Victoria’s Secret Wish(58)

“What’s wrong?” Vic stood in the doorway wearing her little black bikini, holding the laptop. So that was why she’d been inside.

Screw the pain relief. He wanted answers, and turned on her. “How. Does. Carmyn. Know?”

She stepped into the room, clutched the computer against her side. Sighed. “Oh, that. She guessed that morning we told her we were sick.” Right, because sick automatically meant having a three-way. “She came over here unannounced, to check on us, and you were in the shower. The rest, she figured out on her own.”

He must be red; he felt hot all over. Embarrassed? Afraid. Scared to fucking death this would get out. Then what?

“You have nothing to worry about,” she said. “Carmyn’s not going to tell anybody.”

“Nothing to worry about?” he choked out. “You don’t get it, Vic. Swimming is all I’ve got. And if this gets out–if I lose my sponsors–then I’ve got nothing at all. So don’t tell me I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“I just meant she’s trustworthy. Really. Britt and I wouldn’t want it out, either. I mean–”

“Britt and you run a fucking sex resort. People expect this sort of thing from you. Hell, it’d probably help your business. Maybe you want it to get out.”

She sucked in her breath, and dropped the laptop onto the bed. Her fists went to her hips. “Are you accusing me of trying to use you–this–us–to increase business?”

Fuck, she was gorgeous, pissed. Shining green eyes, pink cheeks. Would she slap him? Was he terminally whacked in the head for wanting her to?

“No. But I obviously have more at stake here.”

She shook her head. “Maybe you’d better decide whether we’re worth it.”

He should let her leave, pack his shit and split before this big secret got out. Walk away without looking back. When her right hand left her hip and went for the computer, he grabbed her arm, pulled her toward him. He shook, certain he’d live to regret this. Closed his eyes, searching. There had to be a right answer somewhere. How could this one thing outweigh the risk of losing everything else?

“I can’t promise nobody will ever find out about us.” Her voice was soft against his neck, her hands warm on his pecs. “God knows, we have a security issue on this ship. All I can tell you is, I’d trust Carmyn with my life. But I can’t tell you what to do.” Carefully, but without hesitation, she pried his fingers from her arm then stepped back, picked up the laptop and headed out the door.

Let her go.

He couldn’t.

He reached her in two steps and spun her around, backed her against the wall. Delaying the inevitable.

It didn’t matter, with her lips under his, her tongue meeting his, her free arm around his neck hanging onto him as hard as he hung onto her.

When they finally came up for air, she shifted the computer and brushed her finger along his lips. “Somebody’ll be looking for us soon.”

“Probably.”

“But before we go out there, I need to ask you…are those my underwear?”

He let his forehead hit the wall, squeezed his eyes shut. Didn’t need to turn around to see the purple sticking out of his bag. “Yes.” He squeaked like some damn thirteen-year-old.

She nodded, her ear brushing his neck.

God, was she going to say anything else? Apparently not. “If you want them back–”

“No. Keep them.”

Sometimes, Vic understood too much.

She hefted the laptop up. “Moment of reckoning. Britt’s demanding to read the blog.”

The fucking blogger. One more thing for him to worry about. What if somebody ID’d him?

For now, Vic needed his support. She was sure Britt would go through the ceiling when he read this latest installment–which they’d already seen before breakfast.

He followed her outside, where she set up the computer and pretended to read for the first time.



Day 5 aboard FCS did not disappoint. My 1-line summary: The couple that plays together, stays together.

Boys and girls, I’ve got to start with the gritty gossip today. I see a high-profile celebrity divorce in our future. And you read it here first. The Grants appear to have gone their separate ways. While Sir Brett drank the day away and gambled his wife’s considerable fortune–albeit in her casino, where she’ll probably get the money back in any case–Victoria spent the day working and frequenting her old haunts–namely, Rafe Wyndham, who claims “Victoria and I have remained, and shall always be, quite close. Intimate, in fact.” Though Rafe tried to coax her into a dance during intermission at the strip-off, Victoria wasn’t quite ready to go public with their born-again relationship. And how embarrassing for her, after all–her legally-wed, meanwhile, spent the day with a certain mancandy nobody at his elbow. Who is this new boytoy friend of Brett’s?