I connect to him. I connect with him.
My exposé . . . what will I expose now? I came in intending to discover and unmask a legend, but what I found is now lying sweaty and sated in my arms, flesh and blood, imperfect and irresistible. And this—with him, here—is the first real spot I’ve ever been in in my life where I want to stand still.
We had an extensive sex marathon at night, so we’ve been dozing off this morning as The Toy smoothly glides through the water. My skin prickles under the warmth of the sun, the wind playing with my hair, the soft rocking motions of the yacht. The engines hum softly, lulling me to a near sleep.
Saint just hung up his phone from another business call. Now he’s lounging right beside me.
The sunlight strikes the lake, causing the yacht’s shadow to shimmer across the water. I stretch out and flip onto my stomach, untying my top so I don’t get a tan line.
Malcolm instantly caresses that spot, his hand spreading all over my bare back. “I’m going to tan with your big hand on me!” I laugh.
He chuckles and moves it to curl around my neck, then up to my scalp. His phone rings again, and he stands and paces while he talks. I watch a smile flash across his face.
He runs his fingers through the sexy disorder of his hair. “Yeah? Good.”
I grin like a dope, addicted to watching him work, wondering what he’s doing. When I’m with this man, I can never think of anything but all that makes him who he is.
He glances at me with his cell phone to his ear, crooking a finger to call me over. God, he’s so bossy. I frown, but I sit up and try to tie my bikini top, curious as to what’s going on.
I pad over and he hangs up. He whispers, “Got to show you something. Come here.” He hooks a finger into the side string of my bikini bottom and uses it to have me follow. We go to the sitting area on deck where suntan lotion and fruit are set out, along with his laptop and tech gadgets. He pulls open his laptop and types in some passwords.
I sit on his thigh sideways to allow him to type. He logs on to some administrative page, then clicks a button and a window pops open with an image of a street.
“What is that?” I frown and stare closer at the screen.
“Something,” he says in his low voice, “I believe the lady will like. Look at the screen.”
The screen displays several images—a grocery store entrance, a street corner. “End the Violence has been pushing for citizen surveillance,” he explains.
Shock flits through me.
“I know.”
“I funded their movement. The government’s got several satellites up already, with a few more to follow.”
I’m so stunned, one of my hands is covering my open mouth, my obvious disbelief making Malcolm’s eyes fill with amusement.
“Nothing to say?” he prods.
Forcing my mouth shut, I stare at him wide-eyed: him, an ever-changing mystery. Always surprising me. Teasing me. Annoying me. Seducing me. Enchanting me.
“This just brings me one step closer to that coveted moon you say I want,” he teases me softly when I can’t speak, when I’m still blown away.
He’s peering at me, a smile twisting his lips as he runs his knuckles down my jawline. “You bring out a side in me I thought I didn’t have.” His voice is low and reverent somehow, as are his eyes, knowing and grateful. “I’ve been told that I’m reckless, that I could not be relied upon, that I couldn’t make a difference for others—just for myself. My father looked at me as if I was to blame for everything, and Mother as if I would get myself killed. People look at me like I can get them the moon, but you look at me like I already did. Like all I need to do is exist, and you would be happy,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb down my earlobe as he smiles at me, his eyes happily twinkling. “I like it, Rachel.”
“I’m so alive with you,” I whisper, without being able to even think of my words before I whisper them. “I’m so alive with you, you make everything pop for me, everything stand out.”
“Ahh.” He throws his head back and laughs deliciously then scrapes his hand over the stubble of his jaw, his smile both sexy and humorous. “See, that makes me feel good in a whole other way.”
“Because you’re arrogant and nothing’s enough for you, no amount of admiration or respect. I love . . . this. I love this so much, Malcolm.”
I duck my head, blushing because I thought the word you before the one I actually said, which was this. It popped into my head, so real and unfiltered, I’m blushing as I try to push it down. “I do love this,” I add, focusing on the screen again.
My exposé . . . what will I expose now? I came in intending to discover and unmask a legend, but what I found is now lying sweaty and sated in my arms, flesh and blood, imperfect and irresistible. And this—with him, here—is the first real spot I’ve ever been in in my life where I want to stand still.
We had an extensive sex marathon at night, so we’ve been dozing off this morning as The Toy smoothly glides through the water. My skin prickles under the warmth of the sun, the wind playing with my hair, the soft rocking motions of the yacht. The engines hum softly, lulling me to a near sleep.
Saint just hung up his phone from another business call. Now he’s lounging right beside me.
The sunlight strikes the lake, causing the yacht’s shadow to shimmer across the water. I stretch out and flip onto my stomach, untying my top so I don’t get a tan line.
Malcolm instantly caresses that spot, his hand spreading all over my bare back. “I’m going to tan with your big hand on me!” I laugh.
He chuckles and moves it to curl around my neck, then up to my scalp. His phone rings again, and he stands and paces while he talks. I watch a smile flash across his face.
He runs his fingers through the sexy disorder of his hair. “Yeah? Good.”
I grin like a dope, addicted to watching him work, wondering what he’s doing. When I’m with this man, I can never think of anything but all that makes him who he is.
He glances at me with his cell phone to his ear, crooking a finger to call me over. God, he’s so bossy. I frown, but I sit up and try to tie my bikini top, curious as to what’s going on.
I pad over and he hangs up. He whispers, “Got to show you something. Come here.” He hooks a finger into the side string of my bikini bottom and uses it to have me follow. We go to the sitting area on deck where suntan lotion and fruit are set out, along with his laptop and tech gadgets. He pulls open his laptop and types in some passwords.
I sit on his thigh sideways to allow him to type. He logs on to some administrative page, then clicks a button and a window pops open with an image of a street.
“What is that?” I frown and stare closer at the screen.
“Something,” he says in his low voice, “I believe the lady will like. Look at the screen.”
The screen displays several images—a grocery store entrance, a street corner. “End the Violence has been pushing for citizen surveillance,” he explains.
Shock flits through me.
“I know.”
“I funded their movement. The government’s got several satellites up already, with a few more to follow.”
I’m so stunned, one of my hands is covering my open mouth, my obvious disbelief making Malcolm’s eyes fill with amusement.
“Nothing to say?” he prods.
Forcing my mouth shut, I stare at him wide-eyed: him, an ever-changing mystery. Always surprising me. Teasing me. Annoying me. Seducing me. Enchanting me.
“This just brings me one step closer to that coveted moon you say I want,” he teases me softly when I can’t speak, when I’m still blown away.
He’s peering at me, a smile twisting his lips as he runs his knuckles down my jawline. “You bring out a side in me I thought I didn’t have.” His voice is low and reverent somehow, as are his eyes, knowing and grateful. “I’ve been told that I’m reckless, that I could not be relied upon, that I couldn’t make a difference for others—just for myself. My father looked at me as if I was to blame for everything, and Mother as if I would get myself killed. People look at me like I can get them the moon, but you look at me like I already did. Like all I need to do is exist, and you would be happy,” he murmurs, tracing his thumb down my earlobe as he smiles at me, his eyes happily twinkling. “I like it, Rachel.”
“I’m so alive with you,” I whisper, without being able to even think of my words before I whisper them. “I’m so alive with you, you make everything pop for me, everything stand out.”
“Ahh.” He throws his head back and laughs deliciously then scrapes his hand over the stubble of his jaw, his smile both sexy and humorous. “See, that makes me feel good in a whole other way.”
“Because you’re arrogant and nothing’s enough for you, no amount of admiration or respect. I love . . . this. I love this so much, Malcolm.”
I duck my head, blushing because I thought the word you before the one I actually said, which was this. It popped into my head, so real and unfiltered, I’m blushing as I try to push it down. “I do love this,” I add, focusing on the screen again.
