“YOU OK?” a deep, gravelly voice asks as I am laid down on something soft. I nod a little, then shake my head slightly, and then take a deep breath in through my nose. My eyes peel open and I gasp for air before coughing up water onto the sand beside me.
I gingerly turn my head around and find a pair of dark eyes staring down at me, only a few inches from my face. I feel a bounce in my chest, a quickening of the pulse. It is like landing on an alien planet you’ve only glimpsed through a telescope.
Wow, up close … his face is beautiful. “I want to sit on your face.”
“You want to sit on my face?”
Oh shit. Either he has the ability to read minds, or I just told him I wanted to sit on his face.
Let me swim back to sea and sink to the bottom…
FML.
I must be having heat stroke, I decide. Despite the bright moon in the dark summer sky, the intense heat of the day still lingers long after the sun set.
“I don’t think sitting on my face is appropriate right now.” His voice is gruff, a little surly.
“I-I didn’t say that … I-I want to sit … up—“
Now my voice decides to crack?
His rippling skin turns me into stone, and I’m unsure if it is because of my near-death experience, or because I am lying naked underneath him, or, more likely, because I am glancing at a solid wall of masculinity.
“You’re delirious,” he grunts, reaching to put a hand briefly on my forehead before withdrawing it, but not before I feel the effect of his touch, like a jolt of electricity running wild through my veins. “What the hell were you thinking?” I flinch at the sharp tone of his voice. “You could have died. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you? How can you think it’s a good idea to go swimming at night during a storm? Too much drinking and partying, huh? Think next time, alright.”
There is nowhere to hide the flames of mortification licking at my cheeks. This is humiliating. Flustered and disorientated, I am unsure of what to do in this situation. So, what do I word vomit? “Uh … totally.” That’s what I just said. ‘Uh … totally.’ Stunning, right? Highly impressive. Cool as hell.
Ideas of moving town, maybe even the country, skim through my mind. I hear Australia has nice beaches this time of year.
Unsure, I think I see a faint smile on his lips from my nervous ripple of talk. If he is smiling, it is short-lived. “Got a name?”
“Um…”
I’ve forgotten my name. I’ve forgotten my bloody name.
This really isn’t the way in which I wanted to get naked underneath my celebrity crush with. Being sophisticated, intelligent and charming were vital parts of my plan. Not this. Never this.
To his credit, he keeps his eyes trained on my face, where so many guys wouldn’t be respectable enough to look me in the eye in this demeaning moment. On one hand, it fires up the desire to kiss him for being an honourable gentleman, but on the other hand … why am I disappointed?
Am I really not his type?
I try to smile, but my mouth is bone-dry, my lips stuck together at the corners. I probably look like a mental patient. I wipe my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but my head is empty. Thankfully, he turns his head to the side, glancing away, and I hear him suck in a deep breath.
Delphine hurries over. “Thank God she’s OK. Thank you. Thank you for saving her.”
“Don’t you think bringing her clothes would be more appropriate than a bottle of wine?” Lenic berates gruffly. “Wine isn’t gonna cover up much.” My friend hides the bottle of wine behind her back, looking contrite.
“I-I owe you my life,” I choke out quietly. My mouth feels like sandpaper and my throat feels like I’ve swallowed ten razor blades.
“No you don’t,” he says. I feel my heart stop beating in my chest as he circles his thick muscled arms around my waist, and gathers me into his arms in one swift irresistible movement. “The swim was a good cool-down from tonight’s boxing match.” If he is trying to put me at ease, it’s working.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach as he carries me under his arms in a vice-like grip. Despite being naked, I strangely feel safe in the arms of this man, and my body slackens against his — all firm, solid, hard. The smell of him, the feeling of that wonderful body heat, that flesh I crave to touch, pressed right up against me is overwhelming. I honestly can’t breathe.
I think I was safer in the water.
He carries me inside his boat home, and when he lays me down on his bed, the fire within me grows to a fevered pitch, and before I realise it, he has me pinned under his grip.
He doesn’t move, towering over me. My toes curl, seeing something akin to lust in his eyes … a lust that mimics my own, driving me mad with my own desire. My entire body sways like it is still in the deathly grips of the menacing water. The air grows thick around us and it is hard to draw breath into my lungs. I am still drowning, I think, except the water has been replaced with Lenic’s heated breath.
And if drowning wasn’t bad enough, this is a thousand times worse. His touch is like a drug to me, and I am a girl who is denied its power. And to be this close to the one man I want to touch every inch of — and not be able to — is excruciating. Humans are social creatures. We thrive on shared contact. We survive on it.
I raise my hands and wrap them around the edges of his muscular shoulders, drinking him in like an alcoholic. I swallow, feeling his rough hands move slightly over my soft skin, raising goose bumps behind every touch, every caress. His lust-filled eyes gaze down at me, full of desire, full of want, and I picture his rock-hard cock slipping into my wet folds; disappearing into me, feeling my heat squeezing around him.
When I moan softly, Lenic moves the tiniest bit against the firmness of my breast, and I can sense the sudden alertness in a previously unrestrained body. His hot breath against my skin increases at a faster pace. I hold my own breath, waiting for him to what…? Is he going to lean down and kiss me?
He squeezes his eyes shut, as though he is at the very brink of self-control. I glide my hands down his thick solid biceps and lift my head up from the bed, intent on allowing his tongue to slip into my mouth as he fills me to the brim. I let out a loud groan of unquestionable pleasure and desire, “Oh Lenic…”
His eyes snap open. He leaps up from the bed. Then crosses his sizeable arms over his even more sizeable chest, whirling around.
This is torture.
Even more so when my eyes roam over his wide muscular back, over his Corps of Royal Marine insignia tattoo. I hear him taking a deep breath as he moves towards his closet, then clears his throat. “Here. Put these on.”
He throws down a brown T-shirt and a pair of white boxer briefs onto the bed before slipping into a black T-shirt. I wait for him to turn around, but he keeps his head down, scanning the floor at his feet.
I reach for the T-shirt and try to lighten the uncomfortable atmosphere with a little light flirtation. “Brown has the habit of washing out my dark hair and brown eyes. Do you have anything in blue? I’ve been told on many occasions that sky-blue highlights my dark features perfectly.”
“You for real?” he grunts.
“Am I that beautiful you think I’m a mirage?”
He releases an irritated breath. “Just put the damn clothes on.”
Thanking him, I slip into the old, well-worn Navy-issue T-shirt, my arms feeling heavy, like they weigh about a thousand pounds. I suck in a sharp breath as I tug into the briefs. Even when I tell him I’m decent, he keeps his back to me as if he is afraid to face me again.
I try to stand, but a thousand red-hot needles stab at my ankle. I yelp in pain, Lenic finally turning around. I look down and see I’ve drawn blood.
“Shit,” I mutter, falling back on the bed.
“You OK?” he asks for the second time this night.
I nod, which actually hurts to do. “I’m fine. It’s just my ankle … it’s bleeding a little.” I try to sound nonchalant, but by the expression on his face he isn’t fooled.
I twist my head towards the window when thunder roars and rain pelts hard against the windowpane. Lenic doesn’t flinch as he rounds the bed, squats down, and when I feel his hand on my ankle, all the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“Will it be safe staying inside this boat during the storm?”
He looks at me. “You’re safe with me.” He keeps his eyes on mine for a moment before peering back down. “As for your leg, I think you’ll survive," he adds, his hand beneath my foot. He examines it closely, probing gently with his large hands. “Not a deep cut.”
He reaches underneath his bed and brings out a first aid kit, then sits down on the bed. “Thank you," I murmur, watching his fingers clean the cut. I grit my teeth against the pain, trying not to whimper, and distract myself with the scar on the back of his hand. I want to kiss it while he goes about playing Doctor Sexy.
He is so distracting; my eyes can’t stop sweeping over every inch on display. His eyelashes are thick and full. I am almost jealous.
“Are you wearing mascara?” I flirt, still intent on cracking a smile on his glum face.
“No,” he grunts.
“I almost don’t believe you.”
“I’m not gay,” he hisses.
“Not even a little curious—?”
“No.” He slides his eyes menacingly across to meet mine, narrowing his eyebrows slightly. “Will you quit?”
There is a first hint of a small smile in his eyes and it is so beautiful, it urges me on. “I would never judge. It’s slowly becoming socially acceptable for men to wear make-up. A lot of men in Europe and Asia use it.” I watch his teeth grind, feeling like I’ve gone too far. I guess the tabloids must have hounded him to breaking point. “Straight men,” I add, attempting to placate him. “Lots of straight men … manly, butch men…” He exhales slowly, his eyes deeply set on my ankle. “Come to think of it, that picture of you in the tabloids did look rather staged. You didn’t look like you were enjoying kissing a man—”
“With all due respect — keep that mouth shut. Just for a little while.” He shoots me a warning look, and I utterly obey his call for silence, zipping my mouth shut with my thumb and forefinger.
Soon enough, I am distracted again. His sexy thick dark hair is shaved at the sides and longer on top. I wonder if it would turn him on if I pulled at it while he kisses me. There is only the slightest hint of a five o'clock shadow on his face. I wonder how it will feel if he rubbed it in between my legs.
Mostly, and worst of all, I am completely and utterly distracted by the thickness of his thighs. His combat shorts are drenched and they have sort of tugged tight around his thighs — that can only be described as the size of tree trunks. They speak of absolute power, and that … well, that makes my breathing just a little bit more difficult.
His attention still on my ankle, he adds ointment before placing gauze over it. “How’s your head feel?” he asks, his tone softening enough that I know he’s asking because he is worried. That makes the two of us. “Any dizzy spells?” He cuts a bandage, using his fingers to measure the width and length of the wound before he does.
“I have a pounding headache," I reply honestly, rubbing on a spot at the back of my head that feels like I was hit over the head with a hammer.
“Don’t think it’s a good idea to take painkillers when you’re juiced up on alcohol — keep still,” he orders.
Oh dear God … that commanding do-as-I-say voice. It is gruff. Strong. Domineering.
“Are you always this bossy to the girls you save, Tempest?” My voice is flirtatious.
He ignores me. “I’ll make you a drink in a minute. An old remedy my dad taught me. It’ll help with the headache. Do me a favour, alright, let me know if it gets any worse.”
I glance over at him and the consideration in his gaze makes my heart do the ba-ba-boom against my chest. I nod in agreement, not feeling the headache so much that has been scratching at my skull. His touch is better than any pain reliever I've ever tried.
He sticks the tape in his mouth and uses his straight white teeth to rip off a strip. It muffles his next sentence. “You moved to Saint Mary’s Square a few months back, right?” God, I want to be that piece of tape right now. I bet he is a biter.
After ten seconds, I realise I've been staring like a lovesick fan-girl and shake my distracted brain, finally nodding in response. I smile a little inside.
He’s noticed me?
“My gym’s across from you. Reevus and Cross MMA Gym.”
“Oh, you own it?” I ask, as if I don’t know. As if his gym isn’t directly opposite my home.
“Co-own with a mate of mine — my manager and trainer. You new to town?”
“Actually, I grew up here. I left five years ago to attend Brighton University. That’s where I met my friend. The one you met tonight. We were on the same Digital Media course.”
He runs the pad of his thumb along the seam of the bandage. “Missed Stonebrook, huh?”
It was probably overkill as far as what is required to cover the wound, but I am not about to complain, especially now, as he turns his gaze up from the bandage to meet mine, and I find myself looking into a pair of dark eyes that make me stop breathing altogether.
“My grandpa passed away six months ago," I explain, gazing around the room like I half expect the old man to appear from behind the bedroom door. “I inherited his house and … I don’t know … I think I decided to move back to my childhood home to be close to him … He was like a father to me … You must think I’m silly…”
“I don’t think you’re silly … It’s admirable.” His voice is gentle and I’m still not looking at him, but I feel a hint of surprise at the words. It certainly wasn't the response I was expecting. His hand curls tightly around my ankle, and I feel it through fabric rather than skin. The intimate hold draws my eyes to meet Lenic’s own. “Did you go swimming with other sharks tonight?”
The unexpected question and the touch on my ankle make it impossible to respond, but then maybe Lenic doesn’t want a response, not with the way he is looking at me. Despite our initial conflict, despite having ample opportunities tonight to flirt and go to bed with another man, I hadn’t and I wouldn’t. “It’s only been you.”
He licks his bottom lip and then leans in, with sudden intent on tasting my lips. I can’t remember ever being this nervous about kissing a guy, at least not since I was, maybe, fourteen.
A knock on his bedroom door has Lenic leaping up from his bed, the tender moment of warmth through my bandage gone. When Delphine comes in, he moves farther away, clearing his throat loudly. Her presence seems to ease the tension in the room as it is suddenly filled with the familiar buzz of … reality.
Lenic reaches to gather his tape and scissors, putting them back into the first aid kit as if he hadn’t just been about a millimetre away from kissing me. I silently curse Delphine on the other side of the room, wishing a plague upon her and half hoping she will get lost when I give her the I’m-about-to-get-lucky-so-take-a-hike-Third-Wheel look. No such luck.
Delphine Bray is a cock blocker.
She passes a bottle of water over to me, and stifling the bile rising up my throat, I drain the entire bottle in one sitting.
Lenic surveys us with a derisive expression. “You two — no more drinking.” He shakes his head, and grabbing a pair of jeans, he leaves, shutting the door behind him with a grunt. I blow out the air that has accumulated in my lungs while I've been in the same room as him.
Delphine rushes over and sits next to me on the bed. “Bloody hell,” she breathes out. I drop my head into my hands because it feels better this way, especially when I close my swollen eyes and the room stops spinning. “You were naked in front of him,” she laughs. “He’s seen your vagina.”
“It’s not funny,” I reproach.
“It kind of is.” I shake my head and then wish I hadn't. My stomach rolls, and I need to shut my eyes and silently count to ten while the urge to throw up passes. Lenic had been a good distraction from the pain. My friend frowns. “I didn’t mean the drowning.” She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I mean the naked part. Are you OK? I was so worried when I saw you … when you nearly…” She cuffs me lightly on the arm. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear me? I thought I was going to lose you, Flick.”
“I won’t.”
I glance down at the Royal Marine logo printed on the front of the T-shirt. It fits me like a tent, reaching below my knees, and I suddenly feel as if I've been wrapped up in a favourite old blanket next to a roaring fire.
I hear his footsteps, his movements across the other side of the door. This is real. I am in Lenic Reevus’ home. He is just outside, making an old remedy his father made him.
Just for me.
“You’re alive, Flick, that’s all that matters.” Delphine brushes her hand over my hair and smiles. “You OK to go out?” I glance at her and nod. “Good. Let’s go thank your hero.”
Taking a deep breath, I drape an arm over her shoulder, then get carefully and slowly to my feet, making sure that the room doesn't start spinning. I let Delphine guide me to the open-plan living room, and shuffle to the white circular sofa, despite the immediate and blinding pain in my sore leg.
I glance around his boat home in wonder. Growing up, this boat had always looked like it had been shipwrecked, and nothing like the bachelor pad it is now — rustic, dark with wood-panelled walls, and not a speck of dust anywhere.
There are two glasses of water already set on the wooden table in front of us. I reach for a glass and take a sip, glancing over to see Lenic cooking something in the kitchen. He turns to us.
And smirks.
“I almost didn’t recognise you with clothes on,” he says.
Delphine laughs beside me. I give no reaction at first, although the fire building within me is pretty intense. But the only response I give him is a warm smile. This is the first time I’ve seen him show a little sense of humour. And I'm starting to gain some awareness that he likes to play dirty.
I like it.
A lot.
“Gonna have to stay the night,” he tells us. “The storm’s hit hard. Doesn’t look like it’ll stop any time soon. Besides, think you need to get some sleep, ASAP. I’ll take the sofa and drive you two home first thing in the A.M. We good with that?” Delphine and I nod in unison like two disciplined soldiers serving our Sergeant. “Remembered your name yet?” He’s smirking again.
He is a beautiful bastard when he smirks.
“It’s—” I clear my throat. There is still a burning sensation from swallowing copious amounts of seawater. I don’t want to think about the insects I could have swallowed. “Felicity … Felicity Saint James. And this is—”
“Delphine,” he cuts in. “Yeah, I remember.”
Lenic strides over and sets two plates on the table. “Seeing as you two been drinking for England — thought you could do with sobering up.” I peer down at the table and realise he’s generously prepared us an omelette.
“Thank you so much,” Delphine says gratefully.
I look up at him. “This looks heavenly, it really does. But I usually, always, eat omelettes with maple syrup.” My body is begging for a decent sugar fix.
“Your version of ‘thank you’ sounds different to most,” he grumbles.
“Ah, that means you don’t have any.”
“Not sure. I’ll just bring out the menu, Miss,” he says, thick with sarcasm. “Were you sick the day they taught bedside manner?” His question is rhetorical as he heads back into the kitchen, returning shortly to press a short glass of dark liquid into my hand. “Tastes like arse, but sorts you out, good and plenty. So suck it up.”
I don’t know why, but I trust him. I try and knock it back in one mouthful, but choke midway and manage it in two uncouth gulps instead. I grimace. It does taste like arse.
“Can’t offer you a shower or a bath because the plumbing’s broke,” he says, reaching for a plate in the kitchen. “Been busy with training. Fixing it tomorrow.”
Delphine and I turn to one another with amused looks on our faces, remembering the morning I’d caught him using the outside shower. We try our hardest to rein it in, but it is too difficult not to rock back in laughter.
“Something funny, I missed?” he spits, confusion lining his forehead.
“No,” I respond, biting back the laughter. “Not at all.”
“There something on my face?” He starts to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, and it only ignites our mirth.
“No it’s nothing, really. Your face is perfect.”
I have no filter.
Great. Now he is the one to smirk.
I quickly pretend to brush off a piece of lint from my T-Shirt to distract myself. “‘Your face is perfect?’ Nice one,” Delphine whispers in a chortle. I nudge my elbow into her arm.
His father’s arse drink seems to kick in while I eat the omelette he cooked for us, and everything hurts a little less. I thank him for the food as he clears away our plates.
“I’m surprised this boat could be fixed to liveable conditions. You’ve done an amazing job,” I say to him, as he cleans the dishes at the kitchen sink. “It must have taken you a long time and a lot of hard work to do it all.”
“Wasn’t a problem. There’s a lot of peace working on building something here,” he replies. “Well, most of the time there’s peace.”
I wait a beat before apologising. “I’m sorry for trespassing. I honestly didn’t know Old Marsden had sold his boat. I wasn’t aware you lived here.” If I had known, I would have found myself regularly camping out in the nearby forest.
He turns around, leans against the counter, flinging the tea towel over his shoulder. “Sleep on it. Things always look different in the daylight and with a clear head. You two been drinking and I suspect you’re still drunk.” He tries to hold my gaze, but I am acting like a shy girl on a first date, looking at everything and anything but the star player. “Trust me,” he adds, “I’m looking forward to taking it up with you tomorrow.” His eyes are like a friendly Labrador’s, but then his lips turn up in a mischievous grin of a Rottweiler.
He is being kind and merciful, but there is a cool unease uncurling in my belly, something I can’t put a finger on or ignore. Something in his eyes implies I should be worried for tomorrow. In a few short seconds, my paranoia grows from a tiny seed to a full bloom.
I toss and turn all night in his bed, the haunting sounds of the boat settling in the darkness, mixed with an uncomfortable fever that has my body flushed and aching. Not because I humiliated myself in front of my celebrity crush. Or that he has seen my vagina.
Lenic Reevus helped me survive tonight.
He really is a hero.