“I am so sorry,” I murmured.
“Why are you apologizing?” he finally asked. Even his voice sounded weary and resigned.
“Don’t you think I see what’s going on here? The stress in your life, between you and your best friend? I know it’s because of me.” I pulled out of his arms and moved off his lap to sit beside him. The intimate position was suddenly too close. Too stifling. “I’m crazy, Grant, not dumb.”
His first response was much more of a growl. When the air stilled again and I found the courage to look back to Grant, he was waiting with words. “Rio. It’s not because of you. It’s because of Bas.” Grant slashed his palm through the froth on the surface before he continued. “It’s because of his tyrannical, controlling method of going about everything in his life. You happen to be caught in the middle of the storm this time, but it could have easily been someone else.”
His own growl was his interruption, as he gave in to staring out into the night. For a long moment he peered even harder, as if spotting something way off on the horizon. Finally, he shook his head slowly and went on, “What he’s doing with all this is wrong, and the bastard knows it. Bas is trying to avert everyone’s attention from the faulty equipment that killed your husband, even if that means dragging you through the mud by spotlighting your breakdown the night of the accident. But the asshole doesn’t care what that will do to me if he does that. He certainly doesn’t care what it will do to you.”
“How can he think something like this would touch him? It’s old news at this point, and it’s such an insignificant event in his day. Not to mention, how can my crazy behavior be more interesting than the big bad Sebastian Shark’s fancy building being cursed?” With a dismissive wave, I finished, “Or whatever. That seems like a juicier headline to me.” But then I was the one doing the head shaking. “I really don’t get why he would risk your friendship over this.”
“Because it is still a juicy story,” he stressed.
I grabbed a chance for my turn with the deep frown too. “I seriously don’t follow.”
“Come on. Picture the sound bite. ‘Grieving widow’s dramatic act of retribution.’” He fanned his hands through the air between us while he predicted the story’s headline. While I understood the effect he was going for, the whole thing looked too damn funny not to crack another smile. Grant huffed. “This really isn’t funny, Rio.”
“Agreed. But honestly? Your jazz hands could use some work.”
He flashed a smirk—likely the sexiest version I’d ever seen of it. “Well, I think that’s the only skill you’ve said my hands needed improvement with.”
“Hmmm.” I hummed in mock contemplation, appreciating his well-timed change of the subject. We’d definitely both reached our Shark quota for the day. “I don’t know about that, Tree. I may have to collect more data before I can be sure.” Playfully tapping my index finger to my chin, I added, “I don’t know that I’ve evaluated your full skill set yet. I mean, you’re making a mighty huge claim here, and—”
And there I went, having to toss around a descriptor like huge. Suddenly, the man was exactly that, rising from the corner seat in a move that reminded me of Godzilla’s eruption from the sea. His stare was comparable, a menacing combination of so many gorgeous greens and blues. Beyond my control, mini tsunamis chased each other throughout my bloodstream.
“My skill set, hmmm?” he murmured. “Oh, I promise you haven’t even scratched the surface, little girl.”
I gulped. He barely noticed, closing the space between us with strides that made the water slosh. “You know, you can be very intimidating when you want to be. Has anyone ever told you that? Okay, wait.” I held my hand out. “Don’t answer that. There are only so many Lacis and Stacis I can stomach hearing about.”
He grabbed my hand, using the grip to move in and then press his body completely against mine. My breath stuttered. My heartbeat careened. My skin was hot and sensitive, aware of every inch where he was hard yet slippery against me. With my free hand, I stroked up to his shoulder, hyperaware of how I was dripping all over him. How I instantly yet completely yearned to be dripping around other parts of him…
He didn’t stop pushing in.
He kept going, continuing closer and harder, until I was bent backward, over the spa’s outside edge. When my torso was all but splayed flat, he leaned down with me until he could speak right beside my ear. “What’s this? Jealousy from the formidable Rio Katrina? My, my. I didn’t think that was possible.”
He stood up tall, and I quickly followed suit, trying to push him back with my free hand so I could catch my breath. The action was pointless because he easily captured my other wrist and then held them between us, even while I tossed my head back and stabbed him with a cutting laugh.
“Are you kidding? With a bedpost that has as many notches as yours? I think a girl would have to be numb not to feel at least a twinge of the stuff.”
I yanked my arms back, trying to get free from his grip, but got nowhere. Grant tightened his hold, curling his hands in so mine ended up against the sculpted slabs of his pecs, and I could feel the air he pushed in and out of his flaring nostrils.
Instantly, anxiety clawed at my chest, but I tried to tamp it down. I knew Grant was playing around, and if I told him to stop, he would. At some point, though, I was going to have to get over this nonsense about him holding my hands or arms without flashing back to when he told me about Sean’s accident.
“A twinge, huh?” His gaze intensified, belying distinct energy. Aroused force. I swore I could even smell it on him, and I wasn’t surprised. The man had never been coy about his need to be in charge, and I’d been increasingly happy to let him try it with me. After his long and stressful dunk back into the Sebastian Shark tank, it made sense that he craved a default dive back to the waters where he controlled all the tides.
See? He was aroused. I was aroused. Everyone was having fun here.
“Yeah, just a little.” I went for a careless shrug, but I knew he wasn’t buying it, so I really poured it on. “You know…a tiny, itty-bitty bit. Not too much, though. I mean…” I pulled at his hold again, gritting my teeth in frustration when he wouldn’t budge. “I wouldn’t want your head to swell up even more.”
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t take it.
Not. For. One. More. Second.
“Let go,” I said through gritted teeth and made one last feeble attempt to pull my arms—my hands—hell, I didn’t even know anymore—free from Grant’s grasp while my entire body began to quake. Next would be a blood-curdling shriek if he didn’t pick up on the way I was unraveling.
Thank God he did, though.
“Blaze.” He nearly choked my name and dropped my hands simultaneously. Then he stepped toward me at the exact same time I stepped back.
“No. Stop.”
How had we gotten to the Inglewood prep kitchen?
I swung my head from side to side. No. No. I tried to calm myself. We were still on the yacht. I looked around frantically, taking in details of my surroundings. Yes! We were definitely on the deck of the yacht.