Limits (25 page)

             
I turn the key and pull the throttle, but it feels different this time. The water is choppy now and I push the tiny boat as much as I can to speed toward land.

             
“You should slow down, we don’t want to flood the engine,” Genevieve pipes in.

             
“It’s fine.” All of the paranoia I kept wrapped tight for the duration of this trip slams back into me and drives me to get to land as quickly as possible.

The engine takes on a new sound, a loud buzz from the stress of the waves and the speed, but I’m determined to get Gen and me to the dock and be done with this day. The waves lap against the boat, threatening to breach the sides and fill the boat with cold lake water. The engine struggles until it’s quiet. Completely quiet.

Because the boat has stopped.

             
“What’s going on?” Gen’s eyes are wide as she looks from me to the dock about a mile away. “Why did we stop?”

             
Fuck.

             
“I don’t know.” I swallow back the panic that’s making it impossible for me to think this through. “It just stopped. Shit. I must’ve flooded the engine.” I’m waiting for her to say, I told you so, but she doesn’t.  “I’m sorry, Gen.”

             
I try the key, praying for a miracle, but the motor won’t turn over. I try again. Nothing. The engine is dead.

             
I reach for the chord to manually start the boat, like I’ve seen people do in movies, but Genevieve bumps my hands from it.

             
“Watch out.” She pushes past me and pulls up the back seat of the tiny boat. She twists her hair back into a quick bun and mutters something in Spanish.

             
“What?” I ask before I realize I probably don’t want her to repeat whatever she just said.

             
“I
told
you to slow down,” she bites out, her words clipped with irritation.  “You go that fast on choppy water, you’re sure to wiggle the battery cable loose every time.” She slams the seat back down, rolls her eyes at me, and grins. “You’re lucky you have me here. You know that? Try the key again.”

             
I do as I’m told, and this time, the boat starts right up. It’s the second most beautiful noise I’ve ever heard. The first was the sound of Genevieve begging me not to stop last night.

“You’re a goddess,” I say to her as we pull up to the dock. If I wouldn’t look like an even bigger tool, I’d kiss the concrete.

She shrugs her tiny shoulders and pulls her tank back on. “It’s not a big deal. I sort of had the feeling you didn’t know what you were doing.”

J.D. is waiting for us. I happily turn over the keys, and he advises us to hurry back to our place because we’re in for some massive storms through the night. We take his advice, stopping only to grab a few things for dinner and some wine from the tiny market near the cabin.

Once we’re back inside our cabin, and the rain is battering the roof like it might rip the damn thing off, I come to the conclusion that there are much worse things than being stuck inside this mildly dank place with some cheap wine, a few candles, and this woman who I want to know every detail about.

“So, why’d you let me take over, if you could’ve handled the boat on your own?” I ask, heaving the grocery bags onto the single countertop.

“I didn’t know if you’d be scared if a woman got the best of you,” Gen grins.

I fake my best cocky grin. “Does it look like I’m worried about anything or anyone getting the best of me?”

Genevieve giggles. “Right, I forgot. You know all the things, Professor.”

“That’s right, and don’t forget it.” I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in to me. Her skin is still warm from the day in the sun. Genevieve pushes her face into my chest. “Do you really want to know why I didn’t tell you I’d never driven a boat?”

She doesn’t answer but I continue on. “I didn’t want to let you down. You’re this tiny, gorgeous spitfire who is so damn brave, and I just didn’t want you to think I was a total moron. Because I care what you think of me, Gen. I’ve never wanted to impress anyone the way that I want to impress you. And you’re my wife, I should’ve done that first. And—”

“You know what sucks?” She wiggles out of my embrace. “I didn’t see a corkscrew anywhere! What are we going to do with all of this wine if we can’t even get it open. Ugh! I can’t believe I didn’t think to grab one.”

She pulls away from me and lets her hair fall over her face, so that I can’t see her expression. “I mean, there’s got to be one somewhere, right?” She opens and closes each drawer frantically, like finding that corkscrew is the most important thing in the world.

I start to replay the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I said wrong, but decide to just help her instead.

“Here, let me.” I reach over and take the bottle of wine she’s holding from her, pull out my pocket knife and flick it open.

“What are you doing?” Gen asks. I plunge the thin, serrated blade into the cork and twist and pull until it pops from the bottle.

“Problem solved,” I say, handing her the bottle. “Though, I didn’t see any glasses, either.” I pick up another bottle and tap the neck to the one she’s holding. “So, cheers.”

“Thanks.” She presses her lips to the bottle and tips it back, taking a long gulp. “So, what should we do?”

I uncork a bottle for myself and take a swig. “What do you feel like doing? I think it’s a safe bet the TV doesn’t work.” As if on cue, the lights flicker. “Let me light some candles while you come up with something.”

I line up rows of candles along the mantel and on the kitchen counter and light each wick methodically while Genevieve digs through the hutch in the living room.
              “Cards?” she asks, holding up a blue deck. “You want to play poker?”

“Yeah, we can play. I should tell you up front though—I will beat you. Every time.” I turn to smile at her, but my face freezes when I watch her body move, graceful and sexy as hell in the flickering candlelight. Every time I’m sure I’ve seen her at her most beautiful, I get a glimpse of her in a new light or in a private, quiet moment, and I’m shocked by how she has levels of gorgeous I haven’t even touched on yet.

Genevieve laughs and takes another drink from her bottle. The sound of it is light, and it feels like the awkwardness stemming from whatever I said wrong a minute ago is gone as suddenly as it came on.

“There are three things that I’m one-hundred-percent certain I’m better at than you. One is poker.” She sits down at the tiny table and starts to shuffle and deal the cards without even looking, her fingers unbelievably quick and agile. “Hold em is good, right?” she asks with a smug smile.

I nod, impressed by the rapid flip of the cards and the confident way she moves. It’s going to be bittersweet to crush her. But I’ll definitely make up for it by being incredibly generous in bed later Because I’m a nice guy like that.

“Is that so? Well,” I ask, picking up my cards and taking a seat across from her, “what are the other two?” I stretch my legs out and love the way hers tangle around mine. She pulls her chair close and puts her feet in my lap, grinning when I suck a breath in through my teeth.

“Well, operating a boat, for one,” she says, her voice sweet and so deceptively innocent. I realize that this may be part of an elaborate poker strategy, and fear I might be in way over my head.

“And the other?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice even.
              Instead of answering, Genevieve reaches across the table, her shirt strained tight against her tits, and dumps the box of matchsticks that I used to light the candles set on the red table cloth.

“Raise you two,” she says, tossing two matchsticks into the middle of the table and licking her lips.

I glance at my cards, then back at Gen. “I see your two.” I reach down with one hand and grab her foot, rubbing my thumb along her arch.

Other than a slight jerk of her lips, Gen’s expression is unchanging as her eyes dart from me to the cards. “I see your two, and raise you five.”

“The other thing, Gen?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet and running my fingers over every sensitive part of her foot.

She takes another long drink of her wine, and I notice how rapidly the pulse in her neck is beating.  “Stop trying to distract me.” She presses her lips together as I rub her heel.

“I’m not.” I put the cards down and grab her other foot just to watch her pull her bottom lip in. Just to fluster her. “And there’s also no way your hand is better than mine, either.” I push my entire  pile of match sticks into the center and lean back, rubbing her feet with gentle, relaxed pressure while she wiggles her toes and squirms. “I’m all in.”

She tries to pull her feet away, but I hold tight. Her mouth curves into a sweet smile that has a bite of cockiness around the edges. It’s a huge turn
on. “That’s a pretty aggressive move, Professor. I’ll take that bet.”

             
I pull one hand up and flip my cards in a single, lazy motion.

Three of a kind.

              “Damn, that’s where all of the the three’s went.” Her mouth pulls down into an adorable pout, and I almost feel guilty for beating her. Almost. “Oh, and for the record? The third thing I’m much better at is making people—like you—squirm.”

             
She gives me a little wink as she sets her cards down, leaning forward so I get a clear view of her perfect cleavage. “Straight Flush.” She lays the cards out with a proud flourish.

             
“I don’t know, I did a pretty decent job of making you squirm in the kitchen earlier.” I mean it as a joke, but somehow, it comes out too serious.

             
“Oh, yeah. I guess you did. It’s not like...I didn’t...” Genevieve sighs, her fingertip tracing around the edge of her cards. “I didn’t mean to get weird about what you were saying.”

             
“It’s fine, Gen.” I gesture at her cards. “I was just trying to make a joke after getting my ass handed to me by you. That was a fantastic play by the way.” 

             
“Thank you. And, about before...it’s just that...I sort of think that you’re building me up in your head to be something that I’m just not.” She pulls her feet from my hands and lets them drop to the floor, then grabs at every card on the table, rounding them up with shaky fingers, her eyes cast down. “I feel like there’s no possible way that I can avoid disappointing you, and I promise, it won’t be a one-time deal.” The sudden shake in her voice matches the shake of her fingers. “I’ll figure out new ways, all the time in fact, to let you down. Not because I want to, just because, that’s what I do. Ask anyone who knows me.”

She clips the pack into a neat pile and riffles the cards to expel some of the nervous energy that transformed her from supremely confident to unbelievably vulnerable in a few short seconds.

              “Genevieve.” She’s staring down at the mound of match sticks she just won. “Gen, look at me.” She slowly raises her head, those steely gray eyes even darker in the candlelit room. “
I
know you. You could never do anything to disappoint me, baby.” I reach over and pull her chair closer to mine so that I can scoop her out of it and onto my lap. “And you can’t let me down. Because every damn day you’re giving me new reasons to fall in love with you. Even when you’re swearing at me while I’m driving up a mountain or schooling me on how to start a boat. Even when you infuriate me by skipping class, you still leave my dinner on the stove. You aren’t perfect, Gen. And neither am I, not by a fucking long shot. But you’re so damn perfect for me.”

She doesn’t say a word. She presses hard against me, her mouth, her hands, her body searching for a way to tell me just how perfect we are together. Not that I had any doubt. Not that I mind being so thoroughly reminded.

The drive down the mountain was better than the drive up. Adam offered to let me drive, just in case it was a control thing, but my palms were far too sweaty to even attempt to grip the steering wheel, so I curled up in the seat next to him, and he held my hand most of the way.

“I should have done this the first day we moved in,” Adam says when we finally pull up at our place. He unlocks the door to our apartment and scoops me up into his arms before pushing the door open with his foot and carrying me inside, over the threshold. 

“I forgive you. The weekend more than made up for it.” I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, unable to remember ever feeling more loved than I do right at this moment. “Thank you. And you can put me down now.”

Adam kisses the tip of my nose, then sets me down and lets the bags from his shoulders slip off to the floor.

“It feels good to be home,” I say, breathing in the combination of cooking spices, old books, new paint, Eros balm, nail polish, coffee, pine cleaner—smells that mark the place where he and I have started to make our life together. It’s a complex perfume I love completely.

“It is home, isn’t it?” Adam wraps an arm around my shoulder and kisses my temple. “What do you think about Chinese for dinner? We have all of those gift cards to that kosher place on Brookline.  I hear their Szechuan Crispy Beef will change your life.”