Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Her soft-soled shoes made no noise as she walked down the dock.
The sound of boats gently bobbing in the water echoed on the soft breeze.
A perfect summer night for a sail. Julianna wiped her damp palms down the sides of her gauzy cocoa skirt and cursed herself for acting like a sex-starved groupie.
Why was she nervous? She’d done things with this man she never thought possible—including letting him lick maple syrup from her body, inch by inch. She had no shame left.
But tonight felt different.
She’d sail on his boat. Spend time in his sacred space.
A bond with this man would make it more impossible to be unaffected when he walked away.
For the past week, she’d been allowed to explore the secret depths of the woman she was and always dreamed to be.
He stripped her clothes to reveal her body, but each hour she spent with him tore more of the barriers away.
When had it morphed into more than sex?
She nibbled her lip and thought over the last few nights with him.
Wrung out and sated, he always held her in his arms and they talked.
With darkness cloaking them, naked limbs entwined under the sheets, she shared things about herself usually kept hidden.
His razor-like focus while he listened gave her a sense of feeling seen and heard for the first time.
The aching loneliness eased, and was replaced with a burning need for more of him.
His touch. His stare. His words.
His heart.
As much as she rationalized it, Jack Wolfe had carved away a part of her soul. She’d never forget him or the time spent transforming the Cliff House from a prison into freedom. She was changing more each day, but the goal remained the same.
Her relationship with Bryce changed everything.
Things were getting more serious. All the core elements were there for them to move forward.
His last conversation hinted about the importance of obtaining a virtuous wife.
She assumed he’d done a background check on her and found everything in order.
The only item she’d lied about was Jack and her secret sexual affair.
Tonight may be their last night together. She needed to break things off with Jack.
Julianna watched a lone dark figure make his way down the dock to meet her.
Clad in white shorts, a button-down khaki cotton shirt, and boat shoes, he struck her as a rich socialite taking a spin on his yacht.
He moved like royalty, with no apology and no hesitation.
His sheer masculine presence whipped out and caught her in a painful grip, and Julianna realized she’d never met a man who connected with her on such a sensual level.
Instead of sating her craving, he only inspired more hunger.
“Good evening.”
His husky whisper rose up to her ears in a caress. “Good evening,” she said.
“Follow me.” He led her down to the pier and stopped in front of an older schooner.
The elegant lines and chipped paint clearly showed an old lover who held more emotional attachment than of value.
A hand-painted sign proudly bestowed the name THE PRINCE.
“This is it. Not much, but it’s gotten me where I wanted to go and never let me down. ”
She smiled at his possessive words and motioned to the sign. “Care to elaborate?”
“Absolutely not. Let’s just say it’s an old family joke.”
Julianna perched on the edge of the dock and watched him ready the boat for sail.
He moved with a seamless grace, his fingers capably pulling and untying ropes, his steps sure as he moved over the wet floor.
He jumped lightly down and put out his hand.
Julianna waited for the verbal invitation needed to be spoken in the boating world, like a vampire needs permission to enter a home.
“Come aboard.”
She gave him her hand, and hated the instant sizzle of naked skin against hers, his thumb automatically rubbing into her palm to prolong the sensation. Her feet hit the deck and she withdrew. He allowed her the space and led her through the cabin for a quick tour.
The schooner was small and well built. Bright white canvas sails adorned the sleek, rich wood.
His space seemed functional but nothing more, and Julianna assumed he barely had enough money to survive from town to town.
Definitely Peter Pan syndrome. Why else would a grown man refuse to get a job, have a family, and settle down?
Still, she tried not to judge because her life was the complete opposite, and not her choice.
On the open deck, he’d set up a small folding table with a white cloth. Wine chilled in a bucket alongside crab and fresh corn on the cob. Paper napkins and utensils completed the casual dinner.
“I hope you don’t mind eating before our sail. I had back-to-back jobs today so I didn’t have time to eat.”
“No, it’s perfect. Looks wonderful.”
The moon hung in a perfect crescent and fought with an array of stars.
The breeze blew light, with a crisp sting that kept the body alert.
She watched him pour wine and serve while she enjoyed the gentle sway of the boat and the endless blackness of ocean spread before her.
They nibbled on crab and sipped wine in silence before he asked the question.
“Julianna, would you take off your top?”
Her glass paused in midair. “Excuse me?”
His smile was pure amusement and wicked intent. “You heard me.”
“Someone will see.”
“It’s midnight. No one’s out here and soon we’ll be setting sail. I thought about you all day. Thought about licking sweet sugar from your breasts while you cried out for me to stop. Do you remember how long I pleasured your breasts? How sensitive to each bite and lick you became?”
Oh, God, yes. She remembered it all. Already on command, her body slammed into full alert, awaiting his every instruction.
“I want to eat while I gaze at you half naked. I want to know I can reach out and touch you at any time, and that soon I’ll have you.”
It took a moment for her fingers to stop trembling. Then she placed her glass down, and took off her tiny white T-shirt, and exposed a lacy crème bra.
“Now the bra.”
Julianna unhooked the back clasp and revealed herself.
“Good girl,” he murmured. He took a sip of wine and devoured her with his gaze. “You hide your body behind such boring clothes. Your skin tastes like vanilla bean ice cream. Your nipples are rosy and flushed, and you fit perfectly in the palms of my hands. Now I want you to remove your underwear.”
She fought a blush, amazed she had any shred of modesty left after the week they shared. “How do you know I’m wearing underwear?”
“Because you like when I make you take them off.”
She sucked in her breath. Then hiked up her skirt to wiggle out of the plain white panties she’d desperately wanted to upgrade.
“Well done. Now, about the retaining wall.”
Julianna assumed he was joking. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed, and her pussy throbbed to have him thrust deep inside her.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t joking, and launched into a detailed description of the project, the cost, and the time period.
She tried desperately to listen, but her body screamed louder than her mind and became the victor.
Finally, she agreed to the project and dimly noted it would extend the time he worked around her house by a few more days.
Not a good idea, but something she couldn’t control.
Hell, she was barely able to hold an intelligent conversation with the breeze caressing her bare breasts, hardening her nipples, and knowing she was wet, aching and ready for him.
“Tell me about the classes you teach,” he said, leaning back in his chair and obviously enjoying the view.
She refused to surrender first and forced her thoughts on the conversation. “Classical literature was a staple in my household. I grew up with Dickens and Austen to keep me company. But poetry was my passion.”
“You mentioned that before. Your father didn’t approve?”
“He felt it was too unruly; too raw. I was encouraged to study literature with an analytical mind. He believed poets held no restraint.” She gave a shrug. “It was the only time I rebelled. I decided to teach poetry, which he termed a waste.”
“It was important to you,” he murmured, tipping his head as he focused on her face. “Worth fighting for.”
“Yes.” A brief rush of pride cut through her. Her father assumed she’d obey and switch her major, but she sensed the last part of her true self would disappear forever if she gave in. “I had to.”
Satisfaction curled his lip. “I’m glad you protected that part of yourself. Did you ever want to write?”
She smiled. “I tried for a while but realized I have no talent. I prefer reading and allowing someone else’s words to fuel my imagination.”
His gaze probed. “I can understand that. You try desperately to live in your head but deep inside you have too much passion. Reading would feed that hunger, but writing in your own words may restrain it.”
Surprise shot through her. Dead-on hit. She wondered how he knew her so well with so little time spent in her company. “Yes,” she answered softly. “Each time I tried to write a poem, I’d be strangled with doubt and feel silly. I couldn’t seem to let the pen take over.”
“It’s like sex.” She raised an eyebrow and he elaborated. “You need to give in to the desires of the body for orgasm. You need to give in to the desires of the imagination in order to write.”
Fascinated, she cocked her head. “You sound well-read, also.”
“My mother raised me on poetry.”
“Dr. Seuss?”
He laughed. “More like Dickinson and Moore. She insisted on giving me culture, as she called it. Also told me it would help with the ladies.”
“Did it?”
“You tell me.”