Docked (14 page)

His head falls forward and he bites back a moan, pressing his lips tightly together as he rocks his hips. The moisture between my thighs a moment ago is nothing now that he’s on top of me, beating his cock between his fist. I’m soaking, more desperate than ever to feel him deep, filling me completely. Wet, hot warmth spreads over my chest, and Tanner’s waist jerks, his hips rocking fast. All of his control cracks. He convulses above me, dropping to rest on his other palm. His eyes are fixed on my breasts, waiting until he empties himself completely on me before he looks up, meeting my hazy gaze.

He bends down to whisper in my ear. “Fucking beautiful.” We both shift as the bedroom doorknob jiggles. The rattle ceases and hushed laughter sounds from the other side of the door. Tanner turns back to me, staring down with laughter in his eyes.

“Looks like you’ll be doing the walk of shame, Mr. Christensen,” I chuckle.

“My cock is satisfied, I can still taste your pussy, and I’ve marked you.” He places his palm on my chest and smears the sticky wetness around with a pleased smirk. “No shame in that, baby.”

I blanch. Why, oh
why
, has no man ever talked to me this way? I feel as if I’ve been eating fast food for the past nine years when I could’ve been eating freshly prepared gourmet. Deprivation should be a sin. “Lana is merciless. I hope it was worth it.”

“Oh, it was most certainly worth it.” He plants a kiss on my lips and hops up to button his pants and lift his suit jacket from the floor. “See you this evening, Miss Banks?”

“It’s a date.” I lean up to sit on my elbows. “I’m still getting my interview, right?”

“Well, you’ve spread your legs for me…” He looks up to the ceiling thoughtfully, fastening his top button. I launch a pillow at him. It smacks him in the stomach and a quirk of his lips gives away his poorly restrained sarcasm.

I smile. “Go on, get out. Your services are no longer needed.”

“We’ll see about that.” He slings his suit jacket over his shoulder, turning coolly on his heel for the door. I hear him greet Lana and Brie cordially, his tone instantly shifting back into business mode. They greet him back, and much to my surprise, Lana doesn’t deliver any sharp retort to the man. I scramble off the bed and pluck my bikini from the floor, then dart into the bathroom to wash up. I have no idea what I’ll learn tonight about Tanner Christensen, the successful cruise ship owner, but I do know an important fact already, one that makes my head swim and my toes curl.

He knows how to satisfy me in ways no man ever has.

SEVEN

My light blue cocktail dress hits just above my knees, and I’ve finished off the look with a pair of cream peep-toe pumps. My hair is tossed up into a loose, sexy up-do, and my make-up is light and natural. Since boarding the ship this evening, I’ve managed to make a pit stop at our cabin to change and make a list of interview questions for Tanner. I’m determined to have my questions answered before he sweeps me off to his place. I know the minute we make it through his door, I’ll be caught in his seductive web, so it’s imperative I pry the information from him before the champagne begins to flow.

I left Lana and Brie to their food fest back at the cabana, and I told them not to wait up. After Tanner left this morning, they both pestered me for details, but I didn’t divulge much. It was much too fun torturing them. If all goes as planned, I’ll wake deliciously sore and relaxed in Tanner’s bed in the morning, and then head back to the island for a lazy day in the sun at his beach house.

The hostess greets me with menus in hand as I enter the posh restaurant.

“I’m meeting someone,” I say with a polite smile. “Tanner Christensen?”

Her eyes widen and she grins brightly. “Oh! Of course. Miss Banks, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way, please.” She gestures for me to follow and takes the lead, directing me around a corner and along a bar, stopping when she reaches a corner booth. It’s very private, tucked away and shrouded in a cusp of dark green foliage, its seats ink-black leather. Tanner sees me and stands, adjusting his baby blue tie. His eyes rake down my body and a pleased smile curls his mouth on one side.

“That color is stunning on you,” he says, extending a hand to help me scoot into the booth.

“We match.”

“That we do.” He raises a finger to gesture to the nearby waitress and she comes scuttling over, looking as flustered as I felt the moment Tanner first welcomed me into his bedroom.

“It’s a pleasure to serve you tonight, Mr. Christensen. What can I bring you?”

“Miss Banks will take your finest red, please, and I’ll have the same.” He nods to me, and the waitress quickly acknowledges me, nodding her head.

“Yes, sir. Coming right up, Miss Banks.”

“Thank you,” I say, slipping my napkin onto my lap. I cross my legs and my stomach does somersaults. I’ve obeyed his instructions—no panties, easy access. But I’m just as giddy about the interview, that I’m going to get to pick Tanner Christensen’s brain. I reach for my notepad from my clutch and click my pen. “Shall we start?” Tanner leans back, his arms falling casually onto his lap. He watches me, face earnest, eyes churning with something I can’t quite make out. “Or would you rather eat first?”

“Are you bare? Under that dress.”

“Yes.” I gulp and set the notepad down. I click my pen again.

His sapphire irises simmer, darkening as they assess me. “Good. You kept your word, I’ll keep mine.”

“Then I’d like to begin.”

“Shoot, Miss Banks. I’m all yours.” He reaches for his glass of water and takes a sip, settling back against the leather seat. His strong shoulders are distracting, contoured to his suit jacket, which fits him impeccably.

“Why were you once afraid of the ocean?”

He gingerly sets his water down and swallows. A stretch of silence spreads between us. “It reminded me of all of the things I didn’t want to be.”

I begin scribbling on my notepad, absorbing his response. “What didn’t you want to be? Elaborate.”

“Some things are better left to sleep, Miss Banks.”

“Tanner,” I roll my head slightly and look up, “you promised.”

“I promised you an interview, and I’m granting you one. I never specified what I would and would not discuss.”

“You were very specific. You said you’d tell me the reason over dinner.”

He licks his lips and wipes a hand over his jaw, where a sheen of stubble is beginning to grow. It’s sexy yet starkly unnatural for a man who always appears so clean cut. “Let me ask you something, Miss Banks. Were you ever afraid of something as a child—afraid of the dark, for example—and then found that the dark follows you? That fear, that thing, whatever it was you were afraid of, somehow morphed into something else the longer it had power over you. As time went on, it was no longer just the dark you were afraid of. It was no longer that simple. Instead it spread, until eventually everything and anything that even subtly reminded you of that fear also became a threat. New fears were bred from a single one, and the problem suddenly became much worse because of it. Can you relate to that in any way?”

I study him for a moment, the way his fingers tap and trace the bottom of his water glass, the way his arm rests on the table, so poised, so controlled. “Sure, I guess.”

“Then you can understand why I choose not to revisit the subject. Why I choose not to elaborate. I refuse to talk about it anymore because talking about it gives it power.”

“I disagree.”

“How so?”

“Holding it in is what gives it power.”

“It seems we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

I wiggle my dress down my thighs and shift, blowing out a breath. “If by your own admission you’ve conquered that fear, though—owned it, as you said before—then what’s the harm in discussing it further?”

“Owning it means acknowledging I have control over what I do with it. And I choose to put it away. It’s been dealt with. It’s right where it belongs.” His jaw hardens and hackles raise, and tension snaps like a rubber band between us, slapping me in the face.

“I see.” My voice is quiet.

“Anya,” he grips his water glass, jaw still hard, “don’t you have anything in your life that you’ve had to put away?” My chin lifts and our eyes lock, and the way he holds me there tells me he’s talking about the accident.

“I’m working on it.”

“It takes time.”

“Yes.”

His baby blues lose their sharpness and his voice thaws, the cold edge gone. “Trust me when I tell you that the moment you shut that door, you won’t ever want to reopen it.”

The waitress returns with our wine and a basket of bread, giving us a moment of relief. We order our entrees and as soon as she disappears, I decide to move on to my next question. “What made you want to get involved in this line of work? How did you become Tanner Christensen?”

“The Trident Voyager was my father’s ship. When he passed away, I took over. I love to travel. Always have. It was an easy decision.” He averts his gaze and breaks a piece of bread apart.

“Out of the many places the ship has docked, which port has been your favorite? Where has been your favorite place to travel?”

“The Mediterranean,” he answers immediately. “Greece.”

My heart swells. “I haven’t been.”

“But you want to go.” He eyes me closely.

“More like I’m dying to go.” I take a piece of bread for myself. “It’s so expensive. A girl can dream, though, right?”

“You work for a travel magazine. I’m sure you can make it happen.”

“Ha,” I spread some butter on the bread, “you don’t know Ted. He runs a tight budget as it is. It’s a miracle Lana was able to talk him into allowing me to come along on this cruise. I can’t afford it on my own. Not for a while, anyway.”

“Where have you traveled, Miss Banks?”

“I backpacked through parts of Europe. With Lana, during college. Other than that, nowhere, really.”

“That’s much more than many people see in a lifetime. Good for you.”

“It was the happiest time of my life.” A veil of sadness slips over me and I feel my smile fade as I take a bite.

“Why do you say that as if you’ve lost something?”

“I haven’t.” I shrug. “I suppose I just miss feeling free.”

“You don’t feel free now?”

I want to say
not since the accident
, but that wouldn’t be entirely true. I’ve felt plenty free since the accident, but not in the same way I did during my college years. Not like when I was traveling through Europe. My days now consist of sitting in an office and daydreaming about all of the places I long to be, while others actually get to
be
there. “Not in the same way I did in my early twenties. But that’s normal. No big deal.”

“Do you enjoy your job?” He sips his wine.

“Oh, I enjoy it.”

“But you don’t love it.”

“We can’t all love what we do.”

“I strongly disagree.”

I laugh and take another bite of bread. “Easy for you to say. You inherited this. It suits you.”

Tanner sets his butter knife down and his eyes turn icy, like glaciers. “You think because I’m a wealthy man, everything is perfect for me?”

“That’s not what I meant. But while we’re on the subject, yes, it seems you live quite the charmed life. Traveling the world, sleeping with beautiful women, more money than you know what to do with…” I smile knowingly and reach for my wine. “Isn’t that every young bachelor’s dream?”

“It has its perks,” he responds sternly, “but make no mistake, Miss Banks. It comes with a price.”

My smile falls, and I feel the tension bubble between us. I can’t understand what has him so touchy. It feels as if I’m walking on eggshells. “Tanner,” I reply softly, “I’m only teasing.”

He changes the subject, adjusting his tie. “If you could do something different, what would you do? I would think that working for a travel publication is a dream job for someone who loves to travel.”

I watch him carefully. “Lana wants this,” I explain, rolling my shoulder. “To write about the places she visits. It’s what she’s passionate about. I don’t want to write about my experience with the places.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I want to write about the people. The businesses, the culture, the people behind it all. The essence of the place, not the place. I don’t want to describe the architecture and comment on the quality of the food service, I want to write about the chef, want to know how long it took him to make the meal with his bare hands. Where the recipe came from and how it was passed down. Who made the building he’s serving meals in. Whether the establishment is family owned. I want to shake the hands of the people that create the experience. I want the heartbeat of the place, the grit. The blood, sweat, and tears.” I manage to take a breath, silently thanking the heavens when the waitress arrives. I’ve just gone on a tangent, and Tanner is looking at me as if he’s just laid eyes on me for the first time.

As if I’m unrecognizable.