I reach up, touch his hand, let my smile grow wider even with the tension gripping my chest tightly. “Sometimes, I don’t knowif I’m making a mountain out of a molehill, or if I’ve just gotten used to carrying a mountain everywhere I go.”
His eyes glisten. Wonder. Pride, even.
“What?” I murmur.
“Just you,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
“Was there a bed back there?” I ask because I want to know how far he went, how much effort he put in. Even if I ruined it all.
“There was,” he replies.
A tingle runs up my spine. The physical attraction doesn’t wane, even for a moment, even with my heart and soul in open rebellion.
“What if I said no?” I ask.
“I don’t understand the question.”
“If we had the champagne, and we had a great date, then you showed me the bed, and I said no, I don’t want to have sex.”
“What sort of fucking question is that?” he says, taking a small step back.
I fold my arms. Am I trying to start a fight? “One that requires an answer.”
“Then we’d stop. Obviously.” He looks at me in disgust. “Who do you think I am?”
“I guess that’s the billion-dollar question. Are you a guy who’s genuinely interested in me, or just another rich guy who wants a sentient fuck doll?”
“Christ.” He walks to the opposite railing, grips it hard, his shoulders rising and falling as he heaves massive breaths. “Since Pete and I dropped out of college and started our company, my life has been curated. Early success meant there wasn’t much time to stop, breathe, just… exist. I even hid my mother, paid off the right people to have her tragedy scrubbed so some vulture journalist wouldn’t spread her all over the news.” His back is still to me, but I can hear the ragged pain in his voice and see it in his posture. “Now, we’ve got something real. Something beyond the stock price. And you think I’m one ofthem?”
He turns, hurt in his eyes.
I try to stay strong. To stare him down. This is exactly the sort of thing my dad used to say to make my mother comfort him, but he’s not my father and I’m not my mother.
I rush to him and throw my arms around him. “I’m sorry,” I murmur.
“A woman has every right to ask a question like that.” He slowly runs his hand through my hair. “You’re on a boat with a stranger.”
“You’re not a stranger, Jack.”
“Baby, you know how to keep me on my toes. I’ll give you that.”
“Am I being a head fuck?” I ask, looking up at him.
His lip twitches. He shakes his head. “No.”
“A little bit?”
“Okay,a little bit.” He kisses me again. “There’s something going on in that busy head of yours. I can tell. And I can also tell you don’t want to talk about it, which is fine too.”
“You’re right about all of that,” I admit quietly.
“Then let’s just enjoy the ocean. We can try this another time.”
We’re silent again for a few minutes. I close my eyes and rest my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, as he cuddles me close to him. For a man I’ve only met in persontwice, this feels stunningly natural. I’m not a soul-mate kind of gal, and definitely not a head-over-heels girlie, either. But I can’t deny this connection. Like something in me is trying to fuse with him if I’d only let it.
CHAPTER 20
JACKSON