there.
“Let go!” I said sternly, pushing him. All traces of sexual excitement evaporating like a magic trick.
Grant stepped all the way back. “Okay, baby. Easy.” He held up his hands, giving me a wide margin of space. “I’m so sorry, Rio. Honestly.”
I bobbed out a nod. “It’s…fine.”
“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have pushed you like that.”
“It wasn’t all you.”
I meant it, though I didn’t sound like it. He proved as much by letting his head fall forward and then slowly shaking it. “I’m such an asshole.”
“I’d like to take a shower. Will you please show me how to get back to the room I woke up in?” There. That wasn’t so hard. I’d be sure to lock every available door in the room and adjoining rooms, and Grant Twombley could handle himself if he still needed a release.
“Yeah, sure. Come on.”
As he led me back inside, I concentrated on the layout of the boat. I didn’t want to rely on his escort service every time I wanted to do something. It was endearing now, but eventually—and likely rapidly—it would become smothering. Or something similar. Something I was clearly having a problem with processing right now. As amazed and floored as I was by the man’s gesture, I wanted—needed—some space to breathe.
“I think everything you need should be in there,” Grant said, motioning to the gleaming bathroom off the main stateroom. “I tried to make sure to remember all the brands you use, but—shit, I don’t know—you change them all the time.” He gave me a sheepish smile, and I felt a pain in my chest I wanted to carve out with a dull knife. What was I doing to this man?
But he went on, clueless to my shameful moment of self-loathing. “If not, we can try to get whatever’s missing. Just let me know. Towels are in the cabinet under the sink. And like I said before, there’s some clothing that should fit you in the closet there”—he pointed to the built-in storage space along the one side of the room—“and bras, panties, socks, things like that, should be in these drawers.” Another wave of his long arm toward the bureau, and the tour was done.
“Oh—okay.” It was all I could manage to stammer through. I was equally touched and embarrassed that he had gone through so much trouble. Thinking of the burden I’d been was like trying on a hair suit, and I was having a serious internal struggle with the whole concept. One that just kicked up about twelve notches after the incident outside. If I had one more freak-out, the man in front of me—the one staring at me like he was afraid I was three seconds from exploding like a pipe bomb—would probably elect to dive overboard and swim back to Los Angeles than stay on this luxury yacht with crazy me.
And I couldn’t say I’d blame him.
Chapter Three
Grant
Jesus Christ.
I was the biggest idiot on the planet.
If not that, then the best representative for one of the world’s most favorite stereotypes.
I’d really let my dick lead the way this time. Right to my own ruin. At least to my own humiliation—and Rio’s disgust. She hadn’t pulled any punches about that part.
“And first place for stupid move of the day goes to…” I paused in my self-directed muttering to beat a soft drum roll on the arm of the main salon’s couch. “Yep. Right here, ladies and gentlemen. Step right up and take a swing at the idiot.”
I could say it because I meant it. And because nobody from that imaginary mob could beat the brutality of my self-pummeling.
Jesus Christ.
I couldn’t even come up with a legitimate reason why I’d gone that direction with Rio. There she was, next to me…damn near beneath me…and every switch in my system had flipped. All I could imagine, all I could crave, was making her mine in every carnal way. Dominating her. The instinct took over, as natural as blinking my eyes or scratching an itch.
Scratching a fucking itch?
Another cliché, but worse. Because it was a load of bullshit. Every. Damn. Syllable.
After everything Rio had been through in the past few months—goddammit, the last few days—there was no excuse for pushing her to the point of a panic attack. None.
I’d probably spend the rest of the trip beating myself up for it. And beating off, because there was no way in hell she’d let me near after breaking her trust in that monumental way. She shouldn’t.
Oddly, my cell phone