Page 72 of Better When Shared (Kristin Lance Anthologies #2)

Imogen

I paused at the edge of the dock, my hand shielding my eyes from the morning glare as I spotted Hamish and Makai loading supplies onto a white and blue sailing yacht.

My husband’s movements were cautious but deliberate as always, but he looked different somehow. Lighter. The stiff, anxious man I’d married seemed to have shed a layer of himself here on this island.

Hamish passed a cooler to Makai, his face pinched with worry until the handsome guide said something that made him throw his head back and laugh. The sound carried across the water, rich and unguarded in a way I rarely heard back home. Hamish didn’t laugh like that, not ever. He chuckled politely at dinner parties and occasionally snorted at something in a book, but this was different.

This was joyful.

I shifted my weight, reluctant to announce my presence. There was something almost intimate about Hamish and Makai’s rapport that made me feel like an interloper.

“Hand me that water bottle, would you?”

Makai’s voice drifted to where I stood. Hamish turned to reach for it, and that’s when I saw it—his gaze dropping to Makai’s backside as the instructor bent to secure something in the cockpit. It wasn’t just a casual glance. His eyes lingered, appreciative, before he quickly looked away, his cheeks flushing.

Was my husband checking out another man’s ass?

A brief fantasy of the two gorgeous men naked together, sent heat flooding through my body, pooling at my core.

But why would I want that? I didn’t even like Makai. Sure, he was hot, but there was no way I wanted to watch him kiss my husband. Not that my husband would ever even consider kissing another man. He was as repressed as a Buckingham Palace guard.

My bag felt heavy against my hip, the weight of the book I’d purchased from a small shop in Friday Harbor burning through the canvas. I’d bought it on impulse, drawn to its premise of a woman caught between two men. I’d told myself it was research, to better understand the dynamics of the triads whose weddings I was coordinating. That was a lie.

I wanted to know what it was like.

Makai looked up, his gaze finding mine across the dock. His face broke into that infuriating, gorgeous smile. The one that seemed designed to dismantle my dislike of him.

“Wedding Lady!”

he called, waving enthusiastically, as if we weren’t enemies.

“Right on time!”

He nudged Hamish, who turned so quickly he nearly lost his balance. And when my husband saw me, his entire face transformed—eyes brightening, mouth curving into a smile that made him look ten years younger.

“Imogen.”

He said my name like a prayer.

I made my way down the dock, self-conscious in my shorts and light blouse, wondering if I should have chosen a different outfit.

Makai extended his hand as I approached the boat, his grip strong and sure as he helped me aboard.

“Welcome to the Wanderlust. I’ll get these supplies stowed below and give you two a minute to reconnect.”

He disappeared down the companionway with the cooler, leaving Hamish and me facing each other in the cockpit. The boat rocked gently beneath our feet, a physical manifestation of the unsteadiness I felt.

“You came,”

Hamish said, then winced at his own obvious statement. His hands fidgeted at his sides before diving into his pockets, a nervous habit he’d had since we were teenagers.

“Of course I came. I said I would.”

“Yes, but...”

He glanced down at his feet, looking for all the world like the shy sixteen-year-old who’d asked me to the equestrian club dance.

“You seemed upset yesterday. About me being here and not telling you.”

I sighed.

“I wasn’t upset that you showed up on the island. I was confused about why you wouldn’t want to stay with me.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice.

“I’ve missed you at night, Hamish. The bed feels too big without you.”

His cheeks flamed crimson, the blush spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the collar of his polo shirt.

“I didn’t want to... I mean, I thought you’d be angry if I showed up out of nowhere and barged in on your fun.”

He stared at his boat shoes.

“You came here to find yourself, to have space. I didn’t want to ruin that by chasing after you.”

The hesitancy and genuine concern in his voice was so quintessentially Hamish that I felt my irritation melt away. For all his stiffness and anxiety, my husband had always put my needs before his own. Even when it hurt him to do so.

“You absolute idiot,”

I said with a teasing smile.

“You wouldn’t have been chasing me. You were invited to come, for fuck’s sake.”

He looked up, hope dawning in his eyes.

“So you’re not angry?”

“I’m annoyed you’ve been here for days without telling me.”

I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“But mostly I’m glad you’re here and that I get to spend time with you. I do love you, you know.”

I pressed myself against him, wrapping my arms around his waist. The familiar planes of his chest met mine, solid and reassuring as he’d always been. I moaned softly at the contact, surprised by the intensity of my response. Maybe spending a little time apart had done us good.

“Imogen,”

he breathed, his arms encircling me.

When our lips met, I expected the gentle, affectionate kiss we’d shared for years. What I got instead was hunger—raw and urgent. Hamish’s mouth claimed mine with an assertiveness that made my knees weak, his tongue sliding against mine as one hand tangled in my hair. I gasped into his mouth, pressing closer, desperate to eliminate any space between us.

This wasn’t my careful, controlled husband. This was someone new—or perhaps someone who’d been there all along, waiting for permission to emerge. I tasted salt on his lips, felt the unfamiliar scratch of stubble against my chin, and wondered what other surprises awaited me on this island.

I pulled back, grinning up at him, thinking about the way he’d been looking at Makai.

“This adventure guide guy really brings you out of your shell, doesn’t he?”

“Something like that,”

Hamish muttered, cheeks flushing bright red. He dipped his head, lips brushing against my ear.

“And he has a massive crush on you, wife.”

My cheeks burned red-hot as I glanced towards Makai. A crush? Didn’t seem likely.

“Ready to set sail?”

Makai interrupted me before I could ask Hamish what he meant. I had so many questions, especially about the strange pride in my husband’s voice. Did he like that another man wanted me?

I stepped back, my lips still tingling. My husband looked beautifully disheveled. I wanted to drag him below deck and finish what we’d started, but Makai was already starting the boat’s engine, gesturing for Hamish to follow.

“Let me show you how to cast off,”

Makai said, pointing to the lines securing us to the dock.

“You’ll take the bow line while I handle the stern. Imogen, can you take the wheel? Just hold her steady.”

Hamish moved with surprising confidence, following Makai’s instructions without hesitation. When had my husband learned the vocabulary of sailing? He untied the line with careful precision, coiling it the way Makai demonstrated.

After they’d pushed off of the dock, Makai took over steering and I settled onto one of the cockpit benches. Hamish stood near the bow, his posture alert but relaxed, ready for the next instruction. Eager to please.

The thought made my cheeks heat as I reached into my bag and pulled out my book, thankful I’d picked one with a discreet cover.

“Beautiful day for sailing,”

Makai called to me over the engine’s purr.

“Wind’s perfect.”

The bay opened before us, water glittering under the late morning sun, the shoreline of San Juan Island curving in a lush green arc to our port side. Makai pointed ahead to a small dot of land in the distance.

“That’s where we’re headed. It’s a nature reserve with swimming and some amazing tidepools.”

He turned to Hamish as he cut the engine.

“Ready to raise the mainsail?”

My husband nodded, and what followed was like a choreographed dance, with Makai in the lead as Makai guided Hamish through the process of raising the main sail. They moved together with surprising coordination—Hamish pulling on lines while Makai adjusted the lines that controlled the boom, their bodies working in tandem. Makai’s hands occasionally covered Hamish’s, showing him the proper technique for securing a line or adjusting tension.

The wind caught the sail with a sharp snap, filling the canvas and immediately tilting the boat. I gripped the bench as we heeled over, but the men barely seemed to notice. They were too focused on trimming the sail to catch the perfect angle of wind.

“Take the helm,”

Makai instructed, guiding Hamish’s hands to the wheel.

“Keep the course I have marked, but feel how she responds to the wind.”

I watched my husband’s face as he gripped the wheel, the intensity in his eyes, the slight part of his lips as he concentrated. The flush to his cheeks every time Makai touched him.

The contents of my book weren’t helping. I’d reached a point where the heroine watches her two male companions swimming together, their initial rivalry dissolving into something far more interesting when they emerge from the water.

“That’s it,”

Makai praised, standing close behind Hamish, occasionally reaching around to adjust his grip.

“You’ve got a natural feel for it.”

Their bodies were almost touching.

I tried to remind myself that I found Makai irritating, but he was too handsome, too charming, and he slipped seamlessly into my fantasy. I imagined Makai’s mouth on Hamish’s neck as he guided Hamish’s hands on the steering wheel. I imagined his hands roaming down over Hamish’s body, his eyes beckoning me to join them.

“Fuck,”

I whispered. I crossed my legs, pressing my thighs together and forced my attention back to my book.

The words blurred before my eyes as reality and fantasy merged. I glanced up to find Makai adjusting the jib while Hamish held us steady on course. Sweat darkened the back of Hamish’s polo shirt, clinging to the muscles I knew lay beneath.

“Getting hot out here,”

Makai announced, releasing the line he’d been adjusting. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one fluid motion, revealing the kind of torso that belonged in the pages of my novel—all defined planes and sun-kissed skin. His chest was mostly smooth, with a trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.

I swallowed hard, pretending to focus on my book.

“You too, man. I’ve got sunscreen if you need it.”

Makai held up a can of the spray stuff.

To my shock, my husband didn’t hesitate. He secured the wheel with one hand and pulled his shirt off with the other, dropping it onto the bench beside him. I couldn’t stop myself from staring. Hamish had always been fit in a lean, understated way, but it seemed his chest and shoulders had filled out, developing definition I’d never noticed before. Four days with Makai had already begun leaving their mark—a faint tan line at his neck, emerging muscle tone across his abdomen.

And when a laughing Makai walked up and doused him in the spray-on sunscreen, his muscles glistened in the sun like something out of a magazine. I forced my gaze away, and lost myself in the pages of my book for a while.

“Almost there,”

Makai announced, after a while, pointing toward a crescent of sandy beach nestled between two rocky arms of land.

“Best swimming spot around. It’s sheltered and shallow, so the water stays warmer. And we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

They worked together to bring us into the cove. Makai moved to the bow to prepare the anchor while Hamish adjusted our course, his back muscles flexing with each turn of the wheel. The sails fluttered as Makai directed Hamish to turn into the wind, and then we were gliding to a stop in crystal-clear water. They released the lines and dropped the mainsail with a gentle woosh.

The anchor chain rattled as Makai released it, and the boat settled into place with a gentle sway. I gripped my book like a lifeline, painfully aware of the wetness between my legs, the hardened peaks of my nipples pressing against my bra.

“Lunch time,”

Makai announced, stretching his arms overhead in a way that showcased every ripple of his abdomen. With his hair pulled back in a half-knot and his skin glistening in the sun, he looked like a pirate from some erotic fantasy—wild and dangerous and impossibly beautiful.

I tore my gaze away only to find it landing on Hamish, who’d bent to retrieve something from his bag. His khaki shorts had slipped down, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones and the beginning of that perfect V that led to places I knew intimately but suddenly wanted to explore again. The sight was almost pornographic in its casual display, and I shifted in my seat, unable to relieve the ache building inside me.

What the fuck was happening to me? This wasn’t normal. I didn’t fantasize about my husband with other people. My panties shouldn’t get wet just from watching two men sail a boat. Should they?

I squirmed in my seat, trying to focus on the stunning scenery around us rather than the equally stunning view of the two men preparing lunch in the cockpit. It didn’t help. Not one bit.