Docked (17 page)

Tanner opens the bedroom door. His gaze lands on me and he stills. He’s so excruciatingly handsome in nothing but running shorts and sneakers. His physical beauty distracts me for a moment, but I’m quickly drawn to the hurt in his eyes. I move to stand, but he motions for me to stop.

“What did she say to you?” he asks quietly.

I watch him cautiously and slowly shrug my shoulders. “All sorts of things. Don’t worry about any of them.”

Uncertainty colors his expression, lips bunching as his brows pull down. “Don’t worry about any of them?”

I nod softly. “She was just upset. She found me…well, not in the best position.”

The tension in his chest and shoulders seems to dissipate a bit, and he looks around the room, emptying his lungs in a long exhale. “She had no right to act that way. I truly am sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” It’s his mother who should be apologizing. Not only to me, but to Tanner. Who speaks to her son that way? I don’t know much about Tanner’s father other than what he’s shared with me, but that little display certainly told me all I need to know about his mother. Namely that she’s incredibly insensitive to the fact that Tanner respects his father’s legacy; he respects it much more than she’s willing to acknowledge.

“I hope you slept well. If you’ll excuse me, I need a shower.” He strides across the room and heads straight for the bathroom. He disappears behind the door and I remain there on the edge of the bed, feeling all sorts of uncomfortable. I didn’t expect to be thrown into the midst of a personal family squabble this morning, and certainly not Tanner Christensen’s. The lines are blurring, growing messier already, and I’ve barely touched the surface for my review feature. My curiosity is nowhere near quenched now. Not after hearing all of that. The thirst has grown tenfold, and a pang of guilt taps at me, reminding me to reel it all in. I cannot mix business with this—my personal time with Tanner. It isn’t fair, not to mention it sucks all the fun out of our arrangement.

Determined to shut that door, I decide to get up and search through my bag for my swimsuit and head out onto the beach for that much-needed swim. I slip into my spare white bikini—Tanner’s destroyed my favorite teal one—and dig through my bag for sunscreen. The sunscreen is nowhere to be found, but I do find my sunglasses. I slide them on top of my head and wander over to the bedside table in search of some extra sunscreen. Tanner must have some lying around here somewhere.

I crouch down and search the little shelf beneath the lamp, then open the drawer. The inside isn’t nearly as neat as the table top. I dig through piles of papers, energy bars, boxes of condoms. My fingers make contact with something hard—glass, I think. I latch onto it and push a stack of papers to the side. A picture frame is revealed, the edges decorated with seashells, as if the frame were a poorly constructed kid’s craft project. The glass is dusty, but I can make out the photo. It’s of a young, blond boy with striking blue eyes and an older version of him, holding the boy up on his shoulders. They both have the same sun-kissed skin, the same good looks, and judging from the sparkle in their eyes as they smile, the same charm.

My curiosity gets the best of me and I start searching for more photos, moving stacks of receipts aside to rifle to the bottom of the drawer. Two more picture frames catch my attention, one holding a photo of a woman I recognize as Tanner’s mother. She’s also much younger in this picture, but the same aura of pure wealth and arrogance radiates from her expression, leaking right from the photograph onto my fingers. The other picture is of Tanner and a woman I don’t know. Definitely not the brunette plaything from the hallway. It’s a newer photo, showcasing the couple at the top of the ship’s main spiral stairwell. I recognize the space immediately. It’s one of the first things you see when you board, designed to catch your attention.

Tanner’s arm is protectively draped around her waist, his body turned to the side slightly, as if he’s stepping in front to guard her. She’s something fresh out of a glamour magazine, with warm, bronze skin, and jet black hair. Her teeth are perfect—starkly white against her honey brown skin. A dark plum gown graces her tall, elegant body, complementing Tanner’s sleek, polished black tux beautifully. Tanner’s smiling, too, the creases around his eyes bringing about that same sparkle that’s present in the photo of him as a child, with his father. I’m mesmerized for a moment at the transformation, both photos lying side by side in the drawer, the one of Margaret buried beneath them. I can’t imagine the pressure that comes with owning such a huge vessel, such a huge business. It’s a responsibility I surely wouldn’t ever want.

I close the bedside table drawer and wander over to the other side of the bed to search the other one. Still no luck finding sunscreen, but I do find more photos. These aren’t in frames, just a variety of prints stored loosely in a white envelope. Some shots of Tanner fishing with his dad as a kid, some of him with a track team. Cross country, I think. The water stops running in the bathroom and I close the drawer, resolved to give up on my sunscreen search.

“Anya?” Tanner calls out.

“Yeah?”

“What are you up to?”

“Just getting ready to go for a swim.” I walk to the dresser and pick up a clean towel from the pile of neatly folded ones. “I’ll be out on the beach.”

“Have you eaten anything for breakfast?”

“No, not hungry.”

“I’m going to grab a bite and then I’ll meet you out there.”

“Okay. Hey, do you have any sunscreen in there? I think I left mine back at the cabana.”

“Sure.” The bathroom door clicks open and I walk toward it, slowing when I see him brushing his teeth, wrapped in a towel. It’s hanging low on his waist, droplets of water dotting his rigid abdomen. He wipes the steam from the mirror and catches my gaze. He stops brushing and rinses his mouth, a slow smile spreading from ear to ear. “You’re wearing a white one today,” he comments on my bikini.

“You ruined the teal one.”

“I did.” He smiles with all the pride in the world. “But I won’t let you return to the mainland without a replacement, Miss Banks. Let me know your size and the name of the brand, and I’ll see to it that a new one is delivered to your doorstep when you arrive.”

“Tanner, that’s really not necessary.” I glance down at the white suit and shrug. “I like this one just fine.” Spotting the sunscreen on the bathroom counter, I reach forward and pluck it up, then turn to leave him be, but his hand closes around my wrist.

“Anya,” he says softly. “Whatever my mother said to you, please forget it.”

“She didn’t say anything I don’t already know.”

He pulls me into the bathroom and takes the towel and sunscreen from my hands, setting them on the sink. He lifts me and sets me next to them. My legs dangle over the edge, and he holds me there, his palms flat on the marble, next to my thighs. “And that is?”

“That I’m just another one of your playthings. That’s not what upset me.”

His eyes narrow with confusion. “It’s not?”

“No. I mean, the reality is we are just…playmates. It’s the other thing she said. Or more so
assumed
.”

“What did she assume?” He watches me carefully.

“Just that I do this sort of thing all the time.”

“This sort of thing?”

“Roll around in rich men’s beds.”

His eyes drift shut and he sighs. “My mother is used to seeing me with different women. I would say that is no reflection on you, but that isn’t true. She sees you all the same. Out for my money, out to corrupt me.” He laughs darkly, glancing up at the ceiling. “When I’m the one doing the corrupting.”

“Mothers see what they want to see.”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

As his gaze falls back to mine, I’m suddenly stricken with the same earlier pang of guilt, and the words begin to tumble out before I can stop them, much less process them. “I heard everything. Earlier, I mean. Between you and your mother.”

“I kind of figured that.”

“I’m not just a neurotic writer, I’m a nosey one.”

“And honest, too.” His irises light up with playfulness. “What would you like to know?”

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

I plant my palms on his bare chest, sliding them up until they split over his collarbone and meet his shoulders. “I’d like to know more about your father.” I recognize I’m treading shaky ground here, especially after his shouting match with his mother, but I really do want to know, not just on a professional level, but a personal level. How will I ever know who Tanner Christensen the businessman is, if I don’t get to know Tanner Christensen, the man?

A cloud hovers and smothers the glimmer in his eyes, and he backs away from the bathroom sink, guiding my hands away from his shoulders.

I feel my face fall. I’ve pushed it, and now he’s closing up on me. “Forget it,” I murmur, sliding down from the sink. I collect my towel and sunscreen. “I shouldn’t have gone there.”

“Miss Banks.”

I stop in the doorway. “Anya. It’s Anya, right now, Tanner.”

“Anya.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll see you out on the beach.”

“Sounds good.” I give him a brisk nod and head out the back door, planting my toes in the sand and dropping my towel the second the sun hits my skin. I’m just feet from the water, lounging out on Tanner’s very own stretch of sand. I revel in the privacy of the beachfront property, and push all thoughts of Tanner’s father’s legacy from my mind. Today, I’m in the beautiful, sunny Caribbean, and I intend to enjoy every second of it. If I can’t make any progress with the business part of my trip, I’m determined to do so with the pleasurable part. And every part of spending time with Tanner Christensen is certainly pleasurable.

I flip the cap on the sunscreen and begin to apply it generously over my arms and legs, then move on to my face and neck. The calm, blue-green water beckons me. This time Jonah isn’t here to distract me. This time, I’m alone. This time, I will swim if it kills me. I stand and stalk forward to meet the ocean head on. Flashes of Zoe’s face assault me the closer my feet come to the water, but I push on. Despite a horrid run-in with Tanner’s mother and the roadblock that Tanner’s placed in front of my research efforts, today is all about fun.

It’s time to play.

***

“You’re glowing,” Tanner says as I trudge back up to the shore.

“I am,” I grin, gratefully accepting the fresh towel he hands me. “And you’re a stalker.”

“It’s not very nice to name call, Anya.” He tugs the end of the towel and lightly wipes at my face. My nose scrunches and I dodge the contact, but I can’t escape. Tanner’s been sitting on the beach, watching me swim to my heart’s delight for the past hour, and now he’s turning and wrapping me in the huge towel like a burrito. He spins me, and once I’m folded snugly, brings me against his chest. I stare out at the ocean, relaxed and triumphant.

For the first twenty minutes in the ocean, I simply kept my head above water, focusing on my breathing and treading with my arms and legs. As time went on and I realized I had control, my body grew more lax. Eventually, I was able to float on my back. Just float and stare up at the clear blue sky and big, white fluffy clouds. Stare as my demons scattered and the sun kissed my skin.

It was heaven.

“How about some lunch?”

“You just had breakfast a little over an hour ago.”

“I did. But you haven’t eaten. Shall I make you something?” He rests his chin atop my head and joins me in staring out at the horizon. Warm, balmy air swamps us, the same summer breeze I experience back home, in Florida, but there’s a nice breeze here, distinctly tropical.

“You, fix me something?”

“I do know how to make a sandwich, Miss Banks.”

“I thought you had a maid or cook or something to handle all of that for you.”

“I did my own grocery shopping last night, didn’t I?”

“I’m shocked you even did that.” I laugh, and his arms tighten over my chest. He bites at my ear.

“What do I have to do to prove to you that just because I’m rich, doesn’t mean I’m not capable of taking care of myself?”

“I don’t know, do some laundry?”

“Laundry is too easy.”

“So is making me a sandwich.”

“Making a sandwich is serious business.”

“Um, no. No it isn’t.”

“You clearly haven’t enjoyed a proper sandwich, then.”

“Give it up, Tanner. You’re not feeding me. I’m not hungry.” And really, I’m not. I’m still full from all the junk food Lana and Brie have been shoveling my way since the cruise began.

“So, no laundry, and no sandwich making…”

My eyes gleam as an idea manifests. I squirm and turn around in his arms, clasping my hands along the back of his waist. I grin up at him deviously. “I know what you can do to prove it to me.”

He peers down at me suspiciously. “I’m listening.”

“Clean the living room.”

“That’s as easy as folding laundry.”

“Oh, cleaning a living room is an art. It involves more than straightening couch cushions, you know. It means organizing and dusting. Yes! You need to dust.” I turn my nose up in the air and swing my arm out to the side, calling on my inner Margaret to mimic his snooty mother. I think I even have her voice down pat. “After all, Tanner William Christensen, those living room shelves are
filthy
.”