Page 91 of Falling for the Enemy

He entered the space, walking right to the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the Portland harbor below. Boats moved in calculated patterns, a whole machine of commerce humming with the tireless efforts of worker bees keeping the hive alive.

It was but one of many anchorages their fleets shipped out of. Hawthorne Fishery had put competitors’ names to rest and now monopolized ports in every coastal city in America and several around the globe.

His father’s desk sat at the center of the room. He took his throne without hesitation, without the old whisper of doubt that used to creep in whenever he sat down.

“These are the numbers?” He opened the file waiting on his desk.

“Yes.” The efficient beauty of Marie was that she never diluted work with irrelevant details. “And whenever you’re ready, I’ll get Brennan on the line.”

The high from his weekend still pulsed through his veins, like a World Cup victory he wanted to share. “Get him on the phone. And I’ll take a cold-pressed juice when you have a second.”

“Right away, sir.”

As soon as she left, he paged through the reports. The numbers appeared fine, but his brain wasn’t exactly in a calculating mood. Skimming down the columns of neatly organized data, he found himself recalling the feel of her body, entwined with his as they soaked in his tub.

“Did you hide your battleship and rubber duckie before I came in here?”

“Of course. Why? Did you want to play?”

She laughed. “I’m a little too tired to play.”

He shook his head. “Don’t get tired yet. You’re still mine for another…” He reached for his phone and checked the time. “Nineteen hours.”

“Soren, we barely slept.”

“We can rest when we’re dead.”

“If you don’t let me get some sleep soon, I’ll be dead by Monday.” She sank lower into the tub and bubbles clung to her chin. “I at least need some coffee.”

“That, I can provide.”

She grinned, looking particularly sexy with her hair twisted into that sloppy bun and all those wet ringlets falling around her face. “I was eyeing up your espresso machine when you fed King his twelfth meal of the day. How are your foam skills?”

“Pretty good. I can make a shamrock or a very basic flower.”

“I’ll take a double shot macchiato with a frothy flower on top, please.”

“Your wish is my command.”

“Ooh, I like the sound of that.” She reached for the bottle of champagne she’d brought upstairs. “I think this one’s my favorite so far.” She’d lost her cup somewhere between the den and the bedroom and was now drinking straight from the bottle.

“Let me try.”

When she stretched to pass it to him, her reach was short. He leaned up and caught her wrist, pulling her onto his lap, sloshing water over the lip of the soaking tub. She laughed and held back the bottle when he tried to steal it.

“Say please.”

“Please.”

Rather than hand him the bottle, she took a sip, holding it in her mouth, and leaned forward to kiss him. Bubbles raced over his tongue as he tasted every corner of her sexy mouth. His fingers knotted in her messy hair, and he was immediately hard again.

“Put me inside of you,” he whispered against her lips.

She reached underwater and lifted to her knees, lowering slowly over him as they both groaned.

“I could fuck you for days.”

“I’m realizing that.”