Page 12 of Etched In Stone (The Stone Saga #3.5)
Alexander
The breeze had kicked up a knot, tugging at my hair as I carefully secured the sleek dinghy to the side of The Lucy .
I fastened a sturdy painter line to the bow, ensuring it was taught enough to accommodate the sea’s ever-changing moods.
In a sense, the rope was a lifeline connecting the small vessel to its mothership.
It was a ritual I’d performed countless times but never gave it less care than the last. Knots were my forte after all—as Krystina could attest—and I tied each one with the finesse of an artist.
I threaded it through the chrome cleats mounted on The Lucy ’s hull.
My fingers found the familiar rhythm of the cleat hitch, under and around, back through in a figure-eight pattern.
Once I was satisfied that the tender was secured correctly, I turned to offer my hand to Krystina, who had been watching my maritime ritual with the kind of focused attention that stirred something possessive deep in my chest.
The setting sun had transformed the sky into a canvas of burnished gold and deep coral, its dying rays catching the wind-tossed highlights in her hair and turning her skin to warm honey.
She moved with unconscious grace as she accepted my assistance, her fingers intertwining with mine as my wife stepped from the smaller craft onto The Lucy ’s deck.
My wife.
I’d said that phrase a lot over the past few weeks.
I wondered if I would ever get used to it.
It carried a weight of wonder that surprised me.
In the business world, I was accustomed to acquiring valuable assets—companies, properties, strategic advantages that enhanced my position and power.
But Krystina wasn’t an acquisition. She was a gift I’d somehow convinced the universe I deserved, despite all evidence to the contrary.
Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
“I need to talk to the crew for a moment, and then I’m going to see about getting us something to eat.”
“I hadn’t even realized we skipped dinner, Alex. If you’ll give me a minute to get some proper clothes on, I can?—”
“Clothes won’t be necessary,” I interjected. “Just head down to our bedroom. I’ll get a light dinner together and bring it there. And angel—I want you naked and kneeling when I get there.”
“But—”
I raised a hand to silence her and shook my head ever so slightly. I didn’t need to say anything. My expression was enough for her to know I would not be challenged. The protest fell from her lips as understanding settled over her.
I raised my hand to lightly brush her cheek with the backs of my fingers, skimming my thumb along her jawline.
“Your trust is intoxicating. Go and wait for me. I won’t be long.
We need to finish what we started on the beach.
” My words were deliberate, loaded with implications that I could see registering in the dilation of her pupils and the slight catch in her breathing.
She knew what I expected, and the anticipation that flared in her chocolate brown eyes sent a corresponding heat through my veins.
I raised my hand to her face, letting the backs of my fingers brush against her cheek with deliberate tenderness before my thumb traced the elegant line of her jaw. The gesture was soft, almost reverent, but it carried with it the weight of expectation and the promise of what was to come.
Without another word, I turned and walked toward the helm station with the confident stride that had served me well in boardrooms and business negotiations.
The Lucy ’s main deck was a testament to naval architecture at its finest—vast expanses of faultless planking complemented by custom seating areas designed to take advantage of both ocean views and social interaction.
Captain Isaac Davis stood near the helm station, his weathered hands resting on the central console as he consulted the integrated navigation and weather systems. At sixty-two, he’d spent more years on the water than most people devoted to their entire careers.
His salt-and-pepper beard and deeply tanned complexion spoke of countless voyages across every major ocean on earth.
“Mr. Stone,” Isaac said with the respectful nod that acknowledged both my ownership of the vessel and his professional authority as captain.
There was an easy confidence about him that I appreciated—he was secure enough in his abilities to defer appropriately on matters of preference while never compromising on issues of safety or seamanship.
“Good evening, Isaac,” I replied, noting the slight tension in his posture that suggested complications ahead. “I trust you’re prepared to get us underway on schedule?”
“Yes, sir, though we may need to adjust our overnight positioning.” He gestured toward the weather display, where satellite imagery showed a swirling mass of clouds several hundred miles to our north.
The system appeared well-organized and potentially troublesome.
“The weather service is tracking a tropical disturbance that’s likely to bring deteriorating conditions to our planned route.
Nothing catastrophic, but potentially uncomfortable if you still planned on leaving tonight. ”
I studied the display more closely, noting the storm’s projected path, intensity, and timing.
The Caribbean was notorious for its rapidly changing weather patterns, particularly during the late summer months when water temperatures and atmospheric conditions could spawn significant storms with little warning.
What appeared to be perfect sailing weather could transform into something entirely different in a matter of hours.
“Hurricane potential?” I asked.
“Unlikely in the short term, sir. The sea and air temperatures aren’t quite aligned for it.
But it could easily bring sustained winds of twenty-five to thirty knots and seas in the six-to-eight-foot range to our area during the overnight.
Not dangerous for a vessel of The Lucy ’s capabilities, but certainly not comfortable for Mrs. Stone. ”
I nodded, appreciating both his professional assessment and his consideration for Krystina’s comfort.
“What are your recommendations?”
“I’d suggest we reposition to the island’s lee side for the night,” he said, indicating the proposed anchorage on the chart display.
“The land mass should provide substantial protection from both wind and wave. We can ride out the worst of the weather in relative comfort, then reassess conditions at first light.”
“Agreed. Make it happen.”
“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else after we get her repositioned?”
“No, Isaac. You and your crew have earned your rest. Just maintain the usual anchor watch and continue monitoring weather developments.”
Isaac nodded, his response immediate and professional.
Turning toward the other crew members, he began issuing orders with calm authority.
Within minutes, The Lucy started to move through the water with the grace of a thoroughbred.
Trusting my yacht was in good hands, I turned my attention to more important matters—my naked wife who was awaiting my return.
Leaving them to it, I walked across the large open deck.
Away from the harsh city lights, the stars shone brightly, illuminating the sky like shimmering diamonds.
They reflected on the large double glass doors that led to the salon.
After sliding the door closed behind me, I moved to the small galley kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
I was pleased to see Isaac had restocked everything precisely as I’d requested, making it easy for me to assemble a quick, no-cook meal.
Fresh provisions lined the shelves in careful arrangement—vegetables, artisanal cheeses aged to perfection, fruits selected for both peak flavor and elegant presentation.
The wine selection had been curated specifically for this voyage, with bottles chosen to complement both the tropical setting and the romantic nature of our extended honeymoon.
I arranged tomatoes, red onion, olives, green peppers, and cucumbers on a platter.
I topped it with cubed feta, seasoned oil, and vinegar dressing to complete the traditional Greek salad.
Once that was finished, I prepared another nuts and a medley of fruits.
Hearty crackers paired with velvety hummus and creamy tzatziki completed the simple meal.
Even Vivian, my invaluable housekeeper and cook, would be impressed.
It may not have been one of her seven-course spreads, but it would suffice.
I placed both platters on a serving tray, grabbed two wine glasses and a chilled bottle of Louis Jadot Le Montrachet Grand Cru 2016, and went to the primary suite. As I approached the doors, my thoughts were entirely focused on the woman waiting beyond them and the promise of an evening ahead.
Stepping into the bedroom, my breath immediately caught in my throat. I froze, completely mesmerized by the stunning woman kneeling near the foot of the bed with her arms behind her back and her knees apart. She defined the meaning of perfection. Desire gripped me, and I suppressed a groan.
She glanced up at me curiously, then quickly lowered her head in submission. The brief moment that our eyes met, I saw the silent invitation.
She knew her body belonged to me.