Below, at the dock, Mac is casting off the bow line. He leaps back on board.
“Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?” Ana is pretending to be na?ve.
“Clove hitches have come in handy. Miss Steele, you sound curious. I like you curious. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate what I can do with a rope.”
Ana goes quiet, and I think I’ve upset her.
Damn.
“Gotcha.” She giggles, pleased with herself.
Well, that’s not fair. I narrow my eyes. “I may have to deal with you later, but right now I’ve got to drive my boat.” I sit down at the captain’s chair and fire up the twin fifty-five-horsepower engines. I switch off the blower and Mac scoots along the top deck, grabbing the guardrail, then bounces down to the aft deck to release the stern lines. He waves at me and I radio the Coast Guard to get the all-clear.
I take The Grace out of idle, move the shifter forward, and ease the throttle. And my beautiful boat glides out of her berth.
Ana is waving to the small crowd that has gathered on the dock to witness our departure. I tug her back between my legs.
“See this.” I point to the VHF. “That’s our radio. Our GPS, our AIS, the radar.”
“What’s the AIS?”
“That identifies us to shipping. This is our depth gauge. Grab the wheel.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” She salutes me.
I pilot us slowly out of the marina, Ana’s hands beneath mine on the wheel. We turn into open water and we sweep across the Sound in a large arc until we’re heading northwest toward the Olympic Peninsula and Bainbridge Island. The wind is moderate at fifteen knots, but I know once we get the sheets up The Grace will fly. I love this. Challenging myself against the elements in a boat I’ve helped design, using the skills I’ve spent a lifetime perfecting. It’s thrilling.
“Sail time,” I say to Ana, and I cannot contain my excitement. “Here, you take her. Keep her on this course.”
Ana looks freaked out.
“Baby, it’s really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow. You’ll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you’ll feel the drag. Just hold her steady. I’ll signal like this”—I make a slashing motion with my hand across my throat—“and you can cut the engines. This button here.” I point to the engines’ kill button. “Understand?”
“Yes.” But she looks uncertain. I know she’s got this. She always does. I give her a quick kiss and bound onto the top deck to prep and hoist the main sail. Mac and I crank in unison, making light work of it. When the wind catches the sheet we lurch forward, and I glance at Ana, but she’s holding us steady. Mac and I work on the headsail and it flies up the mast, welcoming the wind and harnessing its power.
“Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!” I shout over the roar of the wind and the waves, and I motion to her. Ana presses the button and the roar of the engines ceases as we whip across the sea, flying northwest.
I join Ana at the wheel. The wind is lashing her hair around her face; she’s exhilarated, her cheeks flushed with joy. “What do you think?” I yell, above the call of the sea and the wind.
“Christian! This is fantastic.”
“You wait until the spinney’s up.” With my chin I point to Mac, who is raising the spinnaker.
“Interesting color,” Ana shouts.
I give her a knowing wink. Yep, the color of my playroom.
The wind pumps up the spinney and The Grace charges ahead, unleashing her power and giving us a thrilling ride. Ana looks from the spinnaker to me. “Asymmetrical sail. For speed,” I call out. I’ve pushed The Grace to twenty knots, but the wind has to be in our favor for that kind of speed.
“It’s amazing!” she shouts. “How fast are we going?”
“She’s doing fifteen knots.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s about seventeen miles an hour.”
“Is that all? It feels much faster.”
Ana is radiant. Her joy is infectious. I squeeze her hands on the wheel. “You look lovely, Anastasia. It’s good to see some color in your cheeks, and not from blushing. You look like you do in José’s photos.”
She turns in my arms and kisses me. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Mr. Grey.”
“We aim to please, Miss Steele.” She turns back to face the bow and I smooth the hair away from her neck and kiss her. “I like seeing you happy,” I murmur in her ear, and we careen across Puget Sound.
WE ANCHOR IN THE cove near Hedley Spit on Bainbridge Island. Together, Mac and I lower the dinghy so he can go ashore and visit a friend in Point Monroe. “I’ll see you in about an hour, Mr. Grey.” He descends into the small boat, gives Ana a wave, and fires up the outboard motor.
I vault up to the aft deck where Ana is standing and grab her hand. I don’t need to watch Mac speed toward the lagoon; I have more pressing business to attend to.
“What are we going to do now?” Ana asks, as I take her into the saloon.
“I have plans for you, Miss Steele.” And with indecent haste, I drag her into my cabin. She’s smiling as I make quick work of her life jacket and toss it to the floor. Once it’s off, she stares at me, remaining mute, but her teeth tease her bottom lip, and I don’t know if it’s deliberate or an unconscious lure.
I want to make love to her.
On my boat.
It will be another first.
Caressing her face with the tips of my fingers, I slowly move them down to her chin, her neck, and her sternum to the first closed button on her blouse. Her eyes never waver from mine. “I want to see you.” With my thumb and forefinger, I undo the button. She stands absolutely still, her breathing accelerated.
I know she’s mine to do with as I please. My girl.
I stand back to give her some room. “Strip for me,” I whisper. Her lips part and her eyes blaze with desire. Slowly she brings her fingers up to her next fastened button, and at a snail’s pace undoes it, then moves at the same infuriating pace to the next one.
Fuck.
She’s taunting me. Minx.
When the final button is undone she pulls her shirt apart and shrugs out of it, letting it fall to the floor.
She’s wearing a white lacy bra, her nipples taut against the lace, and she’s a fine, fine sight. Her fingers run down past her navel and toy with the top button of her jeans.
Sweetheart, you need to take your shoes off.
“Stop. Sit.” I point to the edge of the bed and she complies.
I fall to my knees and undo the laces of first one and then the other sneaker, pulling them off, followed by her socks.
I pick up her foot and kiss the soft pad of her big toe, then graze it with my teeth.
“Ah,” she breathes, and the sound is music to my dick.
Let her do this her way, Grey.
Standing, I hold out my hand and pull her up from the bed. “Continue.” I give her the floor and step back to enjoy the show.
With a wanton look at me, she undoes the button and tugs down her zipper at the same slow pace. She hooks her thumbs into her waistband and slowly shimmies out of her jeans, sliding them down her legs.
She’s wearing a thong.
A thong.