Chapter 13

Hart

I’m in hell.

I don’t do emotions. I don’t do intimacy. And I certainly don’t do comforting, but I indulged in all three and am reeling because of it.

I hated hearing Daisy vomit. I wanted to barge in and do something to help but I couldn’t, gripped by helplessness when I’m usually decisive. Then to make matters worse she opened the door, I took one look at her wan face, and a surge of protectiveness made me hold her, wanting to do anything to make things better for her.

I’m not that guy.

I can’t be any woman’s fucking hero.

So I dragged my sorry ass up here, drew the anchor up, and we’re moving again. The faster we get to the other island, the best vantage point for Gem Island, the better.

I hear a footfall behind me, followed by a murmured, ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’ I will myself not to turn, waiting for her to climb the few steps up to the bridge.

Like the bastard I am, I studiously avoid looking at her, still shaken by my feelings back in the cabin.

‘Why the hell did you run back there?’ She sounds confused rather than angry, with just a hint of uncertainty. It’s like a slug to the gut all over again.

‘I thought you needed time to recover,’ I say, brusque to the point of rudeness.

‘Bullshit.’

Damn, I love her boldness.

‘Leave it alone,’ I grit out. She’ll think I’m a selfish prick, treating her with disdain after great sex. Then again, I should be glad to alienate her considering how out of sorts I’m feeling.

‘The hell I will,’ she snaps, her signature brashness making me smirk. ‘And what’s so damn funny?’

‘I’m a dick and you don’t hold back in calling me out on it.’ I risk a glance at her and she’s frowning, but colour has returned to her cheeks.

When she made an odd sound on the bed after the phenomenal sex I thought it was excitement for more, until I took one look at her sickly green face. I was seasick the first time Pa took me out on the yacht so I know the signs. I wanted to make it easier for her because I know how shitty it felt, that’s all, but my urge to protect has made me feel off kilter ever since.

‘At least you acknowledge you’re a dick.’ She sounds begrudgingly admiring but is still frowning.

‘I’m in this for the fuck-fest, I’ve made that more than clear. If you’re expecting hearts and flowers crap, it’s not me.’

Her eyebrow arch is signature. ‘You think I’ll be scared off because you’re an emotionless drone?’

‘Just saying it how it is.’

She makes a cute snorting sound. ‘You don’t need to spell out we’re just sex, I know that.’ Her eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘But FYI, holding me after I’ve barfed may be misconstrued that you actually having a heart.’

‘Don’t spread the news around.’

My flippancy earns her first genuine smile since she came back on deck. But it fades all too soon.

‘Seriously, I get it. This is a fling. Nothing more. But it’s inevitable we’re going to bond a little beyond the obvious.’ She shoots a pointed look at my groin and my dick hardens. ‘So don’t freak out when it happens. Because it will. And I want to have more of that sensational sex and you going all strong and silent isn’t helping.’

I admire her bluntness. She’s the female version of me.

‘Bonding isn’t my style but yeah, you’re right. We’re working together, we’re fucking, it’s bound to happen.’

The corners of her mouth twitch when I add, ‘Just don’t go getting any ideas.’

‘Like what? That you might actually care beneath that frosty exterior?’

‘Hey, watch it, all this sentimental crap is making me want to barf and we both can’t be fighting for the porcelain bowl.’

She laughs as I intend. ‘There must be other toilets on this floating palace.’

‘They’re called heads on a marine vessel.’

A slow blush steals across her cheeks. ‘Speaking of head…damn, you’re good at it.’

Her sense of humour kills me as much as the rest of her. She’s so damn addictive and I’m in serious trouble, because, despite my protestations that I don’t bond, we already have. First the incredible sex, then my urge to hold her. Emotions are for saps and I turned mine off a long time ago.

Focussing on sex is more my style. ‘I can’t wait to get you on dry land.’

‘Why wait?’ She bats her eyelashes. ‘I’m fine while the boat is moving, I just can’t lie down.’

‘And who’s going to steer?’ I lower my voice. ‘Because trust me, babe, when I’m deep inside you, as you well know, I want all my focus on you.’

I watch her throat convulse in a swallow. ‘Okay.’

We fall silent but it’s comfortable. Another surprise, because when I date women all they want to do is talk when we’re not fucking, incessant chatter for the hell of it; endless inane questions that do my head in. It’s why I don’t usually date the same woman twice. Because after one date they feel entitled to delve and I don’t want that.

If I wanted some woman to stick her nose into my business twenty-four-seven I’d get married.

Never going to happen.

When the silence stretches to five minutes I risk a quick sideways glance, sorry I did. She has her face tilted to the sun, eyes closed, a small secretive smile playing about her mouth. A woman enjoying the day on a beautiful yacht under the perfect Queensland sun, a beguiling mix of angel and vixen, like she knows something I don’t.

Lust slams me like a punch to the jaw, ferocious and startling, before the inevitable emptiness sets in. I can’t want her this much. I don’t want to know what’s behind that smile. I won’t get too attached to my island fuck-buddy.

Stick to the plan, dickhead, and you’ll be fine.

I have to be.