that boat to Marco. Not just to make up for all that had happened four years ago, but because she wanted to give something special to the man she had married.
A man she could call friend.
Chapter Nine
Although Cassandra had hoped to build on the tenuous emotional connection growing between her and Marco, he had avoided caving to her attempts. And to complicate things, in his zeal to show her a good time, Marco had steered her away from what she had wanted to tell him the morning after they had first made love. Now, three days later, after snorkeling, swimming, and making love—though Marco only referred to it as wild, crazy sex—they sailed the Diablo out of the cove and into the open Atlantic Ocean waters.
Manning the helm, the wind whipping her hair around her face, she was glad Marco had done more than unleash her inner vixen. Her sea legs had returned and she reveled in controlling the power of the vessel while watching Marco’s strong, muscular arms hoist the sails, adjusting the fairlead to alter the direction of the turning block. He moved the outhaul to pull the clew of the mainsail towards the boom, tightening the foot of the sail.
“The wind’s perfect,” she called.
“ Si ,” he replied. “Bring her round to port, and we’ll increase the speed.” Though this yacht wasn’t built to race, the Diablo sluiced through the water at high speed and the thrilling sensation almost surpassed how Marco made her feel whenever he made love with her.
Almost, but not quite. Nothing could compare to the exhilaration of Marco’s intense pleasure whenever he took her. And that was often after their first time. She’d grown used to running around half naked and had learned a great number of incredible new sexy things in bed and in the ocean and in all kinds of unique locations. Marco had outrageous, decadent ideas about how to enjoy each other’s bodies. And she found that she relished them.
She was growing to care for Marco. He’d taught her so much and had given her such freedom. But he’d failed to give her what she’d hoped existed beneath his rough surface. His heart. Yes, he’d warned her not to expect anything more, but she could see glimmers of the possibility when he lost himself in her, crying her name.
She blinked back the tears prickling behind her eyes—salt stinging them most likely—and tossed her head back, laughing in spite of her inner turmoil.
He caught her eye, pointed to the dolphins swimming off shore, and grinned. She smiled back. His eagerness to share the scope of his world never failed to bring her happiness.
“After we return to the Casa, we’ll clean up and head to Mar del Fuego. The village has a festival tonight, and I never miss it,” Marco said.
His St. Brendan’s pendant caught the sun’s rays and flashed. “Sounds great.” Salt and wind whipped through Cassandra’s hair, loosening the strands from her customary ponytail. “We should be back in the cove in less than an hour.”
Saving her family’s company with this marriage had insured her father’s acquiescence and full assistance. In two weeks, they would return to Key West for the elaborate reception her parents had planned to welcome the newly wedded couple into the Regatta society’s fold whether Cassandra wanted to or not.
Her stomach clenched. Memories of the yacht club’s younger members malicious teasing echoed. Would they undermine her in the same awful ways that they had in the past? Old jeers and taunts cast dark shadows and marred today’s glorious blue skies and brilliant sunshine. Cassandra inhaled a deep breath, waiting for the knot in her belly to untie, then willed herself to bury her fears. She had nothing to worry about with Marco by her side.
They had only been gone for a few short days, but she already wished for her honeymoon to remain stamped in time. She would rather remain on the open sea, hear the rush of the waves against the stern, and sail under the glow of the sun.
Marco
A man she could call friend.
Chapter Nine
Although Cassandra had hoped to build on the tenuous emotional connection growing between her and Marco, he had avoided caving to her attempts. And to complicate things, in his zeal to show her a good time, Marco had steered her away from what she had wanted to tell him the morning after they had first made love. Now, three days later, after snorkeling, swimming, and making love—though Marco only referred to it as wild, crazy sex—they sailed the Diablo out of the cove and into the open Atlantic Ocean waters.
Manning the helm, the wind whipping her hair around her face, she was glad Marco had done more than unleash her inner vixen. Her sea legs had returned and she reveled in controlling the power of the vessel while watching Marco’s strong, muscular arms hoist the sails, adjusting the fairlead to alter the direction of the turning block. He moved the outhaul to pull the clew of the mainsail towards the boom, tightening the foot of the sail.
“The wind’s perfect,” she called.
“ Si ,” he replied. “Bring her round to port, and we’ll increase the speed.” Though this yacht wasn’t built to race, the Diablo sluiced through the water at high speed and the thrilling sensation almost surpassed how Marco made her feel whenever he made love with her.
Almost, but not quite. Nothing could compare to the exhilaration of Marco’s intense pleasure whenever he took her. And that was often after their first time. She’d grown used to running around half naked and had learned a great number of incredible new sexy things in bed and in the ocean and in all kinds of unique locations. Marco had outrageous, decadent ideas about how to enjoy each other’s bodies. And she found that she relished them.
She was growing to care for Marco. He’d taught her so much and had given her such freedom. But he’d failed to give her what she’d hoped existed beneath his rough surface. His heart. Yes, he’d warned her not to expect anything more, but she could see glimmers of the possibility when he lost himself in her, crying her name.
She blinked back the tears prickling behind her eyes—salt stinging them most likely—and tossed her head back, laughing in spite of her inner turmoil.
He caught her eye, pointed to the dolphins swimming off shore, and grinned. She smiled back. His eagerness to share the scope of his world never failed to bring her happiness.
“After we return to the Casa, we’ll clean up and head to Mar del Fuego. The village has a festival tonight, and I never miss it,” Marco said.
His St. Brendan’s pendant caught the sun’s rays and flashed. “Sounds great.” Salt and wind whipped through Cassandra’s hair, loosening the strands from her customary ponytail. “We should be back in the cove in less than an hour.”
Saving her family’s company with this marriage had insured her father’s acquiescence and full assistance. In two weeks, they would return to Key West for the elaborate reception her parents had planned to welcome the newly wedded couple into the Regatta society’s fold whether Cassandra wanted to or not.
Her stomach clenched. Memories of the yacht club’s younger members malicious teasing echoed. Would they undermine her in the same awful ways that they had in the past? Old jeers and taunts cast dark shadows and marred today’s glorious blue skies and brilliant sunshine. Cassandra inhaled a deep breath, waiting for the knot in her belly to untie, then willed herself to bury her fears. She had nothing to worry about with Marco by her side.
They had only been gone for a few short days, but she already wished for her honeymoon to remain stamped in time. She would rather remain on the open sea, hear the rush of the waves against the stern, and sail under the glow of the sun.
Marco
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