The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 26

As much as I had wanted to go to bed and lie down, the full impact of my drunkenness hits me and fuels my desire to join the party. The lights on the deck glow beautifully in the dark, and the thrum of music from the speakers gives the yacht a romantic vibe. Leila has a tray of cocktails, and they look too good. It's then I find out she spent one summer here as a barmaid and has a wealth of knowledge of tasty drinks. Despite a super-rich family, it seems Leila is pretty self-sufficient at times. She loves nothing more than sharing anecdotes of her past experiences and has a humorous way of reliving the past.

"I should stop; I think I've had enough." I try to reject Leila's push for another drink as I'm barely upright and should probably sit down. I've overdone it way more than I intended, and now it's dark, and the boat is moving all around me as though we are on a stormy sea.

"Hush now. We're on vacation. Party, party, party!" She grins and tries again, pushing a sassy choice of a cocktail my way.

"End up comatose or throwing up in my shoes, you mean?" I sigh and sway, grabbing the rail for support.

"Your loss, sweet cheeks." She turns and shrugs while swinging her impressive booty toward Richard with drinks in hand, giggling as she saunters off.

Jake is sprawled over one of the loungers, and he's also hitting the booze, lazily watching us dance and chatter, occasionally joining in the conversation. His manner is slightly more relaxed than usual, if possible. And despite mainly seeming okay, I can tell he's at the top limits of his drunkenness.

I wonder who'll be putting whom to bed tonight, and it makes me snigger; he's so inviting on the double lounger, and I have the urge to curl up beside him and sleep right there.

"Come, Bambina!" Jake's eyes meet mine with a beckoning finger wiggle before he pats the lounger beside him suggestively. I aim to slide demurely onto the bed next to him but end up sprawled over the top instead after connecting with a chair leg, falling in the most ungraceful manner.

"Shit," I gasp as his arms lasso me; he shifts so that my weight ends up beside him on the lounger instead of on top of him, keeping me in his embrace and laying us both back. It's comfy and warm from his body heat in the cooler night air, and I sink contently.

"Bit drunk there, Miss Anderson?" he chuckles at me, sounding boyish and happy, and I smile too. Just charming. "Sof course not" What?

Okay, so maybe I'm a lot drunk.

He laughs into my hair. His mouth pressed to my temple as he slides his other hand across my neck and shoulder and pulls me against him, cuddling me in easily.

"Glad to see you letting go," he smiles, almost nose-to-nose with me. His warm breath on my face, with a heavy scent of alcohol, gives me an overwhelming sense of closeness, and my body tingles deliciously from head to toe.

"I think falling on top of your boss is more than letting go," I giggle, relaxing into the sensation and surrendering to the sway around me, regaining control of my vocabulary even if it's slurring still.

"I'm not your boss for the next two weeks," he winks, that handsome face close enough to touch with my tongue.

"Okay, I shall rephrase … falling on top of your temporary not-boss is overdoing it," I giggle again, so light and free and a little bit silly. My hair blows gently across my face, and he strokes it back, lingering, playing with its short new waves. I think he's more than a little obsessed with the cut, and it makes me sigh adoringly. The sensation of having my hair played with is addictive when he's the one doing it.

"Do you need me to put you to bed?" he asks, still focusing on twirling a strand. His face is really so close I can almost lick him without moving.

Stop it, Emma!

"Do I not need to put you to bed?" I slur again and bask in his laughter; he finds that highly amusing. I want to wrap myself up in that laugh; it's so inviting and familiar.

"I'm sure I can handle way more alcohol than you, tiny."

"I'm not so sure; I haven't seen you walk yet," I say, pointing at him with a drunk air jab. Being drunk can be pretty amazing at loosening me up and forgetting my Boss/PA boundaries.

"I'm sure after seeing you try that, it proves you're worse than me," he smirks down at me, finally letting my hair go, shifting his body weight and causing the bed to dip slightly. The others' chatter has dropped to a background hum, and I'm barely even aware of them anymore. It feels like it's just the two of us.

"I like your dimples when you smile." I prod his face and focus on his features a little too closely, distracted by them and how he never ceases to look gorgeous, no matter how long I have known him.

"And there she is." He grins at me with a twinkle in his eye.

"There, who is?" I ask in confusion, a frown creasing on my forehead.

"Drunk Emma! How are you doing? I missed you, baby." His dimples deepen cutely with the huge smile he's giving me, the sheer joy in that look.

"You missed drunk Emma?" I ask, blinking suspiciously, not jumping into the merry reunion vibe.

"I did."

"Why? Do you like her more than me?" I pout with sad eyes, not even smiling when he laughs at me and shakes his head. A childish, surly mood instantly brews in my depths.

"You are drunk Emma."

"No, I'm not. I'm just Emma. Drunk Emma is …" I'm confused, and I've no idea what I'm saying. He's laughing at me again, infuriating my sulky side. "Why are you laughing? I'm being serious!" I scowl at him and cross my arms over my chest. He prods my nose playfully.

"Both Emmas are you; they choose to come out at different times. You're cute when you pout." He gently prods me in the face before pinching my nose like I'm some sort of juvenile.

"Why do you like her more?" I slap his hand away. I'm being sulky, and I can tell by the humorous glint in his eyes he's finding me entertaining. It does nothing to help my unhappy state of mind on this topic. If anything, it just adds to the fire of outrage in my belly.

"How can you not love this version of yourself?" He wraps his arms tighter around me, pulling me closer, and plants a kiss on my cheek, just shy of the corner of my lips. Snuggling his head into the crook of my neck, he maneuvers my body to mold into his so we almost become one.

"Pffft, I don't love her then." I try and wriggle free.

"Because I do?" He has a permanent smile now, but I'm still frowning, as alluring as it is.

"Yes!"

"That makes no sense." He ignores my dash for freedom and holds on.

"Yes, it does! If you like her so much, she must be a leggy bimbo," I huff and make another attempt at squirming before giving in and slumping instead.

"I already told you, I don't actually like leggy bimbos, Emma." He closes in on me, nose to nose. His smile vanishes, and his eyes are instantly serious and dark. His focus moves across my face and rests on my mouth for a long moment. I pause, breath held, before he gives me a slight frown, a chew of his bottom lip, then he glances back at my eyes with a sigh, moving back again.

"I don't believe you." I almost gulp at the nervous reaction to whatever that look was and how it sent my insides into twisted chaos and my heart rate elevated.

"Well, that's your prerogative." He softly smiles this time, his mouth moving dangerously close to me again, achingly close. I swear I get a vibe that he means to kiss me, but then we hear a noise on deck.

We glance over to see Daniel stripping off Miracle's clothes rather indecently. Jake frowns and pulls me up quickly to his side on the lounger, breaking our moment of tension.

"Time for bed," he says, "I know what Daniel's like; showtime equals go-time!" His voice is grim and tight. All humor has gone as he hurries me.

"What's he like? What do you mean, 'showtime'?" I honestly don't know, and as I'm being pulled up like a child, I can't help but stare at the couple.

"He likes kinky sex. He's an exhibitionist, and it doesn't matter if you're male or female. He'll try and pull you in; he has no qualms about fucking in front of an audience." He hauls me to my feet as I inhale sharply, staring at the man and his bimbo porn star in wide-eyed shock.

That's so gross. I hope Leila has the sense to get out quickly.

Richard and Leila get up knowingly and move to loungers away from Daniel. Thank goodness.

"Would you join in?" I squeak in surprise, a sudden swift knock inside my stomach that hurts like hell. I'm not too fond of the thought of Jake doing that with them, with anyone.

"No, it's not my thing, Emma." Jake narrows his eyes at me, a deep frown on his forehead as relief washes over me, and he pulls me by the hand, a slight tug to break my focus on Daniel.

"You said you did it on your dad's boat when you were younger, group … stuff," I accuse shyly, thinking back to an old conversation a long while ago when he was drunk.

"Who do you think was at the root of that?" He raises an eyebrow toward Daniel and pulls me with him to the stairs leading to the lower deck. I don't argue; I follow.

"So, you liked it then?" I ask, casting my eyes back once more as Marissa gets up and begins a slow striptease, her eyes following us. Jake ignores her, and I get a wave of happiness at this fact. He shrugs and slides his arm around me as he slowly and carefully leads me down the stairs, so I don't fall to the next floor, guiding me. He pulls me in tight on the second to the bottom step and lifts me off my feet to the floor.

"I was young; it was just sex. I was pretty much partying and pissing my dad off at every turn," he explains. I stumble on the carpeted floor, and he rights me, holding me close. I notice him sway a little as we head through the door to the inner hall of the boat, indicating he isn't much soberer than I am. I'm glad he's leaning against me; I'm finding it much harder to walk than I realized.

"You don't do group sex anymore?" I hiccup, hating myself for saying it.

Why the hell am I so obsessed with this topic? I do not even want to know any of this.

He eyes me warily, a soft, questioning smile on his lips showing those neat white teeth and devastating dimples, and I'm instantly distracted.

"I like your smile," I say, alcohol effectively removing my internal filter again.

"No, I don't. And I like that you like my smile, Shorty." He stops and pushes me against the wall to steady me, pulls his buzzing cell from his pocket, checks who's calling, swipes the screen, and slides it back from where he produced it. "I like when you laugh like that," he says, glancing up at me, and it's then I realize I've been giggling for no reason.

Where did that come from?

"Like what?" I ask innocently, still unable to stop grinning like a freak. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that he has my body pressed to the wall with his, and he is my idea of a good dream.

"Unguarded. I like drunk Emma." He peels me back off the wall and leads me to my room, disappointment flitting through me that the moment was fleeting.

"I like drunk Emma, too," I sigh, following him as he opens the door, his hand still encompassing mine. She gets to touch Jake in ways sober Emma doesn't.

"I thought you said you didn't?" He squints at me with a confused smirk, pulling me through to my bedroom.

"I was jealous; you like her way too much," I exhale moodily, and he laughs at me again, only this time it's deep and heartfelt, as though I've said the most hilarious thing. I pout at him, annoyed that he finds everything I say funny.

"You're the same, Emma; no reason to be jealous, Bambina." He calms his laughter, pulls me to the foot of my bed, sits me down, and quickly pulls my sandals off my feet. I like when he takes care of me like this, as though I'm something more to him than just his PA.

"Nooo, you like one more than the other," I exclaim loudly. He smiles at me and moves closer so we're nose to nose, with him bent down at my knees. His hand comes to my hair and ruffles it, toying with its new shortness.

He really is infatuated with my new haircut. Best idea ever!

"I like both versions of you, in different ways, equally," he utters, keeping close. The room is dark, the only light from the moon shining in the porthole window beside us. It's so intimate and romantic.

"What do you mean, 'different ways'?" I'm inquisitive; being drunk makes me crave knowledge and keep him this close. He sighs and runs a hand across my face lightly, moving my hair to tuck it behind my ear as a million tingles erupt across my skin. He chews his lip in the childish way he has when trying to think out an answer before speaking. He has no idea how much it makes me ache to bite his lip too.

"PA Emma is cool, capable, and the best assistant I've ever had. She's funny and sharp and good at what she does. I like PA Emma." He nods to himself as though rattling off a checklist. Finished with my shoes, he kneels up so his head is towering over me even though he's still on the floor.

"You like her in an employee-employer way?" I reach up and toy with his spiky hair; seeing that he keeps messing mine up, I think it should work both ways. He raises his eyebrows in surprise but only smiles and lets me continue.

"Yes and no. I just like her because she's her." His gaze comes to rest on mine, distracting me from his hair. It feels good and exactly how I thought it would feel.

"And drunk Emma?"

"I'm a little infatuated with drunk Emma if I'm being honest." He pulls my hand down and straightens up.

"You are? Why?" I sulk at both his answer and his removal of my fingers.

"Because she's fun. She doesn't guard what she says … or does." He nods toward my fingers to prove the point. "She giggles and lets her hair down."

"So do most of your leggy boobs!" I sulk at being compared to one of them.

Except, am I not the one making the comparison?

I'm confused.

"They're not the same, not even close, Bella. They don't have any other side to them. When I say I like both Emmas, one can't exist without the other. I wouldn't like there to be only one and not the other."

"So, you like my split personality? A lover of the 'cray-cray,'" I grin playfully, motioning circles at my temples and crossing my eyes. He chuckles and moves another hair from my face. It seems short hair equals messy hair that clings to your skin at every opportunity. Not that having him stroke it away is bad; it's very good.

"It's not split, though; there are glimpses of both versions all the time, just one chooses to dominate. I sometimes see drunk Emma in PA Emma when she occasionally relaxes."

"Maybe she doesn't know how to relax all the time," I confess with a conspiratorial wink, aiming for sass and failing.

"I think she's scared," he answers thoughtfully.

"Why?" I retort, slightly shocked, observing him; I want to know why he thinks this third-person me is scared. I'm curious about how he sees her and why he believes that.

He stands up, his hands sliding across his chest. He looks too appealing standing like that, touchable, grope-able, and I quickly avert my eyes. I'm conscious that my head is now level with his crotch.

I'll definitely not look.

Much.

"Because letting her guard down means she lets go of a little bit of control, and she likes to hold it all together. Letting go makes her vulnerable, leaves her exposed, and that's worse than death for her." His voice is steady and low. My breath catches in my throat with a tug of surprise in my chest, a little emotional suddenly, as he really seems to know me.

"If I'm vulnerable, people can hurt me. Men can hurt me," I whisper into the darkness of my room, too honest in my drunken stupor as the words slide out. I sense his eyes on me as he bends so his forehead meets mine and presses our noses together, an awkward position for him but the cutest move I've ever seen him make; there's something insanely innocent and tender about it. I glance up at him.

"I'd never let anyone hurt you, Emma," he breathes against me. His hands come down to hold his weight on the mattress at either side of my thighs, bringing his mouth so close to mine that we're sharing air.

"What if you couldn't stop them?" I sound young and scared, suddenly serious and afraid.

"I'd always stop them," he promises with conviction, and I sink forward, wanting the safety I feel when he's around me. Reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, I press us together more firmly.

"You won't always be around," I whisper quietly.

"I'm always around if you haven't noticed," he smirks, his voice low, urging me to pull my face away enough to stay level with his eyes.

"I guess."

"Let go, Emma, and trust me to look after you … if not long-term, then for these two weeks at least. Trust me to protect you." He's so endearing at this moment; I could never deny him.

"I'll try," I whisper, not wanting to part from this intimate position. My heart bursts with my tenderness for him, the sensual emotions swirling.

"Good girl." His arms slide around me, pulling me up to him for a gentle embrace, lifting me from the bed.

"Don't call me that." I pause mid-embrace, causing him to halt. My voice is childish as his words hit me somewhere in the gut.

"Why?"

I don't know.

Jake called me that before, and I felt like he was talking to a puppy. Maybe it's calling me 'girl.' Ray called me 'girl.' 'Stupid, slutty, cock-teasing, little girl.' I always hated it.

"Just don't." I flinch as he smiles and slowly pulls me in to cuddle me; I'm on my feet, leaning against him. It's unexpected and gentle, and I'm instantly sagging into his body greedily, held solidly in a bear hug. When he loosens his hold to let me go, I stumble backward, grabbing onto him, but the sheer suddenness catches him off guard. His drunkenness causes him to lose balance; he leans forward to steady me, losing his footing too.

Somehow, we both fall flat on the bed with him on top of me, nose to nose, and laughing like fools at the awkwardness of our ungraceful collapse. His face is so close, like the night we shared a bed, his mouth too inviting. His lips are too kissable to be ignored. Everything within me is clenching tight, hungry for him now that his body is fully connected to mine in such an intimate pose.

I'm drunk, and I will regret it so badly when I sober up, but in the mind of a drunken, wanton female who fancies this man crazily, what I'm doing seems totally fine. I throw my mouth against his rather satisfyingly, soft lips hungrily connecting, instantly on fire, aching to feel his mouth on mine, like that night in Chicago.

He doesn't hesitate, and we are entwined in seconds. Our tongues certainly enjoy meeting once again as he slides his hands into my hair and around my throat, softly holding me still. I'm rejoicing in the feel of his muscular body on top of mine, a little wave of smug pride and deep desire. It's right in every kind of way, male hardness and soft feminine curves entangling.

This is good, too good! The fact he's just as into this as I am has me ravenous and losing any inhibitions. Panting as my heart pounds from my chest, I'm lost in its perfection.

I should listen to him more when he says to let go.

His fingers find mine, and he presses them against the mattress beside my head, pulling away to catch his breath momentarily, his eyes dark with dilated pupils.

Don't stop, please, don't stop.

He regards me for a millisecond, his face in shadow so I can't read his expression clearly, pondering what we're doing, then drops to kiss me intensely. Breathing hard and fast, he knows this could go one of two ways. Right now, his giddy head is throwing the sensible option off the boat.

I don't care about the consequences; I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone in my life. My doubts are gone, and my mind is fuzzy with alcohol. For once, I'm just following instinct and ignoring my brain. He pulls away, changes angle, and kisses me again, sucking my bottom lip passionately. With his hands back around my face, he's putting all effort into seducing me and caressing my tongue with a fire that could wipe out cities. I almost lose all control right then.

Jake knows how to kiss; he does it like a guy who has learned the art of making a woman pliable under his skilled attention. I am no different, body and soul screaming for more, heightened and buzzing with longing. He tastes like alcohol and tropical fruit, mouth soft yet agonizingly sensual. I can't help but tremble with every movement he makes. Every slight tensing of his muscles, every line of his body against mine, is beyond sensual. My hands explore his upper torso, those hard, taut muscles turning me on.

I'm probably the most inexperienced girl he's ever had under him, but he makes me crave him. His taste, caress, and smell are intoxicating the best drug. His mouth on mine drowns out every good thing I've ever known as a pale second. He's making love to my mouth, pulling me further into erotica. My body aches for more while I cling to him and try to pull him further into me.

He responds with equal enthusiasm. His hand moves to skim the of my breast, and I softly moan in pleasure. Holding his weight up to shift against me, he brings his groin to my pelvis and parts my legs, never breaking contact with my mouth. His body is all over me, most satisfyingly. I'm almost on fire with the longing in every cell of my being; I'm so ready to let him take me that I am rubbing up against his crotch. We just fit so perfectly, everything coming together easily and in unison.

A massive bang in the hall behind us sends a startling shockwave through the room. Pulling our mouths apart as fright hits me in the chest, he seems to shield me instinctively. He jerks up to look where we left the door wide open. There's lots of hysterical screaming in the distance as the door fills with the dark looming figure, and Jake turns his head to him.

"What the fuck?" Jake's shocked and angry. Like me, he is not happy about the interruption when what we were doing was so mind-blowing. He's still on top of me, braced on his arms, our bodies still entangled. I lay panting, clinging to him, my body buzzing with pulsing heat.

"Jake? Jake?" the voice at the door calls hysterically; I think it's one of the twins.

"What is it?" he snaps.

"It's Daniel! He fell off the boat. We can't find him!"