Man Overboard

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Gillian

Day 5

“This really and truly is paradise.” Brady reclined on a lounger in our thatch-roofed cabana on a private stretch of beach reserved exclusively for guests of the King Neptune penthouse.

As we pulled into port this morning, he read aloud from the guidebook, describing the island owned by the trillionaire who’d designed the Infinity Voyager. “Oasis Island remains largely undeveloped, its pristine natural resources part of the superlative experience guaranteed to our passengers. The west shore is a private family compound, while the east shore serves guests. An uber-modern resort with cutting edge technology, luxurious accommodations, and a five-star gourmet restaurant caters to every desire, while five ultra-private villas offer private island escapes with top-level security and dedicated staff.”

“Maybe we’ll see a movie star,” I whispered. “Hopefully, one of the Hemsworth brothers is on vacation.”

“Is that your idea of the perfect man?” he asked.

“Not anymore.” I ran my eyes slowly over him, from the top of his espresso colored curls to his neatly trimmed toenails. My belly did a little flip-flop when he blushed.

Our banter had taken a flirtatious turn after we returned to the ship, exhausted from a fun-filled day exploring Grand Turk. Brady was ready for dinner out, but I pleaded for a one-hour nap. I slept for thirty minutes, then spent an hour primping. It took me a few tries to get my hair up into one of those messy buns that look like you didn’t do anything but require three different products, teasing, backcombing, and thirty-seven bobby pins. The dress and shoes were easier to manage–the fitted bodice eliminating the need for a bra, the slightly sheer skirt demanding a discreet thong, and the three-inch stilettos held in place by knee-high leather laces.

Brady’s jaw dropped then snapped shut when he saw me, and I’m pretty sure I did the same when he modeled his fitted tuxedo. He wore it well for a man accustomed to boots and blue jeans. We dined at the Crimson Cabernet Bistro, an elegant, intimate setting with velvet furnishings, flickering candlelight, and gold-trimmed place settings. Dinner was a three-hour affair as we worked our way through a five-course meal and two bottles of world-class wine.

I may have exaggerated how tipsy I was when we finally left the restaurant, but it garnered exactly what I was hoping for. On the topmost deck, we stood at the railing, Brady’s front pressed to my back, his arms around my waist, as we watched a meteor shower light up the sky.

I’d been tempted to ask him up to my room, but memories of every mistake I made with Lyle–moving too fast, accepting his spontaneous marriage proposal, not listening to my intuition–gave me strength to resist. There was something developing between me and Brady, and my emotions felt more authentic than any I’d experienced in the past. But if this was real, with the potential for a future, I wanted to do it right.

“Lunch , monsieur, madame .” A local from one of the nearby island, slipped out of the foliage edging the white sand, carried a huge wicker hamper and beverage cooler. He set it on the table between the two loungers, asked if we needed anything else, and disappeared back the way he’d come.

“I’m ravenous.” Brady sprang up and began investigating the contents of the picnic lunch. “There’s a menu explaining what everything is. Conch fritters I’m acquainted with. Callaloo soup, featuring greens, crab meat, okra, peppers, and coconut milk. Goat curry, fried plantains, and coco bread. For dessert, there are tamarind balls and cassava pone.”

I opened the cooler which contained icy Red Stripe beer, an assortment of fruit juices, and bottled water.

“Can I fix you a plate?”

Unlike Lyle, Brady was considerate and attentive. The way he anticipated my needs and took control of things, like ordering dinner last night and carrying me back to the room after my Mudslide binge, made me feel safe and soft and feminine without disrespecting my power of choice and self-sufficiency. He reminded me of those couples who’d been married forever but were still deeply in love.

I wanted that.

More than a million-dollar mansion. More than a designer wardrobe. More than a married name that came with a generational suffix.

“Sure, but just give me a little taste of everything.” My clothes are already a little snug from all the delicious food we’d been enjoying.

Brady filled a plate until it was almost overflowing. A second followed, and he pulled chairs up to the table.

“I can’t eat that much.” My mouth watered at the sight of the beautifully prepared food, the sight and scent a feast for the senses my tongue was eager to join.

“Did Lyle make you self-conscious about your weight?” Brady’s forthright question unsettled me. I tried to hide my insecurities, but he’d seen past my defenses. I blinked, eyes suddenly wet. “Gilly, I love your shape.”

Before I knew it, I was in his arms. The thrust of his cock against my belly left no doubt he was speaking the truth.

“Most men–”

“Are idiots.” His voice was grim, and I knew he was thinking about Lyle. “The best part of this cruise is getting to see almost every inch of your body. You totally rock that sexy librarian look in your straight skirts and buttoned-up blouses when you are working, but when the skirt on your sundress flips up, giving me a glimpse of your butt cheeks, I get hard. Why do you think I spend so much time in the pool when you’re in your bathing suit?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I wound my arms around his waist.

“You aren’t the only one with hang-ups.”

“What could you possibly be insecure about?” I looked up into his face, wondering why it took me so long to appreciate him.

“I’m just a gardener.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m perfectly happy with my life and career, and I’m comfortable with myself. But men like Lyle, with a big bankroll and flashy sports car…even when they’re jerks, they get the girl.”

“He didn’t get the girl this time.” I caressed Brady’s back, cupping his tight butt, and standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “You did.”