Chapter 9
Mateo
I am a weak man consumed by thoughts of honey-blond hair splayed against maroon bed sheets.
A steady stream of frigid water batters my skin but does nothing to extinguish the fire coursing through my veins.
I brace my palm against the shower wall, slowly pumping the other up and down my shaft, bawdy thoughts of Charlie consuming every corner of my mind.
A groan tumbles out as I imagine her legs falling open, her hand trailing down her stomach until she finds the apex of her thighs.
I nearly crumble at the idea of watching that vibrator dipping in and out of her.
Weak, wanton man.
The pressure at the base of my spine compounds as I stroke myself, every titillating fantasy of Charlie beneath me, on top of me, writhing beneath my tongue, flashing across my mind.
My head drops against the beige plastic shower wall as I barrel closer to completion. Those Caribbean-blue eyes, a window into her thoughts, fill my vision, and I combust .
The sound of her voice calling my name echoes in my mind while I orgasm. Only once the high fades do I realize her voice wasn’t a part of my fantasy.
“Mateo!”
Two bangs rattle the bathroom door, and I nearly slip, scrambling to right myself before I land on my ass.
“One minute,” I yell, my voice hoarse. At lightning speed, I dry myself off and get dressed. I steal a few seconds to hype myself up in the mirror before returning to the room, where Charlie perches on the end of the bed, her foot tapping impatiently. “?Qué pasa, bruja?”
I dawdle about the cramped room, and she tracks my movements.
“We have a safety briefing.” Her lips purse in dissatisfaction.
“Thank you for the reminder.”
She clicks her tongue. “We’re going to be late.” She doesn’t add because of you , but I hear it in her silence.
What I don’t understand is why she’s still here if she’s so anxious about it. She could have left, but instead, she’s stewing in her anxiety to wait for me.
It should mean nothing that Charlie waited so we could walk to the lounge together, but I am working on very little with her, so the likely meaningless action means something to me.
“I’m sorry, bruja . Let’s go.” I’m halfway out the door before I notice she hasn’t moved from the bed. Her face is scrunched in confusion in the most adorable way. “Charlie?”
She shakes from the stupor and pops off the mattress.
“Uh…yeah.” She looks at me oddly, like I’m a dilution series she can’t get right. She flies past me in the doorway.
We walk down an industrial hallway, the walls covered in journal covers and newspaper clippings that mention SeaStar.
Bright golden sconces line the walls of the ship’s lounge, illuminating the area meant to relax after a long day.
Several large wooden tables are scattered throughout the space, and a sofa and television are nestled in a back corner.
The decor mimics that of the stateroom. Dark wooden furniture with maroon and gold accents. Crew members and personnel from RogueWave fill the space, and Sofía stands at the front of the room.
We arrived with two minutes to spare, but Charlie pauses, her head swinging between the seats and me.
What’s going on in that pretty little head?
I slide into an empty seat at a table in the back, and she tentatively sits in the seat beside mine.
Our thighs are flush, and it requires every ounce of self-restraint I possess to turn away from where we touch and listen to Sofía explain safety procedures and where to muster in an emergency.
Charlie squirms in her seat.
“Don’t worry, I’ll save you if we sink,” I whisper beneath my breath.
She sticks out her tongue.
“There are cameras stationed throughout the common areas for Jett’s personal filming. In addition, Doug may film you while you work or ask you to answer questions. Please accommodate him.”
Doug stands—a man in his late forties with a long peppered beard—gives a wave, then plops back into his seat.
“You all signed a release form,” Sofía says, “but this is a reminder—do not do anything illegal or explicit. I don’t want to have any awkward conversations.”
With that friendly reminder, Sofía jumps into the boat’s amenities and walks us through the map, pointing out the lab, control room, and mess area where we’ll eat. A few photos pop onto the screen behind her, and Charlie barely muffles her excited squeal.
“It’s a cool ship,” I mumble, finding any reason to talk to her.
“ A cool ship ?” she asks, incredulously. “The only way this boat could be any cooler was if it was the HMS Beagle , we were exploring the Galapagos, and I had unfettered access to Charles Darwin and his magnificent brain.”
I choke on my laughter, and a few heads swing in our direction.
Before I can formulate any verbal response—I have a physical one, which is to kiss the shit out of her—Sofía steps aside, and a woman with a sandy-blond pixie cut takes her place, a no-bullshit look on her face.
“My name is Vivian,” she says. “I am the head pilot for Poseidon and Neptune , our two remotely operated vehicles, or ROVs. Our first descent will occur tomorrow at eight a.m. Lucas is the copilot but will focus on operating the cameras for the documentary.”
“Right on,” Jett hollers, and Vivian quirks a brow.
“Most of the SeaStar crew are familiar with the expedition process and what we expect to find in Monterey Canyon, but in addition, we have two researchers to provide insight and identify species. Charlie, Mateo, can you stand?” Vivian asks, and the entire room turns to us.
I rise, focused on Charlie as she pulls down the cuff of her sweatshirt.
“If you have questions about what we see or are curious about deep-sea ecosystems, we are more than happy to chat.”
Sofía returns to the front, announcing dinner will be ready soon, and as I sit, Charlie leans in close enough that her perfume lingers in the air.
“Thank you.”
Only two words, but they hold so much more meaning. There’s no contempt or annoyance, and it allows irrational hope to form in my chest. Maybe we’re moving somewhere new, a place where I could tell her how I feel and not face immediate rejection.
Charlie spends the rest of the evening laughing with Sofía and Vivian, and like a creep, I watch her, enraptured by how she twirls a strand of hair around her finger. I bask in the comfortable warmth her laughter offers, settling beneath my navel .
Jett clears his throat, dropping into the seat beside me with a knowing look. I shut my laptop, though I haven’t written a single word of my protocol in an hour. Charlie laughs again, and subconsciously, I look over. Her head is tipped back, her hands flying out to cover her face.
Sofía offers a laugh of her own, and Jett’s head swings.
Hmm. Seems like I’m not the only one interested in an occupant at that table.
“What are you hoping to see?” I ask to banish thoughts of the stunning blonde who does wicked things to my insides with a simple smile.
“A viperfish,” Jett blurts out. “Their teeth are insane, man. Imagine eating corn with those chompers.”
A surprised laugh escapes me, and Charlie’s head jerks, our eyes connecting from across the room. All else fades away as something soft, something foreign, flashes across her gaze. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and she returns to her conversation.
“I’ll never get that image out of my mind.” I chuckle, but my focus remains fixed on Charlie.
I would give up everything for a peek into her mind. She’s brilliant, precise, but an enigma. Does she truly dislike me, or is there room for change? Are her subtle perusals something more, or am I projecting?
Charlie rises from her table, and I give her a thirty-second head start before ditching Jett like a bad habit. Anticipation and trepidation overwhelm me as I slip into the room right behind her.
Sharing a bed with Charlie may kill me, but at least it will be a glorious death.