Sin on the Run (13 page)

“I did. Everyone but me. I'm perfect. You said so. Last night.”

“Arrogant.” She made her own check mark sign in the air.

* * *

As they sailed toward the town where they'd spend the night, wave free, he showed her how to steer the boat, and work the radio and instrument panel. He demonstrated which button would raise the mainsail. A cheat, he called it, but necessary for someone who'd never sailed and needed to raise the sails. He started to lose her as he explained a jib and Genoa sail, then regained her attention when he demonstrated the winch. That she could understand. He promised, when the weather permitted, to teach her how to sail. She didn't have the heart to tell him it scared the hell out of her. So she smiled and sucked it up.

“How much sailing have you done recently?” she asked, curious as to how or if his skills were rusty.

“Honestly? Not much. One or two trips to the Hamptons with friends, but beyond that, I haven't had the time or the inclination.”

“But you said you sailed a lot in Scotland. Don't you miss it?” She'd assumed people who sailed would miss the activity.

“Sailing was just another way to avoid my family.” He pushed a button, lowering the mainsail.

“How terrible can your family be?”

“Did I say family? I meant my grandmother. She's too consumed with keeping the title.”

“But she has two heirs. The title is secure, isn't it?”

“Yes and no. For now, it sits with my brother. But Colin doesn't have any children and nor do I. There are also provisions in my grandfather's will that need to be met. My brother was almost there and then life dealt him a blow. If my mother hadn't had sons, the title would have been lost. So now my grandmother has unfortunately shifted her beady eyes on me.”

The wind picked up and Rhonda shivered. What exactly could be in that will that got him so upset?

“She thinks I'll drop everything, quit my job and do as she asks. I like my job.”

“How did you end up with the FBI?”

“I'd majored in international law, so when a friend of mine offered to pull some strings and get me an interview with Interpol, I jumped at the chance to leave. That led to a visa, New York et cetera and then the FBI.”

“So when was the last time you and your grandmother talked?”

“A couple of days before the wedding. A lovely chat it was too. Duty,” he said in an old lady-like voice. “Honor, the family needs you.” He groaned in frustration. “As if I could drop everything I was doing, and alter my life to fulfill my grandfather's will.”

“Which is what exactly?”

He opened his mouth to answer when a large wave rocked the boat. Her stomach rolled with the surging water. “How long before we reach shore?” She didn't want to get sick.

He glanced behind her. “I can see the shoreline now. Just keep focusing on the horizon. It will help you avoid feeling ill. I'll take care of things.”

“No way,” she said, just as another wave hit the boat. She spread her feet out, trying to get her footing. “We do this together.”

“You think I can't do this? I'll get us there safely.”

“Yup, and you'll be in one piece. I'm helping. What can I do?” She'd never sailed, but there had to be something she could do.

“Nothing until we get closer to docking.”

“Okay. I'll make sure you don't overdo it.” She grinned, flashing teeth. This wasn't up for debate.

She sat and watched as the shoreline got closer. For the first time since she'd stepped foot on the boat, she appreciated the beauty of the vista around her. There was a sense of freedom, gliding over water, the wind in her hair. Minus the waves, a part of her could see how someone might enjoy sailing. Someone—not her. Give her solid terra firma and the contents of her stomach staying put any day.

It wasn't long before they docked in the small harbor. She gave herself a big pat on the back. Granted, Blake's instructions had been dumbed down with things like, use the big white rubber thing. She knew what a fender was. Someone else might get insulted at being treated that way, but she found it endearing.

She'd talked to Jason a time or two like that, uncertain as to how much the kid in a man's body understood. When he was able to describe every instrument in the DJ booth, Rhonda had stood corrected. But Jason, being Jason, said it was all right because girls didn't know much about electronic gadgets. She didn't have the heart to tell him she herself had played music for the club a time or two.

She touched the crossed slashes on the back of her neck as Blake secured the cabin hatches. How different would her life be if Jason hadn't been responsible for her injuries? It dawned on her that this was the first time she hadn't thought of the incident as an attack. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but had become so agitated with being unable to tell her his psycho daddy wanted the cross medallion Jason had lost that in all his confusion, he'd put the car in reverse instead of drive. He'd thought he'd killed her and had to bless her the same way he'd seen the scumbag responsible for killing all those women had. He'd marked her, slashed her neck in the sign of a cross. Then she realized that if her life hadn't turned in that direction, she wouldn't be standing here. Was that a bad thing or a good thing?

Blake took her hand as they made their way up the dock. She looked down at their joined hands. A sane person would be pissed at Jason at being left for dead, mutilated with internal bleeding. A sane person would understand that Jason's actions that day had led to her to sleep with Blake. And because of that, she found herself running for her life. But when she looked up to see Blake smiling at her, she also understood that a sane person would be stupid. She wouldn't trade how Blake made her feel for anything in the world. It might be short-lived—oh hell, would be short-lived—but she'd take it. He was the best thing that ever happened in her pathetic life. Whatever time they had together, she was damn well going to enjoy it.

B
lake admired the sleeping beauty in the bed. Standing by the window of their room at the inn, he could see the storm had passed, every cloud gone. He'd have to wake her soon. The quicker they made it to the safe house in the Keys the better. He kicked himself for tiring her out. Being seasick was no way to sail, and all that retching must have been exhausting. But there was no choice.

The inn, a Queen Anne structure complete with wrap-around porch, overlooked the harbor. From their window, they'd been able to watch the storm. After a delicious home-cooked meal and a great bottle of wine, you couldn't have asked for a more romantic setting. But honestly, stick them in a tent with a can of beans and a pint and he'd still have wanted her. He was getting in over his head. And if he didn't do something about it, he might end up hurting her.

She said she understood, knew the conditions of their romantic adventure, and under other circumstances they might have been able to pull it off. They could share a wonderful time together, then call it quits and go their separate ways. But that depended on time. The longer they spent together, the harder it would be to remain friends with benefits. And he wasn't just thinking of Rhonda. He himself would get attached. If it hadn't already happened. Rhonda stirred, rolling over, exposing one exquisite, long leg from under the covers. Hell. He was already attached.

The clock by the bed began to ring. He forgot he'd set the alarm. He ran over but was too late. Her eyes opened.

“Sorry, I forgot to unset it.”

Rhonda flipped over and stretched, her back arching, a lovely pedestal for two perfect breasts. He'd like to crawl back into bed with her. “You shower. I'll get us coffee.”

“I guess we have to go?”

“Sorry, yes. I was going to let you sleep in longer, but now that you're up . . .”

“Kiss me and I'll shower,” she said.

“And if I don't?” Not that he wouldn't.

“Then you'll have to deal with my stink all the way to the Keys.”

“I'll just toss your beautiful ass into the water when you start to ripen.”

“What if I told you I couldn't swim?”

That might explain why she'd been so freaked out their first night on the boat. “Then I guess I wouldn't shower either and we could stink up the place together.”

“Ick,” she exclaimed, tossing the sheet aside and walking naked into the bathroom. She turned inside the doorframe. “You're disgusting. What kind of king doesn't shower?”

He threw a pillow at her head just as she shut the door. Yes, he was in trouble, because if a bullet didn't kill him, leaving her just might. She was the breath of fresh air he hadn't realized he'd been missing. And if they made it out of this mess alive—and he had to believe they would—his life would be pathetically dull without her.

They spent the next week sailing down the coast. And he was never more proud of anyone. She not only learned all the instruments, but sailed on her own. For someone who didn't like being on the water, she was a natural.

“Would you ever have believed me if I told you you'd be sailing this thing?”

“Nah, I'd have thought you the crazy bastard that you are.”

“Yesterday I was stupid and today I'm crazy.”

“Check.” She made the sign in the air. “And check. You're going to pass me on that fault list. And I didn't say you were stupid.”

“Yes, you did.” He stood beside her now, proudly watching her steer.

“No, I called you dumb. Big difference. Stupid would imply lack of intelligence.”

“And dumb?” he asked.

“Lack of judgment.”

He shook his head at her inane logic, but loving every minute of it. “I just don't think peanut butter belongs on a hamburger. It doesn't make me dumb.”

He enjoyed arguing with her. There was nothing like a good row first thing in the morning. Then he'd apologize and make love to her until she forgave him. His strength was returning. He didn't know if it was because of their lovemaking or because he desperately wanted to protect her should the need arise. Whatever the reason, he was starting to feel like his old self again.

“You wouldn't try the peanut butter combo,” she argued. “That made you dumb. You can't say it doesn't belong unless you try it. And let's not start with all that eating spiders and garbage stuff. Those are not valid points.”

“Says you.”

“Says I. And don't you forget it.”

He hugged her from behind. “Let's add domineering to that list.”

“I'm okay with that one. I'd rather be in charge than have someone telling me what to do.”

He kissed her neck, finding that sensitive spot just between her collar bone and nape. She shivered, making him smile. “You didn't seem to mind last night, me telling you what to do.”

“I knew that was coming. Add predictable to your list.” She elbowed him slightly, then stiffened. “Oops, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Yes,” he said, “and now you'll have to make it better.” He filled his hands with her breasts, loving their weight. He loved it even more when he brushed his thumb over her hard nipples and she moaned, leaning into him.

“Are we anchoring the boat again?” she asked, her voice kitten sexy.

“Aye. I have it in mind to show you a better way to use peanut butter.”

Rhonda cut the engine and leaned over, far more than needed, to hit the drop-anchor button. It pushed her gorgeous ass into his crotch and gave him all kinds of ideas. He didn't think. He just moved.

Placing his hand between her shoulder blades, he pushed her forward. With his free hand, he loosened the drawstring on the sexiest pair of workout shorts he'd ever seen and maneuvered them off her hips. She was standing with her legs splayed for balance and they didn't make it very far. He didn't care. He had more than enough room to do what he was planning. Cupping her hips firmly in his hands, he thrust his erection against her, letting her know this was going to be hard and fast. Then leaning over her, he unclipped her bra and caught her spilled breasts into his hands. He plucked her nipples and squeezed her breasts, as he continued to rub his cock against her ass. Her excited moans spurred him on. Reluctantly he let her go and dropped his own shorts. Already shirtless, he stood there naked behind her.

This, he thought, was going to be so sweet. “Stay like that,” he told her. “Don't straighten.”

“Blake?” His name came out in a sexy breath.

“Trust me.” He knelt behind her.

He removed her shorts and panties and when his gaze slid upward, his already hard shaft throbbed. Leaning over the cockpit dashboard, half-dressed, Rhonda was his siren and if he shipwrecked on her shore, he'd die a happy man. From this angle she was exposed, wet and waiting to see, to feel, what he would do next. He'd planned to take her quickly, but now all he wanted was to taste, the barely perceptible sway of her body in rhythm with the gentle rocking of the boat urging him onward.

He did what he yearned for. He grabbed her ass and drove his tongue inside her. This time, his name left her mouth in a hard shout of pleasure. He wanted to hear it again. He needed to make her come. She needed to know he'd done that to her. Call it ego. Call it selfish pride. But he'd care to think of it more as branding. He made her go wild, made her hips move in a frenzy of lust.
Him
. Because right here, right now, in this moment, she was his and he wanted her to know it.

She came quick and hard. A good dose of manly pride surged through him. He stood and took her, her body quaking from pleasure—the orgasm he'd given her. She was already squeezing his cock, the aftershocks of her orgasm tightening his balls. God yes, this was what he needed. She was what he needed.

“Rhonda.” He was now calling
her
name.

She met him, thrust for thrust, one hand over the dashboard, the other clutching the steering wheel for purchase. She looked back at him, her lips parted with every gasp, her eyes darkened with pleasure, encouraging him to take more. A soft wind picked up her hair and carried the fresh scent of salt air. He'd never seen anything more erotic, this woman who was slowly but surely burrowing under his skin. How would he ever get her out? And did he want to?

She licked her lips, shutting her eyes as a soft “yes” escaped her lips. “Don't stop,” she said.

Like that was going to happen. She tightened even more around him as she helped drive him deeper into her body. He wanted to kiss her, to take her tongue and suck on it as he came. But he wouldn't, not willing to give up the beautiful image of her half-naked body draped over the console, her legs spread wide, accepting him over and over, faster and faster. Again, she screamed his name. The sound carried off into the ocean and with it the rest of his restraint. His orgasm rocked his world to the point of being painful, a pain he'd gladly suffer every day.

When they were done, he helped her gather her shorts and together they went below to the cabin, where he showed her a better place to spread peanut butter than on top of a burger.

* * *

Lathering up for the third time, Rhonda wondered if she'd ever stop smelling like peanutty goodness. Not that she cared. It would now and forever remind her of Blake. Almost a week had passed since they'd first discovered the many uses of peanut butter. Reminded of that and seeing as how today had been her turn to make lunch, she'd chosen a childhood favorite—peanut butter and bananas. Blake, being Blake, had given her lip. She didn't care. On days when they planned super-healthy dinners, she wanted fun, alternative lunches. He continued to argue with her until she stripped off his pants and told him they weren't using bread. He shut up real fast.

Smiling to herself, she toweled off, catching her reflection in the mirror. Yesterday, they'd stopped at another small town, where Blake explained it was to visit a hair salon. She'd been surprised—and apprehensive. She hadn't been her natural blond self since before she started stripping. She ran her fingers through her wet, now golden hair, and decided to let it dry naturally topside.

“When did you say we'd make port?” she asked as she stepped onto the deck.

“A couple of hours. The team gave us the go ahead. Damn, you're beautiful.”

He'd been saying that ever since they'd left the salon. She was beginning to think the opposite, and that his reassurances were because he didn't like her natural color.

“Okay, so I'm a blonde. What about you? You think facial hair is enough to hide your pretty been-on-
GQ
face?” His new look had started to grow on her.

He rubbed his beard. “I have red hair dye. That should do it.”

“Who-hoo, my own redheaded Scotsman,” she exclaimed.

“And why would that excite you?”

“You'd have to read romance novels to understand. Suffice it to say, it's super hot.”

Confused and shaking his head, he headed below. “Take the helm, captain. I have a disguise to finish.”

When he returned, she couldn't say it was an improvement—nothing could improve that face—but he looked different enough to be unrecognizable. He hadn't cut his hair in all the weeks they'd been together and it had grown long enough to tie back, as it was now. “You look very . . . no collar.”

“Care to explain?” he said.

“Free-spirited. Like you should be holding a pair of bongo drums. California style.”

“Ah. You know, Christian took me surfing once.”

“How'd that go?” She herself hated swimming in the ocean. Too many unpredictable factors, currents, undertows . . . sharks.

“He surfed. I drowned. All good.”

She laughed. “Okay, then.”

The satellite phone on the boat rang, catching their attention. Blake answered.

“Tell me something good, Monty.” There was a pause. “Well, if you're calling yourself, it must be good news, right?” It was followed by another long pause. “I'm good,” he said, “feeling more like myself.” Blake rubbed the back of his neck, pursing his lips together. “That's not an option.” He was getting angry. “Yes, I'm sure.” Then he lowered his voice. “I can't do that. I
won't
do that.”

When he moved out of hearing range, Rhonda considered drawing closer. But she told herself to trust that Blake would tell her everything.

He finally returned and put the phone in its dock.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Ryan. There's another lead. Two stones showed up in Dubai. They'll let us know what they find out.”

“Okay. Why aren't you happier? This was good news, right?”

“It's not moving fast enough. We need to nail Sorrentino with those missing diamonds.”

We?
He'd said,
“We need to find those missing diamonds
.
”
It hadn't dawned on her that once Blake was feeling better, he himself would want to be included in the search. How could she be so stupid? Of course, he would. He wasn't the type of man to sit around and let his team do all the work. So why wasn't he?

“I can't do that
,
”
he'd argued,
“I won't do that?”
Did he mean leave her behind, put her in someone else's hands? He'd promised to keep her safe. Was that it? Was he now regretting that promise? Her good mood faded. And from the exasperation emanating from Blake, he too had lost the afterglow. How different would it be if she weren't in the picture?

“Why would the stones be in Dubai?” she asked.