“What are you doing?” Jason asked behind me.
“This is a job that needs to be done in person.” Fishing charters booked out months in advance. If I was going to get our tenants on a boat today, it was going to take some magic.
Jason nodded with a smirk. “Fair enough.”
I tossed my purse onto the floorboard of the golf cart my brother and I used to get around the resort, and slid onto the seat. The marina wasn’t far, just a couple of miles away. Close enough that when I was younger, I used to walk there, but far enough that I’d never do that now.
As I drove down the one-lane gravel road separating our two properties, the wind blew my hair back from my face, the honey-colored locks no doubt becoming a tousled mess. I bumped along, my mind wandering to Shaw, as it often did without my express permission.
The man with the hunter-green eyes, an old soul and perfect butt.
God, Chloe.
If anyone knew I was fucking Shaw, I didn’t think I could live with myself.
The first time it happened, I thought it was a fluke—a drunken, guilt-riddled mistake. I was certain it was a one-time thing, and one I hoped we could just forget about and move on. When he showed up at my front door a few days later in the middle of the night, I assumed it was to apologize. I figured he’d beg me to forgive him, explain that he’d been out of his mind with grief and it was all some huge mistake.
When I let him inside, rather than apologizing, he pinned me to the wall and then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. Fingers slid into my pajama bottoms, pulling them down my legs. I almost pushed him away, almost told him to stop. I’d just spent three nights crying myself to sleep over our grief-induced fuck session at Samantha’s house. But then his mouth moved to my neck and he’d whispered the one word he knew would ensure I gave him what he wanted.
Please.
It was a broken plea, a prayer on his lips. It stunned me—like I alone had the power to heal him. He was giving me all the control in this exchange. I could have said no, and part of me wanted to. I could have pushed him away and ended this whole thing. Instead ...
Shaw ... I’d murmured his name, trying to find meaning in this sudden change in him. In twenty-five years he’d never laid a finger on me, never acted like I affected him at all. We’d practiced kissing at age twelve, but that was so innocent compared to this. His finger stroked my clit, applying just the right amount of pressure and speed, and I shivered in his arms, halfway between pushing him away and begging him to never stop. But it was his next words that sealed the deal.
I need you, Chloe.
So have me, I whispered to him.
And he did. He owned my body in ways that no man had before. We fucked against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his hips pistoning against me in powerful thrusts, his mouth nipping at my throat, his fingertips leaving bruises on my thighs...
He left me sore and feeling used, hot semen running down my legs as he tucked himself inside and zipped up his jeans. I didn’t know if I felt disgusted, or elated, or just indifferent. I was numb and reeling, but I knew I wanted more, if only to find meaning in what the hell we were doing.
Every Wednesday since that night, it was like clockwork. Shaw always found his way to my door, and I always let him inside, letting him fuck me however he desired. It was usually hard and fast and brutal. I always came several times before he found his release. But instead of helping him heal, like I tried to pretend I was doing at first, he was getting worse.
Like now.
“Shaw?” I asked, pushing open the door to the small office. It was dark inside despite the bright sunshine outside. My eyes struggled to adjust. He wasn’t out on the dock like I expected and one of his guys had pointed toward the office.
When my eyes adjusted, I glanced at a disorganized desktop piled with invoices, receipts and paper coffee cups.
“Need something, sunshine?”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname he’d called me for as long as I could remember.
“Why are you sitting in the dark?” I pulled open the plantation shutters, bathing us in warm light.
He let out a groan at the intrusion.
“Shaw ...” My fingers flew to my mouth and I took a step back.
He was sitting in a deep leather armchair in the corner of the office, his bare feet propped up on the matching ottoman and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. It was half empty.
“What the hell are you doing?” I crossed the room and took it from him, screwing the cap back on firmly. “It’s barely noon.”
He only shrugged.
I let out a deep sigh. I didn’t want to argue with him. “I have a party of two I need to get on a boat this afternoon.”
He grunted. “Today?”
I nodded, shifting my weight. “Can you do it or not?”