Chapter 69
“Good to know.” There was a little silence broken only by the slap of the water hitting the sides and hull of the yacht. “Do you want to take the wheel for a while?" Chase asked.
“I don’t know. I might run into another boat or something.”
“There’s no one else out here. Come on. Stand in front of me, and I’ll steer with you.”
Amaya moved to stand in front of the wheel, and he came in behind her, his arms on either side of her body, his hands resting on top of hers where she was gripping the steering wheel. Who knew steering a yacht could be such a turn-on? The warm, hard presence of his body behind her made every nerve in her core jump up, ready for duty.
His broad hands almost completely covered hers; his fingers were long, strong, and so very capable. Deliciously, dangerously capable. Amaya could feel him against her bottom cheeks; the rise of his flesh was an erotic reminder of what was to come. She shivered when he moved closer, his stubbly jaw grazing her cheek when he leaned down to help her navigate a larger than normal wave.
“Good, you are quick,” he murmured, which made her shiver.
The rocking motion of the yacht pushed her further back against him, sending her senses into overdrive.
“I want you,” he said. “I would never have guessed.” He gave a soft laugh. “wife”
He tongued the cartilage of her ear, the sensations rippling through her like waves. “But then, I’ve wanted you since Chicago. You were laying there on the bed, so raw, so fragile, and so beautiful."
“Really?”
"Yes, innocent and fragile, but different.”
“Different…?”
“Yes, a good kind of difference. You open up to me; you talk to me; you're not the same shy, aloof Amaya I knew now.”
“And that's good?”
“Yes.”
Amaya shuddered when his teeth tugged on her earlobe. “Funny, but I did pick up that vibe.” He moved his mouth to the sensitive spot on her neck just below her ear.
She smirked and raised her brow before responding, “What vibe are you picking up now, Chase?”
To hell with her revenge or whatever, she thought. Now, what matters is that she had him, and they were alone. She was alone with him, and he wanted her.
Chase answered, “I’m thinking the honeymoon is about to start?” He turned her so she was facing him, his eyes gleaming like high-gloss black paint. “But I need to drop anchor.”
Amaya linked her arms around his neck and gave him a sultry smile. “I can think of something more fun we can do instead.”
He smiled and pressed a brief, hard kiss to her mouth. “Go below, and I’ll be with you once I’ve got things up here under control."
What the hell are you doing, Amaya? You are not supposed to be enjoying this fake honeymoon! You are supposed to be sleeping and ignoring the man. She thought to herself. Think about durians, think about Thea’s poop; think about the sewage system back in the 17th century, think... think something; don't think about Chase’s amazing, warm body. She chastised herself as she descended to the main cabin, where a bar, sofas, and large-screen television were located.
There was a kitchen off that with a separate dining area, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a top-end-of-town restaurant.
The master bedroom—one of four bedrooms on board—was big enough to sleep a football team as well as their support staff and sponsors. Maybe even some fans. She was no stranger to luxury accommodations, but Chase’s yacht was beyond anything she had seen before. Butter-soft leather sofas and ottomans, Swarovski light fittings and lamps, knee-deep, cream-coloured carpet, polished timber woodwork, and Italian marble in the wet areas, such as the bathrooms. There was even a hot tub on the upper deck and a spa bath in the main bathroom. A bottle of champagne was in a silver ice bucket with two glasses beside it, left by Chase’s staff, along with their luggage, which had been unpacked and stored in the hand-crafted built-in wardrobes in the master suite.
There was a supply of gourmet food in the fridge and pantry, both cooked and fresh ingredients, as well as a wine fridge with enough wine and champagne to host a cocktail party for a hundred guests. Amaya couldn’t look at the king-sized bed without a shudder of excitement. The same shudder of excitement she’d felt when Chase said he’d wanted her when he’d seen her in London
She’d thought he’d been mocking her for sitting there so long on the bed on the night of Mary’s wedding, trying to remember the last hour, trying not to check her watch, and chewing her lips and nails until they bled. But behind that glinting black gaze, he had been sizing her up for himself. What had stirred his interest? Was it just because he was bored and looking for fun?
But now? It was all different, right?
Was it that he’d seen her as a convenient bride—a single woman on the wrong side of thirty who he’d assumed would stumble over herself with gratitude when he offered her? But his motives had been far more honourable than that. Why had he done that?
She thought, of course, it was because of his need for a wife. For his name? Or what?. But she knew she wished for more, long for another reason, as she shook her head.
Amaya sat down on the cloud-soft mattress and sighed. Why was she fussing over the fact that he wasn’t in love with her? People had sex without being in love all the time. It wasn’t a prerequisite these days, even for marriage. Lots of people enjoyed a workable marriage, with companionship and mutual respect holding them together. Romantic love didn’t always last, anyway. The limerence period in a new relationship at best lasted two years. After that, the relationship settled into the bonding phase. If it was going to, that was. Chase surely wouldn’t let theirs go on for half so long? It wasn’t as if she was in love with Chase.
But was she? She pondered. But what if she succumbed to that lethal charm? She had already told him more than she’d told anyone about herself. It was as if her carapace had melted away. She actually liked him, really liked him. Liked his company, his smile, his dancing eyes, and his body. Dear God, his body. The sound of his footsteps coming down to join her was enough to set her pulses off like thoroughbreds at the starting gate.
Why hadn’t she thought to buy some sexy lingerie? She’d been so determined to resist him, but how long had that lasted? One kiss, and she’d all but begged him to take her. One kiss! What if she was hopeless in bed? And what if what happened in the office closet happens again?
What if she couldn’t orgasm with him? What if she took ages and ages, and he got fed up, and she had to pretend? And then she would be embarrassed and feel even more pressure next time. The door of the bedroom opened, and Amaya jumped off the bed as though she’d been shot out of a cannon.
“Amaya?”