Devil In The Waters, Book 7, 01a

The enormous paper lantern globe that hung above their private table softened the light that shone within, and it fell in pale pastel brushstrokes on his wife’s perfect face; Kimmy’s narrow eyes shone reflected sparks when she would toss her head a certain way while she spoke to Devlin. An angled shadow drew a line on her long graceful neck, defining the sharp edge of her pronounced jawline; the edges of her collarbones were painted with luster in the V of her black silk top with the thin spaghetti straps running double lines over her fine shoulders. His wife wore no makeup but was breathtaking.

Kimmy said to Devlin there’d been a lot of joking around about it, “but I really appreciate you bringing me here to Grand Cayman.”

As she spoke, she lounged against the leather upholstered seat back, the satin of her black top shimmering—and showing off the twin humps of aroused nipples. Only briefly, as Kimmy folded her long, thin arms across her chest, lightly cupping her elbows. The diamond on her wedding ring finger winked at him.

Kimmy’s eyes had stayed connected with Devlin’s the whole time. Devlin—sitting right next to her—turned his head to follow Kimmy’s gaze. He smiled slyly and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table and imitating her, his big hands stroking against the rounded hump of muscle on the backs of his arms.

He said, “There are plenty more benefits headed your way.”

Kimmy stayed mildly amused, one delicate eyebrow arching lightly. “Is that so?”

“Plenty more,” Devlin said and chuckled.

Josh adjusted in his seat, brow furrowing, heart racing, in love with his wife’s theatrics, and at the same time wanting her to stop. But maybe not stopping altogether, just taking a break. Long enough he could scramble her into the restaurant’s restroom and fuck her hard and fast.

They were at the Cape Ginger Steakhouse, only a five-minute drive south of their villa once you got back on the main road. The restaurant was one part of a four-building enclave located beachside, and when they arrived, they’d walked out to the sand and looked northward. They could see where their villa would be tucked just around the other side of the point, far in the hazy distance.

When they’d come in they were shown to their seat. Devlin had booked a table before they’d even agreed to come out for dinner.

The maître d’ escorted them through the interior of the luxurious restaurant, past full tables of rich tourists softly speaking in murmurs, through the quiet clink and clatter of table service, out across the polished teak floor and onto the patio. The patio was open to the beach view, and when they’d arrived, it wasn’t yet dusk, but the night had taken a heavy, damp feeling and the blue of the sky had darkened.

The patio was protected by an an angled awning of canvas sheets that stretched from the building out across three rows of tables, fifteen feet overhead but descending to a point where raw timber posts supported the patio’s edge. Their seating was a banquette, raised a step above patio tables. The table Devlin had reserved was a half-moon banquette; buttery yellow leather seats around an ebony table, a globe chandelier hanging from above. If he were to put his arms around the globe, they wouldn’t meet even at halfway. The design of the restaurant was modern yet tropical; sedate in straight lines, hard wooden edges and padded leather; potted palms at all the corner points, and some dense shrubbery in pots around the large central fireplace that gently flickered gas-burning flames.

Devlin had taken his seat first, getting in and going to sit at the crescent’s apex, prime spot for taking in the view. Josh had gone into the banquette clockwise, but Kimmy didn’t follow. Kimmy moved counterclockwise, entering the banquette from the opposite side so Devlin would be between them. Devlin had said to her, “You’re not sitting next to Josh?” Pointing out the snub. But Kimmy acted like that idea was stupid, and said, “I want to face my husband.”

Josh beamed, and met Kimmy’s eye. She gave away nothing in her face, and Devlin had chuckled.

Now Josh lounged against his cushioned seat back as well, said to Devlin while still looking at Kimmy, “She is very valuable.”

Devlin agreed, saying, “And she doesn’t even know.”

Josh laughed, said, “Oh, take it from me: she knows.”

Kimmy scowled at him, smiling taking it in good humor. He leaned forward now like Devlin, putting his elbows on the table.

Devlin said, “Kimmy knows a lot of things.”

“Mostly the law,” Kimmy said, raising both eyebrows and looking aloof.

The waiter arrived to freshen their drinks. Kimmy had ordered whiskey for all three of them for the first round. A peaty single malt that for some reason turned his stomach over and reminded him of that night he drank too much bourbon at Tiffany Hanson’s cottage. Then Kimmy had ordered another round; more whiskey for him and Devlin, and a pineapple juice for herself.

The waiter set down their glasses and took away the empty ones. He told them dinner would be arriving soon. Devlin hoisted his whiskey glass, and said, “To Kimmy. And to the law, I guess.”

Devlin took a sip, and Josh raised his glass a beat behind. He said, “She’ll be very good at keeping you out of trouble,” gestured the glass toward Kimmy and sipped the whiskey. It was no better on the second round. He set it down and smacked his lips.

Devlin said, “I like trouble.”

Josh said, “Even the legal kind?”

Devlin cocked his head Josh’s way, lowering his brow but still smiling to one side, trying to figure Josh out. He said, “I like all kinds of trouble. Especially when I know I’m protected.”

Kimmy gave a funny laugh then sipped her pineapple juice. The laugh had Josh trying to reference a dirty double entendre but nothing came to him until he thought of protection. Then thought of Devlin without protection. Was that what prompted Kimmy’s lusty and provocative laugh? She was playing with her husband. Trying to figure out what made him tick. Trying to figure out how to turn him on. The things they’d learned this weekend were powerful. It put them on a higher shelf. Put them up where they could see heads above, see the lay of the land and contemplate their path through it together.

He imitated his wife’s chuckle; Kimmy’s eyes met his. A secret knowledge flashed between them and she dipped her chin forward hiding an honest but silent laugh. His heart leapt in his chest for her. One second Kimmy is the sly and beautiful corporate lawyer, dressed for success, beautiful and deadly, black hair, black eyes, black attire. The next, she’s cracking up like he’d just drawn Brian from The Family Guy on the edge of her notebook during chemistry class. Talk about protection. This bond he’d formed with his wife over the last forty-eight hours had wrapped him in an impossibly thick mattress of bubblewrap. Like he could tiptoe to the edge of the Grand Canyon, jump off, plummet 400 meters straight down and bounce away unscathed.

He leaned back again, getting fidgety, his right leg jumping under the banquette table, moved the cutlery around like he was nervous, anticipating the arrival of dinner. But what he anticipated more was the antics of his wife who’d committed herself to teasing her husband.

Just while we’re in Cayman, Josh.

And she was right about that. She was right about many things. Smart, insightful; an almost devious intelligence behind those black eyes.

Devlin said, “I don’t like legal trouble. Kimmy is my protection. My private life? I can take care of myself.” He smiled, nodding, then looked over his left shoulder at Kimmy. She was watching him. Studying Devlin. And when their eyes met she smiled.

Kimmy’s graceful hand came to her chest, folded over at the wrist. Her long fingers played at thin gold pendant hanging on its delicate chain around her neck. She fiddled with it, brought it to her lips, ran its curved edge back and forth against the plump curl of her bottom lip. Devlin watched the way the medallion pushed down against the pillow, back and forth, back and forth. Flirting. Kimmy was flirting. Doing that feminine girl-thing, that interested girl thing, making eye contact, showing off her sexy mouth, showing her graceful hand. It tightened Josh’s stomach. He stroked his thighs, drying his palms. The tightness grew even tighter. And right here in the middle of the restaurant, he was beginning to stiffen; a hard knot of tissue bulging below his ball sack, his cock beginning to lengthen.

Now he leaned forward again. More fidgeting. Kimmy was driving him mad.

Devlin said to her, “What’s that necklace?” and now he rested against the banquette, his shoulder moving near to almost touch Kimmy’s shoulder. They got close for Devlin to get a look at the pendant. Kimmy held it out, and Devlin brought his hand up just under her chin.

Kimmy said, “The Minor. St. James the Less? It was my mother’s.”

Devlin said, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to bring up—”

“It was her medallion,” Kimmy said. “She thought it brought her peace.”

Devlin’s smile faded, he held the dainty disc and tilted it to gleam under the light. “It’s beautiful,” he said. “It has meaning.”

“It does,” Kimmy said, and put both her hands at her side. Submissive. Her body posture open. Not closed. No arms folded across her chest—no, the bulbs of her nipples showed plainly under the sheen of the fabric; Devlin’s hand was inches away, knuckles close enough to touch the center of Kimmy’s chest just below her collarbone. A few inches lower, he could settle the palm against Kimmy’s meager but perfect bosom. He could thumb away the fabric—she wasn’t wearing a bra—expose to Josh Kimmy’s nipple and let Josh watch his large masculine hand caress a thumb around that hard, brown quarter of his wife’s arousal. And Kimmy would begin to pant, her mouth would fall open . . .

Josh’s hands stroked his thighs faster, his heart pounded blood into his cock. He got hard as iron sitting across from his wife playing a game against his high school bully. It was too much to believe. Too good to be true. How could this dreadful relationship he had with Devlin forged in the harrowing post-pubescent days of high school turn around like this? where young Josh the victim in the story became the victor—could squeeze from a rotten lemon the sweetest of juice . . .