Page 2 of The Billionaire's Baby
Notes of bergamot and cloves, and something dark, musky, edgy—something dangerous—envelops me. I’m instantly wet.What the hell?
How can his scent turn me on so? And when I loathe the man? And his attitude, and the way he thinks he can boss me around, and expect me to drop everything and prioritize him above everything else. A shiver runs down my spine. Only my sense of hate getting the better of me, of course.
That’s why my stomach flutters. That is theonlyreason my heart beats so fast in my chest. Shit, now I am turning myself on, and that will not do. Not when I have work to do. I pivot, then retrace my steps toward the cabin, and head for the captain’s area. There, at the extreme right, I pull up the controls for the security cameras.
I get to work fixing the controls…and am done in fifteen minutes. There, that was easy. It took more time to drive here through the late evening traffic.
I stretch and yawn, suddenly overwhelmingly tired. It’s been a long day, long week, long year, actually, setting up business in this city. But I am in a good place, confident my business is going to do well. I pack up my tools, head for the door, then hesitate.
Should I? Why not? It shouldn’t matter. I pivot and head back toward the bedroom, then glance out the large window and admire the spectacle. So damn beautiful. If only I had someone to hold my hand while I enjoy it. Nah, doesn’t matter. I have me…don’t I? And my love for yoga. The only way I know how to unwind. I roll my shoulders, and my muscles protest. Shit, I am too tense.
I place my handbag on the bed stand, then raise my arms high above me. The skirt of my dress pulls tight against my thighs. This won't do. It's why I hate wearing dresses. Damn. I pull off the dress, drape it over the foot of the bed, then kick off my heels and walk over to the center of the room.
I face the window of the yacht, then raise my hands again, bring them down, flow down onto my hands and the tips of my feet, then push up into a downward facing dog. I hold the pose for a few seconds, until my hamstrings burn, my biceps stretch, give. I rock back and forth, then swoop up, back to downward facing dog, then jump forward, straighten. Take a breath in and out, then repeat the process.
By the time I'm done with my routine, my muscles are limber, sweat beads my forehead. I wipe it off, then stretch and yawn. A pleasant tiredness buzzes in my blood.
Yeah, I could rest for a little while, then get out of here.
Hold on, bad idea.Honestly, are you actually thinking of staying on here for more time than is absolutely essentially?
I reach for my dress then stop, glance at the bed. It looks so comfortable. I yawn again. Coming down from a yoga routine always relaxes me so much. My limbs grow heavy, my eyelids seem to be weighted down, and I can barely keep them open. I could nap in the car, of course...but it’s almost dark and that doesn’t sound safe. And I know it’s not safe to drive home without catching a few minutes of shut-eye.... I sneak a peek at the bed again; it looks so comfortable.
Just a short nap. That can't hurt... Can it? It'll rejuvenate me enough for the ride home which, again, I am in no condition to navigate when I am this exhausted.
I slip into the bed and draw the covers up to my chin. His dark scent wraps around me. Goosebumps flare on my skin. It’s as if I am surrounded by him, as if he’s cocooned me with his body, and he’s all around me, with me, in this bed. Should I set an alarm on my phone to wake up? Nah, I'll be fine. It's only a quick nap, after all.
Besides Arpad a-hole isn’t going to come back before the morning, and I’ll be long gone by then...
A delicious warmth envelops me and I close my eyes.
A rumbling creeps into my consciousness and I push it away. I press my cheek into the soft pillow, draw in that scent of bergamot and cloves. His scent. Mmm. A languid heaviness tugs at my limbs. My muscles relax and I drift off again. Until a loud creak tears through the silence in my mind. I jackknife up to sitting position, my heart pounding in my chest. My pulse rate ratchets up. I strain to see through the darkness. Where the hell am I?
That's when the entire room seems to tilt. I scream and slide off the bed. I hit the ground on my ass, roll over to hit the glass wall of the cabin. I turn and press my nose into the transparent barrier and stare out. Darkness, broken only by the white-tipped foam that crashes against the side. I gasp, then scramble back until I hit the bed. The boat! I am on the boat, which is no longer harbored. It’s at sea, with me on it.
The entire yacht creaks again, the walls seem to groan, the boat lurches up, and I hold onto the edge of the bed, anchor myself, as it seems to grunt and screech like it’s possessed, then straightens. Silence, for a second. The hair on the back of my neck rises, I smell the ozone in the air, then the boat groans, and hurtles down.
The momentum carries me forward toward the wall of the cabin.
I throw out my hand, manage to grab the edge of the bed, hold on as the boat seems suspended in space, before it hits something—the water I presume?— with a crash. The sound echoes in my ears, reverberates down my spine. Then the vessel tilts in the opposite direction. I glance out the glass wall and scream again. Water. So much water, I am surrounded by a wall of water. What the hell is happening? How did the boat get here? I hit the ground on all fours, crawling my way up to the door. Grabbing the handle, I pull myself up, then twist the knob open. I lurch forward as the entire boat goes into another incline. Damn it. I race forward, throw myself onto the couch in the living room and hold on until the boat rightens again. Then cross the living room, up the steps toward the captain’s cabin.
That’s when I see the man silhouetted against the wheel. He’s wearing shorts that cling to his tight ass. And what an ass it is. The fabric outlines the indentation on each side, only to stretch across the girth. The waistband shows off his inverted V figure and his back… I gulp. The planes of his back flex and buck as he grips the wheel of the boat, widens his stance, and leans into the next wave. The next wave… What the—? It's a huge, huge wave. A behemeth of a WAVE. I glance up and cry out, for he’s driving the boat straight up the crest of a monster of a wall of water. There’s a crash of thunder, then lightning flickers beyond the boat and I gasp again. An entire sea of darkness, capped by furious white tips, and in the foreground, his massive shoulders that bunch and knot as he grapples with the wheel, holds the boat on course.
Another clap of thunder in the distance, and the alphahole—for it is him, Arpad f’ing A'hole, the bloody owner of this boat, my crazy-ass employer, my frigging boss, who’s driving this boat straight into the storm.
He throws back his head and laughs. What the hell? Is he crazy? Does he have a death wish or something? I stomp forward to ask him just that, when the boat groans and begins to slide back, taking me with it. My legs seem to go out from under me. I scream as I hit the decking and roll back. The boat pitches and I am thrown against the wall. Darkness envelops me.
When I open my eyes again, I am back in the bed, in the bedroom of the boat, the sheets pulled up to my chin. Huh? Was it all a dream? I sit up and pain slices through my forehead. I groan, fall back against the pillows.
"Take it easy." A low voice rumbles across the space. I glance over to meet familiar grey-blue eyes.
"You?" I cough. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"It’s my boat?" He leans forward and my gaze takes in his bare chest, the sculpted six-...no, eight-pack? Nah…not possible. No one has an eight-pack, do they?
"Enjoying the view?"
I tip my chin up, meet his gaze.
