Chapter Eleven
AIDAN
“No shade to St. George’s,” Morgan says as we pull up to the private beach on the point, “but that sleepy little town was a waste of time when we could have been here instead.”
“Yeah, I see why everyone says to go into Hamilton instead. Maybe we should head there tonight?”
She pulls her full lower lip between her teeth, and I have to glance over at the two boats anchored off the shore, so my body will stop reacting to every aspect of hers.
I honestly didn’t think this whole day through. The way she looked, sitting at the bow of the boat with the wind whipping around her as we navigated the channel on our way to St. George’s Harbour. Walking side by side on the narrow sidewalks of the town like we were a couple. The way I felt seeing her in my ball cap after she pulled it off my head and insisted she needed it to hold her hair off her face more than I did since I was under the shade of the Bimini.
And then, as we rode across Castle Harbour, she sat at the bow in nothing but her bikini and my hat, slathering sunscreen on herself. Her fear about being out on the water seems to havefaded, but I’ve kept the boat at a reasonable speed just to make sure she’s comfortable.
“I’m probably busy tonight,” she says.
Ouch.“Oh yeah, doing what?”
“Packing. My flight leaves really early tomorrow morning.”
Knowing that she’s brushing me off right now makes me wonder if it’s because she’s giving herself the same kind of reminders as I am. Based on what she said last night about not knowing how to act after finding out she’d fucked her stepbrother, I’m guessing that’s the case. But, there’s always the potential that she’s not interested, despite our chemistry the other night.
I cut the engine so we don’t get any closer to the shore. It’s amazing how quickly the water changes depth and color here as the islands—essentially a collection of coral reefs in the middle of the Atlantic—jut out of the water.
Coming around the helm, I head toward the bow, wanting to get the anchor down while we’re still far enough away that we won’t drift into the other boats anchored nearby.
Morgan moves aside, watching me as I pull the anchor out, hold it by the chain, and toss it toward the shore, then pull slightly to make sure it’s hooked into the sand below. “Are we swimming to the beach?”
“We’re shallow enough right here that I think you can just walk in.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Says the guy who’s over six feet tall.”
“Happy to throw you over my shoulder again if necessary.”
She looks like she’s going to say something, then thinks better of it, but it’s hard to tell for sure with her sunglasses on and the brim of my hat shading most of her face.
“You’ll be too busy carrying the cooler and our bags,” she says, finally.
She bends forward to grab her bag from the deck, and goddamn, that bathing suit barely covers half her ass.
I don’t know why I’m so attracted to her—why every curve of her body has me turned on, why her laughter makes me feel lighter, why her smile makes me happy. Her generally sunny disposition is a brightness that I’ve never thought I wanted in my life.
And that you can’t have, I remind myself.
I turn away, annoyed that I have to keep reminding myself that she’s my stepsister and I shouldn’t want her... that Idon’twant her.
This isn’t because I’ve fucked her. I’ve fucked a lot of women without the desire for a repeat performance, without being unable to focus on anyone but them afterward.
Stepsister.I grind out the reminder in my head.
I grab the soft-sided cooler that’s packed with drinks and lunch and set it on the seat with a bit more force than necessary. My voice is terse when I say, “I’m going to jump in. You can hand me the cooler and our bags and I’ll carry them to shore.”
“Yes, sir!” Her tone is mocking, but goddamn do I like those words coming off her lips.
I step in and the water only comes up to my chest, so I take my aviators off and hold them above my head while I dunk under. Then I stand and shake my head to get the excess water out of my hair before putting my sunglasses back on. When I look up at Morgan, she’s taken my hat off. Her hair is loose, falling in long waves well past her shoulders, but with her sunglasses still on, I can’t tell if she’s looking at me or the beach.
She lifts the cooler, using her knee to brace herself on the edge of the boat as she bends to lower it to me. From my vantage point, I have a fantastic view of her almost spilling out of the triangle top of her yellow bikini. To stop myself from thinking about how her breasts felt in my hands, how her nipplespeaked under my thumbs, I focus on balancing the cooler on my shoulder and holding the two bags she passes to me above my head so they don’t get wet.
She’s right about her needing to swim to shore, and once we’re there, our towels spread out on the beach far away from the two families that are also here, she pulls bottles of premixed cocktails, flavored waters, containers with dips and finger foods, and individually wrapped sandwiches from the cooler. Then she glances up at me, smirking as she says, “This is a fancy- ass picnic.”
