All the Pretty Poses (Pretty #2)(42)
Author: M. Leighton

After an afternoon snack that was stashed in the cool storage of the boat, we head back out to sea to make another fairly short trip to Fatu Hiva, where we enter through what’s called the Bay of Virgins.

Reese guides the boat in between huge rock formations that rise up out of the water on three sides. The sun is shining brightly on the peaks and dappling the water with rays of gold. Reese stops the boat and drops anchor about twenty yards from where the rocks converge and there’s nothing around us but steep cliffs and a trickling waterfall.

“Care for an afternoon swim?” he asks, kicking off his shoes.

He doesn’t have to ask twice. It’s hot here and the water looks cool and refreshing. Reese strips down to his shorts and dives in, surfacing just in time to watch me dive in beside him. Together we swim to the apex of the rock formation. It’s there, without a single word said, that Reese pulls me into his arms, stares deeply into my eyes and makes love to me in the warm French Polynesian waters.

It’s like that at every group of islands we visit. He takes me to a handful of amazing locations, buys me beautiful things and makes love to me somewhere unusual, like he’s marking the spot. Whether that’s what he intends, it’s certainly what’s happening in my mind. And in my heart. I’ll never think of this half of the world the same way again, without an ache that will likely never go away.

At some ports, our stay is longer. Reese always has some stunning accommodations lined up. In Bora Bora, we stayed in a little cottage that overlooked the sea. We slept in a bed surrounded by netting and made love all night long while the flicker of the fire just outside the open doors bathed our skin in a warm, orange glow.

In Tahiti, we stayed in a bure, a private bungalow that sits at the end of a pier, perched high over the water. Our breakfast was delivered by a man in a canoe. We ate bagels and cream cheese and licked fresh coconut juice from each other until well into the afternoon.

Despite our earlier conversation, Reese still insists on showering me with everything from expensive clothes to sparkling jewelry to thousand-dollar-an-ounce perfume. I want for nothing, but all I really want is Reese.

After Tahiti, we got back on the yacht for a longer trek to Fiji. This morning Reese told me we would be in port later tonight and that he wanted to take me to the show upstairs for a change. It’s the last one for a few days since everyone will be on shore enjoying the island. This marks the last stop before the return journey home.

I’ve been excited all day. For some reason, it feels like a date. Even though we’ve spent every waking minute together for weeks, he’s kept me hidden away from everyone else on board and this feels like some kind of statement. I just don’t know what it says.

I’m still in my robe, putting on my makeup when I hear a knock at the door. I go to answer it, expecting to see Reese, but instead I find Karesh.

He does that tiny bow of his head that he always does before he smiles. “Ms. Moore.”

As always, I give him the same small bow and smile. “Mr. Karesh.” His grin always deepens. I have no idea what his last name is. Or if Karesh is his last name. Either way, it’s become a bit of a game between us over these weeks.

He hands me a plain white box with a big, gold ribbon wrapped around it and tied in a perfect bow. “A gift from Mr. Spencer. He asks that you wear it tonight. He’ll be waiting for you at the bow of the ship, on deck. Seven sharp.”

With that, he nods again and then turns to walk away. I lean out into the hall and call after him, “Thank you.”

I see his head tip back a bit and hear a faint, “My pleasure.” That makes me smile. He might, just might, be warming up a little.

I shut the door and scurry to the bed to open the box. Inside it, beneath a mountain of soft, white tissue paper, is a dress. A beautiful dress. One of a zillion nice things he’s bought me.

The color reminds me of an emerald—that rich, deep green. The material feels like velvet and it’s heavy as I hook my fingers under the straps and pull it out of the box.

The dress falls in a smooth drape all the way to the floor. The waistline is subtle as it runs into the puckers that will gather from beneath my br**sts to join at the jeweled medallion in the center. The plunging neckline is asymmetrical and the left strap is much wider than the right, giving the appearance that there is only one. I turn it around and find that the asymmetry is carried to the back. The line falls drastically from ribs-high on the left side to where it rejoins the green velvet at my right hip, leaving the majority of my back exposed.

It’s stunning. It’s daring. It’s elegant. And Reese bought it for me to wear. Tonight.

The tag is still in place, although the actual cost has been torn away. There is simply the name of a boutique, written in fancy script, as well as another name, one I assume belongs to the dress.

I drape it across the bed and take the matching shoes from the bottom of the box. They are open-toed heels covered in jewels that match the centerpiece of the dress. I’m not accustomed to extravagant gifts like this. The best I can hope for is that I will take Reese’s breath away when he sees me in it.

When I’m dressed and surveying myself in the mirror, I wonder what Reese will see. Will he see simply the wide sage eyes rimmed with dark lashes and ringed in smoky shadow? Will he see the sun-kissed cheeks and ruby-red lips? Or will he see the sparkle in my eye that says I never stopped loving him? That I’m already deeper in love with him than I ever was as a girl?

I can admit my situation to myself much more easily than what I would’ve imagined. I think the moment I agreed to give Reese a chance, I knew what would happen. In a way, I had to be okay with it before I ever took the first step. I knew then just like I know now that Reese nearly destroyed me once, and that he might do so again, but I’m helpless to stop it. I’ll love him until there’s nothing left. And then long after. It’s inevitable. He’s inevitable.

I turn away from my reflection and walk toward the door. There’s no place to go but forward. I learned a long time ago that I can never go back.

The wind is calm up on deck. The air is dry and warm, and it’s quiet but for the lively conversation drifting through the windows from the dining room. My heels make a soft clack on the deck boards as I head around toward the bow. When I take the final three steps that put me up on the platform, I see Reese leaning against the railing. The sea breeze is ruffling his dark hair and the orange blaze of the setting sun is illuminating half his handsome face, giving his eyes that pale, fathomless sparkle of these tropical waters.