Page 20 of Etched In Stone
“Okay, sir.” My breath hitched as the breeze skittered over my bare nipples.
“Very good. Now, we need to start heading back to The Lucy. It will be dark before long,” Alexander said matter-of-factly. It was as if he were oblivious to my desperate panting.
The bastard.
I looked past him to see our world had transformed into a mesmerizing canvas of vibrant colors. The sun had dipped closer to the horizon, painting the sky with a breathtaking spectacle of orange, pink, and purple. The lower the sun got, the deeper the shades would become.
“You’re right,” I agreed reluctantly, my voice throaty and breathless.
Alexander lifted my naked body, cradling me to his chest by hooking his arms behind my back and knees, and lowered me into the dinghy. Releasing me, he turned to collect my discarded bathing suit and cover-up.
“Put this back on,” he said and handed me the bits of material. “It will be off again soon enough, but the crew on The Lucy doesn’t deserve a show in the meantime.”
“How soon will I get to take it off again?” I teased as I tied the bathing suit strings at my neck.
Alexander’s heated sapphire blues narrowed on me as he dug his feet into the sand and pushed the boat into the water.
“Not soon enough.”
Chapter 10
Alexander
The breeze had kicked up a knot, tugging at my hair as I carefully secured the sleek dinghy to the side of The Lucy. I fastened a sturdy painter line to the bow, ensuring it was taught enough to accommodate the sea’s ever-changing moods. In a sense, the rope was a lifeline connecting the small vessel to its mothership. It was a ritual I’d performed countless times but never gave it less care than the last. Knots were my forte after all—as Krystina could attest—and I tied each one with the finesse of an artist.
I threaded it through the chrome cleats mounted on The Lucy’s hull. My fingers found the familiar rhythm of the cleat hitch, under and around, back through in a figure-eight pattern. Once I was satisfied that the tender was secured correctly, I turned to offer my hand to Krystina, who had been watching my maritime ritual with the kind of focused attention that stirred something possessive deep in my chest.
The setting sun had transformed the sky into a canvas of burnished gold and deep coral, its dying rays catching the wind-tossed highlights in her hair and turning her skin to warm honey. She moved with unconscious grace as she accepted my assistance, her fingers intertwining with mine as my wife stepped from the smaller craft onto The Lucy’s deck.
My wife.
I’d said that phrase a lot over the past few weeks. I wondered if I would ever get used to it. It carried a weight of wonder that surprised me. In the business world, I was accustomed to acquiring valuable assets—companies, properties, strategic advantages that enhanced my position and power. But Krystina wasn’t an acquisition. She was a gift I’d somehow convinced the universe I deserved, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“I need to talk to the crew for a moment, and then I’m going to see about getting us something to eat.”
“I hadn’t even realized we skipped dinner, Alex. If you’ll give me a minute to get some proper clothes on, I can?—”
“Clothes won’t be necessary,” I interjected. “Just head down to our bedroom. I’ll get a light dinner together and bring it there. And angel—I want you naked and kneeling when I get there.”
“But—”
I raised a hand to silence her and shook my head ever so slightly. I didn’t need to say anything. My expression was enough for her to know I would not be challenged. The protest fell from her lips as understanding settled over her.
I raised my hand to lightly brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers, skimming my thumb along her jawline.
“Your trust is intoxicating. Go and wait for me. I won’t be long. We need to finish what we started on the beach.” My words were deliberate, loaded with implications that I could see registering in the dilation of her pupils and the slight catch in her breathing. She knew what I expected, and the anticipation that flared in her chocolate brown eyes sent a corresponding heat through my veins.
I raised my hand to her face, letting the backs of my fingers brush against her cheek with deliberate tenderness before my thumb traced the elegant line of her jaw. The gesture was soft, almost reverent, but it carried with it the weight of expectation and the promise of what was to come.
Without another word, I turned and walked toward the helm station with the confident stride that had served me well in boardrooms and business negotiations. The Lucy’s main deck was a testament to naval architecture at its finest—vast expanses of faultless planking complemented by custom seating areas designed to take advantage of both ocean views and social interaction.
Captain Isaac Davis stood near the helm station, his weathered hands resting on the central console as he consulted the integrated navigation and weather systems. At sixty-two, he’d spent more years on the water than most people devoted to their entire careers. His salt-and-pepper beard and deeply tanned complexion spoke of countless voyages across every major ocean on earth.
“Mr. Stone,” Isaac said with the respectful nod that acknowledged both my ownership of the vessel and his professional authority as captain. There was an easy confidence about him that I appreciated—he was secure enough in his abilities to defer appropriately on matters of preference while never compromising on issues of safety or seamanship.
“Good evening, Isaac,” I replied, noting the slight tension in his posture that suggested complications ahead. “I trust you’re prepared to get us underway on schedule?”
