A thin smattering of blond hair — just the right amount — covers his chest and trails down his abs into the elastic waistline of his tight, black boxer briefs. His skin is somehow bronze from the sun, even though it’s the middle of winter. And his muscles — dear god, those muscles. I don’t know whether to focus on his thighs or his abs or the corded veins in his forearms. I don’t even dare a glance at the bulge in his boxers.
“Put some clothes on,” I squeak, tilting my head back and staring at the ceiling as I try to banish all thoughts of taught, tan skin.
He laughs and it sounds like sin. “Why? Is this bothering you?”
“No,” I snap. “I just don’t want to catch chlamydia.”
“Ouch! That wasn’t nice, snookums. Even for you.”
“Maybe I’m not a nice person,” I tell the ceiling.
He thinks about my words for a minute. “Nah, I can’t buy that.”
“You can buy whatever you want, with a trust fund like yours.” I swallow when I hear him walking closer. “So long as you put some freaking clothes on.”
“Hmmm… Been researching me, huh?”
Damn. The trust fund slip-up gave me away.
I squirm a little. “No.”
“I bet you Facebook-stalked the shit out of me.”
“I did no such thing.”
“I bet you saved a picture of me as your desktop background.” His voice is smug. And close. Like he’s standing less than a foot away.
Look at the ceiling. Don’t look at him.
“You’re delusional.”
“I bet you think you know everything there is to know about me, don’t you, hacker girl?” His voice drops to a husky whisper. “I bet you think you’ve got me all figured out, like everything else in your orderly little life.”
Ugh!
I know he’s baiting me, but I can’t take it anymore — I have to glare at him.
As soon as my eyes land on his body, I wish I’d resisted the urge.
His chest is at eye-level — and, fuck me, it’s even better up close. I watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat and tell myself it would be very, very wrong to sleep with him.
Even though it would be the best sex of your life… a voice whispers from the back of my mind. Even though there’s a very large, comfortable-looking bed just a handful of feet away… Even though you’re insanely attracted to him… at least, when he’s not speaking…
Zoe! Focus.
Shaking myself back into sanity, I look up at his face so I’ll stop drooling over his body. It’s not much of an improvement — his gorgeous eyes are locked on mine, burning with heat and humor. I feel my stomach flip as desire threads through me.
Shit. I really need to steer this conversation into safer waters.
I clear my throat. “Judging from the very brief amount of time I spent stalking you on the internet—”
He chuckles lowly. Damn, that’s a sexy sound.
“—I would have to concur that there’s really nothing interesting to know about you, Parker West.” I pause and lean toward him. “Except, perhaps, your middle name.”
His grin disappears.
Gotcha.
My nose wrinkles. “Gilbert? What were your parents thinking?”
“It’s a family name,” he says defensively.
“Gilbert? Gilbert.” I repeat, dragging out the syllables.
“I take it back,” he mutters, his expression dark. “You’re not a nice person.”
I laugh, victorious, and turn away. “Put some clothes on, playboy.”
Remarkably, he doesn’t say anything as I slip into the nearby bathroom. I make sure to lock the door behind me as I reach for the zipper of my skirt and prepare to pull the sailor suit on over my underwear.
Somehow, I have a feeling I’ll be safer inside a rubber rain jacket and boots than in my flimsy blazer and bare feet.
As I step into the ridiculously large pants, tightening the elastic suspenders as much as possible, I don’t let myself think about why I’ve agreed to spend the day with this man I barely know. I don’t let myself dwell on the lingering attraction in my bloodstream. And I don’t let myself answer my phone, which is buzzing for the third time in an hour, because I know Luca will just try to talk me out of going.
For once, I’m not going to think; I’m going to live.
For one, single afternoon, I’m going to leap before I look.
For a fleeting, fragmented instant of my regimented life… I’m going to be free.
* * *
I’m flying.
Head thrown back, arms outstretched, torso leaning into the wind.
The boat slices through the waves like a knife through butter, living up to her name — a swan. Majestic, graceful, powerful.
Parker’s at the wheel at the back of the boat. Or, at the stern, as he calls it. I’m as far from him as I can get, pressed up at the front — sorry, the bow — like Jack in Titanic.
“I’m king of the world!” I yell into the wind, the words snatched away as soon as they pass my lips. Mist from a wave sprays up and coats my face, frigid and salty. That doesn’t stop me from grinning like an idiot. I’ve never felt anything like this before — this rush of pure adrenaline. Even when I finish a particularly difficult hack or a tricky piece of code… it can’t compare to this.
When Parker first pulled out of the harbor, switched off the motor, and put up the sails, I was nervous. But as soon as we were out of the main channel, flanked by open water and an outcropping of rocky islands, passing hundred year-old lighthouses and flocks of white shorebirds… as soon as I felt the wind on my face and the rush of speed in my veins…