Rafe was walking out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh clothes, his T-shirt faintly damp against his skin, rubbing his hair with a towel when the corridor door opened and a tall, blond, very handsome man stood on the threshold.
Rafe smiled. “Jack, come on in. I looked for you earlier. Did you just get on board?”
“A few minutes ago,” Giacomino said, picking up his cue. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“No, have a drink with us.” Rafe dropped the towel on a chair, quickly finger combed his heavy hair and waved his cousin in. “I’ll introduce you to the ladies.”
Fiona and Nicole were seated beside each other on matching chairs upholstered in white duck hand-painted in a colorful Japanese dragon design.
Arriving from opposite directions, the men met at the chairs. Rafe lifted his hand briefly in his cousin’s direction. “Jack, may I present Nicole Parrish and Fiona”—he hesitated, and Nicole interjected, “Kelly”—“Fiona Kelly. Jack’s my cousin and his entire name is Prince Giacomino Franceschini-Santori, but he prefers Jack. Nicole, Fiona, Jack. There, that’s done.” Rafe smiled. “Now what does everyone want to drink?” He winked at Nicole and lowered his voice. “Another surprise for you?”
“Sure.” She held his gaze and spoke as softly. “I like surprises.”
A small hush fell, a faint frisson of anticipation ruffling the air, the ripe sense of opportunity palpable.
Fiona and Jack exchanged glances. “Would you like us to leave?” Jack asked. “We can find a drink on deck.” He moved to Fiona’s chair, held out his hand, and smiled with incredible charm. “Or if you’re tired of the crowd here, we could go somewhere else. Anywhere you like.”
As he pulled her to her feet, Fiona grinned. “Paris, Rome, Madrid?”
He looked down at her, his gray gaze amused. “Which one first?”
“God no, I was just kidding. But I couldn’t resist a line like that.” She did a little flutter of her fingers. “This—yachts and such—is rarified air for a girl from the suburbs.”
“Why don’t you two fly to Ibiza?” Rafe said, his gaze still on Nicole, wondering how one woman could make him so goddamn needy, thinking he’d never seen such flawless skin, a mouth as soft and pink. Feeling his erection begin to rise at the thought, he quickly said, “The nightlife and beaches there are prime. Take my Gulfstream. You’ve two more weeks of vacation, right?”
“Uh-uh—a month,” Fiona corrected.
Rafe shot her a sharp look over his shoulder then turned back to Nicole, the warmth in his eyes extinguished. “A couple of weeks?” There was a sudden hostile edge to his voice.
She stared right back. “You’d just explained your ice cube policy to me.” She shrugged. “I was giving myself options.”
His riveting eyes narrowed. “What makes you think you have options?”
“Fuck you,” she said through her teeth, starting to rise.
Moving with surprising speed, he shoved her back down with a stunningly soft push and, planting his palms on the chair arms, leaned in close. “Don’t be childish,” he said under his breath.
She glared at him. “I decide when I leave, okay?”
“Come on, kids, no fighting on a nice summer day,” Jack drawled.
Rafe silenced him with a raised palm.
“Really, I don’t need a protector, but thank you,” Nicole said into the electric silence, not a trace of anxiety in her expression. She smiled at Jack over Rafe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get our drinks while Rafe and I talk?”
Jack had recovered his equilibrium. “Only if you two promise to make up,” he said with a cheerful breeziness.
Rafe glanced at his cousin. “I’ll have a whiskey. Neat.”
That clipped tone didn’t suggest further conversation, nor did the prince’s large debt inspire him to persist. And when Nicole said, “The same for me, thanks,” Jack readily surrendered his conciliatory role.
As Fiona and Jack walked away, Rafe pulled up a matching hassock so close to Nicole’s chair her feet were in imminent danger. But before her alarm fully registered, Rafe slid his hand under her legs, lifted them, dropped the hassock, sat, and placed her feet in his lap.
Then, quietly infuriated, half hoping she’d resist, he leaned forward, slid his palms up her legs, her inner thighs, and when his thumbs came to rest on the flowered silk covering her crotch, he looked up and met her angry gaze. “I told you this isn’t a game,” he said, his voice taut with challenge, pressing his thumbs deeper. “Did you not get the message?”