He went down onto his haunches and handed Clelia a glass. “I’m no good at this. I think it may need some more crushed ice.”
She was about to thank him when she caught sight of Joss. He stood next to the steps with shopping bags at his feet, wearing his signature dark pants and black T-shirt. He didn’t look happy. She had the ridiculous notion that he’d caught her red-handed. With the noise of the speedboat, she hadn’t heard his motorboat arriving.
Joss fixed her with a broody look as he made his way over the ropes and necessary clutter on the deck. His movement was lithe, a stark contrast to Bono’s earlier performance.
She blinked up at him as his shadow fell over her.
Taking the drink from her hand, he left it on the side before grabbing a towel from a deckchair. “Get out.”
“Joss, give her a break,” Maya said.
He didn’t look at Maya. His gaze was burning on Clelia’s body, his expression promising nothing good.
The speedboat cruised past again, the skier making an impressive jump over the wake. She cringed inwardly as the man blew another kiss in her direction.
Joss’s face darkened. “Maya, do something about that fucking boat.”
Even Maya, who didn’t seem easily affected by Joss’s anger, looked tense. She flicked her palm sideways. A small wave lifted from the water and ran toward the boat, tossing the man out of his skis. As Maya flicked her hand the other way, another wave hit them from the other side.
The boat turned, engine idling, and the skier climbed onboard. Clelia exhaled with relief when they took off. She was so distracted by the trick Maya had played she’d ignored Joss who was now watching her with narrowed eyes.
“Get out,” he said again.
“It was my idea,” Maya said. “We were just cooling off.”
Joss extended his hand.
Not daring to glance at either Maya or Bono, Clelia got to her feet and took the hand he offered to help her over the edge. She stepped into the towel he held open.
“Bring the bags in, Bono.” He fixed his angry gaze on Maya. “Put the frozen stuff in the freezer.”
Without another word, he took Clelia’s arm and guided her below deck.
Joss gritted his teeth as he led Clelia back to her cabin. Seeing her almost naked with Bono, who was undressing what wasn’t already exposed of her body with his eyes, had made him want to ground Bono for a year. After breaking his jaw. And his nose. And all his fingers. He didn’t dare to think of the idiot who’d blown Clelia a kiss.
Joss clicked the door shut. “Did you enjoy that?”
“The jacuzzi? No, actually.”
“The flirting with Bono and that wanker on the water.”
“We weren’t flirting.”
“Don’t you know what men think when they look at your body?”
“Are you speaking for all men or with the exception of yourself?”
Resting his hands on his hips, he tilted his face to the ceiling.
“I may be your hostage,” she said, “but you don’t own me.”
That statement didn’t sit fucking right with him. She’d become his the minute she’d let him bury his cock inside her. But he hadn’t officially claimed her. Not yet. Until they’d finished what they’d started, she was free to choose whoever she wanted. Any lucky asshole could get to be her lover, not that he’d let that man live. In the meantime, he had no right to be jealous, angry, or protective. The only right he had was to do his job, which was to catch a firestarter, and he wasn’t doing a good job.
“When this is over—” he said, but then paused.
Their future was uncertain, not to mention bleak. Making promises he couldn’t keep wasn’t right.
“What then?” Clelia asked, a moment’s fear sparking in her eyes before she blinked it away.
“I’ll never harm you.” He’d kill for her—and from the way things were looking, he was pretty damn sure it would come to that—but he wouldn’t lift a finger against her.
“You don’t have to feel obliged to protect me just because we had sex once. I’m not your responsibility.”
The statement made him clench his jaw. Damn wrong. “I told you,” he said, every word measured, “I take sex very seriously.”
She gave him a sad look. “It’ll kill you.”
Resisting the urge to touch her, he fisted his hands at his sides. “What will kill me?”
“Being forced to make a choice between a girl you fucked once and what you believe in.”
“There is no choice.” Which was his fault. If he’d kept his dick in his pants, he wouldn’t have put them in this situation. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He only regretted not remembering it, but he’d correct that soon, as soon as he’d gotten them out of this mess.
She blew out a small sigh, her expression something between frustration and reluctant acceptance. “What will you do when you find Erwan?”
He’d bring him to Cain. They’d question him. They’d find the firestarter Lupien was after and eliminate that firestarter to prevent such powerful magic from falling into the enemy’s hands. Surely, with time, Clelia would see there was no other choice.
He didn’t say any of that or told her about the killer he was when he kneeled in front of her and rubbed the towel over her arms, stomach, thighs, and feet. Looking up, he saw what he didn’t want to see in her eyes. He saw desire, a sexual need he liked to think he’d awakened. He didn’t want to see it because it was too painful not to react to it. Admitting that another man could fulfill it was like voodoo needles stabbed into his heart.
He dropped the towel and moved his hands up her legs and over her hips, coming to a stop on her small waist. “I could worship your body forever,” he said in a hoarse voice, “and when the time is right, I will.”
Her skin contracted under his hands. Her face softened, a part of her armor coming down when she
