Chapter 10
Gracyn
“T hat is not a boat,” I say, staring at the sleek white and black monstrosity moored at the dock. “That’s a yacht.”
When he asked if I wanted to take a boat ride out to the Statue of Liberty, my mind imagined a crowded charter, crammed to the brim with tourists, all packed like sardines.
“Disappointed?”
“Well, hell, had I known I could’ve owned half of this thing, I might have fought a little harder,” I retort with a playful snicker.
“You were this close,” he quips, pinching his thumb and index finger close together, “to being a billionaire.”
I let out an unbelievable laugh as he assists me on board. “I have no doubts that any woman you marry won’t be getting a dime of your money, not with a solid prenup in place.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, dear wife .” I arch a brow at the sarcastic endearment. “If I deserve the woman I marry, then she deserves all I can give her.”
His unexpected words linger in the air. That is possibly the sexiest thing a man’s ever said.
But he’s in his thirties and single, which screams he’s not in any hurry to share his fortune. It’s one thing to say, it’s another to do it. I snap out of the Brooks is deliciously amazing daze and venture further into the boat.
“Have you ever been on a boat?” he asks from behind.
“For my eighteenth birthday, my parents rented a boat, not as fancy as this one, for a week, and we sailed around the British Virgin Islands. Ended up docking at an island called Peter Island.”
Brooks’s smile lights up, and I fix him with a deadpan look.
“Don’t tell me you own the island.” It’s a tiny island with only one resort, so it wouldn’t surprise me.
He chuckles. “Did you hear it had significant damage from a hurricane? It’s closed for renovations.”
I raise an eyebrow, noting he sidestepped the question.
“The island isn’t mine,” he finally clarifies.
“But you’ve been there.”
Nodding, he replies, “A few times.” His attention shifts over my shoulder, and his smile falls flat. “Let me give you a tour.”
Confused at the sudden edge of annoyance in his voice as I follow him inside the cabin, I glance over my shoulder. A group of onlookers has gathered, watching us.
That’s creepy.
And a little unsettling.
I pick up my pace, stepping out of sight from nosy people. As we step into pure luxury, I freeze, taking in the bright, airy room with expansive windows framing both sides. A U-shaped cream-colored couch, with countless pillows, centers the room. Behind it, a small half wall that separates the dining room, complete with a full-size table and eight chairs. I can picture myself curled up taking an afternoon nap or reading a book on the oversized couch, all the while listening to the gentle lull of the ocean waves and feeling the subtle sway of the boat.
“Let’s go, Paul,” Brooks calls out.
I glance around, confused. Who’s Paul?
A response echoes down from above. “Yes, sir.” The boat hums to life beneath our feet.
“Oh. We’re not alone.” Why am I surprised he has a driver for this monster? Of course he does.
He points up to the ceiling. “That’s Paul.”
“I gathered.” I chuckle. “Not a fan of driving the sea mansion?”
“Not when I have company.” The mention of company has me wondering how often he entertains guests. Does he bring all the women out on his yacht, trying to impress them? He walks over to the bar and asks, “Drink?”
“I’ll take a water.”
Water is safe. I need safe right now.
He grabs two bottles and hands one to me. Our fingers brush against each other in the exchange. A simple touch, yet it sends my heart into a flutter. I turn away to avoid his amused smirk, as though he’s fully aware of the effect he has on the entire female population.
Hell, he probably revels in it.
As the boat eases away from the dock, I peek out the window, watching.
“Ready for the tour?” he asks at the base of the staircase.
“Of course.”
He leads me up to another sitting area, this one smaller and more casual. It opens up to a spacious deck with a table and lounging area beneath a shaded cover.
I peek up the continuing staircase. “How many levels are there?”
“Three and a half.”
I blink. “Your boat is bigger than my apartment.” And here I am, not even employed at the moment. “I’m in college,” I blurt out, as if I need to provide him a reason that I’m not working.
His eyes widen, followed by a sigh as he drops his head. “You’re still in college? Holy shit.” He lifts his gaze. “Please tell me you’re at least twenty-one.”
“Sorry.” I wince. “Nineteen.”
He practically leaps away, putting a significant distance between us as if mere proximity to me is illegal. I laugh at his exaggerated response, enjoying him squirm a little too much. “You act like I’m jailbait.”
“I thought…” he starts, running his hand through his hair and then taking a long chug of water. He wipes the wetness off his lips with the back of his hand. “You don’t act nineteen. Jesus Christ, I’m married to a teenager. Jared is never going to let me live this down,” he mutters the last part to himself.
He’s shown more distress about my age than us getting married.
“Brooks, I’m twenty-four,” I add, so he stops freaking out.
He collapses back on the couch, stretching out his legs and taking a moment to collect himself.
“Good to know you have some hard passes with women,” I jest, walking around the couch and sitting on the opposite side, tucking my legs under me.
With his hands linked behind his neck, he asks, “Are you close to graduating?”
So close I can taste it. “Next week.”
“And then what?”
I open my mouth and then snap it shut. While I’ve never been shy about sharing my passion for becoming a teacher, it feels almost inconsequential in Brooks’s world. Our lifestyles couldn’t be further apart.
“I don’t know yet,” I mumble, and his eyes narrow in disbelief. “What’s with that look?”
“I have no doubt Gracyn Carmichael always has a plan. Why the secrecy?”
I hate that this man can read me already. But he’s right, I’m a planner. When things don’t go my way, I tend to break things. Usually my poor phone. Charli and my mom even place bets on how long until I’m shopping for a new one.
“The less you know about me, the easier this will be?”
“This?” he prods.
“You know”—I throw my hands up—“whatever this is. A somewhat of a date with my soon-to-be ex-husband ?”
“Is that what this is? A date?”
I blink twice, irritated that he enjoys pushing my buttons. “What would you call it?”
“A tour of the Hudson,” he nonchalantly replies.
A slow, wicked grin creeps up when I shoot a glare his way. Liar. He did not bring me on this boat to be my tour guide. Yesterday, he begged me to stay, kissed me last night, and I’m pretty sure it would’ve been a Vegas repeat minus the marriage. Because you can’t do that twice. I’m okay with that. Casual sex between two consenting adults is perfectly acceptable. But let’s call a spade a spade and not lie to ourselves calling it a heart.
Whatever this is, knowing what I’m going to do with the rest of my life is irrelevant.
“All right, Captain Brooks.” I push off the couch, saunter toward him, and stop between his legs, meeting his gaze with a daring smirk. “ Guide me .”
His Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyes fall to my chest before he catches himself and brings them back up. He clears his throat, and I can see his control slipping. I take a step back as he rises to his feet, his body brushing against mine. The moment is brief and electric, heat crackling between us.
A low, playful groan rumbles from his throat as he shakes his head. “We should head upstairs. It won’t take us long to get to the Statue of Liberty.”
I’d continue poking his control until he lost it, but I really want to see the iconic statue. For now.
I spin around in excitement and follow him up the stairs. Stepping onto the boat’s highest deck, the brisk wind tousles my hair, and I struggle to pull it back in a ponytail. The famous skyline I’ve seen so many times in pictures is nothing like it is in real life.
“Wow. It’s gorgeous.” The cityscape sprawls out, framed by sparse, giant, white fluffy clouds that seem as if someone pasted cotton balls in the sky for added effect.
“It’s treated me well,” he says, fixated on the city.
“Have you ever lived anywhere else?”
He turns his head and lifts a playful brow. “I thought we were on the don’t ask, don’t tell cruise.”
I wrinkle my nose as he calls me out. “You’re just so much more interesting than me.”
“I suspect you are more interesting than you let on.”
Yes, a normal person might think of my life as anything but boring. But Brooks isn’t normal. He’s lived his life, while I’ve lived my parents’ life. There’s a difference.
I sidestep his attempt to lure out information from me. “Do you come out on the boat often? I’m sorry, I meant yacht .”
“It’s just a boat,” he retorts, not happy with my correction.
I don’t know why, though. If I owned this monstrous thing, I’d incorporate “yacht” into my everyday vocabulary.
He stares down at the wake. “Not as much as we used to. Not since my daughter got a social schedule on par with a Kardashian.”
It strikes me as amusing that he won’t admit to owning a yacht, but has no problem dropping the Kardashians’ name. He probably knows them personally.
“Well, she is the daughter of the infamous Bachelor of the Year .”
He tsks, shaking his head. “You had to go and ruin that.”
“I’m pretty sure our marriage was your idea,” I clip out. My attention shifts as the boat veers to the right, and she comes into sight. The Statue of Liberty. I’ve only seen the quarter-sized replica in Paris, but ever since seeing that one, I’ve wanted to see this one. “Huh. She’s a lot smaller than I imagined.”
“That is one disappointment that I’m happy to say I’ll never receive.”
Figures. He’s all about boasting about his large cock, but not his large boat. Not that either is less impressive, but I’ve got to go with him on this one. It’s at a level of I don’t think that’ll fit. It does, perfectly, I might add.
His smile widens. “It’s nice that my wife doesn’t disagree.”
Bemused, I choose to ignore the wife comment. He’s not technically wrong. “I mean, you got me to marry you somehow . Truthfully, that’s the only logical explanation.”
In fact, I’ve never thought about marrying a man for the size of his cock, but it’s going to be hard to find someone who can compare to Brooks. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud to him. He already has two large heads.
Instead, I stare at the statue as the boat circles her. I take a few pictures and then notice the time. I calculate in my head the time it’ll take us to get back and me to the airport. Looks like there won’t be a Vegas repeat. I twist my lips in disappointment. “I need to go if I’m going to make my flight.”
He flicks his wrist to see the time. “Can you take a later flight?”
I wish I could stay in this fairy tale longer, but I sigh. The clock is about to turn midnight. “I booked the last flight out.”
He steps in front of me, encasing me with his arms as he holds onto the rail behind me. “What if I could get you another flight?” His expression mirrors the one he wore when he asked me to go to the reception. A subtle hint of desperation. The warm breeze carries his scent around me as if tempting me.
“I might be persuaded.”
He licks his lips, focusing on mine. “You were just talking about my magical dick. Isn’t that persuasive enough?”
“It depends.” I lift a brow.
“On?”
“If you plan on using it.”