Make You Mine (11 page)

Foreheads tipped together, they shared a blissful groan, each delirious with rapture. Allie kept going, setting an easy rhythm that Marc occasionally slowed by wrapping his arms behind her and crushing her to his chest. She knew what he was doing—delaying her climax and prolonging the pleasure. But though she wanted to make it last, the tension coiling low in her belly warned she couldn’t hold off much longer.

Marc filled her ears with half-incoherent whispers of how good she felt, how gorgeous she was. He sat back in his chair to admire her while alternately kneading her breasts and running his palms along her thighs. Allie decided to give him a true eyeful. She leaned back and rested both elbows on the table, opening her legs wide to display their joined bodies while she rode his hips.

At the sight, Marc’s lips parted and his face glazed over.

“Mercy,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Spurred by a new passion, he clutched his chair base, gaining purchase to thrust hard into her. The table shook with each pump, ice cubes rattling inside Marc’s neglected glass of Coke. For a split second Allie worried they might topple it over, but then he used a thumb to massage circles into her swollen bud, and her mind shut to every sensation beyond the pure delight building between her legs. Like an electric current, it traveled down both thighs and back up again.

She extended her arms and gripped the table ledge while rolling her hips to meet each powerful thrust. Her lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps. The room was thick with the noises of skin slapping skin, the frenzied squeak of the table joints, and the hysterical moans rising from her throat.

Her control was about to snap—she couldn’t last another second.

Allie tipped back her head as her inner muscles shuddered against Marc in an orgasm so fierce she had to clench her jaw to contain a scream. He never relented, slamming harder between her thighs until Allie sobbed a curse without a care for who might overhear. The waves of ecstasy took her again and again for what felt like days. When they finally stilled, she lay boneless in his lap, more satisfied than she’d ever been in her life.

“Again,” he commanded, wrapping her legs around his hips and standing from the chair. He lifted her pliant body and set her on the table, where she sprawled on her back, still weak and trembling. “I want to feel you come again.”

Allie didn’t think she could do it. She tried to tell him so, but then he ground against her in a circle and sparked to life every nerve ending below the waist.

“Yes,” she whispered as his arm hooked around her knee and lifted it over his shoulder. The position opened her to take him even deeper, something she hadn’t thought possible. “Yes,” she repeated, eyes rolling back at the delicious invasion. He filled her so completely, bumping her cervix in a shock of pain that somehow heightened the pleasure.

He slowly rotated his hips and plunged into her hard enough to send his glass of Coke and half their playing cards sailing off the table. Allie held tight to the lacquered wood and rocked with him. Marc chanted her name like a prayer and branded her with his gaze. When the next wave of sweet agony hit, he came with her, bucking against her flesh with a long, low groan. From within, Allie felt him pulse in a staccato of release. He held there for several blissful moments until they both collapsed into a heap of sweaty tangled limbs.

“God bless,” she whispered.

That was
so
much better than a brown sugar pecan scone.

Allie was in heaven. She wanted to bear Marc’s weight forever. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to lie beneath him—like this was where she belonged. But he rested atop her only long enough to catch his breath before gently pulling out and tucking himself back into his Jockeys, condom intact.

She bristled at his abrupt withdrawal.

Seconds ago, he’d turned her world on its axis, and now he was shoving both legs into his pants while scanning the carpet to find the rest of his clothes. He picked his way through the pile, grinning to himself when he lifted her panties off the floor.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” he said, tucking her underwear into his pocket.

Allie’s heart turned cold while her sister’s words rang inside her head,
Did he hit it and quit it?
Is that what was happening here? She hated to believe Marc would do that to her, but it was starting to look that way.

Propping on one elbow, Allie peeled a few playing cards off her back while watching him tug on his T-shirt. When he came across the spilled cola, he scooped the ice cubes into the glass and replaced it on the table.

“What?” he asked, catching her staring at him.

Allie struggled to force the words though her throat, which was growing thick with welling tears. If he was about to ditch her, she’d have to get off at the next port and ask Devyn to pick her up. She couldn’t stay aboard the
Belle
and pretend none of this had happened.

On frail limbs, she pushed to her feet. Marc peeled the jack of clubs off her butt, then pocketed that along with her panties—souvenirs of his conquest.

“Here, put this on.” While handing over her skirt, he paused to study her expression and asked, “What’s the matter?”

“You tell me,” Allie said, bending down to snatch her bra off a nearby chair. She shoved her arms through the straps and latched the trio of hooks at the back. “We just made love, and now you’re gearing up for the fifty-yard dash.”

Marc’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. Allie stepped into her skirt, and by the time she secured the button, understanding dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said, lips twitching in a grin. “Is that what you think—that I’m fixin’ to make a clean getaway?”

She provided her answer in the form of a glare.

“Come here.” When she stayed rooted to the floor, Marc sauntered over to her and snaked both arms around her waist. He nuzzled her ear through thick curls and murmured, “You didn’t actually think we were finished, did you?”

Allie’s resolve was weak. All it took was the heat of his breath to unravel her.

She tipped aside her head to welcome the brush of his lips on her neck. He kissed his way down to her bare shoulder and spoke against her bra strap. “The cleaning crew will be here soon. Get dressed so I can take you back to your room and strip you naked again. I’m going to do filthy things to you, Allie. And I won’t stop till the sun comes up.”

Allie’s breath hitched. Hopeful once again, she pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Are you sure? Don’t you need a couple hours to . . . recuperate?”

He gave her that signature smile—the one that deepened the cleft in his chin and sent her heart
ping
ing against her rib cage. There was a promise in his gaze, of more than just a few moments of sin.

“Sugar,” he said, “we’re just getting started.”

The next morning, Marc awoke to the soft snuffle of feminine snoring, an unexpectedly adorable sound that parted his lips in a sleepy smile. Allie’s pretty little head rested on his chest, a beam of low sunlight from the window dancing over her raven curls, picking up bluish hues he’d never noticed before. There was a lot about this woman he hadn’t noticed before last night, but now he knew every inch of her curves by heart. He’d taken great care to explore her—inside and out—and he’d loved every minute of it.

Lord, she’d blown his mind—catapulted him to a whole new level of heart-quaking, lung-bursting volcanic climax. Marc had been with a lot of women over the years, but Allie made him forget every last one. No joke. He couldn’t recall a single name but hers. Sex with Allie was so damn good, it didn’t seem natural.

Maybe because it’s not
, warned a distant voice that sounded an awful lot like his superstitious pawpaw.
If you lie down with the devil, you’re gonna get burned, son
.

Marc pushed those bullshit thoughts right out of his head.

The girl in his arms was more angel than devil, the perfect mixture of tenderhearted sweetness and sultry siren. But that assurance didn’t stop him from peeking beneath Allie’s bedsheet to make sure his manhood was still intact after a night of debauchery with a Mauvais woman. Thankfully, it was—and
very
happy to see Allie stirring beside him.

“Stand down, soldier,” Marc whispered. “Let’s give her a break.”

Besides, if the sun was up, that meant he was overdue in the pilothouse and Allie was late for her breakfast shift. But damned if the general would listen to reason. His helmet stood at full attention, refusing to surrender until he’d divided and conquered the lean tanned thighs curled around Marc’s hip.

With a sigh, he checked the clock on her nightstand. They were already late. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

Burying his nose in Allie’s scented curls, Marc murmured a husky “Good morning,” while letting his hands travel down her back to her naked ass, where he grabbed two firm, delectable handfuls of flesh. He loved the way she filled his palms. She had the kind of butt that made him want to thank her mama—her daddy, too, rest their souls.

Allie stretched her spine and made a noise of contentment, blinking awake and squinting against the early-morning light. She rested her chin on his chest and flashed a smile that warmed his heart.

“Mornin’.” She started to say something more but gasped and tore her gaze to the alarm clock. “Oh, no!” Muscles tensing, she moved to launch out of bed.

“Hold up there, sugar.” Marc threaded his arms around her waist and pulled her back against him, spoon-style. “Where’s the fire?”

“But my breakfast pastries,” she objected. “I should have started them hours ago.”

“I’m sure your staff is on top of it.”

He could feel her answering smile in the way she melted into his embrace. “You’re just saying that because you want to be on top of
me
.”

“Not true.” He reached around and cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch. When she released a soft moan, he nibbled her shoulder and thrust against her glorious backside. “I think I’ll take you from behind this time.”

“You’re so bad,” she whispered, pulling aside her hair to give him better access to her neck. He sucked the sensitive skin there and reached between her legs, pleased to find her more than ready for him. “So very bad,” she breathed, opening for his fingers.

“Mmm, and you like that, don’t you?”

He didn’t need a reply; her body answered for her.

Marc closed his eyes and focused on spreading the slippery heat over her folds. Occasionally, he dipped a finger inside to find more lubrication. And there was always more. He loved this evidence of how badly she wanted him—the feel of her, absurdly slick, made him so hard it hurt. To ease the ache, he pushed his erection between the dampened passage of her upper thighs, stroking the outside of her hidden entrance. His breath hitched at the wet friction, his body begging him to ease in where she was blazing hot and tight as a fist. But as much as he wanted to indulge in bare contact, Marc had never left himself unprotected, and he didn’t intend to start now.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, shifting onto his back to grab a condom from the nightstand. After rolling it down the length of his shaft, he settled behind Allie and slipped into her with liquid ease.

They shared a long groan. “God,” she swore, gyrating in time with each lazy pump of his hips. “You feel so good I almost can’t stand it.”

Chest rumbling with male pride, he wrapped both arms around her, holding tight as he drove into her again and again. Allie covered his hands with one of hers and whispered in broken Creole while reaching down to touch herself where they joined.

Marc watched over her shoulder and went half delirious at the sight of her circling fingers. He wanted to make it last, but when her inner muscles contracted in orgasm, she milked a climax out of him that he felt clear to the pit of his soul. Gritting his teeth, he thrust upward one last time and spilled inside her.

They lay there, sweaty and satisfied, their flesh glued together in a way that made it all the more difficult to part from her.

“Damn,” he said, still panting for air. “Every time we do this I think it can’t possibly get any better, but it does. What’s your secret?”

Allie drew his palm to her mouth and placed a kiss there. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

He laughed. “If we keep up this pace, you’ll be the death of me anyway.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she suggested, “We can slow down anytime you want, baby.”

Right, like
that
was going to happen. She made him hornier than a parolee on release day. He’d made love to her six times in the last nine hours, and it still wasn’t enough. Even now, a tingling of blood flow to his jock warned he’d grow hard again if he didn’t pull out—which he needed to do so they could bathe and get dressed.

Probably a bad idea to suggest they shower together. Soaping up Allie’s wet, naked body would surely lead to more naughty shenanigans.

Yeah, definitely a bad idea . . .

“C’mon.” Grinning, he gestured toward her bathroom. “Let’s get cleaned up. I know a fun way to conserve water.”

•   •   •

When Marc finally reached the pilothouse, he threw open the door and nearly collided with Pawpaw, who speared him with an icy glare. The scrunching of the old guy’s brows said he had a bone to pick with Marc, but he stewed silently in the corner while the second-in-command delivered a brief report. Afterward, Marc thanked his backup pilot and dismissed him for a day’s rest.

The door had barely closed behind the man when Pawpaw lit into Marc.

“Where the hell have you been, boy?”

One hand on the wheel, Marc sipped his coffee and suppressed the urge to snap at his grandfather. “I got a late start this mornin’ is all. No reason to get your britches in a twist.”

“Late start?” Pawpaw stammered. “We’ve been tryin’ to track you down all night!”

That sounded bad. Marc’s stomach tightened, and he took his eyes off the river just long enough to face his granddaddy, whose typically tawny cheeks had darkened to the shade of a summer raspberry. “Why? What happened last night?”

Pawpaw laughed without humor. “What
didn’t
happen?”

“You going to tell me or not?”

“Where should I start?” asked the man, lowering his saggy bottom onto a folding chair and clearly enjoying Marc’s unease. “How ’bout with the theater show? One of the actors in the second performance broke a leg—literally. Poor bastard slipped on a Twinkie wrapper, of all things, and went down harder than a prize heifer.”

Cringing, Marc drew a sharp breath through his teeth. “He okay?”

Pawpaw lifted a shoulder. “Guess so. The EMT said it looked like a clean break.”

“The EMT?” As far as Marc knew, there were no medics on board. Just the staff nurse, who treated stomach bugs and the occasional scrape. “Where’d you dig up one of those?”

“I didn’t. We stopped around midnight.”

“Stopped the boat?” Marc damn near dropped his coffee. “You docked the
Belle
last night?”
And I didn’t notice?

Pawpaw raised one bushy brow and leaned forward in his chair. “Twice.”

“And nobody bothered to tell me?”

“Not for lack of tryin’,” Pawpaw said, shaming Marc with a bitter glare. “You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Marc set his coffee on the console and patted himself down, searching for his cell but coming up empty-handed.

“Lookin’ for this?” Pawpaw pulled the cell from his shirt pocket and handed it over. “Found it on the casino floor . . . in a patch of dried Coca-Cola.”

Avoiding his granddaddy’s eyes, Marc took the sticky device and shoved it in his jacket pocket.

“When I went to your suite,” Pawpaw continued, “you weren’t there. We tore the boat apart looking for you, ’specially the second time.”

Marc returned his gaze to the water, barely seeing a thing as guilt clawed a jagged trail into his skull. He was captain of the boat—directly responsible for the
Belle
and every soul aboard. How could he be so irresponsible as to go off the grid all night? And how was it possible they’d docked twice and he’d never noticed?

He knew the answer, just didn’t want to admit it. He hadn’t detected the stops because Allie’s bed was rocking, even when the boat wasn’t. Making love with her felt so incredible he probably wouldn’t have known if the boat were on fire.

Marc cleared his throat and refocused on the controls, slowing the throttle to bring the old girl down to six knots. Unfocused as he was right now, he probably shouldn’t be piloting at all. “What happened the second time?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Domestic dispute,” Pawpaw said, hooking his fingers in sarcastic air quotes. “That’s what the cops called it, anyhow.”

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me the law was aboard my boat?”

“Naw,” Pawpaw said. “Beau stepped up and handled it. He carried the perp down the ramp and the officers stayed on the dock.”

“What’d the guy do?”

Pawpaw snorted in amusement. “Crotchety son of a bitch nearly took off my head with a wine bottle.”

“He attacked you?”

“Sure as I’m sittin’ here. His wife sent me one-a-them dirty text messages and he—”

Marc whipped his head around. “You were sexting with a
guest?
”

“Hey,” he said, pushing both palms forward, “I didn’t encourage her. I was just minding my own business when her old man came at me swingin’ a 1982 Merlot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Marc smelled bullshit. In his younger days, Pawpaw had made a reputation for himself as the bayou’s number-one backdoor man. “Then how’d she get your number?”

Pawpaw’s gaze dropped to the floor. “That ain’t the point.”

“God help us,” Marc muttered under his breath. “Sometimes I wonder how we’re still afloat.”

“It all worked out for the best,” Pawpaw said with a dismissive wave. “Once they left, I had the maids turn down the room so the folks from 116 could have it.”

Marc hated to ask. “What happened in 116?”

“Pipe burst in the head.” A low whistle puffed Pawpaw’s cheeks. “When the maintenance crew came, they found a dead opossum in the toilet.”

“Fan-damn-tastic.” Marc noted the sonar equipment was on the fritz, too. “That’s all we need—a critter invasion.”

“If it ain’t one thing, it’s another,” the old man mused.

No doubt. And it didn’t escape Marc’s notice that the figurative downpour had occurred precisely when he’d taken Allie Mauvais to bed. He tried telling himself it was a coincidence, but it felt like a lie.

The stakes seemed to escalate with each touch. An after-prom kiss had earned him a boxer-full of blisters. The first time he’d crossed Allie’s path since high school, half his cleaning crew had been deported and his pastry chef had contracted German measles. He’d given Allie an orgasm, and the bed next door had burst into flames. Now after a night of lovemaking, all hell had broken loose.

What would happen next?

Marc was afraid to think about it, because he wasn’t ready to stop seeing Allie. Not even close. He’d always known one night with her wouldn’t be enough, and sure as dawn, he’d be back in her arms tonight.

But regardless, he needed to keep his priorities straight. The
Belle
came first, not Allie . . . even if he did love making her come. In the end, she was just a woman, flesh and bone, and his time with her was fleeting. The
Belle
would be here long after Marc was gone, serving a new generation of Dumonts. He had to keep her thriving.

“So where were you last night?” Pawpaw asked. When Marc ignored the question and resumed sipping his coffee, the old guy scoffed and added, “Whoever she was, I hope she was worth it.”

Marc grinned above the rim of his Styrofoam cup.

She was
.

•   •   •

He spent the rest of the day perched behind the wheel, staring out the front window at the mighty Mississippi but seeing Allie’s face reflected in each wave and shadow. Every wooden creak and groan of steel transported him back to last night when she’d moaned his name in a litany of pleasure. Even the warm jasmine breeze tormented him with reminders of her scent.

He hadn’t caught a glimpse of Allie all day, and yet there was no escaping her.

Touches of her presence were everywhere—in the abandoned gris-gris bag on a hallway table outside his suite; in the ramekin of crème brûlée on the lunch tray Worm had delivered to the pilothouse. Marc had never been a fan of that particular dessert, considered it nothing more than glorified pudding, but the buttery custard and crisp caramelized topping Allie had created were so delicious he’d sent Worm back to the galley to fetch seconds.

Whether in bed or in the kitchen, one taste of Allie’s sweetness was never enough.

Marc checked his watch, wondering what she was doing right now. The dinner shift had ended hours ago, so she was probably in her room getting ready to catch up on all the sleep he’d denied her last night. His mouth pulled into a frown. He wanted to see her, but he didn’t know what the proper protocol was for their “relationship.” He’d promised not to nail other women while he was sleeping with Allie, but that didn’t make them a couple. Or at least he didn’t think so. Allie wasn’t his girlfriend, was she?