In Over His Head

Chapter 9

The water was warm, the stars were twinkling, and Sharla was happily buzzed, sitting in a hot tub.

Steam was curling off the top of the water as the night time air cooled, and the luxuriously sedate sounds of the sea were soothing. Sharla lifted one leg out and admired her bright yellow painted toenails.

Life was good. No, scratch that. Life was great.

Across the tub was Kevin, studiously looking anywhere but at her. He had been acting so differently today, up and down. One minute energised, the next he was thinking too hard. She was both intrigued by him, and frustrated to no end by the mixed signals. Part of it was her own ridiculous notion that if things were different, and he wasn't her boss, she'd have jumped him by now, and had been replaying that near-kiss all afternoon.

"Tomorrow, we're staying onboard, right?" she asked, to fill the silence with conversation. She wanted the easy vibe they had back.

"Yes, that is the plan. You have the day for yourself to rest, relax, read. You can go into Positano if you like," he replied and sunk down, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the edge of the tub. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his long, toned arms draped out over the edge as he groaned under his breath.

"What about you?" she asked.

"I may go to shore with Don and Aggie and pick up a new USB dongle for my laptop. Mine doesn't seem to be working," he said.

"You have people to do that for you," she reminded him, and he cracked one eye open, rolling his head to take her in. She tried, and failed to give him a stern look. She could not be stern with him when he looked like that. Glistening wet and—

"You're right, of course. I get restless when I travel. I need to be kept busy."

"Duh, but you get to rest too, you know," she replied. Their schedule was packed, and she had caught on when he was nose deep working the moment they'd arrived on the yacht. This is what Mo meant, obviously. Even in her slightly buzzed state, she could see he was tense.

Flexing her fingers under the water, she debated in her head if she could initiate touch with him. He could do with a massage, he would feel much better if his shoulders weren't around his ears. She'd never dared to offer before now, but tipsy enough to try, she moved over closer to him.

As if on cue, he grunted as he lifted one arm. "Damn. My shoulders just aren't working tonight."

"Turn around, Tin Man. I know a bit of massage technique, let me help," she said and he sat up, eyeing her warily, but dutifully turned when she gestured. She halted just before her hands touched him, conscious of the fact that even though they were very informal she was about to touch him in a way that was more intimate than any other they'd shared. The wine was fueling her inhibitions, it seemed.

"Is it okay if I—" she asked and he interrupted with a clipped "Yes".

She palmed either side of his back over his shoulder blades, sliding her wet hands up and around his shoulders, briefly touching his neck. He hissed in a breath and then let it out slowly as she probed his traps and pushed down. Hard as a rock, even though the feel of his skin under her palms was smooth and warm.

"Did you lift too heavy before we left, in your last gym session?" she asked quietly. "Your muscles are as tight as drums."

"Maybe," he said, his voice hoarse, and he bowed his head, tucking his chin in as she dug further into his traps, and then rolled her knuckles down into his deltoids, up into the scapula—gently—then back to his traps. His body was beautiful, and the pleasure of playing with the ridges of muscle and the broadness of his back prodded her. She attempted to ignore her arousal. Despite the heat of the hot tub, her nipples perked right up under her padded bikini top.