Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel (15 page)

Emily was right
, Jordan thought with expanding surprise.
He
is
a nice guy. I just assumed he wasn’t, because he’s wealthy and famous.
I
was the judgmental jerk, not him
.

Davis’s low, velvety voice broke into her mortified thoughts. “Are you really thinking about giving up your sailing business?”

Jordan sighed. “Yeah. I’m thinking about it. Like I told you, it gets so busy that I don’t see my family much, and I’m not sure I can be entirely happy without them in my life. But there are other reasons, too. Lots of reasons. Why?”

“You’re so good at it. I know I’ve only known you for a few days, but even so, I can’t imagine you doing anything
but
sailing. Sailing is a part of who you are. It’s like you were made for it. And you’re good at sailing charter boats too—good at planning trips and making sure everybody has a great time. In spite of my own pigheaded desire
not
to appreciate this trip, I find I am enjoying it after all.” His gaze transfixed her again. “A lot.”

Jordan’s face heated. She leaned back on her bench and stared past him, at the islands bluing in the approaching dusk. “I don’t know. It’s such a tough business. It’s so much work, and sometimes it makes me feel like I’m going crazy.”

“I think the best things in life are that way.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Jordan considered Davis for a long moment, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, the lean, strong muscles of his arms, the wind-tossed mess of his dark hair.
He
certainly made her feel like she was going crazy, between her furious resentment and her gripping desire. What was even crazier was the way she didn’t resent him anymore… not even a little bit. “Maybe I can learn to like chartering again. Maybe it’s not as bad as I thought when this trip started. Maybe the tide is turning for me, and everything will be okay.

“What about you, Davis? What would you do with your life, if you could do anything at all? Since you might be facing a change in your own wind and tides.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I love music so much… it’s all I’ve ever wanted in a career. I’ve thought of a few other possibilities, and I could do those jobs if I had to, but none of them feels like
me
. But I’ve got to figure this out, and soon. That change is coming—fast.”

As the last fiery streaks faded in the western sky, Jordan headed down to the galley to wash the dishes. Davis retrieved his guitar from his cabin, and as she finished up the last of the pots, Jordan heard his soft strumming, drifting down from the bow of the
Coriolis
. She dried the final pot, hung it on its hook above the small range burners, then climbed up the ladder and leaned against the mouth of the hatch, watching Davis as he played.

His back was to her; he faced out over the water, as if he poured out his feelings through song into the waiting heart of the islands. His white t-shirt stood out pale against the violet dusk, and his dark head bent low, wearily, over the neck of his guitar. His voice was soft and sweet as it reached out across the water. It blended with the gentle harmonies of sea and sky and the hush of the oncoming night.

Drawn to his music, Jordan crept out of the hatch and moved quietly down the deck until she stood close to Davis’s side. She closed her eyes, savoring the poignant chords. They seemed to reverberate within her own chest, moving in a sweet rhythm with the beating of her heart.

Music is exactly what
you
should be doing, Davis
, Jordan told him silently.
This is what you were meant to do, no matter what your parents or your manager or anyone else says
.

An abrupt, hollow puff sounded from somewhere nearby. Jordan opened her eyes just as Davis stopped playing. Several more loud puffs sounded, and Jordan pointed out over the bow. “Look!”

A pod of orca whales broke the water’s sleepy surface, not ten yards away from the
Coriolis
. As they rose, each one let out a loud exhalation; their mingled breaths hung in a mist over the water, glowing faintly in the first rays of moonlight. The whales’ black backs and dorsal fins emerged, glided within view, then slipped under the surface again, leaving nothing in their wake but quiet ripples distorting the reflection of emerging stars.

Davis shook his head. “Holy…”

“I know,” Jordan said quietly.

“This place is so amazing. I don’t ever want to leave the islands.”

Jordan looked up at him solemnly, a sudden, desperate longing filling her chest and stinging in her eyes.
I don’t want you to leave, either
. But Davis had a clear future waiting for him back in Seattle. He just didn’t see it yet.

“You have to go back,” she said, surprised how the words choked her voice, and more surprised at the pain they raised in Davis’s eyes. “You’re so good at this.” She trailed her fingers along the curve of his guitar. It was smooth as glass, and still seemed to vibrate faintly with the memory of his chords.

“But it’s over,” he said. “My career is over—or it will be soon.”

“No. It can’t be—not for someone as talented as you. I’m not the fan Emily is, but I’ve heard a few of your band’s songs. The sound is so raw, so loud and
thrashy
.”

He smiled. “Yeah, it is.”

“But this… what you were playing just now. It’s different. There’s a power in that sound that I’ve never heard before, but it’s a different kind of power. It doesn’t make me want to dance, like your Local Youths songs. It makes me want to…”
Cry. Laugh. Feel
. She couldn’t say the words that crowded in her throat. There were too many of them, too many emotions struggling to get out at once, vying for expression, just like the gentle but powerful words of his song.
It makes me want to kiss you. It makes me never want to leave you
.

“Just me? Me and one guitar?”

“Why not? You sound amazing!” Better than amazing. When he played alone, Davis sent a chill up her spine and lit a fire in her heart, all at the same time. “Why can’t you just strike out on your own—do a solo act? Paul McCartney did it, right?”

He laughed quietly. “That’s a little different. He was a Beatle! He could have done
anything
and the whole industry would have eaten it up.”

“But you can’t just give up music, Davis. You have to try. I’m sure it’ll be hard to reinvent yourself as an acoustic solo artist, but my God, it’s clearly what you were meant to do!”

“Just like you were meant to sail,” he said softly.

Jordan swallowed hard. “Maybe.”

Davis didn’t say anything, but he looked deeply into her eyes for so long that Jordan could practically feel him making confession after confession, telling her every one of his most closely held secrets.

Finally he whispered, “I really want to kiss you again.”

“Then do it,” Jordan said before she could think, before she could talk herself out of one last night in Davis’s arms.

.18.

D
avis’s kiss sent currents of electricity through Jordan’s body. Her heart pounded as his tongue slowly explored her mouth. Without breaking from the kiss, he fumbled his guitar down onto the boat’s deck. Then his hands slid up her back, pulling her close until their bodies pressed hard against one another. Even that didn’t feel close enough to satisfy Jordan. She wanted to touch more of him, to feel every bit of his presence at once. She wanted to inhabit the same space he did, breathe the same air. She wanted to be so much a part of him that there was no telling where she ended and Davis began.

She ran her hands up his arms, under the sleeves of his t-shirt, stroking the firm, hard shapes of his muscular shoulders and biceps. His skin was warm and smooth. He made a sound deep in his throat, half sigh of longing, half growl of self-restraint. Then he pulled back slightly and looked down at her.

Jordan could see the question in his eyes. She nodded.

Hand in hand, they made their way back along the deck. They only broke contact with one another to descend the ladder into the space below decks. Then they both reached for each other again, hands hungry and mouths searching. Davis pressed her up against the galley counter, kissing her again, pressing his hips against her so she could feel how hard he was, how ready he was for this night.

“Come on,” Jordan gasped, pulling him further into the boat. They staggered into the salon and Davis braced her against the interior mast, trailing kisses along her neck until she moaned, biting her lip. She clung to him with desperation, wanting her bed or his—it didn’t matter which—but so captivated by his touch that she couldn’t make herself move.

They stumbled on that way for what seemed like forever, unable to go more than a few steps without clawing at their clothes, without tasting one other’s lips or skin. The moments when they broke apart to proceed down the boat’s length were agonizing eternities to Jordan. This was her last chance with Davis—with a man she hadn’t even realized she liked and respected until now. She had to enjoy every moment with him, take in as much of him as she could. All too soon, he would be gone. And yet she couldn’t reach the goal of enjoying him quickly enough. Even as she held him against her, even as she greedily tasted his mouth, she wanted him more desperately than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

Finally, when Jordan was sure she would scream with anticipation, they reached Davis’s cabin. Jordan pulled his shirt over his head as soon as they were inside the small, narrow room. She stepped back to admire his well-defined chest, his flat stomach with its narrow trail of dark hair.

She opened her mouth to say something—
God, your gorgeous
, or
I don’t want you to go back to Seattle
—but Davis reached for her before she could speak. Jordan lifted her arms so he could remove her own t-shirt. His hands moved slowly over her body—the small of her back, the soft skin of her sides, her breasts—igniting her wherever they passed until she shivered with an insatiable craving. She wanted more of his touch, more of his time… more of
Davis
. And she knew it would be impossible to ever have enough of him.

His fingers trailed down her stomach and found the edge of her pants, but Jordan stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“I want to go slow,” she said. “I want to make this last.”

His slow, crooked smile was a clear agreement.

She reached down and traced the shape of his erection through his jeans. It strained against the denim, hard and warm and as long as her hand. She gave him a gentle squeeze; the eager shudder that wracked him seemed to ripple through her own body. Then she unzipped his fly and eased his jeans down.

Jordan followed, lowering herself to her knees. She barely felt the hardness of the teak floorboards as she knelt—all her senses were trained on Davis. He helped her free his cock from his boxer-briefs, and when she took him in her mouth Davis moaned deep in his chest. She moved her hand and her mouth together, sliding up and down the length of his shaft with a steady rhythm. He was smooth, and filled her mouth until her jaw ached, but she liked the faint salty taste of his skin and the way his breathing turned fast and ragged. It had been a long time since Jordan had done anything like this—and she was fairly sure her initial attempts hadn’t been very good. But tonight, with Davis, she felt she could do no wrong. Somehow, through the magic of his music or the spell of the sunset and this beautiful night, they had made a connection. It went far beyond the raw attraction—and borderline hate—they had felt during their first encounters. Now Jordan was in tune with his body, his desires, just as the strings of his guitar were in tune with one another. Jordan was absolutely certain she couldn’t play a single note wrong.

There was a loud, wooden thump as Davis dropped his head back against his locker door. He panted as Jordan kept going, faster now, holding him tighter. Finally his hand tangled in her hair and he gasped, “Wait!”

Jordan slowed, stopped. She wiped her mouth as she looked up at him.

“If you want to go slow tonight,” he said hoarsely, “you have to stop that now. Otherwise I’m going to come.”

She ran her tongue up the length of his cock. He squeezed his eyes tight-shut and growled, “Seriously. That’s not fair.”

“Am I that good?” Jordan asked with genuine surprise. “It’s been a while…”

Gently, he put his hand to her chin and guided her to her feet. Then he kissed her again, long and slow. When he pulled back from her lips, he said, “Then all I can say is, you’re a natural.”

“Well, what now?” Jordan asked. She stepped back toward the bed. “Should I—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish the sentence. Davis pulled the straps of her bra down swiftly and reached behind her just as fast, unhooking it, letting it fall away. Jordan managed one yelp of surprise before he bent and took her nipple in his mouth, circling her with his tongue, grazing her softly with his teeth. She threw back her head and moaned, then cried out in wordless ecstasy when his hand found her other breast, mirroring the motions of his tongue.

Davis eased her back onto the bed and kissed his way along her stomach. The scraggly, grown-out hair on his chin tickled, but his mouth felt so delicious that Jordan didn’t care. When his mouth reached the edge of her jeans, he ran his tongue along her skin, tracing the border of denim and bare flesh.

“My turn,” he said, unzipping her pants so slowly she almost howled with impatience. Every nerve in her body burned with longing for what would come next, but Davis seemed determined to draw it out. He pulled off her pants and underwear with unbearable slowness, then kissed her just above the trimmed triangle of her hair. He parted her thighs slowly and rubbed his cheek and chin against the inside of her leg. Jordan whimpered and arched her back, but Davis went on exploring at his leisure, without regard for what she wanted.

“Come on,” she finally said, almost sobbing.

He laughed softly, a sound that pooled like fire in the small of Jordan’s back. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I neglecting something?”

“Yes! I’ll make it ‘captain’s orders’ if I have to.”

He traced the edges of her with the lightest touch; Jordan bunched her fists in the bedsheets.

“Captain’s orders, huh? I thought
I
got to call the shots in
here
. We haven’t changed our minds about that, have we?”

The memory of being at his command overwhelmed Jordan. Her heart pounded harder in her chest and her breath came in rapid gasps. She realized with awe that she
loved
it when Davis was in control. As self-possessed as she always was, there was something undeniably hot about flipping the script in the bedroom—or in the berth, as the case may be. She didn’t think she could turn over control of her body to any other man, but Davis was a natural, so confident and commanding, so
dominant
. It felt right to trust herself to his care.

Better than right—
hot
.

Jordan shook her head. “No,” she whimpered. “I haven’t changed my mind.” She could barely gasp out the words.

“Good,” Davis whispered. She could feel his words whispering against her thigh. “So, so good.”

Finally he lowered his head and made contact. The very core of her seemed to melt in the blaze of a sudden fire. He circled her, and stroked her lightly with his tongue, over and over in a steady, unflagging rhythm.

Jordan
did
want to make the night last; she tried to fight the warm, glowing pressure that built inside her, panting in resistance, then crying out against it in time to the persistent slide of his tongue.

“Wait,” she panted. “I want to—”

But Davis kept going, speeding his rhythm, growing more insistent with every stroke.

He calls the shots
, Jordan remembered, and with that thought her orgasm overtook her, striking through her body like lightning. She arched up off the bed, shouting in ecstasy; waves of hot and cold overlapped each other as they pulsed along her limbs. She whimpered as she came down, falling back weak and happy against the mattress.

Davis was above her now, braced on all fours, smiling down. “God, you’re so
hot
when you come!”

“Mmm?” Jordan found it impossible to speak.

“And you taste good.”

“Hah,” she managed.

“You do. See?” He kissed her, long and hard, and she could taste her own spicy sweetness on his lips. His kiss went on and on until the languidness vanished from her body, replaced by a new desire for him that was even stronger than before.

“I want to make you come again,” Davis whispered in her ear.

“Well… you
do
call the shots,” Jordan said, laughing weakly in surrender.

*.*.*

D
avis turned quickly and rummaged in his locker for a condom. This time he didn’t wait for Jordan to put it on for him—he was too eager to be inside her, to feel that tight heat surround him, to feel her body shuddering in his embrace. She was still spread on the bunk, waiting for him. Her pale body stood out clearly in the cabin’s dusky dimness, the dark hair between her legs pointing to what he most desired.

But he didn’t position himself above her—not this time. Davis wanted to see Jordan from a different view. He lay beside her, his cock pointing up, hard and ready.

Jordan giggled nervously. “What am I supposed to—?”

Davis slapped his own hip. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

There wasn’t light enough in the cabin to see her blush, but Davis could hear the fluttery anxiety in her voice. “Oh my god! I’ve never done that before. I’m way too embarrassed!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Davis said. He reached over and touched her gently, running his fingers along her collarbone, her chest, the small, firm swell of one breast. “I want to see you while I fuck you—see
all
of you. And anyway,” he added, tightening his fingers around her nipple until she gasped, “I’m in charge. Remember?”

She giggled again, but she did as she was told, clambering up to her knees, then swinging one leg over him. He guided his cock into her with one hand, but as he slid inside his eyes closed with bliss, despite his desire to watch her ride him like her boat rode the waves. For the longest time he couldn’t force his eyes to open. She felt too good—so tight, so hot, gripping his hips with her thighs, her small hands resting on his chest. She felt so good that Davis couldn’t bear it. He breathed raggedly, trying to steady himself enough that he could finally look up at her and capture the image of Jordan—naked and messy-haired, riding him—forever in his memory.

She began to move her hips, sliding up and down on his cock. She was as natural at this as she was at sucking him off. The steady pulse of her movement beat through his veins, coiling a delightful pressure tight in his belly. When she added her voice to the motion—panting and whimpering in short bursts, every time she slid all the way down onto him—the pressure inside Davis built at an alarming pace.

He forced his eyes open and grabbed her hips to slow her down. God, she looked good up there. The light of the night’s first stars came through the porthole and made her soft white skin faintly luminescent. She looked like a goddess, beautiful and strong. Her breasts, her narrow waist, the flare of her hips—she was the perfect picture of femininity.

I’ll never find a woman this amazing again
, Davis knew with sudden clarity.
There’s no one in the world like her
.

The thought that he could never be happy with anyone else struck a sharp pang in his chest. To have found such perfection, and to have to leave it behind… it was a loss that was nearly unbearable.

Jordan wiggled against his grip. Then her eyes opened wide; she wiggled again, more deliberately this time, grinding herself down against him. “Ohmygod,” she babbled. “Ohmygod, that-feels-so-good.”

“Then keep doing it,” he told her, laughing. At least this wiggling-grinding act was something he could enjoy without toppling over the edge of his own internal precipice.

Jordan leaned forward until she almost lay atop him. He could feel her harsh, panting breath tickling his neck as she rubbed herself against him, harder and faster. Soon her high, desperate cries returned as she worked herself closer to another orgasm.