He was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever laid eyes on.
“What do you want?” he bit out as he leaned against the door, his arms crossed.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. You invited me for dinner and then you…”
“I got a headache. It happens. Now you can see I’m fine.”
“All right. I’m sorry I bothered you.” My face flushed with embarrassment, and I turned away.
“Why did you then? Aren’t you tired after your night out?” he snapped.
I didn’t know where Dylan’s annoyance stemmed from, but I sure as shit wasn’t going to fuel it.
“I was worried about you,” I replied calmly. “I took a long walk, then I had dinner, and after that…”
Dylan raised a hand and interrupted me. “I don’t need to hear about your fuck friend.”
He slammed the door in my face, and I stood there, too shocked to move.
But I wasn’t one to let a miscommunication go unchallenged.
Especially when the man I was distraught over was acting like an ass.
Fuck friend? How did he arrive at that? The only way he could have assumed was if he saw me tonight with…
Christ. Shaking my head, I banged on the door with my fist, and it was thrown open so violently the door hinge groaned.
“Not that it’s any of your business but there was no fucking involved. Just a friendly dinner. And then I came back to the ship. Alone,” I stated as I stood before him, hands on my hips.
“Yeah, right,” he replied and made to close the door again, but I slapped my hand against it. Fuck this. I didn’t deserve his contempt.
“I’m telling the truth. I wasn’t interested in him. Although it would have been convenient and a lot less fucking complicated compared to dealing with you!” I yelled out, my anger rising.
Unfortunately, my dick reacted the same way.
“Who’s asking you to? After all, I’m not out and proud like that hot young guy you were with,” Dylan snapped, then shook his head.
“I don’t care what he is. I don’t want him,” I replied and stepped forward.
The realization that Dylan was jealous of my dinner date made my cock even harder.
Dylan backed up against the door and it rattled as he put all his weight on it, smacking the adjacent wall.
At this rate, we would owe Rowan a brand-new door.
And new drywall. Maybe a new bed too, if Dylan kept looking at me with those hungry eyes, like he wanted to hate-fuck me.
He was still pissed, but the look of desire couldn’t be denied.
I lowered my gaze down his body and it caught at the sight of the prominent bulge in his jeans. I was glad I wasn’t the only one affected. I licked my lips, and Dylan’s eyes tracked the movement.
“Max.”
Dylan’s raspy drawl never sounded so good as he whispered my name like it was both a longing and a curse. His chest moved in and out with rapid breaths that mirrored my own. Then his strong hands reached out and gripped my hips. That one touch sliced through the last tether on my control.
I lunged at him, diving my hands into his messy hair as I laid claim to his mouth. I heard Dylan’s grunt of surprise and my own hungry groan as our lips met for the very first time.
I was so wrong to be worried about Dylan.
Turns out, I was the one who was in big fucking trouble.