Page 32 of Poison Evidence

He smiled. This battle of wills with Ivy was going to be fun.

The sunbathing deck was a rectangular inset in the foredeck, tucked down to provide protection from the wind, should a group wish to relax in the sun while the boat was underway. A low, tilted windscreen ensured the inset didn’t mar the sleek lines and therefore slow down the high-speed yacht.

The well boasted four benches and a low wet bar, but the noise and wind would be too much for conversation, so there were four noise-cancelling headsets that connected to each other and the bridge.

Ivy might think she’d escaped talking to him by choosing the foredeck, but no such luck on her part. He donned a pair of headphones and flipped the switch for the intercom system, triggering a green light on the bar to flash. She paused in mixing her drink and stared at the light, then looked up toward the bridge.

Between the tinted windshield and the glare of the sun, she wouldn’t be able to see him. She was probably just realizing her mistake. He chuckled when she flipped him off. Maybe it was weird, but her spirit turned him on, plain and simple.

As did her brain and body.

There was a speaker, but it had to be irritatingly loud to be heard over the whirr of the engine and rush of wind. He turned the volume to maximum and said, “Put on the headphones, Ivy. Or I’ll play K-pop over the speakers.”

When she didn’t immediately comply, he pulled up the K-pop playlist on his iPod and hit Play. He’d done the same thing to charter clients when they were dickheads and ignored him and every rule of boat safety. He might be using the charter boat captain thing as a cover, but he was once a lieutenant in the US Coast Guard, and he’d been damn good at it. He took boating safety seriously.

Ivy’s chin jutted out as she glared up at him, but she put on the headphones, then grabbed a bottle of vodka from the bar. “What do you want?”

He turned off the music. “There’s passion fruit juice in the galley. It goes well with the peach vodka.”

“That’swhy you wanted me to put on headphones? Bartending instructions?”

“No. I wanted to tell you that you are rocking the bikini.”

She tugged at the tie around her neck. Her breasts were full, the weight straining against the scant triangles that tried to contain them. There was a softness in her body that twenty-somethings didn’t have. A maturity he found irresistible.

“Thank you.”

“I’d have guessed you were more the one-piece type.”

She looked up at the glass that wrapped around the helm as she ran her hand down her side, a nervous gesture, adjusting to the feel of the suit. “Trina made me buy it.”

“Trina?”

“A coworker. The only clothes hound at NHHC. She has the shopping gene the rest of us lack.”

Trina. Dr. Trina Sorenson, Navy historian. He remembered her from one of the conference calls last November. Trina was a close friend of Undine’s.

Should he tell her about his alter ego, Parker Reeves? Would it make a difference? Probably not, considering she thought Parker was a Ukrainian terrorist. She needed time to get to know him, not be fed stories she probably wouldn’t believe anyway.

“Trina has good taste.”

“She also made me buy the stilettoes I wore last night. I’d never have been able to fight off Spiderman without those shoes.”

“That makes her my new favorite person I’ve never met.” He meant it. If Ivy hadn’t been wearing stilettoes, they could be in a very different situation right now.

“Her fiancé is a badass former SEAL who runs a mercenary organization. The kind of guy who’s protective of Trina’s friends and has a small private army—which happens to be owned by my cousin—to back him up.”

He chuckled. “Point taken.”

She settled on one of the padded seats and set her drink to the side. She relaxed into the cushion, and the sun caressed her peach orchid skin. Thoughts of the flower reminded him of last night, and that fast, he was hard. “If we capsize, it’s your fault for wearing that bikini on the front deck while we’re underway.”

She poked her head up and scanned the horizon. “I see nothing but water. No boats. No land. No reefs to snag us until we’re closer to the islands. Waves are low, no threatening storms. You mess up, it’s on you.” Her smile turned sly and a little bit wicked. “What the hell, it’s not like you haven’t see it all anyway.” She untied the strings around her neck and unhooked the back of the suit, then dropped the scrap of fabric on the deck.

Oh Jesus. She did have torture in mind.

Her heavy breasts spread and relaxed. Soft to the touch. A feast for eyes and mouth. He could close his eyes and remember her taste, the feel of her puckered nipple against his tongue, but he had a boat to drive.

“Fuck but you have beautiful breasts.” The words slipped out. But then…she was practically inviting him to comment, given that they’d slept together and now she put herself on display for him.

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