Chapter 11
Gracyn
“Y our flight leaves at eleven tonight.” Brooks slides his phone into his pocket, resuming his position in front of me with his arms, caging me in on either side.
I’m not going to even question how he made that happen. I already know money talks.
Tilting his head, he asks, “What next?”
I smirk, amused that he tries to make me think I’m the one in charge. Something tells me he rarely gives up control. “You’re the captain of this boat.”
He lifts his sunglasses, sliding them on top of his head. “Tell me what you’re doing after college.”
“That again?”
“Why won’t you tell me?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“I didn’t. Until you made it a thing .” He chuckles. I’m surprised when his head falls to my neck and he gently kisses it. I roll my head to the side to give him better access. “What"—kiss—“is”—kiss—“it?” The trail of kisses tingles against my skin as he moves up to my jawbone.
I drag my hands down his back until they reach the hem of his shirt. His breath hitches a beat when I snake them under his shirt, pressing into his hot, bare skin. “You’re going to be disappointed,” I breathe out, losing myself in his touch, making it almost impossible to focus on the conversation he’s trying to have.
Suddenly, he stops and steps back. “Fuck.” His breaths are heavy, his chest rising and falling. “I was going to coerce you, but that’s not a strategy I’ll win. Once I start, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.”
“Then don’t stop,” I reply, biting my swollen lip.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he reaches behind him, grabs the back of his shirt, and pulls it over his head. Tossing it aside, he leans against the bar. “Tell me.”
My eyes flick to the bridge behind him we’re about to go under. I huff, knowing he’s never going to let this go. “I hate you.”
He lifts a wicked brow. “Are you embarrassed?”
“Absolutely not,” I say defensively and then grunt. He’s as stubborn as I am. “I’m going to be a teacher.”
He stares at me, his body motionless. “Huh,” he finally says. And then he turns and walks away.
Walks. Away.
I blink, staring at the space where he stood, my jaw hanging open. What the hell just happened? When he strolls back out, taking a long pull from a water bottle, his sunglasses back over his eyes, anger takes hold. I press my lips together in a tight line. Unbelievable.
“For the record, teaching is one of the most important jobs out there. You wouldn’t be where?—”
“I agree,” he fires back, cutting me off.
I throw my hands up, confused. “Then what’s the problem?”
“My mom’s a teacher,” he explains, his voice softer. He pauses and runs his hand through his hair. “She would love you.”
“Oh.” That’s surprising to me. It’s hard to imagine a billionaire being the son of a teacher. “What does your dad do?” Stop asking him personal questions. “Wait, don’t answer that.”
He laughs to himself, then jerks his chin toward the chaise lounge. He walks over to it and stretches out on the king-sized lounger, his arms resting behind his head. The sun beats down on him, but the breeze keeps it bearable.
I crawl across it to join him, but when I lay back, the space between us clearly isn’t to his liking. With a playful tug on my legs, he pulls them over his thighs. He sighs and leans back, his thumb circling my knee, and he closes his eyes as he relaxes.
I look around, knowing I’m in over my head, but damn, how freaking amazing is this? The boat glides along the Hudson River, the city skyline glinting in the sunlight.
“An accountant,” he replies.
I hum, surprised that his wealth doesn’t come from family money.
“You’re wondering how I got here?”
“Well, yeah? You’re only thirty-two, and there are a lot of zeros behind your name.”
He chuckles once, gaze shifting to the water. “Luck.”
I tilt my head, surprised by his answer.
“Don’t get me wrong, I worked my ass off to get our company where it is today. We landed some big deals early on that catapulted us forward. But Jared and I built an app in college to track prospects and a bunch of other features. We sold it to a software company a couple years later for a pretty penny. I invested the money into startups, stocks, real estate. Some flopped, but the ones that didn’t? They paid off. Big time.”
“So, one lucky break turned into an empire?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Luck opened the door. Hard work made sure it stayed open.”
I stare at him, amazed. But then, inwardly, I cringe. I refuse to be more impressed by him, dammit. “We should get back to the don’t ask, don’t tell cruise,” I tease, nudging his side.
A lazy grin forms on his face, and I hate that I can’t see his eyes. “So, a teacher, huh? What grade?”
I playfully kick him with my foot. “You’re relentless.”
He catches my foot, his grip warm and firm. A quiet sigh escapes when he presses his thumb into the pad of my foot. “More like curious.”
If he continues massaging my foot like that, I’ll reveal all my secrets. “First through third,” I admit, unable to hide my smile. “I love kids. I love when their little faces light up when they learn new things. They’re funny, and their excitement is infectious.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “And in between all that, they’re little assholes.”
I slap him on the arm, gasping. “They are not! You can’t tell me that Presley isn’t perfect.”
His smile softens. “I love that little girl with every fiber in my body,” he begins. “But let’s be real, she can absolutely be a little shit sometimes.”
Our laughter fades as we settle into the gentle ride of the boat. The salty, warm breeze brushes over us, and the rhythmic sway of the waves is almost hypnotic. I close my eyes, basking in the moment, in his touch, in his closeness.
“Too bad I didn’t pack a bathing suit,” I murmur, my eyes still closed.
“There’s one downstairs you can use.”
I jerk my head toward him, twisting my body. “I do not want to wear some left-behind swimsuit of one of your boat bunnies.”
“Boat bunnies?” he repeats.
He heard me loud and clear. The wind tosses a loose strand of my hair around and he reaches out and wraps it around my ear. He did the same thing yesterday at the wedding, and the simple, sweet gesture sends a surge of chills up and down my back.
“The only used swimsuits on board won’t fit you,” he says, his lips curling into a slow, teasing grin. “Unless you’re an adolescent, which, I assure you, is most definitely not the case.”
Still not convinced that one of his groupies didn’t leave the swimsuit behind— because gross —I ask, “So where did it come from?”
His face shifts into uncertainty. He rubs the back of his neck, a telltale sign I’ve already seen a few times when he’s unsure how I’ll react. Like when he called the doctor or grabbed my bag from my hotel. I angle my head, wondering what he did this time.
He clears his throat, looking off briefly. “I might have gotten Charli’s number from your phone while you took a shower and texted her to ask your size in a bathing suit.”
My brows shoot up. “You what?”
“And then,” he continues, trying to get it all out before I explode. “I might have had my assistant run to the store to pick up a couple of bathing suits for you.”
I blink at him, floored. “Seriously? You are the most invasive man I’ve ever met.”
That’s why we have passwords . Charli’s voice pops in my head. She’s always hounding me to set one up.
As much as I want to be annoyed by his overbearing tendencies, I’m not. Because as invasive as he’s been, everything he’s done, it’s been for my benefit. I’ve yet to decide if I find it a flaw or one of his strengths.
Okay, I’m lying.
His attentiveness is sexy as hell, definitely a strength.
Most men I’ve dated only consider themselves or what they could gain from the situation. Not to say this whole swimsuit thing isn’t self-serving. There’s a solid chance the bathing suits are basically three strings and a prayer.
But we’re not dating .
He settles back with one hand behind his head, unbothered by my reactions now. “What? You’re my wife. I should know these things.”
I drop my head, shaking it. “I’m starting to think you like saying that.”
“It’s growing on me,” he says, unapologetic.
“Why did I agree to this?” I mutter, scooting to the end of the lounger. I glance behind me. “Were you even drunk that night? A mail-order bride would’ve been easier.”
“Yep. When you stole my coffee, I knew immediately I wanted a thief for my wife. Just what a billionaire wants in his life.” His tone is dripping with a mix of sarcasm and humor.
“And yet, here we are,” I counter.
“Which is proof I was piss drunk that night.” He lifts that perfectly groomed brow over the rim of his sunglasses. “A mail-order bride would’ve cost me a fortune. This one just cost me a coffee.”
Did he just call me cheap?
I am not cheap.
I kick his foot with mine. “That’s it. I’m taking the yacht.” With a dramatic twirl, I march to the stairs, my head held high. I stop on the first stair and ask, “Where am I finding this new bathing suit?”
He grins. “Bottom level. Last room on the left.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking up those same stairs, trying not to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of this swimsuit. Who bought this thing? To her credit, at least it fits. But evidently, whoever it is hates me. Wait a minute. It had to be his assistant, the one who kept telling me he was “busy.”
She would do this.
As soon as Brooks sees me, he slides his sunglasses down his nose with a single finger. His smile falters for a fraction of a second before a forced, fake grin takes its place. He thinks I might like this .
I scrunch my nose and do a slow spin, letting him appreciate the full ensemble. “Your assistant sure knows how to pick them.” I tug on the annoyingly tight mock neck. “It’s a little warm.” The long-sleeve swim shirt is not the worst thing in the world, it’s more hilariously out of place.
“Well…” He pauses, biting his bottom lip to suppress his amusement. “I won’t lose you.”
“Why? Because I resemble Where’s Waldo ?" I deadpan. Who could go missing wearing a red-and-white striped top paired with black boy shorts? It’s as if I popped right off a page out of the book. It’s practical, I guess. “At least I won’t get sunburnt.”
He’s biting his knuckle now. “I bet you’re regretting not having one of those boat bunny suits right now.”
“Nope. A Waldo suit is still better than a trip to my gyno.”
“Wow,” he mouths, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Just so we’re clear, I’m clean.”
Blood drains from my face. Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Gray. “I didn’t mean to insinuate…”
He cuts me off with a sly grin. “Your assessment’s fair. I know my reputation precedes me. But I haven’t been that guy in years. Well, until recently .”
Like I have any room to talk about the women who throw themselves at Brooks. Considering I practically wrapped myself in a bow and said I’m yours after meeting him for five minutes, it doesn’t say a lot about my character.
I sit next to him again. “Seems we bring out the worst in each other.”
“The worst?” He leans in closer, kissing my shoulder. “Pretty sure I brought out the best of you. Multiple times, if I recall.”
My stomach flutters. Definitely multiple times.
I turn my head, catching him staring at me. “What?” I expected to see desire, not confusion.
“Is that really the suit she bought?”
My eyes widen. “You think this is mine?”
He shakes his head in mock irritation. “I’m going to fire Hattie tomorrow.”
I roll over, straddling him. “You’re not firing anyone.” My hands rest on his chest, and he stares up at me, heat simmering just beneath the surface. I trail a finger around the tattoo on his pec. How could I forget he had these? He has three of them. One on each shoulder and then his entire right pec.
The long sleeves of this ridiculous swim shirt are suffocating now, especially under his intense stare. His hands settle firmly on my hips, pulling me closer. We’re drifting in open waters now. Nothing but endless blue surrounds us, and there aren’t any boats that are close to us.
“Paul won’t come up here, right?”
“If he wants to keep his job, he won’t.”
I wiggle my hips against his hardness and take off my sunglasses. I grab the edge of the swim shirt and pull it over my head, tossing it to the side. It’s way too hot for this. The warm breeze kisses my bare skin, and his gaze drops to my breasts, darkening with desire.
“Better?” I murmur seductively.
“I’m not complaining, but you’re beautiful in anything.”
I lean over, placing my hands on each side of his head, hovering. “I’m going to need you to stop being so sweet,” I whisper in his ear. “When I leave here, I need to hate you.”
“And what exactly do I need to do for you to hate me?”
I twist my lips, coming up empty. Tossing me overboard might do it, but I’d like to leave here alive. “How about we just have sex? Raw, heart-pounding, unadulterated fucking. No more sweet nothings.”
His smile grows as his fingers dig into my hips. “And here I thought sober Gray was going to be boring.”
In one quick maneuver, he flips us, and his lips come crashing down against mine hungrily. The kiss was exactly what I asked for. Demanding. Feral. He continues kissing me along my collarbone, slow and deliberate, his breath hot against my skin. I arch into him as his mouth explores, moving down to my boobs, unraveling me more each second.
Warm wind sweeps over us, making everything seem that much more electric. It heightens every sensation, the contrast of the soft breeze against the heat radiating between us. His lips move down, and he stops for a quick kiss on my belly button before continuing down south. His teeth catch the edge of the boy shorts, tugging them down with almost agonizing patience.
He just looks up at me, his gaze dark and intense, as if he’s savoring the view. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but there’s a thrill in the way he’s taking his time, like I’m something he wants to memorize. And then he leans down, his mouth grazing my inner thigh. His tongue flicks my swollen clit, and I mewl.
This. This is why I married the man.
His tongue is magical, and he knows exactly what he’s doing. Every flick, every teasing stroke, drives me further to the edge. There’s something about being out in the open, the rush of someone catching us, and his well-defined skills that push me over the edge. My fingers squeeze around the pillow as a wave of heat rips through my center, and my hips buck against his mouth.
Holy hell.
He must’ve asked me to marry him right after this. The exact moment where I’m floating in orgasmic bliss. Because, right now, I’d say yes to anything.
Movement brings me back into the present, and I watch as he shoves his board shorts down. With his gaze locked on mine, he pumps his hard cock in his hand twice. His body is the personification of a sculpted Greek god.
“It’s so hard, it almost hurts,” he mutters through clenched teeth.
He bends to grab a condom from his shorts, sliding it down his shaft. The wind tousles his hair, and I can’t take my eyes off him, my body already aching in anticipation. Crawling forward on his knees, he reaches for me and pulls me upright.
He sits back, guiding me to straddle him, his large hands lifting me over his cock. A soft moan escapes my lips as I lower myself onto him, the intoxicating fullness sending a dizzying rush through me. The world around us fades, the open expanse of water and the possibility of being seen forgotten.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers into my ear.
His grip tightens on my ass, and I lift and grind my hips against him as I lower onto him, my body convulsing against him. He lets out a low, guttural groan, nipping my collarbone. I hold on to his neck for balance, my fingers curling into his skin. My heart pounds in my chest as his lips trail up my neck, his tongue flicking the sensitive spot behind my ear.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he growls, his voice strained, raw.
I tilt my head back, giving him easier access, and my body trembles at his words. “Show me,” I whisper, daring him, craving more, wanting to lose myself in him entirely.
His hands slide up my back, holding me as he lays me back, taking control, driving his thrusts upward, filling me so deeply I can’t hold back the moans that slip from my lips. He falls forward, his mouth capturing mine, swallowing the sound, his kiss hungry and desperate.
His movements quicken, becoming almost primal. Each thrust sends a shockwave coursing through me, the intensity building with every stroke. My nails rake down his back, desperate to hold on as he drives me closer to the edge again.
“There is no way you could forget this.” His voice is rough and commanding, as if driving the point with his dick. He pushes up again, his hands spreading me wider as he plunges even deeper, the friction between us sparking something wild and uncontrollable.
He’s right. Un-freaking-forgettable.
My vision blurs as I shatter around him, screaming his name, my release barreling through me. He follows moments later, his body tensing through his own release, before collapsing against mine.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The only sounds are the soft lapping of the waves against the boat, the heavy cadence of our breathing, and the soft whistle of the wind. The breeze glides across my overheated skin as I stare up at the sky.
Brooks leans over and presses a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering there. “You’re a lousy fuck,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
My jaw drops, but then my brain catches up. Liar. I bite back my laugh. “Maybe if your dick wasn’t pencil-thin, you might’ve felt something,” I shoot back.
He roars with laughter, deep and unrestrained, as he pushes up and scoots off the lounger, disposing of the condom, before crawling back. “Pencil-thin?” he repeats in mock offense. “Funny, I don’t recall you complaining a few minutes ago when you were screaming my name loud enough to scare the fish.”
I wasn’t that loud. I raise a brow, my lips curving into a taunting smile. “Haven’t you ever heard of a woman faking it?”
In a swift motion, he rolls on me, pinning my hands above my head. “I know damn straight you were not faking it.”
I shrug, knowing it’s killing him.
“Woman,” he warns, the attempt of having me hate him not going his way. “Admit it.”
I shake my head, and he playfully bites my chin in response. When I shake my head again, he bites somewhere else. My earlobe. My collarbone. My nipple. My stomach. Every inch of my body heats back up.
Eventually, my resistance melts into slow, teasing shakes, each one daring him to move lower. Anticipation coils inside of me, a deliciously wicked game we both know I’ll lose.
So much for trying to leave hating him.
Because by the time I walk away, I’m certain his dick isn’t pencil-thin, and he knows damn well my orgasms were real.
* * *
I grip the handle of my suitcase, my chest tightening as I wrestle with the words to say goodbye to the most infuriating, perfect man. The regret claws at me, and I haven’t even left him yet.
“Thanks for…” I pause, searching for the right words. “The perfect day.”
He nods, leaning against the car with a casual ease that makes my pulse race. Hands tucked in his pockets, legs crossed, that devastatingly sexy, effortless charm radiating off him. He’s perfected it. “Thanks for being a degenerate.”
“What? I am not!”
“You so are. You’re a wedding crasher and a thief,” he points out with a teasing grin.
“You drove me to a life of crime.” I shrug, poking him in the chest. “Thank God we’re getting that annulment. I'd hate to see what you'll have me doing next.”
His smile wavers, and his sigh lingers in the air, heavy and loaded, leaving an awkward moment between us. We both feel it. But what is it exactly?
It’s lust.
It’s great, unforgettable sex.
It’s fun.
But it’s not love.
It can’t be love . Spending three whirlwind days with a man should not leave me feeling regret or teetering on the edge of heartbreak. So, what is this? Why am I feeling anything other than being sexually satiated?
“Guess I’ll see you next month in court.” I turn to walk toward the sliding glass doors but then pause and look over my shoulder. “Well, unless you send your attorney.”
Still rooted against the car, he winks and replies, “I’ll be there.”
Five more weeks. I can handle five more weeks of being married to this man.
Right?