Suddenly nervous about making a good impression, she called out as she came up the gangplank. “Hey, I’m a little early. I hope you don’t mind.”
No answer.
Tentative, Kyra stepped on to the boat, which rocked gently with the water, butting up against the pier. She called out again and walked the length of the craft. On her second pass, she glimpsed the shadow of someone coming from be lowdecks. Then a male silhouette swung into view.
Before she ever saw his face, she knew by the way he moved. All the breath ran out of her in a little oof, as if he’d punched her in the chest. Reyes looked a little thinner, but still tall, still imposing. His knife-blade cheekbones seemed sharper, his eyes blacker than sin, and lacking all softness. He gazed at her for a long moment in silence.
“You,” she said.
“Me.”
“How did you find me?”
When I told you not to. She wasn’t sure if that was what she still wanted. It had been nearly two months. Seeing him roused a painful ache. It twisted through her like a cyclone, leaving wreckage in its wake.
“Technically,” he murmured, “you found me.”
God, he was so remote, so distant. Even the sunlight didn’t seem to warm him; it merely glazed his raven hair with blue. He wore nothing but a pair of white swim trunks, slung low. They revealed the taut slope of his abdomen, the hollow of his hip. She felt like she could eat him with her eyes and tried not to show it.
“Semantics. Answer the question.”
“I was surprised to hear from Foster. He had a message for me—”
“Mia,” she guessed.
Reyes nodded. “I called her. We . . . talked.”
Kyra winced. She could only imagine what her friend might’ve said. Please don’t let him know I’ve been crying in my sleep.
“And? What did she say?”
“That she had reservations about putting you back in touch with someone like me, and that if I ever hurt you again, she’d hunt me down and kill me.” His expression said he took Mia seriously—as well he should.
“Oh,” Kyra said in a small voice. “Anything else?”
“She asked if I knew anyone who could help you take a little money to Barbados, and she said she thought we had unfinished business. We came to an agreement.”
“You? Mia hired you? Knowing that you once tried to kill me.” She’d smack her friend the next time she saw her. Jesus. Talk about not needing enemies.
“Not exactly,” he said in a voice so soft and low she almost lost the words amid the slosh of the waves. “I do pro bono work sometimes, but this is more a labor of love. And let’s be clear, Kyra. I never tried to hurt you. I was hired to, but almost from the moment I saw you, it was something else. Foster was counting on that.”
She closed her eyes, shutting out the bleak intensity of his eyes. Though he hadn’t moved—he was eerie in his stillness—the angle of his hands gave her the impression he was fighting in silence not to reach out.
“How can I ever trust you?” Kyra gave a shuddery sigh. “I wish—I wish we could turn back the clock. I wish you hadn’t lied. I wish you were just that drifter I picked up, who made me feel like the most important person in the world.”
“You are,” he said quietly. “I came from Thailand for you, because Mia said she could probably get you here. I’d have come from Zimbabwe, Outer Mongolia, or a prison in Central America. In truth, I came through hell getting here . . . because for me that’s anywhere you’re not.”
“Oh, Rey,” she whispered, and put out her hands.
His fingers twined with hers and he drew her to him with exquisite tenderness, as if she were a dove that could die of fright in his hands. But that wasn’t what she wanted. She stretched up and fisted her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers.
He tasted of French vanilla coffee, rich and sweet. This powerful man trembled against her. He smelled of sea and sunshine, layered with a kiss of citrus. Kyra had never wanted anything more than his bare skin against hers.
She broke away, breathless. “Is there a cabin?”
Kyra knew he wasn’t Prince Charming. If anything, he was the prince of darkness. He had a record and a history of violence, but he’d never hurt her on purpose. She knew that now. And if it hadn’t been for Foster’s machinations, she would never have met him.
“Yes. We’ll be several days on the ocean . . . if you’re going with me.” His dark eyes said she had a choice—that he’d walk away and let her go, even if it killed him.
Like hell.
“Not if.” She punctuated the words with a feathery kiss. “When. But I want you first. I need you. I haven’t been touched in nearly two months, and I miss you. I miss being part of you.”
“Kyra,” he said, touching his brow to hers. “You never stopped.”
A little moan escaped her because her whole body streamed with warmth. It was almost too much. She tugged at his hand because she could. She was just a woman with him. His woman.
In answer, he swung her into his arms and navigated the ramp that led down into the cabin. They passed through a tiny galley, an equally small dining area with the table folded down, and into the berth. Reyes tossed her onto the blue-patterned bedspread.
“I don’t think I’ll have much patience,” he warned with a tight smile.
She moved her shoulders in a shrug. “Then it’ll be like the first time.”
“Better. Because I know you now.”
His hands moved on her, shaping the lines over her body. With his lips he found each new freckle, licking a path that drove her wild and left her writhing on the bed. Her bikini top disappeared with a twist of his clever fingers and he bent his head to her breast, his mouth full of heat and homage. With each touch, each brush of his lips, he said:
You are the only woman in the world. The sun rises and falls with you.
She shivered in reaction as he worked the denim down her hips. The spandex of her suit was damp already; he had her twisting with need. Quickly she skinned the bottoms off and tugged at his trunks, but he slid down, his jaw scraping tender skin.
“What happened to not having much patience?” she demanded, as he rubbed his open mouth against her belly.
He gave an eloquent shrug, touching his lips to hers, petal soft. Then his tongue slid and delved. She cried out, pleasure spreading like fireworks along her nerves. Kyra cupped his head in her hands, and urged him on. With a fierce and devastating hunger, he devoured her, nuzzling her through one orgasm, and then two. Her hips bucked, and she arched against his mouth, open to him, and wanting more.
When she felt boneless and spent, he slid upward, their skin sweat-slick. His weight pressed her down into the mattress. Dizzy and blissful, she heard him rummaging. A crinkle of foil, then he came into her, inch by delicious inch. Hard and hot, filling her up. Kyra felt the throb of his blood pulsing through him.
Nothing had ever been like this. Ever.
Instead of going wild inside her, he lay down, precious in his stillness, as if he wanted to imprint the feel of her body beneath him in case the memory had to last. Only after she, too tantalized for further patience, began to work her hips, did he move.
He stroked her hair compulsively as he thrust, brushing it back from her face. Reyes gazed down at her upturned face, his lips near to hers so he could claim her next exhaled breath. Kyra wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her legs around his hips, and held on tight.
Her whole body worked with his, push-slide, as need spiraled. Tingles skated through her nervous system, and her heart went wild. His strokes became quick and shallow, the muscles of his butt bunching against her ankles.
“Kyra . . .” He turned his face into her neck, licking up her sweat.
When he came, she came, a hot and seamless slide into pleasure so profound she couldn’t see for the tears stinging her eyes. For long moments, she held him in trembling lethargy, welcoming his weight. His fingers stirred in her hair, stroking.
“It was neve
r quite like that,” she whispered.
“No. Now I know the value of what I hold.”
Inexplicably, she wanted to weep in earnest, just sob against his chest. Compulsively she shaped letters on his chest, writing her name in some primitive need to claim. But that made no sense at all.
“Would you have come looking for me?”
His hair slid against her cheek as he shook his head. “No. You told me not to.”
She huffed softly. “Like you always do as you’re told.”
“I want you to be happy.” He sealed a kiss into her palm. “Even if that means staying a world away from you.”
“You know . . .” She rolled to face him. “I am. But let’s be clear—that’s because you’re right here with me. Should we get up?”
“Soon.”
Four hours later, they did. It was early evening when they surfaced. She rinsed off in the tiny shower; there wasn’t room for two. Then she went on deck to watch him fiddling with various ropes and gizmos on the boat.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’ll get us there. Trust me.”
To her surprise, she did. But looking out toward the parking lot, she realized she’d left one thing undone, if she truly meant to sail away with him. “I’ll be right back.”
Reyes froze. “Will you?”
She touched a hand to his waist. “Of course. Do you think I came all this way to fuck and leave you?”
His somber look all but broke her heart. “I hope not.”
“Then trust me.”
He gave a nod and continued with his work. At this point, he’d still let her walk away and take some petty revenge. That, more than anything else, reassured her. This was right; she was sure of it. Bag in hand, Kyra ran down the gangplank. She returned within five minutes, and he seemed surprised to see her.
“Are we almost ready to take off?”
The sky blazed sapphire on the horizon, lit with scarlet and umber. Soon, they would go that way, and spend their first night on the water. Reyes followed her gaze; perhaps her train of thought as well.
A smile kindled in his eyes, stars on black velvet, and then found outlet on a mouth both beautiful and cruel. “Yes. We’re fully stocked, and ready to get underway.”
“That includes the galley, right?” She hesitated, suddenly shy. “Will you . . . cook for me again?”
“Yes.” No hesitation, no adornment. Kyra had the feeling she could have asked for a kidney or his right hand, and he would’ve said the same.
This was harder, so hard, a ridiculous question from someone who never wanted ties, never wanted the same man for more than one night. But she did, desperately.
Him. Only him.
“Will you stay with me?”
“Always.”
The intensity of the moment sent her scrambling back, seeking something light to dispel the ache that demanded his hands on her. “Are you going to quit killing people?”
He raised his brows then. There was a limit to how much he would grant; he was what he was. “Are you going to quit conning them?”
She grinned. “It’s not the same. But . . . we’ll discuss our options.”
They stood on the deck together for a few moments more. His dark gaze traced the path toward the parking lot, where she’d left the last link to her father, the last link to her old life. He knew, of course.
“We can’t take it with us.” Melancholy laced his tone.
“That’s okay,” she said. “I’m ready to let Myrna go. I left the keys in the ignition, free to anyone who wants to claim her. I like the idea of letting fate decide.”
He searched her face. “Are you sure?”
“I found something more important than the car.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lines of tension bracketed his mouth, as if he were afraid to hope for too much even now. She saw how his fist furled at his side, a quiet defense.
Kyra closed her eyes and leaped. “You. I love you. It scares the hell out of me, but . . . I’m willing to give this a try if you are. Wherever it takes us.”
“You’re my beating heart,” he said simply. “Where you go, I do.”
And that was everything. They raised the sails and slid away from the dock out onto the vast blue sea.
Ann Aguirre, Skin Game
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