NautiCal (Forever Wilde 8)

Nat glanced over at him before grinning. “Not at all. The more, the merrier. I didn’t know Worth had met anyone in St. Thomas. But that was five years ago. You couldn’t have been more than…”

“I look a lot younger than I am,” Cal said smoothly, moving over to make room for Nat. “Supposedly, it will come in handy one day, but for now, I’m used to being mistaken for a twelve-year-old.” He winked at her, and I felt my heart rate kick up a notch.

“Why weren’t you at dinner?” Nat asked. I could see the confusion on her face. I wasn’t known for spontaneous decisions. This was also originally planned as a sibling bonding trip, and I’d given her hell for wanting to bring her own girlfriends with us.

I opened my mouth to stammer out some kind of excuse, but Cal beat me to it.

“I wasn’t in great shape, I’m afraid. I asked if I could sneak away for a nap to sleep off a hangover.” Then the charming fucker actually blushed. “I, ah, stayed out too late last night drinking with Martha and Bix Gerrywell. Those two have an Oyster 565. Most beautiful girl in the harbor at St. Mitz. Did you see it? Sixty-foot sailing yacht with twin rudders, flush decks, and the optional center board for shallow sailing. Gah! If your sweet brother here hadn’t begged me to join you this week, I would have jumped at the chance to head to the Caymans with them. The Marthine is gorgeous under sail, especially with the purple spinnaker.”

There had been no sixty-foot sailing yacht in the harbor when we’d left the docks, but my sister wouldn’t know that.

I lifted an eyebrow at him and joined him in his charade just to see his reaction. “Well, you would have been bored to tears considering Martha and Bix spend their entire time on board playing solitaire and discussing agriculture futures.”

Cal’s nostrils widened as he bit back a smirk. “I love a good agriculture future, Worthie. You know that.”

I coughed into my fist and turned to look out the window at the pitch-black water.

“Anyway,” Cal continued. “I was just getting ready to hop in a quick shower before raiding the fridge. Would you like to join me for a glass of wine? Your brother said he’d break out the best chardonnay for me if I agreed to sleep on deck this week.”

Nat shot me a look. “For god’s sake. Inviting him here, then putting him on the deck? The king of the yacht can’t deign to share his giant stateroom with an old friend? Shame on you, Worth. This bed is plenty big enough to share.” She smiled at Cal. “You’ll sleep in here with my brother or he can sleep on deck.”

Cal’s smile dropped. “No, I—”

“Of course he’ll sleep in here,” I said, trying not to think of how much money I’d paid for this ship, even if it had been a “gift.” All that money and now I was bunking with a smooth-talking stranger.

Cal’s head snapped to face me, and he looked horrified. “No. That’s not… no. I’m very happy sleeping on deck. I’m a sailor, I…”

I held up a hand and turned back to Nat. “Cal and I have it under control. Don’t worry. In the meantime, he’s going to hop in the shower and meet us upstairs for something to eat.” I flicked my head from Cal to the bathroom, and he hopped up to scurry in and close the door.

I led Nat out of the room and up the stairs to the galley while I tried desperately not to picture Cal’s perfect young body naked in my shower. I was absolutely not falling for the tempting morsel. My one job on this trip was to try and reconnect with Lucas and Natalia while supposedly celebrating my brother’s engagement. And if I could convince Lucas that he deserved better than a gold-digging user like Prescott Resnick, that would be a bonus. But if I fell under the spell of another man-child who no doubt had his own gold-digging tendencies, as evidenced by Cal’s willingness to fuck a man like Prescott just for a chance to get on a yacht, then I would no longer have a leg to stand on.

Cal was a tool. Nothing more.

3

Cal

As soon as I stepped under the hot spray in the luxurious tiled shower, I let out a shaky breath. How did I get myself into these situations? Jonathan Worthington had looked every bit the yacht owner which only served to illustrate what an idiot I was for believing that Prescott prick was the one who actually owned something so refined and elegant. I normally had a preference for boats with sails, but ever since spotting the Worthington in the harbor the other day, I’d drooled over its clean lines and sparkling presence.