Jinx's Fantasy (Goddess Isles 5.2)

“Might have to try that one myself,” Cal muttered, a grin on his face as he typed something on his iPad. “Handsy Scots and unwilling damsels sound like a fun night.”

“Oh, the damsel wasn’t unwilling.” Sully smirked. “Not once I showed her a different kind of sword to the one she was threatening me with. If I remember correctly, her refusal quickly became a beg.”

I threw my lychee at him. “I distinctly remembering you begging when you chased me into the woods and I got on my knees and put my mouth on your—”

“Codfish.” Sully kept a straight face even though the table erupted into sniggers. “I do remember stuffing something down your throat so you couldn’t scream for help.”

“Oh, I wasn’t screaming for help.” I climbed out of my chair and crossed the short distance to Sully. “I was screaming because my husband is the best fantasy, highwayman, and monster combined.” I bent to kiss him, and he parted his lips to greet mine, his tongue entering my mouth a second later as if laying claim to me all over again.

Jess laughed under her breath as I pulled away and sat back down, plucking another lychee from the bowl.

“I might have to borrow that book.”

I gave her a nod. “It’s good. I’ll leave it for you when we go tomorrow.”

Cal sniffed. “And we’re back to the fact that you’re leaving with no idea when you’ll be back.”

Sully rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t stay away from here for too long. It’ll be a week, two weeks tops.”

“And I have to stay and run the science stuff while you sail to another set of islands that makes you a fortune.”

“Exactly.” Sully slapped him on the shoulder. “Peter Beck and I have been working closely together lately. Our new research on Spetrex looks as if it has the ability to rejuvenate cells that lead to cognitive disabilities. We might finally have a cure for dementia. If there isn’t reception on the boat, then I need you to be online to approve any additional funding as we move to the next stage of testing.”

“It’s not a boat, Sinclair.” Cal reclined in his chair, placing the iPad by his coffee cup. “It’s a yacht. A big fucking yacht. And if it doesn’t have Wi-Fi, then I’ll literally eat your damn parrot.”

Pika threw him a scowl before resuming his under wing preening.

Cal stroked Pika’s head before adding, “I told you, Sullivan, you didn’t check the dimensions right when you agreed to let that Prest guy start manufacturing.”

“We ordered two in the end,” I said, sipping on freshly squeezed watermelon. “One small one for day trips and another large enough for weekend excursions for the married couples who need that extra step in their counselling.”

“Yes, well, your sexual therapy islands are about to get a yacht almost as big as they are.” Cal chuckled.

“Rapture is bigger than Serigala, so I’m sure you’re exaggerating.” I swallowed. “You are exaggerating, right?”

Grabbing his iPad, Cal tapped in a few places and brought up the email from Elder Prest from a year ago. Sully and I had gone through the link he’d sent us, looked at prior commissions he’d done, and discussed the advantages of having another form of accommodation for our guests on Rapture.

We’d agreed on a boat called Calypso—mainly because she was a goddess who’d trapped her husband on an island and made him immortal. Their twisted tale seemed a mirror image of Sully’s and mine. We hadn’t even really looked at the specifications after that. Sully had sent Elder Prest an email, requesting Calypso to be built along with a smaller vessel called Thimble, after a tiny jellyfish that had a nasty sting.

And to be honest, I’d completely forgotten about it. We’d made the order a week after returning from Hawksridge Hall in England, and apart from the invoices sent periodically as the build progressed, Mr. Prest didn’t bother sending other correspondence.

Cal passed me his iPad. “See for yourself. That behemoth is on its way here.”

Taking it, I squinted at the screen, angling it away from the sun’s glare. My mouth fell open at the sleek, sexy lines of a black and chrome super machine. It’d been given scale by placing a regular sized speedboat beside it.

The speedboat was the size of a grape next to a watermelon.

“Oh...shit.” I passed the iPad to Sully. “Did we seriously order a small floatable country?”

Sully chuckled as his intelligent eyes cast over the screen. “So that’s why it cost a shit ton more than I was expecting.” Zooming in on the specs that we really should have taken note of a year ago, he listed off, “Twelve state rooms, three formal lounges, movie theatre, swimming pool, fifteen bathrooms, onboard submarine, helipad.” He rolled his eyes. “Cal’s right. That isn’t a boat; it’s a fucking hotel.”