Breaking the kiss, Rachel dropped to her heels. “I’m guessing that Collin, your butler-who’s-more-personal-assistant-and-finger-food-chef, could walk out at any moment.”
“He better not,” Isaac all but growled. “I pay him better than that.”
She chuckled even as she took his hand and backed toward the nearest pair of sliding glass doors. “Surely this rickety dinghy has a horizontal surfacesomewhere.”
“Dinghy, huh? I don’t think she’s ever been so insulted.”
“She’ll survive.”
“I’ll have her brass polished and make Collin sweet-talk her while he does it.”
“Rich men are such snobs.”
Taking her hand, he rested it over the length of his throbbing cock.
“Hmm.” She palmed him before changing to long, slow strokes. “You need to see a doctor about this, sir?”
“I’d rather see a particular lawyer in this case.”
“Lucky for you, I’m on a one-night exclusive retainer.”
She closed the paper-thin distance, opening herself to him. His hands. His kiss.
Isaac plundered her mouth, his tongue tracing her lips, her teeth, before seeking hers. It was an intimate duel, one of thrusts and parries, with an outcome that would have two winners.
She returned his attention with equal fervor. Every move she made affirmed for him that they weren’t yet done with each other. Every sound solidified her intent. Her every touch declared that she intended to slay the demons he’d roused.
And his body was her weapon of choice.
Anyone could see them, standing as they were on the open deck. Rachel pulled away from him and, grabbing his hand, backed up, trusting him to guide her. Or at least keep her from falling overboard.
His lips were swollen from the passionate kiss they’d just shared. A small smudge of lipstick—her lipstick—marked his collar. She couldn’t help but think the deep brownish red, labeled Jungle Vixen, was a good color on him.
“Which way to the bedroom?”
He smirked. “She has six. Take your pick.”
“‘She’ again. Why is that?”
“Every good boat is a ‘she.’”
“I’ll make sure to let the United States Navy know they need to rechristen a few of their boats.”
He stumbled. “Boats? Good God, Rachel. Don’t let the navy hear you call their warships ‘boats.’”
“Boats. Ships. Warships. Why are the ‘warships’ not classified as ‘she’? Seems a little inequality might be at play here.” She paused. “You don’t think women are warriors?”
He moved closer with panther-like grace. “If I’d ever been so foolish as to entertain that idea, you would have changed my mind tonight.” Leaning in, he nipped her lower lip.
“Good save.” She couldn’t help but wonder if he always knew what to say to when backed into a corner.
He slid an arm around her waist and then bent and hooked the other behind her knees, lifting her with ease.
She squeaked, a sound she found embarrassingly feminine. “Don’t carry me, Isaac.”
“Why?”
“I’m too heavy.”