Page 19 of Lair

Voper’s face twitches, filling with a sudden, inscrutable nakedness, but he won’t look at me. His nostrils flare, his jaw muscles flex. We are very close. I’m barely aware of Emmie watching with mouth hanging in scandalized fury, Mrs. Colding with open fascination. That Captain Redfearn, even, has taken a break from his duties to watch with narrowed eyes and crossed arms.

For I know what’s going on here. I know where this kind of tension comes from. Sometimes it feels like I’ve struggled with it all my life.

I lower my voice. “Mr. Voper.” His eyes jerk at me. “Relax. That tension inside? You have to let it go.”

He does not look away. Those blue eyes seem to grow larger and larger, searching mine, hauling whatever they need up out of the depths. And I think, He never blinks.

Then he sucks in a deep breath, his beastly barrel of a chest expands, and he arches back in a fluid motion, gripping his foot. His form is perfect.

I step away as if released from some sorcery. “Very good.”

But when he stands, towering over me, the mask is back in place, his face cold and unapproachable, full of a trembling restraint. Is that... disgust?

“Thank you,” he says, and curtly nods. “That was... edifying.”

And he turns and flings open the double doors of the main salon, disappearing inside.

I stand there not knowing what to think, feeling Emmie’s eyes burning into the back of my head.

TEN

That night Thea leans against our cabin wall and crosses her arms, a gloating smile on her face. “You two...”

I punch my pillow to fluff it, a little too aggressively. “Please just leave me alone.”

My thoughts haven’t left me alone, though. They very much haven’t left me alone. For the rest of the day I’d been all but useless, almost burning every uniform that had come across my ironing board. How could I not turn over, in my mind, every little moment I’d had with Voper that afternoon? How could I not wonder what that expression on his face had meant? What that deep, dangerous tension in his muscles (all those muscles) had meant—

Thea sniggers. “You don’t wanna talk about it? I mean, I definitely think we should talk about it.”

“What’s to talk about?” I grouse. “Voper doesn’t like me. Hardly breaking news.” Thea squints one eye at me, and I glare at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she laughs, shrugging, hands up. “Nothing. Just... there seemed to be a connection there.”

I shrug now, suddenly self-conscious. “I just... could tell. He’s carrying a lot of pain.”

“Oh?” Thea raises her brows. “You could tell that, could you, from feeling up his hot bod?”

I flush, trying to find the words. “I went through a lot, when I was...” I feel a mortifying pressure behind my eyes, and wave a hand. “Anyway, it’s why I do yoga. It helps my stress and insomnia. So, I can tell when someone else is also struggling.”

“Well,” Thea says, thinking that one over. “All I know is, I’ve never seen Voper do anything like that before.” Another ambivalent shrug, and when she climbs up into her bunk I sit there, musing on that.

Sometime in the night I wake with a start, for no reason that’s readily apparent. The cabin is dark, the yacht calm and motionless. Just my insomnia, then.

I look up at the cabin doorway to find a familiar shadow there, looking down at me, and the thought thuds through me: Josh.

My muscles lock all over. Terror ices my blood. My mind reels.

No. It can’t be. He can’t have followed—he can’t have found me—what is he going to—

But when the shadow steps forward, it’s not Josh. It’s Voper.

Something flutters and catches behind my breastbone.

Why is he here? What is happening? I shrink back and open my mouth, but his hand is there, his cold pale hand. His blue eyes poison-black in the darkness. My body buzzes, tipped into a tumult of confusion. I should scream, I know. This is wrong. I should fight this. But there is something else in the terror coursing through me. Something depraved and thrilled. He rolls on top of me, and the size of him pressed against me is undeniable. A shivering languidness fills me. My hands open and close, clawing into the sheets. I can’t help it, I grind my hips up to meet him, and he lifts away. Bad girl. When he removes his hand from my mouth, he stares at my lips. I stare at his. They’re so full, for a man’s. Sensuous. I wonder how many women have fallen for those lips.

I suddenly want them.

But one long, pale finger stops my mouth. He dips his head and whispers it into the sensitive shell of my ear: “Relax.” His exhalation is cold against my neck. His fingertips glide down me, grazing the sides of my breasts, my ribs, and I quiver. Hidden, neglected parts of me flare to life. I feel a fluttery clench between my legs and realize: I am turned on by Adrian Voper. I want Adrian Voper.

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