For 100 Days (100 1)

I know he wants me right now too. I can see it in his eyes. I hear it in the rising tempo of his breathing. I can feel it in the electric charge of the air between us, so potent and palpable it makes my nipples tighten and sends goose bumps prickling to life on my bare arms. My gaze drifts downward, and it’s no surprise to find his erection straining against the dark fabric of his shorts.

He wants me, but, damn him, he’s going to make me wait.

He lifts my chin and gives me a brief, teasing kiss. “Pour the wine, baby. I’ll decide over dinner just how far I’m going to take you tonight.”

~ ~ ~

We enjoy Nick’s pasta primavera and our bottle of wine by candlelight at the fold-out table in the cockpit, canopied by a black velvet sky pierced with countless stars. The meal is wonderful, the evening tranquil and warm, yet I spend all of it in a state of heightened anticipation of what awaits me once it’s over.

Each glance he sends my way kicks my pulse into a harder tempo. Every time he reaches over to refill my glass or brushes his fingers across mine, the embers still smoldering in my core leap to new life, fueling the wet heat between my thighs and making me fidget on the cushioned seat across from him.

And because he knows me so well, I don’t think for a minute that Nick isn’t aware of my restless curiosity. Or my need. No, he’s enjoying every second of it.

I can’t take the tension or the wondering, and if I think about being naked and at his mercy for another moment, I’m going to scream. Either that, or combust on the spot.

I shake my head when he offers me the last of the wine after we finish our meal. “I’d better not. We both know I tend to do reckless things when I’ve had too much to drink.”

He smirks. “Like leaving art exhibits with a man you just met?”

“Yes, there is that. And then running away with him to Miami and sailing off on a whim to points unknown.”

“I happen to know exactly where we are,” he says, pouring the rest of the Pinot Grigio into his glass. “You have nothing to worry about as long as you’re with me.”

I laugh. “Oh, I seriously doubt that’s true.”

He cocks his head, a frown creasing his forehead. “Are you worried now?”

“No.” I lick my lips, watching him in the low light of the guttering candle, his sculpted features and square jaw cast in shadows and harsh angles. Dominic Baine is profanely handsome, infinitely seductive. In his expensive, tailored suits and polished luxury, he is the epitome of elegance and class. Tonight, dressed only in his shorts, with his short black hair windswept and wild, his jaw grizzled with the first rough hints of his beard, he is jagged and beautiful, a dark, wicked angel.

And right now—in this place, in this moment—he is mine.

Looking at him now, after our day together on the water and our romantic dinner alone on the boat, I can almost forget that he’s a titan of the corporate world with a net worth that exceeds the economy of a small country.

I can almost forget that I’ve been warned to be careful around him, to protect my heart.

That if I’m foolish enough to get too close, he’ll only cut me loose like he has so many others before me.

It isn’t until I think of them—the women who came, and went, before me—that doubt begins to seep under my skin, despite his earlier reassurances about Kathryn, at least. My pleasant bubble broken, I glance away from his stare, turning my head to look out at the glistening black water and the smattering of lights that glow on the key across the bay.

“How long have you had the Icarus?” I ask him, desperate for conversation that won’t have me wondering when he’s going to make love to me again or how many other women might have found themselves seated in this same place with him.

“I had her built eleven years ago. I was twenty-two and had just gotten my first taste of success in real estate investment. Needless to say, I was hooked.”

I glance at him and find him leaning back in his seat, his wineglass held loosely in his hand. He looks so young like this, almost carefree. I can’t help but smile. “And now here you are, thirty-three years old and two-point-four billion later.” I see the flicker of surprise chase across his features and I flush with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t know that about you unless you wanted to tell me. My friend, Tasha, looked you up online without asking me first and relayed some of the highlights.”

“The friend in Queens with the new baby?”

“Yeah. Tasha was also with me when I almost crashed into you in the lobby elevator.”

Nick’s brows lift. “Was she? Funny, I don’t recall anyone else once I saw you.”

It’s blatant flattery, but, coming from him, I’m not entirely immune. I don’t even try to hold back my smile. “Tasha thought you were arrogant. She didn’t want to like you, but I think you may have won her over with the bouquet you sent for Zoe’s baptism several weeks ago.”

“Actually, I was aiming to win over a different woman that day.” He finishes off his wine and sets the glass down on the table. “So what other internet highlights did Tasha share with you about me?”

I shrug. “Only that you’re very successful. And that you’re known for how fiercely you guard your privacy.”

“Dominic Baine, ‘the shadow mogul,’” he says, sounding vaguely amused. But I know him too well to be fooled by his casual dismissal. He’s irritated by his public reputation. He’s defensive. “If there’s one thing the press can’t stand, it’s someone who refuses to dance in their spotlight. Then t