A Bad Boy for Christmas (13 page)

“What kind of people?”

“All kinds.” The certainty in her voice made him frown. “So, you know, I know this thing between us probably has a time limit. That’s just how it goes with me.”

“Mia, a short affair was never on the table for us, and you know it. We talked about it the other day. Or rather, I roared and hopefully you listened. As for the rest, I
like
that you’re a high-impact, forthright and invigorating person. I like that I don’t automatically overshadow you and that we meet in the middle somewhere. I love that you get the better of me on occasion. Gives me confidence in you.” They were getting closer to their destination and she was paying more attention to him than to where they were going. “Let me take the wheel now.”

She moved aside and let him have it and he brought the cruiser alongside his houseboat. The houseboat was nothing much. Moored beside a block of land he’d bought with the vague idea that he’d build a house on it one day, it boasted a kitchenette, a shower with enough water pressure to get a man clean, a large living room full of soft furnishings courtesy of Zoey, a king-sized bed that allowed a man to sleep without feeling cramped, and an outside entertainment deck that took up half the boat.

He cut the engine and tied off. Busywork while he digested her three words and then he stepped aboard and reached for her hand and pulled her across. “So this is my bolt-hole.”

“I want one,” she said, and he felt his face light up.

No regrets, bringing her here. Not one.

He
really
should have felt more afraid than he was.

He opened the living room door and ushered her in. “Zoey’s been here.” He used the phrase to explain all the colors and textures and the abundance of soft furnishings. “I think she was an empress in a former life.”

“I think she was Aphrodite. So what’s the plan for our date?”

“Food.” Which he planned to cook. “Fun.” They’d get around to it. “And I thought you said something about wanting to fish.”

“On your day off? I don’t think so.”

“Food and fun it is.” He was looking forward to it.

*     *     *

“It’s not as
if I want to live anywhere in particular,” she said, two hours later as she dangled her hand over the edge of the deck. The remnants of a cheese plate and a bottle of wine lay on the deck beside them and she’d shed Cutter’s shirt as the sun had gone down. She’d worn the yellow dress she’d had on the day they first met. She liked it, and it wasn’t as if she’d packed for seduction when she’d left Melbourne. “I go where the masters are and I study them.”

“Why tattoos?” he asked, and it was flattering, this desire of his to know more about her.

“Because I couldn’t afford art school. Still can’t, and I probably wouldn’t enroll if I could. I like the people part of my work. The stories behind some of the tattoos. The personal reasons behind particular images.”

“Why did you choose a ship for yours? I mean, it’s beautiful but you have no links to the sea.”

“It’s a classic image. I wanted to pay homage. Also, the ship is me.”

“Going down in a maelstrom?”

“I am navigating that sucker, thank you very much.”

“Are you sure about that?” He traced the lines on her back with gentle fingers. “Looks like it could go either way.”

Mia gave a soft hum of pleasure at his touch. “Maybe it could have once. But I’m winning now.”

“And the words?”

“They’re from a poem.”

“Mia, it’s your epitaph.”

“I multitask.”

“Mia—

She could see the concern in him, spilling through the cracks. She took his hand and traced her fingers up his arm, leaned sideways and pressed a soft kiss to that stubborn jaw. “It was a poem I loved as a kid. It promised a way out, somewhere so much better than where I was. And then someone came along and offered me a different way out and it was as easy and as difficult as walking away from my family and never going back. Those words—they’re what I’ve
done
. I found a better place to be. And when I get old and gray and they put me in the ground those words will serve me again.”

She lay down beside him, pillowed her head on his chest, and snuggled in even closer when his arm automatically came around to cradle her. She looked up at the stars and felt her breathing slow. She’d never had this before. The quiet moments with a man. This feeling of utter safety.

“There’s this balance I’m looking for. Fireworks, bright and showy—I want that in my life. I crave it. But underneath, when the smoke clears, I want peace and safety and security.”

“I could give you that.”

She closed her eyes and thought that perhaps he could.
Ask
, Nash had told her, and she was trying.
Value yourself
, Nash had said, and she was about to do that now.

“I have no assets to speak of. I have enough money in the bank to cover a few unexpected bills. I have no family a person could become part of. No fixed address. You don’t want a tattoo, which is about the only thing of value I can give you—and even that’s debatable. I got nothing. I don’t know what to offer you.”

“You could offer me your love.”

“That’s not enough.”

“Depends on the love.” He tugged on her hair, and then both hands went to her waist as he shifted her until she sat on top of him, knees to either side and the skirt of her dress ending up somewhere around her hips.

“There’s this woman,” he murmured. “And she took me by surprise. I can’t stop thinking about her. Never want to be anywhere else when I’m with her. She’s fascinating; so fiercely protective, and there are no half measures. She’s all in. Do you know how rare that is?” Heat scorched her skin as he ran his hand over her buttocks, down and around, then over her thighs until his thumbs came to rest on the soft skin either side of her panties and began to draw slow circles there. “I haven’t mapped you the way I want to yet. Will you let me?”

Mia nodded.

“Take off your dress.”

Yes, yes she could.

He kissed her and his hand slid covetously up her spine. His hands weren’t soft.

She didn’t want them soft.

His lips, on the other hand, they were soft, and shameless in their quest to explore everywhere. Shoulders and arms, the underside of her breasts, the hollow of her armpit. And then he pulled a blanket from a nearby deck chair and gave her pillows and rolled her onto her stomach and continued his assault.

He followed the swirls of the maelstrom with his mouth. He learned the shape of the ship with his fingertips, and when he got to the words he paused.

Hopkins. A poet. A tiny piece of Heaven-Haven.

And I have asked to be

Where no storms come

“You sure that’s not a death wish?” he rumbled.

“I’m sure.”

And then he was sucking his own marks into her skin, as if in punishment, or ownership. His hand snaked down and his lips followed, tossing her into a storm of sensation with ruthless skill. She’d never had a lover so hungry for all of her before. Every last drop.

Climax found her first, and when it did he waited until she’d ridden it out before raising her onto her hands and knees and easing carefully into her, opening her up slowly and with infinite expertise. He laughed and there was a helplessness to it that tugged at her heart as he began to initiate the rhythm he wanted, a touch of reverence in him now, his big body trembling.

He made her complicit in every intimacy, effortlessly discovering every strength and weakness in her, he made her his.

She begged him for it.

She cursed him.

And in the end, when they crested together on a wave so big she couldn’t see past it, she screamed for him.

M
ia had discovered
paradise on earth and it was a place called Brunswick Bay. It had sun and surf and boats and a man called Cutter Jackson. He’d kept her busy overnight and, upon waking, he’d made coffee to her exact directions and brought it back to bed for her before stretching out, tucking his arms beneath his pillow and rolling back into slumber, the very picture of contented magnificence.

And maybe paradise always had trouble in it, but by that afternoon there was a severe thunderstorm warning in place and the family business once again commanded most of Cutter’s attention.

It was a way of life for him, and he was fully enmeshed in it.

“Could you imagine doing anything with your life other than this?” she asked as they sped downriver towards the marina.

“No. Born to it, bred to it and consider myself fortunate.”

To be fair, he’d warned her about trying to change him. There would be no Melbourne on a permanent basis for this man. If she wanted the works, she’d be the one relocating. “Zoey and Bree, how do they resist being sucked into the family vortex that is the Jackson boating empire?”

“The trick, I think, is to not ask too much of them in that direction. Not until we really need all hands on deck. Eli and Caleb are aware that their wives need the time and head space to pursue their own directions. Bree comes and goes on photography assignments. Zoey lets her imagination soar and ropes us all into her vision for world domination of the cosplay scene. I think it’s healthy.” His glance was searching. “You could, for example, tell me what you’d need in order to base yourself here permanently. You could share the wildest dreams you’ve ever had for your career.”

“And you’d help make it happen?”

“I’d do what I could to support those goals, yes.”

This man was lethal.

“No one’s ever asked me what my wildest dreams for my career are.” They were alarmingly modest. “To study and improve and have my work be recognized. Maybe if I had more time and fewer clients I’d branch out into other fields of design. I don’t know offhand what those other fields might be. Long-range plans aren’t my forte. I tend to focus on day-to-day happenings.”

“That happens here too,” he murmured. “Storm preparations being a good example.”

“Can I help with those?”

He nodded. “I won’t work you too hard.”

“I want to work hard.” She wasn’t afraid to. “You have no idea how much I want to be part of all this,” she confessed quietly.

His blinding smile warmed her through. “So you’ll stay?”

“I don’t know yet.” Some obstacles could be carved through, and some couldn’t. “What about your parents? What if they don’t like me? It happens.”

“That’s your childhood talking.”

Maybe it was. And maybe it was a response to the wider situation the Jackson family was dealing with. “I won’t give up Nash. Not ever.”

“I’m not asking you to. Because neither will I.”

“I’m always going to be me,” she said next.

“I hope so.”

“You’re really stubborn.” Because he
was
.

“Do you love me?” He asked the question as if it was an everyday occurrence to give away one’s heart. “Because I love you.”

“Dammit, Cutter, you don’t play fair!”

“Are you pouting?”

“No.” She was scowling. Because that was what she did when the man she was wildly in love with told her he loved her. “You barely know me!”

“I know you don’t shy away from confrontation—even if you are scared—and I like that. You’re fierce in your opinions and your love—and I cherish that. You’re utterly mine in bed and I’m yours and I crave that.” He drew her close by way of tucking her in between himself and the wheel. “Fireworks every day and peace in your heart. Think about it.”

She thought about nothing else as they docked and headed for the boatshed.

Eli and Caleb were already there, Nash too.

Nash glanced between her and Cutter, a question in his gaze.

She spread her hands and smiled ruefully. Going, going,
gone
on this man. With all the self-examination it entailed.

The weather warnings were enough to keep everyone moving. Docking ropes had to be reset in preparation for high winds and rough seas, and it was all hands busy as Cutter organized anyone not roping boats into place into getting the smaller boats out of the water and parking them in what Mia had thought was empty land but for the strange concrete blocks that turned out to be anchorage points for yet more ropes attached to boats.