Page 11 of A Father's Bliss

I don’t miss the shimmer that passes over his eyes as he smirks and turns on his heels.

It’s only when he’s far enough down to unhook the first anchor that I take a full breath and the reality of what’s happening finally hits me.

It’s Sunday night, and I’m alone with Marcus Debois on his private yacht about to drift out on the lake.

While I’m sure everything about this is going to be innocent and professional and only deepen our working relationship, I can’t help but watch the muscles beneath his dress shirt flex as he works. Can’t help but notice the veins protrude from his forearms as he wraps a rope around his hand.

Can’t help but admit that while this is likelymeantto be innocent and professional, I want nothing more than for it to be downright sinful and the furthest thing from anything remotely professional. I want to know if his lips are as soft as they look. If he’s as commanding as he seems. If he is everything I fantasized about.

I’d be willing to break a lot of rules just to find out.

Thank fuck Marcus isn’t as irrational.

While Marcus finishes unhooking the yacht, I walk down the sundeck and admire the vessel. The flooring is made up of a light colored wood while every other feature is either black or silver. The front is the longest part of the ship, slimming to a sharp point at the end, surrounded by thick, sturdy railing.

Back where I am, just in front of the stern, are two large wheels, and a covered aft deck, which houses a dining area near sliding glass doors that likely leads into the cabin.

It’s luxurious, and everything I’d expect Marcus’s yacht to be, but with the sun’s rays, nearly gone from the horizon, shimmering across the entire thing, it gives it an almost whimsical glow. It’s absolutely stunning, and takes a lot of mental effort to note this is not a date but a fishing lesson. A team bonding activity, if you will.

Heart heavy in my chest at the reminder, I step onto the main deck toward the grande wheel. My fingers glide over the smooth metal, and I wonder idly how difficult it is to steer something so large.

“What do you think?”

Jolting at the deep rumble of his voice, I whirl around to see Marcus hoisting himself onto the boat. At the sight of him, the realization that the ship is no longer swaying butmovingwith the waves and gentle wind settles over me.

Holy shit, we’re really doing this.

I think that as if it means anything of substance, but deep down, I still have the hope—no, the desire—that it could.

Is that wrong? Likely, but the sight of this man leaves me little room to care, especially right now as he takes the few broad steps required to reach me before placing a large hand over mine on the wheel.

My breath catches as he squeezes lightly to turn it left a few inches. “Are you ready?”

With words impossible to grasp, I simply nod.

Only an inch away, his eyes fall down my face before settling on my lips. But as if I’ve imagined it, along with so many other things tonight, he turns toward the front. “I’m going to let down the sails. Hold it right here.”

“Wait. You want me to steer?” Panic filters into my words and I think if my eyelids opened any wider they’d let the little orbs fall right out.

He grants me a soft smile. “I promise you got it. We’ll be moving extremely slow.”

“Still.” My voice borders on protest. “I don’t have that much faith in myself to steer a very expensive boat.”

Marcus shakes his head. “It can always be replaced—” He laughs when he sees my responding expression, and the sound melts over my skin. “But it won’t have to be, because you’ll do just fine.”

I open my mouth to tell him absolutely not, but a resigned, “Okay.” slips out instead.

When he removes himself from the wheel and walks toward the tied down sails, I send up a silent prayer to the sky that I make it through tonight without wrecking this man’s yacht, self combusting, or making a complete fool out of myself. I am a professional, on a professional exhibition with a colleague, where we will learn more about each other, and books. Yes, we’ll discuss books. Thrillers and mysteries, and not stories with naughty double entendres about fishing poles.

The black sails open and the wheel beneath my fingers jerks. I tighten my grasp, turning it back to where he instructed me to have it, and squeak out in surprise when I realize the boat is nowmovingmoving. Not fast, by any means, but it’s for sure gliding away from the marina and toward the open water.

Nerves prickling my flesh, I hold steady, the sound of my heart in my ears so loud, all I can do is count the rushed beats. But then finally, a relaxed smile spreads across my face as the boat slides from the dock without hitting the long platform or worse, another boat.

“Atta girl.” Marcus calls from the deck as he hops down, and I’m pretty sure said heart drops between my legs with the praise. “Verygood job.”

“Thank you, but, um—” My eyes flash to the shore. “Think you can steer us out?”

Marcus huffs out a bit of laughter as he steps behind me again, and gently takes over. “Of course.”

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