Page 131 of Theirs to Possess: The Marriage Claim
That wasn’t something I ever expected to feel again.
But right now, I’m okay.
A few moments later, he shuts off the water and wraps me in a plush towel, his hands lingering but his mind obviously elsewhere.
Back in the cabin, Brennan’s nowhere to be seen.
The bed is neatly made, and the evidence of our earlier lovemaking has been erased. Probably by the very efficient crew. Dorian pulls a light, gauzy sundress from the closet.
“This or a swimsuit,” he recommends, hooking his thumb toward a dresser. “There are a couple in there.”
I open the drawer. The man has thought of everything. My belongings are meticulously organized. Alongside them are a woven tote bag, a wide-brimmed floppy hat, and sleek sunglasses, all of which I grab.
Then I pull out the swimwear. Unsurprisingly they’re both bikinis. And one of them is more floss than covering.
My decision is easy.
The dress swishes down my body, and the fabric is light against my skin.
With his back to me, Dorian slips into cream linen pants, opting to go commando. For a moment, I stare at his hot, tight ass.
When he turns and sees me, he grins, making me blush.
Then he adds a white shirt, leaving it open at the throat.
He’s so damn handsome that my breath catches. I can hardly look away from him.
How is it possible that I’m his wife?
“Let’s head to the deck?”
“Yes.” Grateful he’s brought me back to the present moment, I transfer a few things from my purse to the tote, and I grab a tube of sunscreen that’s thoughtfully been provided. Then I pull on the hat.
“Every time I don’t think you can get any more beautiful…”
He’s so generous with his praise. But I scrunch my nose. I’m not sure that beautiful is the right word to describe me right now. I think I look ridiculous.
Dorian leads me through the yacht, pausing at a small library paneled in dark wood, shelves lined with books.
“Thought this might make you happy.”
My lit-major heart skips as I scan the titles—Jane Austen, Toni Morrison, a worn copy ofMrs. Dalloway. Because I’m on a vacation of sorts, I selectPersuasionand tuck it into my tote.
Dorian’s lips curve, and a rare tenderness softens his eyes. “Excellent choice.”
“You know it?”
“I knowofit.”
On the deck, the sun is beginning its trek to the Western horizon.
Dorian settles me on a cushioned lounge chair near the hot tub, the canvas canopy overhead offering shade.
Instantly a steward joins us, offering bottled water and asking if I’d care for champagne or a cocktail.
“How about something tropical?” And because we’ve been honeymooning in New Orleans, I say, “Maybe a hurricane?”
“Very good. And for you, sir?”
