Page 185 of Better When Shared
“For now,” I confirmed, closing the engine hatch. “We’ll need to drop anchor again and wait for the wind to pick up. Could be hours. Or overnight, if we don’t want to sail in the dark.”
I watched their faces, preparing for disappointment or frustration. Instead, Hamish reached for the wine bottle they’d opened with lunch.
“Well, there are worse places to be stranded,” he said, refilling his glass and offering the bottle to his wife. “Wouldn’t you say, darling?”
Imogen took the bottle, her fingers brushing his in a way that seemed deliberately sensual. It probably wasn’t. I was just losing my goddamn mind.
“I agree. It’s quite marvelous here.”
“Don’t you have to work?” I asked her.
She shook her head. “I have today and tomorrow off, remember? I’d like to go in for at least a few hours tomorrow, though. So as long as we can figure out how to get back by in the morning, it should be fine.”
I stared at them, baffled by their reaction. Most clients would be freaking out, demanding I fix the engine or call for assistance. These two looked like they’d won the lottery.
“Well, if you don’t mind an overnight excursion, that’s an option.” I spoke carefully, watching their reactions. “This bay is perfectly sheltered. We’ve got plenty of food, the weather’s warm, and there’s a beautiful beach for exploring.”
Imogen bit her lower lip, her gaze flicking from her bag—where she’d stuffed that book—to me, then back to Hamish. The flush on her cheeks had spread down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her blouse. I wanted to follow it with my tongue, to see how far down that blush extended.
Hamish caught me looking at his wife and, instead of the jealousy I’d expected, something like curiosity flickered across his face. Then his eyes dropped to my body.
The air between us felt charged, heavy with possibility. I let myself really look at Hamish then—the way his khaki shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp cut of muscle that formed that perfect V. If they slipped a little lower, I’d be able to see the color of his pubic hair. I imagined running my fingers through it, wrapping my hand around his cock, feeling it harden against my palm.
I needed to get a grip. These weren’t random hot people; they were my clients, and assuming they wanted more would be insane. Even if they seemed quite comfortable with the idea of being stranded with me overnight.
“I’ll, uh, go check if the cabins have everything we need to sleep the night,” I said, desperate for a moment alone to collect myself. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
I turned toward the companionway, but Hamish had shifted at the same moment, moving in the opposite direction. We collided, chest to chest, the impact forcing a small “oof” from him. I grabbed his shoulders to steady us both, and suddenly we were inches apart, his surprised breath warm against my lips.
And now I couldn’t stop imagining myself between Hamish and his wife, or beside them, or under them—any configuration that would let me taste them both, feel them both. I was so fucked.
Desperate for any kind of relief, I ducked into the cabin, leaned against the bulkhead, and wrapped my hand around my cock.
Chapter 8
Hamish
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the spot where Makai had been standing before he disappeared below deck.
The air between us felt thick with unspoken possibilities, dangerous and thrilling all at once. I’d come to this island to prove to my wife that I could be spontaneous, but I never imagined spontaneity would lead us here—stranded on a sailboat with my alluring wife and a man who made my blood run hot and made me feel things I’d been denying for over a decade.
“Do you think he’s angry with us?” Imogen’s voice was low, uncertain. Her cheeks remained flushed, her eyes bright with something I recognized but had never seen directed at anyone but me.
I shifted, my arousal painfully obvious in the thin fabric of my shorts. “I don’t think angry is the right word.” His cock had been hard against my thigh when he’d bumped into me.
“The way he looked at you...” She trailed off, biting her lower lip.
Guilt twisted in my gut, sharp and insistent. I’d spent the afternoon watching Makai’s hands on the ropes, imagining them on my body, while simultaneously fantasizing about pressing Imogen against the cabin wall, her legs wrapped around my waist. The shame of wanting them both should have been overwhelming, but instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff—terrifying and exhilarating.
“The way he looked at both of us,” I corrected, studying my wife’s face. “Before he knew you were my wife, he told me he thought you were sexy as hell.” The wind had loosened strands of her honey-blonde hair from its ponytail, framing her face in a way that made her look younger, Wilder.
“That can’t be why he parks there, can it?” she asked.
“It is. He said he wants a chance to talk to you. And…more.”
“More?”
I bit my lip, wondering if she really wanted to know.
