The Devil and the Deep

CHAPTER SEVEN



Lady Mary sat awkwardly on the chair placed in the middle of the sun-drenched deck, conscious of the crew’s barely concealed curiosity.

‘You’ll have to lean back,’ Vasco said from behind her.

Mary turned slightly, catching him in her peripheral vision. ‘Really, I don’t think this is necessary,’ she protested primly, her hands folded in her lap.

Vasco placed his hand on her shoulder, urging her back. ‘The lady wishes to wash her hair. What the lady wants, the lady gets.’

Mary submitted to the pressure of his hand and turned to face the front again. ‘I am perfectly capable of washing my own hair, Captain Ramirez.’

Vasco leaned down, his lips near her ear, inhaling the floral scent of her, so utterly female in this all-male environment. ‘Ah, but where would the fun be in that, Mary?’

He smiled at her slight intake of breath at his familiarity. ‘Undo your hair,’ he ordered in a low whisper. ‘Lie back.’

Mary felt her nipples pebble against the fabric of her chemise at the deep vein of risqué in the low command. Another protest rose to her lips but she stifled it. In her week on the ship she’d learned that the Spanish captain always got what he wanted.

And her hair really did need a wash.

Her fingers trembled as she pulled out the pins that secured her hair in an elaborate up do, one by one. She could hear her own breath loud in her ears as he towered above her. When it was all released she shook it out, then furrowed her fingers into the back of the curly mass to loosen any recalcitrant strands.

She became aware that the low chatter from the crew had stopped and she was the object of their blatant attention. ‘Captain,’ she said, feeling suddenly breathless, ‘your men are staring.’

Vasco couldn’t blame them. Her hair was like a Titan masterpiece, a flaming torch beneath the blazing sun burnishing the highlights into strands of golden thread.

He gently picked up a long spiral curl from her shoulder and pulled it out to its full length before letting it go, watching it recoil against the scarlet fabric of her frock.

‘It’s not often they see a woman of such beauty, madam.’

‘I would prefer they did not,’ she said, reaching for just the right amount of haughty as the low, almost reverent compliment unsettled her.

Vasco preferred they did not as well and he barked some orders at them, more than satisfied with the immediate response.

‘Thank you,’ Mary murmured as a dozen or so crew got back to their jobs.

‘What the lady wants...’

He looked down at her crowning glory and imagined how it would look spread over the milky skin of her breasts. What would she want when he was looking at her like that?

For she would soon be his.

‘Tip your head back.’

The command was betrayed by the roughness of his voice and he expected her to object yet again. When she acquiesced without dissent, her hair falling over the back of the chair in a soft red wave, his anticipation built another notch. It had been many months since he’d last had a woman. And never in all his eight and twenty years had he ever had a creature so stunningly beautiful.

He picked up the bucket and poured the water slowly onto her hair, distributing it evenly, watching as the curls became drenched and the whole glorious mass darkened into a lustrous sheath of the finest satin. The excess pooled around his boots but didn’t register as an errant droplet captured his gaze. It trickled onto her forehead and began a slow descent down her face, running over a closed eyelid, down one creamy cheek until it reached her mouth, where her tongue darted out, sipping it up.

Vasco almost threw the bucket down and lowered his mouth to claim those moist, upturned lips on the spot. The desire to kiss her, to ravage that tempting mouth, had been building for days. But even through the savage haze of lust that had set a raging inferno in his loins he knew that she wasn’t ready. That the dance wasn’t yet complete.

So he picked up the soap and rubbed it over the sodden silky layers. Then he dropped it into the bucket and let his hands take over.

Mary almost moaned as Vasco’s hands furrowed into her hair, the pads of his fingers rubbing with sensual ease against her scalp. Her nipples and belly tightened. Goose flesh broke out everywhere. Quite why she had no idea, given she was hotter than she’d ever been.

The sun no doubt.

Nothing to do with his gaze, which she knew without having to open her eyes lay heavily on the pulse drumming a frantic tattoo at the base of her neck.

‘How’s that?’ he murmured.

At some level, Mary knew she should be contained in her reply but the drugging magic of his touch, the aroma of lavender and chives and the warmth of the sun were addling her senses. ‘Amazing,’ she breathed and Vasco chuckled.

At home this would have been her maid’s job, and it would never have felt this...decadent.

And Vasco certainly was nobody’s servant.

Her aunt would have an attack of the vapours if she could see the pirate laying his hands on her niece in such a familiar fashion. But Mary, for one, was giving herself up to the experience as she angled her head down to allow him access to where hair met nape.

Vasco’s soapy fingers massaged her hairline, dipping down to rub the back of her neck, and he swallowed as a sigh escaped her lips. He noticed how her hands clenched and unclenched the fabric at her lap, the agitated press of her cleavage against the prison of her neckline, and sensed she was feeling things she’d never before experienced.

He worked his way back up to her temples, slowly stroking her there, working his way down to the shell of her ear, drifting his thumb across its ridges, smiling as he heard the rough inward drag of her breath.

He leaned down, replacing his fingers with his lips. ‘You are very beautiful, Mary.’

Mary opened her eyes as his words slithered like the serpent into every cell in her body. A dozen retorts came to mind. He should not be talking to her like this. But with his hands creating havoc and her body craving something she didn’t understand only one thing came to her lips. She turned her head slightly, their mouths closer than was decent.

‘So are you, Vasco, so are you.’

For he was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.



AFTER two more days of similar weather they finally had a calm, sunny day and Stella was able to get out on deck, where she felt most inspired, to do some more writing.

Which was just as well because she was going totally stir crazy.

She’d spent a lot of time down below during the inclement weather, trying to type two-fingered in between doses of painkillers as her arm swelled up and the bruising came out. Rick, worried that she’d broken her humerus, had wanted to turn back and get her some medical help but Stella had refused.

Yes, she’d fallen heavily and yes, the pain had increased since the swelling and bruising had come out, but she’d broken her radius a few years ago and her current pain was nothing like how excruciating that had been.

She was sure she hadn’t broken it. She’d assured him all she needed was a few days for the swelling to go down and she’d be back to normal.

But in the meantime, even the most basic things had been difficult and she was cranky and out of sorts with her limited abilities. Rick, in true Vasco fashion, had gallantly offered to help her dress and bathe, which she declined not quite in the same spirit it was offered.

So she’d battled on by herself, making do with quick showers and dressing in sarongs that required minimal arm lift. More complicated things like shaving her legs and washing her hair seemed like distant luxuries.

It was most frustrating on the writing front. The words were flowing in her head but she just couldn’t get them down quick enough and the grazed knuckles and sore finger pads of her right hand made typing slow and laborious. Every twenty minutes she’d had to stop and let her left hand take over, but it caused the throbbing to increase up higher and after about ten minutes she had to take a break.

So, it felt good indeed to have the sun on her face and the feel of a calm ocean beneath her feet again and for the first half hour they got under way she just sat in her low chair with her face turned to the sun, soaking it up.

But it was all downhill from the moment she opened her laptop. It didn’t take long for her mood to evaporate as her useless fingers, despite the absolutely exhilarating day, made a hard slog of the writing process. And when her arm started to throb half an hour into the process she shut the lid of the laptop in disgust.

It had felt really good this morning too. The bruising was fading to a greeny-yellow and the swelling had reduced by about half. She could even lift her bent arm almost level with her shoulder before discomfort forced her to stop.

‘You okay?’

She turned to see Rick coming up behind her, taking full advantage of the glorious weather by once again going shirtless. She winced as the sudden movement wrenched through her arm. ‘Fine,’ she said morosely as she blew her fringe out of her eyes on a huffed breath.

Even it was annoying her. It was strawy and scratchy from the rigors of sea salt and the tangling effect of ocean breezes. Conscious of needing to save water on a boat, she hadn’t washed it since they’d left Cairns.

Rick chuckled as he sat beside her. ‘You don’t seem fine.’ He laughed again at her responding scowl. ‘Come on, what’s up? Tell Uncle Rick.’

‘The words are coming but my useless fingers can’t type them fast enough.’

‘I could type them,’ he offered. ‘You can dictate them to me.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’ll be just like Barbara Cartland.’

Stella rolled her eyes. No way in the world was she ever going to let him anywhere near Lucinda and Inigo.

Rick grinned. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then. What else?’

‘My arm hurts,’ she said, aware that it could be interpreted as whining. ‘And my head is as itchy as hell because it hasn’t been washed in for ever and I can’t even scratch it because my fingers are too sore.’

For a moment Rick couldn’t believe his luck. He’d read the scene where Vasco washed Lady Mary’s hair about a dozen times. He let his gaze run idly over her hair, chunks of it escaping a poorly placed plastic claw. ‘Well, now, that is something I can help with,’ he said, very matter-of-fact.

She glared at him. ‘Offering to help me shower was not funny the first time,’ Stella said grouchily.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Rick shrugged. ‘I kind of thought it was but,’ he said, holding up his hand to still the protest about to come out of her mouth, ‘I didn’t mean that. I’ll wash it up here, on deck.’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ll be fully clothed, I promise.’

Stella stilled as the implications of his offer slowly sank in. Another Vasco and Mary moment. She searched his tropical blue gaze for a spark of recognition. Something that told her he knew what he was offering was far from innocent. He looked back at her with the same clear, blue-eyed brilliance as always.

She chewed on her lip as the idea teased at her conscience. ‘What...you mean with a...bucket?’ she asked.

Rick bit the inside of his cheek as he struggled to stay deadpan for her searching gaze. He returned her interest with his best I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about look. ‘No...’ He pointed to the stern on the boat. ‘With the shower.’

She turned gingerly this time to take in the metallic head under which she’d watched him shower the other night. Her cheeks heated as the illicit image revisited.

Rick decided to leap on her indecision and take charge, giving her no quarter. The boat was on autopilot and it was clear sailing today. ‘You head on over, I’ll get your shampoo. It’s in your en suite, yes?’

Stella nodded dumbly, sitting in her chair unmoving, as Rick disappeared. Could she indulge herself for a third time? This voyage was turning into some kind of hedonistic exploration of her fantasies.

It was...immoral, surely?

Debauched, certainly.

Rick came back on deck and smiled to see her still sitting in the same spot, indecision on her face. ‘Come on,’ he called. ‘I don’t have all day.’

Stella turned to look at his naked back as he headed towards the stern. She stood automatically to his command, dragging her chair with her. He looked so much like Vasco when she reached him, her conscience piqued.

‘I don’t think this is a good idea.’

Rick doubted he’d ever heard a more feeble protest and knew he was going to have to hold her hand on this one.

‘Are you crazy? It’s a brilliant idea. The sun is out, there’s a light breeze, it’ll dry quickly. And as there’s nothing I can do about your arm or help with your writing, you should let me do this.’

Plus, you want to.

He took the chair out of her unprotesting fingers and placed it under the shower head, busying himself with finding the right position. By the time he was done she seemed to have resigned herself to a little piece of Pleasure Hunt. She sat when he asked her and even snuggled down low in her chair so just her neck and shoulders were exposed above the canvas and her head could tilt back easily over the edge.

Of course that bent her sarong-clad body into a banana shape with her feet flat on the deck, her thighs bent before him like an offering from the gods. Thighs that her sarong fell away from, leaving them exposed to his view. Not skinny. Firm, rounded like her and smooth with the beginnings of a tan tinting the formerly milky skin.

He turned the water on and doused himself with it first before removing the hand-held head from its cradle, kneeling behind her and directing the spray at her hair. She startled slightly and he swallowed as he noticed her nipples pucker beneath the sarong. ‘Too cold?’

Stella reined in her heartbeat as his hand sifted through her hair, wishing she could rein in her other bodily responses as easily. ‘No. Just wasn’t expecting it.’

‘Sorry,’ he said, his gaze fixed on the two round points tenting the fabric at her chest. ‘Should have warned you.’

Should have warned myself.

He might have been doing this as a tease but he hadn’t been immune to that hair-washing scene and already he could feel a tightening in his groin.

Stella shut her eyes tight as his hand sifted and lifted and caressed every strand of her hair to ensure it was waterlogged. His fingers occasionally brushed against her scalp and she squeezed her thighs together as the sensation seemed to travel straight to a point between her legs.

Like acupuncture. Or reflexology.

Whatever...he’d definitely found her sweet spot.

Rick flicked the taps off, determinedly dragging his gaze away from her thighs and nipples and fixing it on her hair, on the job at hand, determined not to get carried away by it.

She was supposed to be turned into a panting mess—not him.

‘Shampoo now,’ he said as he squirted a healthy dollop into his palm and a waft of coconut—of her—hit him square in the solar plexus. It was like liquid silk in his hands and he spread it over her sodden hair evenly before he started to rub it into a lather with the flat of his palms.

Stella almost sighed at his touch. His movements were brisk at first, but after a few moments they changed, became slower, more defined, the tips of his fingers dragging with languorous subtlety against her scalp. She felt the motion right down to her toes and all the hot spots in between.

Every cell went on high alert. Her back arched involuntarily as she bit back a whimper. The pain in her arm and the sting in her fingers floated away on a sexual high.

Shampoo foamed between Rick’s fingers as he watched her shift restlessly in the chair. The image of him sliding his soapy hands onto her shoulders, over her chest, pushing the sarong down off her breasts and lathering them up, teasing the nipples into taut peaks until she orgasmed hit him out of the blue and the tightness became something more.

He was harder than the wood beneath his knees.

He needed to distract himself fast. ‘You always had gorgeous hair,’ he murmured as the thickness of it filled his palms. He remembered diving with her when they’d been kids and being mesmerised by the way her hair streamed behind her as she swam or floated around her like a crown when she stopped. He’d dreamt of it often during his teenage years. ‘Just like that mermaid you always wanted to be.’

Good. That was good.

Reminding himself of why it would be a very bad idea to lean over as Vasco had also wanted to do and ravage her mouth.

Because they were friends. Long-term friends.

He was just having some fun.

Stella opened her eyes, thinking back to those days when she’d truly believed in the imaginary world they’d created. Instead of having to create this faux fantasy life to keep that connection alive.

‘Everything was so simple back then,’ she murmured.

Rick nodded. Back then he’d been plain Rick, she’d been Nathan’s daughter and hadn’t had breasts and hips. Now he was Vasco Ramirez, Nathan was dead and she had breasts, hips and a lot of other bits in between.

She bent her head forward, just as Lady Mary had done and he obliged, caressing her hairline, drifting his thumbs over her nape, going lower, kneading his fingers into the muscles of her neck and lower still to her shoulders.

‘Mmm,’ she groaned. ‘That feels good.’

She couldn’t help herself, it just tumbled out. Because it did feel good, it felt so damn good everywhere she wanted to turn around and French him as she almost had all those years ago, and decades of being buddies and business partners and all those other consequences be damned.

Rick swallowed. ‘That’s because you’re so tense,’ he said lightly, feeling pretty damn tense himself but working on the knots in her neck muscles until he had them all ironed out because she kept making these little gurgly noises at the back of her throat that he could really become addicted to.

By the time they were gone and he’d forced himself to turn on the spray he had an erection that could have been used on Vasco’s pirate ship as the plank for prisoners to walk to their doom upon.

For his own sanity, he tried to make the conditioning process much faster but pretty much failed. She had her hands stuffed between her thighs and he spent the whole time wondering if she really was just holding her sarong in place or maybe easing a little ache down there.

His imaginings had gone from lathering her breasts to his head disappearing between those amazing thighs and he was fit to burst when he left her, hair brushed and drying off, in the sunshine.

‘Thank you,’ she called after his disappearing back.

Rick gave her a wave, not turning around because he looked perfectly indecent at the moment and probably would be for quite a while with her squirmy, back-archy thing imprinted on his retinas. ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured quietly to himself as he descended below deck as quickly as his legs would carry him.

* * *

At midnight Rick gave up trying to sleep and trudged up to the deck to lie under the stars for a while. They’d always had a calming effect and he needed that badly at the moment, when his body was raging with undiluted lust and no amount of diversion tactics seemed to be working.

The ocean was still and the night almost silent as he made his way to the middle of the deck. He could barely feel the bob of the boat beneath his back and his breath was loud in his head. The waning moon threw a narrow beam of light on the surface of the gently rippling water as it fought for space in the crowded sky.

He lay with his knees bent and took a deep steadying breath.

Now, this made sense.

Stella and what happened to him every time he looked at her didn’t make sense at all.

But this—the ocean—did.

This was like coming home.

He remembered turning up at Dartmouth at the age of fifteen, a rucksack on his back and four pounds in his pocket. He’d hitched from London the previous day. Nathan had looked at him from the deck of the Persephone and said, ‘Sophia’s been on the phone to me.’

He’d looked at Nathan with mutiny in his eyes. He’d loved his grandmother, but she hadn’t understood that the ocean ran in his veins. She’d wanted him to study hard and go to university and all he’d wanted was a sea breeze in his hair. He’d chafed against her bonds. Cut classes. Flunked out.

‘I’m not going back. This is where I belong.’

Nathan had looked at him for long moments. ‘It’s not the glamorous life it seems on summer break or from your father’s grandiose sea stories, Rick. You should be in school.’

He’d shaken his head. He’d always known from Nathan’s quiet restraint that his father’s embellishments were romantic sentimentality and that there wasn’t a lot of romance or sentiment in salvaging. He’d learned early it was ninety-nine per cent grunt, one per cent glory. ‘I should be here. The business is half mine.’

They’d both known that Rick didn’t legally inherit until he was of age but Nathan hadn’t called him on it.

‘That it is. But are you man enough?’

Rick had nodded his head firmly. ‘Yes, sir.’

Nathan had crossed his arms. ‘You come on board, you answer to me.’

‘Aye, aye, captain.’

‘And you finish school.’ Nathan had raised his hand at the objections that had been about to tumble from Rick’s mouth. ‘A man knows the importance of education, Rick.’ He’d shoved a hand on his hip and said, ‘Take it or leave it.’

Rick had bristled at the harshness of it when he’d reluctantly agreed and had done his lessons by correspondence with less than good grace, but he’d been grateful for the many years that Nathan had forced his hand.

It hadn’t been until years later that he’d found out Nathan and Sophia had done a deal while he’d been hitching his way to Dartmouth. Nathan had promised to look after Rick and see that he finished school and Sophia had agreed to loosen the reins she’d held on her stubborn grandson.

Nathan had had the utmost respect for Rick’s Spanish grandmother, who had selflessly taken care of him when her daughter, Carmela’s, tempestuous love affair with Anthony Granville had finished and neither had known what to do with a toddler. Rick knew now that if Sophia had demanded that Nathan bring her grandson back then he would have been back in London faster than he’d been able to blink.

Nathan had always said to never get between a woman and her child but he had still gone into bat for Rick. Had been the father his own father had never been. Had been his family after Sophia had passed away the following year.

So, messing around with Nathan’s daughter was not the way he repaid the man, even if it was just a bit of teasing.

That was getting out of hand.

Remembering what made sense—the pulse of the ocean, the business, Inigo’s treasure—that was how he repaid him.

It was just a little difficult at the moment with so little to do on a boat that virtually sailed itself and a barely dressed first mate who didn’t seem like so much of a mate any more. In a few days they’d be at their destination in Micronesia and then he’d have things to do other than look at Stella all day in hardly any clothes.

They’d both be occupied. Their days filled with diving and poring over charts and Nathan’s research trying to pinpoint The Mermaid.

In the meantime he really needed to stop reading Pleasure Hunt.

* * *

Stella kicked at the sheets restlessly, straining to hear any more movement from above deck. She’d heard Rick’s footsteps twenty minutes ago after hours of staring at the ceiling, trying not to think about how his hands had felt on her scalp. How if she just shut her eyes she could be Mary and he could be Vasco and how maybe they could skip a few chapters and she could be tied to his bed.

She shut her eyes and erased the image. She was taking shameful advantage of the situation. Indulging her fantasies when Rick was just being himself. The guy she’d always known. A friend. One who would do anything for her. From coming to tell her personally about her father’s sudden death to washing her hair because it was scratchy and itchy and she was physically limited.

Still, there was a part of her, egged on by her hormones and a latent wicked streak, that couldn’t help but speculate. Just what would he do? How far would he go? Would he cut up those ripe mangoes that they’d purchased in Moresby and that permeated the galley with sweet promise and feed them to her as Vasco had done with a juicy pear? Would he scratch that itch that drove her mad right in the centre of her back that she just couldn’t reach with her current injuries?

And what about that other itch that seemed to build and build the longer she spent in his company? The one that tingled between her thighs, that made her breasts feel heavy, that caused an ache down deep and low somewhere behind her belly button?

Would he relieve that if she asked him?

Because she wasn’t even capable of that at the moment and God knew she was fit to burst.

Not that helping herself was ever as good as the real thing. But it was better than death by deprivation.

Damn it!

She kicked the sheets off. This was insane. Lying here thinking about Rick like this was pure madness. Neither of them was ever going to do anything that ruined twenty-plus years of friendship so she just needed to get over herself.

She needed to go on deck and normalise their relationship. Lying in her bed, her body throbbing, put images in her head that didn’t have any place in reality. Lying on deck, looking at the stars with him as she’d done a hundred times before, would help to put things into perspective.

And God knew, if her body couldn’t have passion then it sure as hell needed perspective.

* * *

Rick heard the bell before she made it to the top of the stairs. He shut his eyes and prayed to Neptune for restraint.

‘Hey,’ he said as she tramped over, eyes staring doggedly at the sky.

‘Hey,’ Stella acknowledged as she drew level and looked down at him. ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘Something like that,’ he said as her face appeared in his line of vision. She was wearing some three-quarter-length grey pants, the fabric of which was quite thin, clingy around the thighs, loose around the calves. And what he could only describe as a boob tube.

‘Neither can I. Want some company?’

‘Sure.’

He was already burning in the fires of hell—what was one more lie?

Stella joined him on her back on the deck, making sure her injured left arm was on the outer and that she maintained some distance between them. Rick and her didn’t really do distance so it seemed awkward.

‘Any shooters tonight?’

He nodded. ‘Saw one earlier.’

‘Did you make a wish?’ she asked, rolling her head towards him.

Not one that he could repeat in decent company. He turned his head too. ‘I wished for—’

‘Stop,’ Stella said urgently, automatically silencing him with the press of a finger against his lips. A finger that still stung a little and protested the movement. ‘You know you’re not supposed to say.’

Rick stilled as her fingerprint seared into the DNA of his lips. There were a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to say.

Or do.

And every single one of them begged to be ignored.

Stella’s eyes widened as a glitter of something distinctly sexual enriched his blue gaze with something distinctly pirate.

Heat flared in her belly and breasts.

Between her legs.

And deep, deep inside.

So deep she doubted anyone had ever touched it.

Her gaze narrowed to his mouth as her finger moved of its own volition, tracing his lips, the sting instantly easing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against it, the roughness of every inhalation and exhalation.

Rick opened his mouth slightly, giving silent permission to that seeking finger. When it had circumnavigated every millimetre he grazed the tip gently with his teeth as he touched his tongue to where the splinter had been.

The way she stared at his mouth as if it were the most perfect creation went straight to his head. The sound of her indrawn breath travelled straight to his groin.

He swallowed as a jungle drum beat in his head and thudded through his chest. ‘Stella.’

‘Hmm?’ she asked absently as she mapped his mouth with her gaze. Vasco’s mouth.

Rick tried again. ‘I don’t think we should—’

This time she didn’t cut him off with her finger. This time she used her mouth and Rick was totally unprepared. He’d always dreamt their mythical first kiss would be soft and gentle. Tentative. It was certainly the way he would have kissed her at sixteen. But there was nothing tentative about the way she opened up to him.

In seconds the kiss was wet and deep and hard, leaving no room for finesse or wishing on stars. There was just feeling, reacting. Letting all that suppressed desire bubble up on a wave of coconut and take him to a higher plane.

Stella moaned as fantasy fused into reality on a rush of high octane lust that blasted heat into every cell of her body.

And it was better than she’d ever imagined.

The dare faded as they both collected on the prize early.

Desire coursed through her bloodstream and she gasped against his mouth as Rick rolled up onto his elbow, his face looming over hers, his fingers furrowing into her hair.

She sucked in great slabs of air as the kiss robbed her of breath. They both did. Their breathing loud as they rode the dizzying heat and the high oxygen demand of the incendiary kiss. His lips were demanding against hers and she opened to him wider, revelling in the thrust and tangle of his tongue, her head lifting off the deck trying to match it.

Trying to lead. Trying to follow.

Trying to get closer.

She squeezed her thighs together as the heat there morphed into a tingling that became more unbearable with every second. Her pelvic floor muscles undulated with each swipe of his tongue and she pressed her hips firmly into the deck to soothe the pressure building deep and low.

Was it possible to orgasm from a kiss alone?

God knew she’d fantasised about his kiss often enough both as a teenager and as a writer crafting all those highly sensual, gloriously descriptive love scenes. Maybe it was?

His thumb stroked along her temple and her head spun from the rhythmic caress. Her hips rotated restlessly against the deck as she felt herself edge closer.

Maybe, after all this time, a kiss was going to be enough?

Rick had spent a good portion of his life not wondering what kissing Stella would be like and now he knew he never wanted to stop.

Suddenly it was the only thing that made sense. Not the stars or the ocean or Inigo’s treasure.

None of it.

Just that little whimpering noise at the back of her throat that reverberated inside his head like a benediction—like his own private cheer squad.

And the sweet aroma of coconuts.

Lying by himself on deck before, Stella hadn’t made sense.

Looming over her, pressing her into the deck, feeling the flesh and blood of her, the restless sexuality bubbling in her kiss, the harsh, desperate suck of her breath and the answering rhythm of his own body, she’d never made more sense.

He wanted more. He wanted all. He wanted everything.

His hand fell to her arm, to gather her closer, pull her nearer, imprint her along the length of him.

And then she stiffened against him, cried out, broke away...