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That’s all I need to hear. Harper watches me with heavy-lidded eyes as I grab a condom from my pants pocket, then welcomes me back into her arms.
When I finally thrust inside her, we both gasp at the overwhelming sensation.
“Okay?” I ask, holding still.
She nods, her hands pulling me closer. “More than okay.”
I begin to move in a rhythm that has her meeting me thrust for thrust. Her legs wrap around my waist, changing the angle, drawing me in deeper. The only sounds are our mingled breaths, the waves crashing nearby, and the occasional gasped direction—”there," “harder,” “don’t stop.”
It’s better than I imagined—and I’ve imagined this more than I should have. Harper is passionate, uninhibited, present in the moment. She pays attention to what makes me groan, what makes my rhythm falter, then uses that knowledge mercilessly.
When I feel her begin to tighten around me, I don’t hold back, I want to watch her come undone. Her eyes lock with mine as her orgasm takes over, her body arching, my name on her lips as she shatters. The sight of her—brilliant, beautiful Harper—lost in pleasure because of me is enough to send me over the edge right after her.
For a long time afterward, we lie tangled together, catching our breath, neither speaking. Her head rests on my chest, my arm around her shoulders, her leg thrown over mine. I trace lazy patterns on her back, unwilling to break the spell of what just happened.
Finally, she stirs. “We should get back. The boat?—”
“It will wait for us.” I tighten my arm around her. “I own the ship, remember?”
She laughs softly. “How could I forget?”
I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her hair. “Regrets?”
She’s quiet for a moment, and my heart beats faster in the silence. Then she presses a kiss to my chest, just over my heart.
“The sand up my ass.”
It’s not the answer I wanted, but it’s honest. And with Harper, I’m learning that honesty is worth more than comforting fictions.
“Fair enough.”
We help each other dress, pausing for kisses that threaten to reignite the desire we’re both trying to keep under control. Eventually, we make ourselves presentable enough to return tothe dinner table, where the chef has packed everything away, leaving only a small lantern to guide us.
The walk back to the dock is quiet, our hands occasionally brushing but not quite holding. Whatever just happened between us we are not ready to say anything about it yet.
On the boat ride back to the ship, Harper sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch. When a cool spray from the waves makes her shiver, I put my arm around her without asking. She leans into me, and it feels like a victory.
As The Rendezvous comes into view, lights glittering against the night sky, I feel Harper tense beside me.
“Back to reality,” she murmurs.
“Not quite yet.” I squeeze her shoulder. “We’ve still got several days of fake dating ahead of us.”
She laughs, the sound lighter than I’ve ever heard from her. “God help me.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Will you?”
I turn to look at her, finding her watching me. “If that’s what you want.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for something. Whatever she finds makes her smile.
“Ask me tomorrow,” she says.
Chapter Seven
HARPER