But this departure from Baxter leaves the Tickle offices without any senior management in the building, with Atlas Prideaux, the life of the Tickle party, having returned to California. Word on the inside says tension is simmering between the two richest Australians under thirty …
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Cheating
HENRY
We’d been sailing steadily north in international waters for two sunny, delightful, somewhat-torturous days.
Delightful because the weather was utterly incredible for May. I’d found myself abandoning my computer and the new features I was developing for Tickle and heading to the upper deck, where Ri alternated between basking in the sun and lolling about on the shady outdoor lounge.
Torturous because Ri was basking in the sun and lolling about in a bikini. The tiny thing was practically begging to be untied and peeled from her perfect body. I longed to see the tan lines those tiny straps would leave on her skin. Longed to run my tongue along them.
“I wish I could use the swim spa,” she sighed, rousing me from my dirty thoughts. She reached for the bottle of sunscreen on the table and propped her legs up, smearing the white cream down her toned calf. “I was just getting into a routine again with my training.”
“Why—” I cleared my raspy throat— “Why can’t you?”
“Josie says it’s too dangerous while we’re cruising.” She moved her palm up, massaging sunscreen into her thighs. My jaw went slack. And when she parted her legs to smear the cream along her inner thighs, I stood abruptly and marched to the bow.
My pants were too tight, and my head was filled with a plethora of bad ideas. Bad ideas about breaking the rules again … and again, and again.
I needed to think about something else.
“Have you changed your mind about the Olympics?” I asked, keeping my back to her, hiding my very physical reaction.
“I still think they’ll always remain a dream.” Was her voice closer? Oh God, was she coming over here, smelling like warm summery skin while I was battling a monstrous erection?
“But I was talking to Levi … you remember, the rower we met that first time at the pool? I’ve seen him and his partner a few times now.”
I nodded jerkily. Her voice was very close now.
“And he suggested the Masters Games. Can you please get my back?”
I stiffened, slowly turning. She was facing away from me, thank God. But the sight of her, with nothing but a thin Lycra tie between me and her bare back, was doing nothing to reduce the blood flow to my groin.
She pulled her mane of honey hair to the side, exposing the elegant column of her neck. My mouth went dry. With hands that shook, I took the bottle of sunscreen from her, squirted some into my palm, and rubbed them together to warm the lotion. No one enjoyed the shock of cold cream on their skin.
My brain conjured up an image of her skin rising into goosebumps, her perfect pink nipples puckering from the sudden chill.
I bit back a groan and began massaging the cream into her shoulders, which seemed like the safest place to start. She let out a tiny squeak, tilting her head to the side. Her bikini ties swayed with the movement, practically begging me to tug them loose.
My hands slowly slid lower, between her shoulder blades. Her skin was like silk beneath my palms.
“Don’t forget to go under the strap, Henry,” she mumbled. “That’s where I always burn if I’m not careful.”
Swallowing heavily, I did as I was told, tucking my fingers under the tiny scrap of fabric.
“This would make fantastic Tickle content,” I mumbled, dazed,and aroused, and slowly dipping my hands lower, towards the little dimples in her lower back that rested just above her perfect?—
“I got rid of my Tickle account,” she admitted. “I mean, if you meant that as a suggestion.”
“I know.”
She stepped away from me before my hand reached the waistband of her low cut bikini bottoms. “Of course you know,” she teased, the grin that lit up her face not quite meeting her wary eyes. “You’re my stalker, after all.”
I tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “I will say, I miss learning Romanian from your nail painting videos.”
She rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed. “If you want to learn Romanian, Hubby, all you need to do is ask.”
