NautiCal (Forever Wilde 8)

“Unhand me,” I gritted out between my teeth. If Cal got any closer to me, I was going to lose all of my restraint and cross a line.

His fiery gaze met mine. “Don’t underestimate small people. It makes you look like a jackass.”

We were both breathing heavily, and I could see down the front of the open neck of the T-shirt he was wearing. The bumps of his chest and ab muscles were visible in the shadows, and I could even spot the shadowy hair of a happy trail. My heart rate ticked up. I wanted to lick all of it.

“When did I underestimate you, exactly?” I asked.

We locked eyes for a few heavy moments. The air in the room seemed thick with anticipation. “You’re the one implying small is a bad thing, not me,” I continued, because I couldn’t keep from antagonizing him for some reason. Maybe it was a crazy, fucked-up defense mechanism to keep me from lurching up and taking his mouth in mine, a mistake that would surely bear impossible consequences.

Even twisted with frustration, his face was beautiful. His dirty-blond hair stuck up in different directions, and his top lip was fuller than the bottom one. I wanted to pull it between my teeth and suck on it.

I cleared my throat and pushed him off, rolling until I was the one pressing him into the mattress. His wrists felt slender and warm encircled in my larger hands, and as I’d flipped him, I’d felt his cock brush against my thigh. He wasn’t the only one inappropriately turned on by our argument. “Don’t get physical with me, Calgary. Or I will not hesitate to throw you overboard.”

His face morphed from anger with a slight tinge of fear to a mischievous smirk. “Yes, Daddy.”

If I hadn’t been so distracted by the fact I’d scared him, I might have laughed. Instead, I climbed off him and returned to my side of the bed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you like that,” I said, rubbing my hands over my face. “Even though you started it.”

He began laughing. “And you think I’m the kid in the room.”

I turned my head to glare at him, but the sight of him laughing stopped me in my tracks. He was breathtaking. “I thought I’d scared you, and now you’re laughing,” I muttered, leaning over to turn off the lamp. “You’re a very strange man. And the fact I’m sharing my bed with a complete stranger is just…” I sighed and lay back on my pillow.

“Exciting? Sexy? Routine?”

I bit back a laugh. “Certainly not routine.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You should try it sometime. Hm. I guess you are. But I mean, you should try it in the good way. The sexy way.”

“I see how well that worked out for you.”

Cal was quiet for a minute, and I worried I’d touched a nerve. I still couldn’t stand knowing he’d slept with Prescott.

“It did work out well for me,” Cal said smugly. “I’m lying next to a bajillionaire on thousand-thread-count sheets aboard his multimillion-dollar yacht looking at a sweet all-expenses-paid week of vacation in the British Virgin Islands. I’d say that’s a pretty good reward, all in all.”

I turned my head to look at him. Only the shadow of his profile was outlined in the dark room. “And you said you didn’t want to be Julia Roberts.”

He sighed. “I’m trying to make lemonade out of lemons, Jon. It’s called focusing on the silver lining. Maybe you should try it.”

No one had ever called me Jon before, besides my mother when I was very little, and I had to admit, I kind of liked it. Not that I would ever tell him that.

“Go to sleep, Cal.”

As he shifted in the bed, I caught a whiff of my shower gel on his skin. I bit back a groan and turned my back to him. I’d originally bought the shower gel for my ex. I’d wanted to bring Mason a little something from a business trip to Vail, and there’d been a men’s boutique just outside the resort where I was staying. Every time I’d passed the open door of the boutique that week, I’d smelled the incredible scent coming from inside. I’d finally popped my head in to find out what it was. But when I’d brought the bath stuff home, he’d refused to use it, asking me if it was some kind of veiled message about the way he smelled.

After the split, I realized that I should have bought it for myself if I liked the smell of it. Maybe I should have bought Mason something more impressive like the latest model of Patek Phillipe watch or tickets to an exclusive, sold-out event. As if that would have made a difference. There was never enough showering of affection in any form to make Mason happy. I’d canceled work plans to spend time with him, I’d arranged surprise parties for him, and I’d spent hours hanging out with his friends when he’d said that was the single most important thing I could do to show him I cared about him. But none of it was enough unless it also came with a proposal, joint bank accounts, and a half stake in my family business.