Page 14 of Nauti Kisses (Nauti 6)

John’s father had told her that John was now living on a houseboat, but Sierra hadn’t exactly known what to expect when they pulled into the small Mackay Marina.

The houseboats there ranged in sizes, colors, and names, spreading out to the larger, almost home-sized crafts at the end of the docks.

“I can walk,” she informed him as he opened the passenger side and reached in for her. “There’s nothing wrong with my legs or my ability to move. ”

It hurt though. Walking for more than short distances could leave her breathless with the pain that shot through her bruised ribs.

“Nothing but the bruises that went bone deep, you mean?” he grunted as he lifted her in his arms anyway. “Don’t argue with me, lollipop. The walk to the Nauti Dreams is a long one and you’re not used to the shifting of the floating docks yet. ”

He picked her up out of the seat, turned, bumped his shoulder into the door to close it, then hit the remote lock.

He did it all so seamlessly, with such male grace and effortless ease that Sierra nearly sighed in envy. No man should be able to move so smoothly. She was already at such a disadvantage with him, he didn’t have to make things worse.

“The bruises are getting better,” she muttered defensively, even though she knew they were still extreme.

“I’m sure they are. ” The comment didn’t do much to stem the rising nervousness building inside her.

There were times over the years that she had sworn she knew John better than she should, and she knew he was angry right now. She could see it in the hard set of his jaw when she glanced up at his face, the glitter in his violet-blue eyes.

Those eyes should give him a feminine appearance, but they did more to maximize his masculinity instead.

God, he’d changed so much. He wasn’t just darker, his hair lighter. His muscles were harder, his chest broader. She was beginning to wonder if he was even the same man she had known in Boston.

“Here we are. ” He stepped confidently from the floating walkway to the deck of a two-story houseboat whose side was emblazoned with the words NAUTI WET DREAMS. The play on words would have had her eyes rolling if she weren’t so damned tired.

The sliding glass door swung open easily and John stepped inside to the dim, cool recess of the craft. Moving several steps to a large sectional couch, he set her down easily before staring down at her for long moments.

“Stay put,” he told her, his voice rougher than she remembered. “I’ll bring your luggage in then we’ll see about getting you some breakfast. ”

“I don’t need breakfast. ” She needed to sleep. Between preparing to leave, the stress, and the early morning flight, she was exhausted.

“You’ll eat it anyway,” he informed her, arrogance fairly oozing from his pores. “I’ll be right back. ”

He would be right back, which meant she had very little time to shore up her defenses, and to hopefully find a way to keep her heart from being broken. Again.

THREE

John didn’t walk back to the Denali, he stomped. His heavy work boots pounded against the floating docks as he made his way back to dry land and the marina parking lot.

Her throat was still bruised. He could see the marks against her pale flesh.

His fists clenched at his side as he fought to breathe through the agonizing fury. It tore at his insides with a force that made him want to howl. Son of a bitch. He’d kill the bastard responsible if he ever had the chance.

She was tiny, so fucking petite. He could span her waist with his hands and likely have room left over. Large, marbled gray eyes stared back at the world with an innocence that made him wonder, considering the crowd she used to run with when she was younger and the rumors he heard, if his fantasy dreams of that night with her might be more reality than wishful dreaming. That long swath of blue-black ringlets that fell from her head only made her look more endearing, more fragile. So fragile he couldn’t believe the bastard that bruised her hadn’t managed to break her.

Sierra wasn’t a woman who could be handled with anything less than gentleness. A hard wind bruised her tender white skin, everyone who knew her, knew that. She often joked that she couldn’t walk through a room without marring her skin.

And it always hurt. She would pout if she bumped against something, rub the offended flesh, and glare at it as though the weakness irritated her.

She was strong-willed as hell though, so he’d always thought it evened out. She would stand up to anyone, nose to nose, and had on occasion, out argued even John’s father. That wasn’t easy to do.

John couldn’t handle the emotions rising inside him at the moment, the thought of the attempt that had been made to hurt her. To destroy her. The pure anger. The need to go to his knees before her and kiss every inch of bruised flesh, to beg for her forgiveness for not being there to protect her. The need to demand explanations, to beg that she stay, to simply hold her, was tearing him apart.

He’d never had so many emotions surging through him. For a man that prided himself on his control, he was growing close to losing it. Because despite the bruises, he wanted her. He wanted to touch her, kiss her from head to toe, show her all the gentleness he could find within himself, and he wanted to fuck her until they were both screaming from the pleasure.

She was too damned young, he kept telling himself. Her gentle twenty-four was a far cry from his thirty-two. But she was his.

The thought implanted itself in his brain and he refused to let it go. Sierra was his.

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