Page 73 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

He held her pinned to the wall with the press of his body, at first, his hands being busy checking out those pebbly nipples under her shirt that was pushed up to her shoulders by now.

Her hands were busy, too, tugging his T-shirt over his head.

Hers was suddenly gone, too.

How did that happen?

Ah! Skin against skin.

More rubbing.

Stars. Not in the sky but behind his closed eyelids.

He put his hands under her buttocks to lift her higher.

She locked her heels behind his ass.

The long slow strokes in her hot folds soon became short and fast. The wet sounds of the slip and slide was the best kind of aphrodisiac, music to a horny sailor’s ears. He tried to slow their rhythm with his hold on her bottom, but she was having none of that and undulated her hips, demanding, “More! Harder! Harder! Oh! Oh! Damn!”

Damn was right. Hot damn!

He shot his wad in a bone-melting conclusion that was pure ecstasy. For a moment, he remained, unmoving, limp but remaining inside her weaker and weaker spasming folds as her climax ran its course. Only belatedly did he realize that he hadn’t used a condom, but then she’d told him previously that she was on the pill. Even so, Merrill hadn’t been so careless in years, if ever. This woman was driving him bonkers. In a good way.

Before he released himself, and her, he leaned his head back and said, “I love you, Delilah Jones.” He just wanted to make it clear that while he might have come on like a raving sex maniac, at heart—well, she had his heart.

She didn’t repeat the words back at him, but she did put a hand to his cheek in a kind of loving manner and she did look like she loved him.

Still . . .

Chapter 15

Dum, dee, dum, dum! Trouble coming, and it’s not sharks . . .

For the next five days, excitement was the name of the game on Sweet Bells, and Delilah couldn’t help but be caught in the wave of euphoria. But finally they were going to return to Bell Cove for a much-needed refueling, “flushing” out sewage, laundry, resupplying food and other products, and general maintenance.

In the midst of all the excitement, Delilah was still worried about her grandmother and Maggie, whom she hadn’t seen for ten days now. Even though her grandmother assured her that she was doing nothing illegal and promised to be more low-key, Delilah wasn’t convinced. Her grandmother wouldn’t know low-key if it hit her in her fool, Avon-powdered face.

And speaking—or rather thinking—of a different kind of excitement, and, yes, I mean that kind, Delilah was conflicted over her “relationship” with Merrill, whom she couldn’t seem to resist. Dammit! First, he’d plagued her with constant interference in her life. Can anyone say neon Elvis? Then he plagued her with his tempting body. What was it they said about Navy SEALs and sexual prowess? Multiply it by ten for my horny sailor.

And another ten for horny ex-felons. In Merrill’s defense—not that he needed her defense—she was as bad as he was when it came to sex. Which he would probably consider a plus. Bad sex, that was. As in wild, spontaneous, uninhibited, good time anytime. Yikes!

Five years of celibacy were apparently taking their toll on her in terms of a sudden, ravenous hunger for the age-old game—with Merrill, anyhow. As evidenced by that wallbanger in the wheelhouse five nights ago. Or in the shower stall midafternoon two days ago when everyone had been up on deck. Or in his bed last night where he constantly had to caution her, with a laugh, to be quieter in her responses. And those weren’t the only times! Dammit! Or should that be, Shame on me!

Or, Shame on him!

Or, What the hell . . . Hail to the Big O!

Merrill kept telling her that he loved her, but how could that be, when he didn’t really know her? Fearing the worst, when—or if—he ever found out, she withheld her own words of love, which she knew hurt him. But how could she do otherwise? With the weight of her secret past holding her back, she wasn’t free to love anyone.

Care, though—oh, yes, she did care for him. A lot! And lust after him like some kind of crazed sex addict. Maybe her grandmother’s gambling gene had carried over to her, manifesting itself in her hormones, instead of deft card shuffling fingers or a slot machine arm. Now, there’s a thought!

Next I’ll be on Dr. Phil. Confessions of a felonious blonde bimbo sex addict who cooks, treasure hunts, and runs an Elvis motel and diner on the side.

Her only saving grace was that she kept busy most of the time. When she wasn’t cooking or serving meals, or taking care of housekeeping duties, she was assigned the job of cleaning the silver and gold. Bonita and Famosa, whoever was available at the time, worked on the more sensitive metals and artifacts, which started to deteriorate once exposed to air.

Their success so early was attributed to Merrill’s reputation for good luck. Apparently it took some treasure hunters months, even years, to recover a shipwreck. Sometimes, they never found the ship they were searching for, or even died in the process.

But those on Sweet Bells . . . Holy cow! Every time the divers went down, they returned with overladen bags of gold and silver coins and occasionally bronze and copper, as well, attached to their belts. Francs, centimes, and livres of the 1850s and 1860s. Finally, they started sending baskets down with the divers that they could fill to heavier limits, and those on board lifted them more easily, compared to the bags attached to the divers’ belts.