Riding the Storm. Joanne Rock
hadn’t been on his radar lately, but this one? She made the grade with her eyes closed. Literally.
He was surprised when she answered his touch with a throaty hum.
In fact, the low, feminine vibration seemed to electrify his whole hand, the pulse surging pleasantly through his skin.
“Miss?” He brushed his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. “Are you all right?”
She turned sleepily toward him, another incoherent murmur on her lips. Her shoulders rolled with the movement, as if she had an ache in her neck. Her shifting clothes released a hint of perfume, something vanilla laden and sexy that made him want to lean in and inhale deeply.
He told himself to ease his hand away. The dim salon of the gently rocking boat suddenly felt too intimate. He didn’t want to frighten her when she awoke. But forcing his fingers from that warm, silky skin was another matter altogether. It had been many months since he’d last held a woman. And even that—a passing encounter with an ex—had been a brief release in a work-intensive year.
“Who are you?” he asked, the feel of her still warming his palm even after he moved his hand to the table.
He peered past her to the stack of heavy books on the other side of the bench they shared.
“You’ve got to be a designer of some kind, right?”
But despite the evidence of her career calling, he could hardly picture his brother hiring anyone to redecorate the Vesta. Jack had no style—or if he did, Keith would call it Spartan, at best. So what would this woman be doing on his boat in the middle of the night?
“There’s no way Jack is involved with someone,” he mused aloud, hoping the sound of his voice would wake her up.
Keith knew his brother was still hung up on Alicia. He definitely wouldn’t be hooking up with a stranger at midnight after a family party. Besides, the woman next to Keith hadn’t come to the Vesta for a tryst or she wouldn’t have brought her decorating books.
“Which means you’re fair game.” He double-checked her left hand for a ring even as he made the pronouncement. “There’s no reason I can’t flirt with you. I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”
No reasonable person could hold the glance at her breasts against him, right? He’d been scared for her life; that was his story and he was sticking to it. Because this woman—whoever she was—had him gaping as if he’d never seen a female before.
Sighing in her sleep, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, her fingers ending up near the pale column of her throat, exactly where he’d like to touch her. His awareness shifted into overdrive, his body responding instantly.
“Maybe too much of a gentleman,” he continued, his own fingers itching for the slightest excuse to return to her skin. “You’re passed out on my boat—well, my boat for the next week, anyway. Who would blame me if I woke you up by whispering something suggestive in your ear?”
Maybe he could plant in her sleeping brain a few torrid notions she’d be anxious to act on when she opened her eyes. He knew a thing or two about the power of suggestion. He’d studied some business psychology, after all.
Another throaty hum vibrated through her as if she agreed. His body heated in response, feeling a definite sexual connection to this woman who hadn’t even opened her eyes. Could she be starting to wake up? Liking what he had to say?
The possibility was tantalizing.
“You’re going to be wildly attracted to me when you come to,” he told her. “Wait a minute. You’re not hypnotized. You’re just sleeping.” He didn’t have any power over her subconscious and he didn’t want to tick her off by coming on too strong. “How about this—I’m damn attracted to you.”
He let that sink in, half hoping she’d throw herself into his arms. Hey, it could happen.
“I’m seriously restraining myself from touching you right now.” Still no reply. No flutter of her lashes or sexy shifting in her sleep. “I’d like nothing better than to peel your clothes off inch by inch with my teeth.”
A slow, sexy smile curved her lips. He could hardly believe his eyes. But then she moaned softly in her sleep, moving her palm down her throat and under the fabric of her collar, cupping her breast as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.
Holy. Hell.
Heat shot to his groin in a rush so forceful it was damn near painful.
Whatever he was doing, it was working.
2
JOSIE COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d had such a nice dream.
Usually, she woke up instantly to her alarm clock, bouncing out of bed with no memory of her nighttime imaginings. But right now she reveled in the groggy half sleep that left her body relaxed and her mind free to wander. It was a delicious, self-indulgent feeling to simply lie there. Josie felt better than peaceful. She felt…warm all over. Her skin hummed, vibrant and alive. Awareness sparked along her nerve endings, tingling sweetly in all the best places.
From somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, a man’s voice resonated.
“I can’t wait to taste you.” The low, confident tone did wicked things to her already simmering libido.
Her breasts beaded at the thought of the dream man’s mouth on her. She arched toward the sound, a wordless plea for him to make good on the sensual threat.
When he didn’t comply immediately, she knew a moment’s frustration. She wanted to draw him closer, to feel his tongue on her breast, licking away the hungry tension in skin that felt too tight. Too needy. But her limbs were heavy and lethargic.
“Please,” she murmured, her fingers sliding over her taut nipple. “Please.”
She could almost feel the warm breath of her fantasy man on her skin there, right where she wanted him. His scent, clean and salty like an ocean breeze, teased her nose.
Needing him, she drew her hand from her blouse and flung her arm forward. The movement jarred her, causing an ache in her neck. Her head fell off her pillow onto a cold, hard surface that wasn’t her bed.
Confused, Josie struggled to return to a comfortable spot. To the sweet lure of her fantasy man and a dream that felt incredibly real.
“Are you okay?” the deep bass voice asked.
Damn it. Why wasn’t he asking her to unbutton her blouse? To slide beneath silk sheets with him and tear off all their clothes?
She waited for her consciousness to return to that sexy, dreamy place. Instead, the ache in her neck increased.
“Wake up, beautiful,” the man in her dreams said.
But oddly, his voice seemed clearer now. Closer, somehow.
Wrenching her heavy eyelids open, Josie forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. To figure out why her pillow was so hard. To see why her alarm hadn’t gone off and why she was lazing around in the dark….
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
A real, live, hot-looking man sat beside her in a room lit by a green, wavering night-light. He wore a light-colored dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing strong, well-defined pecs beneath. A silver saint’s medallion hung around his neck.
She didn’t recognize him. Could never have met him before this moment or she would have remembered. His chiseled jaw was covered with a shadow of late-night bristles. Full, sculpted lips; a straight Roman nose. Eyes an uncommon color, though it was too dark to tell the shade for sure. Green, maybe? Dark eyelashes framed them and heavy eyebrows topped them. An old scar ran across his forehead.
Details that were way too real for a dream.
“What are you doing here?” She straightened