Beyond Me (Quinn and James 1)

He laughed and I grinned. I was terrible at flirting, but with James, it felt natural. Like teasing him was part of the fun and the sexual spark. "Brat." He pulled playfully at my ponytail and my scalp tingled. "Go

t everything you need?"

I showed him my gaily striped beach bag with towel, lotion, bottled water, phone, and a change of clothes. "Where are we going?"

He grabbed the bag and guided me toward the catamaran. "I'll show you some sights first, head down the Gulf. I staked out a pretty place for a swim and a picnic. We'll let the day guide us."

The sheer freedom of those words made me giddy. No plans, no timetable, no responsibilities. How long had it been since I was able to let go? Too long. Emotion choked the back of my throat. "Sounds perfect."

He studied my face, then smiled as if he liked what he saw. "Good. Welcome aboard."

The marina was buzzing with activity and packed with an array of schooners, catamarans, and smaller powerboats. Men yelled back and forth to each other, seagulls screeched in outrage or happiness, and lines formed by booths for private charters and excursions. The sun was blinding and hot, scorching delicate skin and dousing the choppy water with glittering sparkles. James gave me a quick tour, and I was amazed at the amount of space on the boat. A shower, huge cabin, and fully stocked bar was down below. Long teak benches were set up to lay out, and the brilliant white canvas was shocking against the stinging blue of sky.

"Where's the rest of the crew?" I asked.

"Just me. No worries, I've been sailing since I was ten, and I know boats and the water in Key West well. Been coming here a long time. Do you trust me?"

The words meant more than boating, and I knew it. I also knew my answer. "Yes."

His face softened. "Then I won't let you down," he said lightly. "Let me get started and we'll pull out in a few."

I settled down to watch from behind the safety of my sunglasses, sipping from a bottle of water, and admired the ripple of muscles as he moved back and forth and we drifted away from the marina. As the crowds shrank and the noise dimmed, I was taken to another dimension where only nature ruled. I'd only been on a boat once before, a ferry cruise for sightseeing with my dad. The event, as usual, had ended in disaster. I'd begged him to just drink soda, but he snuck to the bar a few times for his beer, got drunk, and fell down the spiral stairs. He only avoided serious injury because he was so inebriated he literally bounced. The humiliation from the public attention was brutal. I'd never gone on another boat since.

But I didn't want to think about the past right now.

I pushed away the memory and concentrated on today.

I WONDERED what she was thinking about.

Her face darkened, as if a shadow of a bad memory drifted past, and then she seemed to calm again. I wondered about her secrets. She seemed to have everything together, so unlike me, yet something I wanted to probe simmered beneath her surface.

Which was dangerous.

I'd gone to bed last night with a hard dick and had to jerk off twice just to try and get some sleep. One lousy night in her company and she had me whipped. Of course, I knew all the rational explanations. She was different, and once I slept with her, the lure of the chase would settle me. Kind of shitty, but men were pretty much the same. We couldn't really help it--our dicks led our brains and once satisfied, the fog cleared and we were able to think clearly again.

Still, I'd dreamed about her when I finally fell asleep. She was standing by the water, her beautiful dark hair spilling around her shoulders, looking at me with a gentle expression. As if I was important. It was a lake in my dreams--not an ocean--and the sunlight rippled over the water, and I stood before her, wanting to reach out and take her hand, wanting her to belong to me in every way possible, but I froze and didn't know if I could complete the gesture.

Then I woke up.

I concentrated on my tasks, set our course, and began to relax. I'd loved sailing from the first moment I'd set foot on my dad's boat. My parents taught me because it was expected, especially since they took large parties out for charity and business, but the moment I got on the water, I recognized a peace I rarely experienced. Most everything they forced me to do was for them. This was the only time I felt like sailing was just for me. Alone with my thoughts, with strict tasks to achieve direction, it was a melding of creativity and concreteness, a mix of nature and manmade instincts combined to create something close to perfection. Like my art.

I grabbed a bottle of Coke from the cooler and went to Quinn. She propped herself on the edge of the decking, looking out at the horizon, her ponytail swishing back and forth in the breeze. Her breasts were full and high, pushing against the stretchy black tank and begging for my fingers. I remembered how they felt against my chest, perfectly curved with hard nipples, like cherries on a sundae. The shorts barely covered her upper thighs, and my gaze kept sneaking back to the smooth skin and endless length of leg exposed. I imagined them wrapping around my hips and holding me tight. An odd protectiveness mixed with general lust and confused me. Usually things were so clear when I met a girl I intended to sleep with, but Quinn threw me out of whack from the very first meeting.

She looked up and I handed her a bottle of soda. A sweep of red streaked down her arm, and I frowned as I gently touched it. "Where's your sunscreen? You have to be careful; you'll burn easy out here." That milky white skin wasn't made for the Keys, and it was only gonna get sunnier..

Her voice came out husky, like she'd woken up. "In my bag."

The bottle lay on top of her bag, so I scooped it up and squeezed some into my hand. I rubbed the creamy lotion into her shoulders, making sure not to press too hard, and worked the stuff into her skin until the white had disappeared. She held still, not moving, and I took my time enjoying taking care of her, and the silky smoothness under my fingers. "Turn," I said roughly. She blinked and obeyed, and I slowly did her front, over the swell of her breasts, her neck, and knelt down in front of her. She sucked in her breath but didn't move, just waited for me to continue. Never breaking my gaze, I poured more lotion into my palm and lay my hands on her upper thighs where the shorts ended. She began chewing on that lush lower lip I so badly wanted to taste, but I kept moving, working down her sleek thighs, to her knees, calves, and even the top of her feet. With a final squeeze, I rose and stared into her eyes. "I'll reapply when we're ready to swim. Did you bring your suit?"

She nodded. Satisfaction coursed through me. At least she wanted me just as much, evident in her inability to mutter a word and the confused heat in her gorgeous chocolate eyes. I needed to pace myself for the day and not move too fast. I'd be happy to drag her into the cabin right now and keep her naked all day, but I bet that wouldn't go over too well.

At least, not yet.

"Uh-oh. What are you thinking? You look extremely...satisfied."

I grinned. "Really wanna know?"

Her cheeks grew pink. God, she was cute. "Never mind," she muttered. I couldn't help it. I laughed and pulled her into me, holding her tight. She relaxed in my arms like she belonged there and we held each other. When she finally broke away, I caught a worried gleam in her eyes. "How many girls have you taken sailing on break?" I knew she regretted the question by the way she chewed her lip, stuck out her chin, and pretended she didn't care about the answer.

Normally, I would've rolled my eyes and said whatever would make her happy. Women always wanted to know if they were special, or just one in a long line. Usually it was the latter, but the game rules were simple. Never admit it was temporary. Use present tense, make sure they felt safe, and at the end I could honestly say I never promised them a thing. That I never meant to be cruel or take advantage. I had played my part for so many years and been disappointed too many times to change the outcome. Either my friends, a girl, or my parents made me feel like shit, like they needed me to be something else. Smarter, richer, funnier. Better. So, I tried not to get too involved anymore with the outcome, because it always went to shit anyway. Be cool, I reminded myself. I had an instinct this woman had the ability to shred my barriers to pieces.

Instead, I did the worst thing possible. I told the truth.

"No one," I said. "I've taken out big groups a

nd my friends. But I've never sailed with just one girl before."

"Why?"

I blinked. Why hadn't I? My boat was a frickin' chick magnet, priming them to drop their panties. "Because I like coming out here alone," I admitted. "It's a place for me to think. Reset. I never thought a woman would fit out here before."

She didn't get mushy or reflect on further feelings. Quinn nodded and sat on the bench, stretching out her long legs and crossing them at the ankles. I reminded myself this was about her seduction, not mine. I settled beside her, lifting her legs and dropping them onto my lap. How the hell did she make Keds sexy? "Have you always lived in Chicago? Is that why you went to that particular university?"

"Yeah, I've lived there my whole life. Never really wanted to move, even though we don't have this." She swept her hand in the air to encompass blue sky and the rush of the water.

"You said you work in rehabilitation or something?"

"I have two jobs. I'm interning in an alcohol abuse program, and I work part time at a senior residence home."

I stared at her. "That's a lot of unglamorous work for someone so young."

She shrugged. "I have issues."

A laugh escaped my lips. She was a pisser. "What type?"

"Obsessive compulsive. Control freak. Classic codependent personality that I had to recover from. You know, some of the classics. What's yours?"

I thought for a minute. "Peter Pan syndrome. Poor little rich boy beliefs. Fear of success. Fear of rejection."

She gave me a thumbs-up sign. "Nice."

I grinned and shook my head. "Why are you a classic codependent?"

That shadow of darkness loomed, but she kept talking. "My dad's an alcoholic. My mom died of cancer when I was really young, and he never recovered. He always had a tendency to drink but kept it in check for my mom."

"How old were you?"

"Eight."

"God, that's young. I'm sorry, Quinn. Sucks the big one."

"Yeah." She seemed deep in thought for a while. I didn't push for more information, but I hoped she'd give me more. Imagining her as a child without a mother and having to take care of her dad was awful. "It started small at first. Beer at night, and I'd find the bottles in the morning. Missing work because he claimed he was sick. Got bad."