CHAPTER ELEVEN
brOOKLYN
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“Lobster? Travis, this feels like a date.” I tease.
He leans back against the soft and creamy leather and sips his whisky. He looks like he’s posing for a men’s magazine and life comes easy to him.
“Does it? I eat like this every night.”
“I’m sure even you don’t eat lobster every night.” I chuckle.
He gives me a naughty smile, and I shake my head. His confidence could fuel a small country.
Travis smirks, then leans forward, laying an arm on the table. I lick my lips at his roped forearms and the tattoos his rolled shirt exposes. He’s like that piece of chocolate cake you know you shouldn’t eat but you’re going to anyway.
And then want seconds.
“Well, I’m sorry you’ve mistaken my desire to fuck you in different locations, purely for my own pleasure, for a date. I can’t control what you think, Ms. McKenna.”
Can’t he? Travis seems to have a lot of control over me. Or at least my body. And I don’t seem to be trying to stop him at all.
He mistook my outfit for something else.
I am hot in my leggings but don’t regret covering up. If he’d forced me into the club, I would be happy with my skin covered and messing with his plans.
But this superyacht is stunning, and I’m almost kicking myself for not wearing one of my lovely sundresses and a cardigan, and enjoying the moment.
“You could’ve just come to my apartment and ripped off my clothes.” I twist my mouth, enjoying how much we play with words.
Travis leans back again. “Perhaps I wanted to impress you.”
I bite the lobster off my fork, then point it at him. “Which is what you do on a date.”
“You’re talking with your mouth full.”
I shrug. “Well, you’re a sure thing, so I don’t need to impress you.”
“Really? Consider me shocked. The ski jacket gave that away.” He shakes his head.
I slice more of the lobster. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over my internal moans. This lobster is divine.”
Travis lets out a soft curse.
“Don’t say moan.”
God, he’s adorable.
There’s a dark edge to him with all those tattoos. A constant shadow in his eyes that screams he’s a bad boy who would never commit. That he’s the man your father warned you about. The man you do not go home with.
So, adorable isn’t exactly the right word to describe him.
And I’m extremely attracted to him.
Probably because of all those things.
It helps that he’s excessively wealthy and desires me right back.
Our chemistry seems to make us both a little nuts. When we’re not fucking, we’re flirting and teasing one another.
I’ll be honest, I love it.
Licking my fingers, I consider doing the same to the plate and then lose the opportunity when the server clears it away. So far I’ve seen over half a dozen staff on board.
Did he do all this for me?
It’s intimidating and a little overwhelming. And I wonder if he goes to this much trouble with every woman he doesn’t date . Then again, you know what they say about men wanting what they can’t have.
Unless he thinks I’m lying.
Which I’m not.
A man like Travis will break my heart into a trillion pieces if I let myself think he’s the one.
Maybe this is a game for him. I mean, this is intense. A whole superyacht out on the Hudson River. With a full moon. Although even he can’t control the heavens.
Still, perhaps backing off the no-dating talk and scaring him a little isn’t a bad idea.
“So, have you ever thought about getting married?” I lift my wine and take a slow sip while Travis appears to have a brain hemorrhage.
His fingers tighten around his glass, and the tick in his jaw throbs. “No.”
“You would make a lovely husband.” I smile.
“What are you doing?” he growls, his brows bunching.
“Nothing. I’m just saying, a woman wooed by you would be lucky and very impressed.”
“Wooed.” He repeats totally deadpan.
“Yes, it means—”
“I know what it means.” He drops his glass loudly onto the table. “I don’t woo women. I’m not wooing you. As you said, this is...sex.”
Wow.
Okay, that was quite the reaction. I don’t blink or react.
“Really, because digging out the big boat and putting together a candlelit dinner on the river is giving a girl ideas.”
“You think this is funny?” he asks darkly, and I want to laugh.
I glance around, and two of the servers stand near the door looking uncomfortable as hell. I turn back to him and press my lips together to stop grinning.
“I think you’re spending a ton of money to just sleep with me.” I tilt my head. “This is just sex, isn’t it?”
I am not going to be played or get my heart broken.
Travis, with fire in his eyes, leans closer. “I was going to fuck you on the table, as a matter of fact.”
My cheeks heat and core clenches.
Then he leans back and places an arm along the leather. “Now I’m going to make you wait for your orgasm.”
Liar.
I bet his cock is hard as granite.
“How was your show today?” Travis asks pointedly.
Blink. What?
“Did you watch it?”
“Yes.” He smirks. “You looked flustered, Ms. McKenna. Were you expecting me to slide off your panties and woo you between your legs?”
Game over. I want to know why he was watching my show.
I lift my wine. “I’m not flustered. I just don’t see what would be of interest on my podcast for a man like you.”
“A man like me.”
“Do you always repeat people?”
“Do you always reflect?”
God, he’s infuriating.
Travis waves at the servers, and they vanish like magic, the doors closing behind them. Standing, he holds out his hand, and I take it. We walk across the spacious room to a large corner sofa beside a glass coffee table. There are pieces of art on the walls and soft music playing.
A bottle of Italian dessert wine has been opened and placed on a tray along with the appropriate glasses. Beside it a stack of stunning hardcover books sits alongside a few nautical ornaments.
Travis doesn’t ask, he simply pours a small amount of wine in both glasses and lifts them.
“Thank you for being my guest onboard tonight.”
I take it and smile. As long as he stops talking about my show and just focuses on getting to the sex part of the evening, I am fine.
But damn, I do wish I’d worn a beautiful dress.
Missed opportunity for a selfie to send to Jasmine and Tony.
“Thank you for inviting me.” The wine is almost as delicious as the lobster. I let out a moan and feel Travis brush his fingers over the skin of my far shoulder. The heat of his thighs against mine has my body thrumming.
“Do you get nervous doing your shows?”
Ugh, why does he have to keep bringing it up? I hate that he was watching. In fact, all through the show I could feel that he was. It made me nervous, and I lost some of my confidence.
Hopefully after tonight, we say goodbye, and he finds someone else to give all this glorious short-term attention to.
Lucky bitch.
I hate her already.
“No, I was disorganized today. If you noticed, then I’m sure we’ll get comments.” I sigh.
He doesn’t need to know I was distracted by all the sweet aches in my body from spending the night with him. And anticipating what tonight would bring.
“I notice more about you than most people do, Brook.” His voice is gravel.
I shiver, and it has nothing to do with the temperature.
“What did you notice?” I ask despite not wanting the answer.
Do not fall for this man.
“That you’re smart. Strong. Determined.” Travis takes a sip, his eyes remaining on mine. Then he leans, places his glass on the table, and rests back against the cushion. I watch as he trails a finger across my thigh. “A shame you have so many clothes on.”
God, it so is.
He looks like he belongs in the Hamptons with his tan chinos and white shirt. Like a sexy drug lord. Or maybe I’ve been watching far too many mafia movies lately.
“And before you accuse me of wooing you, this is called seduction.”
I blush. “Then why are you watching my show? If you are just interested in sex.”
“I’m a curious man. Then you caught my attention with the Leo Taylor story, and I kept listening.”
Ah.
That makes sense. He’s a well-known actor.
“Big fan are you?” I say with more of a tone that I should have. He’s silent, and despite most people thinking his expression remains blank, I’m trained to read people.
But I can’t find a word to describe what I’m seeing.
Almost anger.
“I wouldn’t call myself a fan,” Travis answers; his voice holds a note that has the investigative part of me wanting to dig into.
“Really? All those action movies and you didn’t grow up watching them? Aspiring to be like him.”
He lets out a dry and dark laugh.
“No.” Travis physically moves away and then catches himself, settling back.
Interesting.
He runs his hand through the front of his hair, mussing it, and then draws in a breath. I’m intrigued by how flustered he is. Normally he’s so in control.
“So you think he’s guilty?”
Dark eyes shoot to mine. “Yes.”
“Care to explain?”
“Maybe. Can I trust you?”
I blink, studying him as I would anyone with information. Right now, I’m not the woman he is going to pleasure tonight, I’m a journalist. I’ve snapped into work mode like I’m a ring binder.
“I’m investigating him, so the answer is yes and no. If you share information that could be of value, I’m going to pursue it.”
“This is not my story to share, but I believe it’s something you should know.”
Jesus.
I want to drag it out of him.
“We thoroughly investigate any leads, so whatever you tell me we need to quantify. I may need to interview you or one of my team can—”
Travis shakes his head.
“Then I can’t use what you tell me.”
He turns to face me properly, his hand behind me flat against my upper back. His eyes are intense despite all his efforts to remain calm.
“It’s not my story. I met his son. A long time ago.”
His son?
I’ve done little digging into Taylor's private life. I know he had a son, but he’s grown up and nothing has pointed to him to date. Jesus, I hope this doesn’t lead to some sex trafficking ring. I don’t have the stomach for that.
“Okay,” I reply softly, letting him talk as I place my hand on his arm.
“Let’s just say his father took his innocence.”
My mouth falls open.
“He told you that?” I gasp.
That conversation would require a closeness and trust. Years of friendship or a common pain. It’s not schoolroom locker conversation. Or a chat over a beer.
I don’t know when they met or how he knows Taylor’s son, but it’s quite a statement to make.
“Were you...”
“Brook.” His dark eyes snap to mine. “I’m sharing this with you because I want you to know your story has truth. Leo Taylor is not a good man. You should keep investigating.”
I nod.
The emotion flowing from him is so intense, it’s overwhelming.
“Do not let anyone use scare tactics to stop you.” Suddenly he stands, rubbing the back of his neck. “If...if anyone threatens you, I want you to let me know.”
“You were close to this kid.”
When his eyes meet mine again, he nods. “Yes. He lost his mother and was abused for many years. He deserves justice.”
Then he walks out, and I sit staring into the silent room and can’t help feeling there is significantly more to this.
As any investigative reporter would.