Page 96 of Flirting with Trouble

Chapter Twenty-Four

Victory

Wells doesn’t have a boat. He has a small yacht, and he looks supremely comfortable piloting it out of the harbor, as if he goes boating every day. His thick hair lifts in the breeze, his sunglasses hiding his eyes. His eyes have become one of my favorite things about him. They say so much more than words ever could. Although he is very good with words. The memory of making love in the shower that morning, along with all the dirty things he said, brings a rush of heat.

I look back at the marina, taking in the boats and wooden buildings, his restaurant anchoring the harbor with its rustic charm and dockside service. It’s an impressive establishment, and I loved seeing it through Wells’s eyes as he showed me around, and meeting his work family. It was easy to see his kindness was genuine as he joked with the staff and took the time to talk with them. He knew a lot about their lives and made a point to ask about them—family, friends, an outing they’d gone on.

I turn my attention back to the big-hearted man who brought his mother flowers and played prince for his sister, and I can’t imagine him not being genuine in anything he does. Yet I know he had to pretend as a child, and now I understand just how hard that must have been for him.

“You have quite a life here, Mr. Silver.” I lean against his side and kiss his shoulder. He’s wearing a gray tank top and shorts, and his skin is warm from the sun. “You fully embraced Olivier’s advice and built a life you wouldn’t need a vacation from. Thank you for taking the time to share it with me.” We have the whole weekend ahead of us, and I’m already wishing we had more time.

“I’ve been wanting to share it with you for weeks.”

We chat as the harbor disappears behind us, and Wells tells me about each of the boroughs on the island. Ritzy Silver Haven, where he grew up; artistic Chaffee, which doesn’t allow cars; and the old-school New England fishing towns, Rock Harbor, where his restaurant is located, and Seaport, where Wells has been going for community breakfasts since he was a little boy.

“The next community breakfast is in two weeks,” he says. “Would you like to come back and go with me?”

“I would love to.” Something happened when I shared my secrets with him. It’s like every word I said carried some of that bottled-up guilt, depleting me of it. Clearing a path for a new beginning. “What’s our plan for today?”

“I thought we’d get some sun while we boat around the island and then stop in Chaffee to find you an outfit for the wedding. We can have dinner there, and after the bonfire, we’ll anchor the boat in Lover’s Cove for the night.”

Lover’s Cove. “Sounds like a perfect day to me.”

He wraps his arms around me. “How are you feeling about being here? Any guilt or anxiety?”

“No. Getting those secrets out was cathartic. I like being here with you.”

“Good. If it creeps up, don’t keep it to yourself, okay?”

“I definitely won’t.” Not when I know I can talk to you about anything.

He presses his lips to mine, and as he checks our course, I look back at the island, taking in the colorful cottages decorating the lush landscape and the few houses on the bluff, and a sense of peace overtakes me. “I can see Silver Monument and the flag at the Steeles’ winery. I went to see them with my family over the holidays.”

“I got my first kiss at the top of that monument.”

“Oh yeah? Was it with Peppermint Patty?”

“As a matter of fact, it was her, but I wish it was you.” He pats my butt. “Why don’t you go down to the cabin and put your bathing suit on? You can get some sun on the way to Chaffee for our Thursday Trekabout. My bedroom is at the end of the hall.”

I’m still stuck on him wishing his first kiss was with me. I wish he were my first kiss, too. I have a twinge of guilt for never having wished that about Harvey, but it doesn’t last. Our relationship was so different from the one Wells and I have. It wasn’t threaded with those types of wishes or dreams. We lived in the moment, for that moment. It’s funny how I hadn’t really thought about that until now.

“Okay,” I finally say, and kiss his shoulder before grabbing my shopping bag, and heading down to the spacious main level, which has two sundecks and a covered lounge area.

I descend the steps to the cabin, and like Wells’s home, it feels comfortable even though it’s luxurious, with a kitchen, dining area, and another lounge, all decorated with the same warm, beachy vibe. I pass a bedroom on the way down the hall before I get to the master bedroom. It’s gorgeous, with wooden drawers beneath the windows and tall cabinets with mirrored doors along the interior wall, facing a large bed. There’s a door beside the tall cabinets, which must be the bathroom. I open it, and something falls at my face. I swat at it and turn away, dropping my bag. My heart is racing as I turn to see what it was.

What the hell?

Lying on the floor is a blow-up sex doll with an open mouth, big boobs, complete with pink nipples and a spreader bar holding its legs apart with leather cuffs around its ankles. My gaze moves south. Yup. There’s a fuck-me hole. What the hell is he into?

I look in the closet I just opened, and there’s another blow-up doll, only this one is on its knees, with its arms handcuffed behind its back. On the shelf above it is some sort of rubber vagina that is far too anatomically correct.

I stumble back to sit on the bed, and my foot hits something. I peer down, and I’m relieved to see it’s just a belt. I pick it up, but it’s tethered to something under the mattress. I flip up the covers and see that it’s attached to something securing it under the mattress, and unless Wells has friends with four-inch waists, it’s not a freaking belt. It’s an open leather cuff.

My mind races as I lift the cover at the head of the bed and find another one. I hurry around the other side. Sure enough, there are restraints there, too. Fitz’s voice tramples through my mind. He’s got a long history of being a freak in the sheets. I thought he was kidding. Not that there’s anything wrong with this stuff, but I don’t want to be with a guy who gets off on sex dolls and rubber vaginas when he has the real thing right here.

With my heart in my throat, I start opening drawers to see what else he has. I find dildoes, strap-ons—is he into being pegged?—a ball gag, a whip, a box of vibrating panties, butt plugs, and a plethora of other sex toys.

I open the bedside drawer and find nipple clamps, lube, some kind of leather harness, and…What the…? Something gold and a small colorful feather are sticking out of a metal box in the back of the drawer. Nonono. Please no. I pull out the box with trembling hands and lift the lid. My stomach plummets at the sight of several pairs of earrings. I can’t think. I can barely breathe as I put the box back in the drawer, quickly fix the blanket, and shove the sex doll back into the closet. I look at my shaky hands, wanting to wash them, but there’s no way I’m opening another door.