The Carrero Effect - Falling for the Boss (Billionaire CEO) novel Chapter 63

I’ve never been kissed like that, before Jake. I have never really been kissed by someone I wanted to kiss me. I never wanted to be kissed, yet with him it’s like an instinctive urge. I almost lost control, I have never known a man could ignite such a flame, with something so simple.

Do I get up and greet him, or do I stay here and hope he bypasses me?

I don’t want him to bypass me. I don’t know if I want to face him either. I’m shy, ashamed, embarrassed, and uneasy. He’ll be sober now and so am I. I have lost all bravado.

What will he say? What will he think about last night?

I am still as I listen to him get on the boat, sensitive to every tiny noise and movement. His low voice as he quietly converses with the crew, even that simple sound, making my heart pound through my chest wildly. The engine thrums as the little taxi boat moves away; I swear my heart is going to explode through my chest and for a second, I waver, wondering if he will even come up here or head straight to his room. I wonder if he’s even thought about what we were doing last night at all, if he remembers.

God, this is agony!

“Emma?” his voice pulls my gaze to him; husky and exhausted and my stomach lurches up into my chest.

I guess that answered my questions.

“Hey.” I smile unsurely from my position on the lounger as he walks toward me intently, he doesn’t hesitate but slides down beside me and lays down with a tremendous sigh. His body sagging heavily, taking up a vast amount of room beside me. He’s close enough that we can touch delicately in places, but not deliberately. He smells good, of sea and sun and him. If I could bottle that smell and keep it forever, I would. My body is tingling at the proximity, but I’m holding my breath, waiting. He’s on his front and he’s buried his face in the crook of his arms making it obvious he is utterly exhausted.

I glance over his profile appraising how tired he really is. For once, his hair has nothing in it, and it’s the first time I’ve seen it au natural. It’s ruffled like he has a hint of curl in it and looks boyish and sweet somehow. I like that he keeps a short back and sides, it showcases his neck and jaw, but there’s enough hair on top to run your fingers through.

Not that I should.

It’s thick, dark and unruly, a bit like him and the temptation to touch it is overwhelming.

I study him for a minute, wondering what he’s thinking. His eyes are closed, and he seems like he’s fallen asleep, maybe he has. I don’t blame him. He was up all night, in a cold sterile hospital after the drama of diving into the ocean, frantically searching for his friend and then whisked away in a helicopter ambulance in a flurry of chaos before dawn.

“I’m still awake.” It’s as if he’s listening to my thoughts. My eyes widen at being caught and I glance away. I don’t respond.

Crap. How does he do that?

Maybe he could feel me staring, I know that I’m always aware of his eyes on me. He reaches out an arm, shifting his position slightly, and drapes it across my waist loosely. He pulls me closer so our bodies mold in the best way they can and brings his face closer to my shoulder. Still, his eyes are closed, I’ve literally stopped breathing and I think my heart skips at least three beats. The position is sensual, comforting, but the fear inside of me is notching up into frantic worry.

“You smell good.” His nose brushes against the naked skin at my shoulder, where my dress strap stops, his touch burning through me, igniting some of last night’s passion. I need to push it down and shove it away fast before I make another stupid mistake.

“Thanks,” I mutter, really trying to calm my racing thoughts. I’m tense as hell, rigid with it. I need to relax. I must be emanating all sorts of crazy anxiety, but he smiles against my shoulder and I cannot only see it, but feel it, the delicate, soft graze of his face as it moves. The slight scratch of the stubble of his jaw on my exposed skin.

God!

* * *

The water is exactly what I need, it’s cooler than yesterday, because of the early hour and even though I’m tired, it helps rejuvenate me. I love the ocean, the peace it brings over me is unparalleled to anything I’ve ever felt, maybe because there are no oceans in my past. No childhood traumas in the sea.

I eventually haul myself back onto the boat, along the lower floor and to my bedroom, to dry and get dressed. I notice as I pass, Jake’s room, which is next to mine, has his door ajar. It was closed this morning; he must have come inside. I peek into the darkened room and I can make out his still form in the bed, the heavy, calm breathing indicating he’s asleep and I suddenly get stupidly emotional.

My Jake, my friend, boss stroke, whatever he is; he ignites some maternal urge in my belly when he looks so still and peaceful.

I can almost make out his face in the dark; he’s just so damned cute when he’s asleep like this. Irresistible in a completely different way to his wakened self; vulnerable and young. He sleeps in a way I would expect him to; childishly sprawled over the whole bed, taking ownership with cushions strewn, and sheets tangled in his limbs. No wonder he wrapped himself around me in Chicago. He’s a bed hogger. He’s face down and his arms are sprawled, letting his fingers hang over the edge of the mattress, laid diagonally from corner to corner. He’s in his sweats and T-shirt, despite the heat and I’m hit with a tug of disappointment at not glimpsing some naked flesh. Something innocent about this spectacle as though he came in and literally flopped down to sleep in any way he landed. It makes my heart pang with adoration and I close the door gently and head to my room to get changed.

* * *

Breakfast on deck is amazing after the swim, pancakes, and syrup, with a fruit cocktail. We have a cook on the ship’s crew, who’s only too willing to throw food our way whenever we beckon. I like this bonus of being with a super-rich guy, being with Jake. Wherever we go, I’m always well fed and never have to cook or clean up. Definitely a perk!

I cast my mind back over yesterday and inwardly hope the next two weeks are not as eventful as our first couple of days here, I may need a holiday to recover from my holiday.

I dig out a book and return to the lounger when I’m full, trying to put it all down in one file labeled “crazy drunken night”, to stow away in the recess of my brain. I’m sure most people have those kinds of nights and manage to get past them quickly. It’s what I intend to do.