Page 110 of Gilded Saint

I rub my nose over hers and grin. “Is there something you want, Mrs. Watson?”

Her cheeks flush. “If you’re not too tired.”

My body isn’t too tired, and her hand strokes the evidence.

“The shower performed miracles,” I say as I lift the hem of her nightgown, tugging it around her bottom, and over her head, only to drop it on the floor.

“You smell delicious.”

“Do I? We’ll need to find out what brand they stock so we can use it at home. I like the idea of smelling delicious to my wife.”

Her grip tightens, and I breathe through the pleasure. The boat rolls, and I stumble. My shins bump against the bed.

“Is someone driving the yacht?” she asks, sounding only slightly concerned.

I reach around her, pulling back the comforter and sheet. “The yacht’s fully staffed. They’ve got a night crew. We should reach calmer waters by morning.”

I climb into the bed beside her, aligning our bodies and pulling a sheet over us. “You don’t get seasick?”

“Never have. You?”

I bite back the answer and then chuckle. I can tell her everything. “Nah, I was in the Navy.”

“The Navy? Battleships?”

I nip at her lips. “Something like that.”

“How did you?—”

I stop her question with my mouth, and her tongue complies. “I’ll answer all your questions. But right now, I need my wife.”Oh, how I need her.

With a smile, she lies back. Her fingers comb through my hair, and she guides me down to her.

I’ve made love to women before. I’ve loved women too. But I’ve never had what felt like forever before. As I cover her body in kisses, taste her, and bring her to the edge with my fingers and mouth, as she opens for me, giving me all of her with no barrier, only truth, I release into her with the force of a tidal wave. This is what forever feels like.

Chapter36

Five Days Later

Willow, aka Lily

The crew members are polite but distant. They’re all Jack Sullivan’s employees, and Sam says we can trust them, but by the same token, they’re trained to keep their distance.

Sam—it’s still strange to call him Sam—correctly forecast the pain level from the crash over the bridge and into the river. We spent the first few days taking pain meds and sleeping quite a lot, either in the bedroom or on the deck in the shade. Or, at least, I’ve been sleeping. Sam’s been in what he calls debriefs.

Today is my first day with no pain medication. My bruises are yellowing, and the rhythm of the sea has lulled my tight muscles into a serene state. With five crew members, we’re never alone, but that’s not the way it feels.

NamedThe Honey Pot, the yacht has a bright and airy interior with luxurious, neutral-colored accommodations, including five suites for guests, and quarters for the crew in three cabins.

Traveling day and night at a brisk pace, we’ve reached the Gulf Stream, a warm current that runs along the east coast of North America, and it’s warmer where we are. We plan to travel south of Florida and dock in the Gulf of Mexico at a private port. Today, the tropical sun beats down on the boat with a welcome intensity.

“Here you are,” Sam says, stepping right up to me and flattening a palm on my right butt cheek. “This is a tiny bikini.” I’m wearing a swim coverup, but it’s a stringy concoction that covers nothing.

“It’s what they provided.”

The approving hum next to my ear sends tingles down my neck and straight through me.

“Are you done with your meetings for the day?” I ask, hoping for some relaxing time with him.

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