DrillingDownDeep Read online

  “Twenty-six. Why? How old are you?”

  “A lot older.”

  “Really? What are you, thirty-five?”

  “Forty.”

  “You don’t look so bad for forty.”

  “My beauty treatments are paying off, thank God.”

  She glanced at him sideways and realized he was wearing a sly smile. “You’re kidding.”

  “If you say so.” He grabbed his side of the chain link and swung them higher.

  The sun dipped completely below the horizon and the deck lights automatically responded by becoming brighter. There were row upon row of white lights, on every deck of the rig, strung from end to end like some crazy Christmas tree dropped out in the middle of the ocean.

  “And I’ve been working out in a fancy-pants gym too,” he added, mid-swing. “I’m just warning you in case you take it in your head again to try to knock me on my ass.”

  She had a sudden memory of the tight, hard feel of his ass as she groped it while he pounded between her thighs. Talk about a stress flashback.

  “That was a joke too, in case you couldn’t tell.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. ’Cause you sort of looked like a deer in the headlights for a minute there.”

  “No. I knew you were joking.”

  “If you have to explain that, the joke’s a flop,” he pointed out.

  They swung in silence for a bit and then he offered, “O’Malley was telling me a little bit about your background.”

  Not too much, she hoped. “Old man’s a blabbermouth,” she said mildly.

  “That’s a very unusual upbringing you had.”

  She shrugged. “No more so than yours, I’d guess. It looked like you’d never even seen a bunk bed.”

  He laughed. “The truth is I hadn’t. I’m sure this will come as a surprise to you, but as the oldest son of Damien Reynolds, I had a pretty privileged childhood.”

  “I’m shocked.”

  “We did have one thing in common, you and me.”

  “Oh yeah? What was that?”

  “No mothers.”

  “I had a mother!” she snapped and stopped the swing, hard, with her boot. “She was just dead, that’s all.”

  His eyes were very blue as he faced her, with those ridiculously long lashes. For one minute, she almost thought he was going to touch her.

  But he didn’t.

  His comment about not being a shoulder to cry on came back to her and her chin automatically jerked higher.

  “I’m sorry, Vanny. Of course you did. I’ve gotten so hard about my own mother—my father was always making her out to be a saint and divorcing wives because they didn’t measure up to her—that I assumed you’d be as detached. I shouldn’t have made that assumption.”

  She shook her head, feeling foolish. Her mother was a hot-button issue for her. “You’re lucky. My father pretty much didn’t talk about my mother at all. Not a word. And he never remarried. So I’m afraid I’m the one who made her out to be a saint maybe.”

  “What was she like?”

  “The truth is I barely know. Except I look just like her.”

  “Beautiful then.”

  She shivered then looked him right in the eye. “I’m not so easy to charm.”

  Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  “Who’s trying to charm you?” He started the swing going again and she let him. “I’m just trying to not get knocked on my ass by a girl.”

  “Well, stop flirting with me then.”

  “Fair enough. You probably get that enough from the rest of your coworkers.”

  “Not really. Most of them treat me more like a sister or a daughter.”

  “And the ones who don’t?”

  “I knock ’em on their ass.”

  “I stand warned.”

  She stopped the swing.

  “I have to go take my shower. I should be done in ten minutes.” She looked at him, considering.

  “You’re not really going to tell me I can’t stay out on the deck alone are you?”

  “You shouldn’t—”

  “You shouldn’t boss your boss around. Now go on and take your shower. If I’m not back in the cabin a couple of minutes after you get out you can send a search party after me.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I guess.”

  By the time she climbed into the shower, it was inevitable. She rested her head against the tiles, letting the hot water rain down on her naked breasts, her belly, and reaching her hand between her legs, she made herself come, hard.

  Unfortunately, not as hard as he had.

  Chapter Three

  The room was completely dark. Darker than any room Michael had ever slept in. He realized his bedrooms had always sported windows, usually with a lit-up city view beyond them, and he tended to sleep with the shades or drapes open. Not in a black cocoon like this. Paradoxically, he found that it was interfering with him falling asleep, even though the bed had turned out to be long enough for him after all.

  He heard a deep sigh.

  Or maybe she was interfering with him falling asleep. The knowledge that she was right below him, stretched out a mere three feet away. He heard a rustle. It was warm. Had she kicked off her covers?

  He’d been concentrating on holding off an erection, since he couldn’t do anything about it, but he finally just let the image of her shifting around in the bottom bunk overtake him and let it come. Not that he let himself actually come, of course, but he was thankful for the black after all since it hid the tent of his own covers over his lap.

  Unfortunately, after a few minutes, he discovered a fact he’d never been cognizant of before. Having an erection that wouldn’t go away and wasn’t being tended to turned out to be extremely uncomfortable. As quietly as he could, he climbed off the bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and not turning on the light since he didn’t want to disturb her.

  But a second of the pitch-black closed quarters filled him with a sudden sense of panic. Oh shit. Not now. He groped for the light switch and when he couldn’t locate it in the dark yanked the door open, not bothering to stay quiet and, taking a deep breath, headed to the door of the cabin, which he figured he could find in the dark.

  He was right. He pried it open, a sliver of light from the hall coming in, when a palm suddenly slammed it shut and he found himself in darkness again. He whipped around.

  “Now I know why bunkmates have different shifts.” The light in the cabin came on. “It’s too fucking noisy otherwise.”

  With the sudden light, he felt his pulse slowing as he took another deep breath, his back against the closed door.

  “So where do you think you’re going?”

  As relieved as he was that his ridiculous panic was dissipating, having Vanny confront him, her palm on the closed door behind him as he faced her, reminded him of what had sent him to the bathroom to begin with and that sure as hell wasn’t dissipating. In fact, the actual sight of her in a thin white camisole and short shorts inspired his cock to further painful hardening. He didn’t know she slept in such a skimpy get-up since she’d already been in bed when he’d come back to the cabin.

  This whole bunking thing in retrospect had been an extremely bad idea on his part.

  She glanced down at his impossible-to-miss erection, but if he’d expected any missish dismay or discreet pretense that she didn’t notice what was right in front of her, he’d apparently forgotten who he was talking to.

  “I expect that’s another reason for that different shift thing.”

  He shook his head, not sure he’d ever been embarrassed by an erection before.

  She pushed off the door and folded her arms over her breasts, which he appreciated since otherwise he was having a hell of a time keeping his eyes off them.

  “I’ve seen a woodie before, Mr. Reynolds.”

  The juvenile name for it almost caused him to laugh.

  “And I don’t know why you were heading out of the cabin, maybe it wa
s so you could jerk off in peace, but I told you before that wandering around on the rig by yourself is not safe for somebody not familiar with it.”

  He was glad one of them could be so cold-blooded about this. He tried to recapture some of his dignity. “I wasn’t leaving to jerk off, as you so delicately put it. I could do that in the bathroom,” he pointed out.

  “Why didn’t you then?”

  “I couldn’t find the light switch,” he muttered, which was sort of the truth.

  She laughed and nodded her head toward his erection. “You need a light to find your own cock? I’d say that one would be pretty easy to find, dark or not, especially when it was all perked up like it is.”

  She walked over to the bathroom and flicked on the light. “Be my guest.”

  Then she climbed back into her bunk.

  He wasn’t used to explaining himself and he sure as hell wasn’t used to being embarrassed. But if he explained the real reason he’d shot to the door so fast, embarrassment would be the least of it. He’d never told anyone about his…his… whatever it was. No need to. She could go ahead and think what she wanted, having caught him with an erection.

  A good defense being an offense, he said, “I don’t doubt for a minute you’ve seen a woodie before, but I don’t exactly go around exposing myself to my employees like this.”

  She laughed, her eyes closed, and pulled the covers up to her chin. “I sure hope not.”

  Maybe he should just drop it. “Look, I don’t sleep with employees. I just don’t.”

  “Don’t recall asking you to.”

  He cocked his head. Something about that was so familiar. Before he could put his finger on it, she opened her eyes and added, “I’m just razzing you. It’s your own fault for insisting on bunking in here with me.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I guess so.”

  “Any port in a storm, eh?”

  “What?”

  She sat up, hunching over to keep her head from hitting the bottom of his bunk. “There aren’t any women on board but me, unless you include old Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Rather who work in the kitchen and I suspect they’re even less your type than I am.”

  “What makes you think you’re not my type?” It was out before he could stop himself.

  “If you don’t sleep with employees, you better stop flirting with this one or I’ll put that to good use.” She nodded again at his erection.

  He was used to women coming on to him. They did it all the time and always had. Money was a powerful aphrodisiac. But for some reason, he didn’t read her comments as coming on to him. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was because, from as little acquaintance with her as about seven hours, he was convinced that if Vanny Donald wanted to come on to a man, she’d be more upfront about it. No games or subtle word play.

  He found something about that wildly appealing. He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, there are considerations like sexual harassment and—”

  “For Christ sake, would you shut up? I don’t think I like you when you’re being all prissy like this.”

  “Don’t tempt me, Miss Donald.”

  She lay back down and muttered, “Don’t tempt yourself, Mr. Reynolds. Just go in the bathroom and jerk off and be done with it. I, for one, have work to get to tomorrow morning.”

  He lingered at the door then opened his mouth again. What was it about her that made him keep explaining himself? “Okay, I was fantasizing about having sex with you. I admit it.”

  “Surprise. Surprise.” Her eyes were closed. “I’ve been around men my whole life. There’s nothing you can tell me that’d shock me.”

  So he tried to. To shock her—and blurted out the truth in the process. “But I wasn’t leaving the cabin because of that. I have claustrophobia.”

  Her eyes shot open.

  “A mild case of it. Extremely mild. Almost not there. Actually, I don’t even know if claustrophobia is the right name for it.”

  As he was stammering on, she sat up and got out of the bunk, leaning one arm against the bed post. But with her full attention on him, he found he couldn’t go on.

  “Yeah?” she finally said.

  “What? That’s it.”

  “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Then she added fiercely, “Unless you’re making that up to get my sympathy.”

  He scowled. “What kind of men do you hang out with, Vanny?”

  “Are you?”

  “No! Of course not. Why would I make something like that up? It’s ah, it’s, well, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re telling the truth. Your erection’s calming down.”

  He glanced down, shaking his head. “Well, thank God for small favors.”

  “That was no small favor,” she cracked and he laughed again.

  “You’re really very funny. And I’m not flirting with you,” he hastened to add.

  “Don’t worry. I know you’re not. So how long have you had this, this claustrophobia?”

  “I’m not sure it’s—”

  “Relax! Whatever it is.”

  Vanny may have been different than most women he’d ever met, but she appeared to share one thing in common with them. She loved confessions.

  And like most men, he was generally not inclined to give them. But hell, he’d already started anyway. If he read about this in the National Enquirer soon—Tycoon’s Secret Terror Revealed—it was his own fault.

  “I guess I’ve had it since I was a kid. I don’t know really. The first time I remember noticing it was when I hid in a closet when my little brothers and I were playing hide-and-seek. I shut the door and it was dark and, I don’t know, I panicked. You’d be amazed, though, at how easy it’s been for me to avoid it since.”

  “Not a lot of hiding in closets these days?”

  “No. And it’s ridiculously easy for a rich guy to get around without getting trapped in small, dark, closed spaces.”

  “You have brothers?”

  “Quite a few. Remember what I said about my father trying to replace my mother? That led to a lot of half-siblings. There’s nothing that says hefty alimony quite so much as having a kid right away. Most of my stepmothers did it before my father could even divorce them.”

  She shook her head. “That’s pretty cynical.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe they were really trying to make him fall in love with them. I don’t know. I wasn’t old enough for most of them to tell, only the last really, my little sister’s mother.”

  “And a sister too? Wow, you seem almost human.”

  “You should never talk to my sister then. She spent almost her whole life convincing herself I wasn’t.”

  “Why?”

  “I was too prissy with her, I guess.”

  She laughed. “Don’t press your luck and tell me I remind you of your little sister. I won’t believe that one.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  She stared at him, as if expecting him to continue, a slight smile on her face, and she was such a pretty picture, he did. “So what about you? You said your father never remarried, but even I’m not prissy enough to think that means you couldn’t have any siblings.”

  “No, a vasectomy took care of that. Apparently right after my mother died. It kind of hurt my feelings when I found out about it. Sort of like he didn’t want to have any kids because I was such a burden or something. But when I got older, I realized it really just meant he didn’t want any kids with anyone but her. Not that he didn’t go around fucking everything that moved.”

  “Well, our fathers have that in common then, though mine might be slowing a bit. He’s eighty.”

  “Yeah, well, mine too.”

  He stared at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she said, “What do you say now you don’t have an erection we try to get some sleep?”

  “What do you say if I find that empty cabin O’Malley tried to put me in when I got here? No offense, but I think we’ll both be a lot more comfortable that way.”


  “No offense taken. I’d have to agree with you. You got quite a—”

  “Hey, whatever you were about to say,” he interrupted quietly, “I’d advise against it unless you’re trying to invite me into breaking my cardinal rule.”

  She didn’t ask which one.

  “I’m not one of the boys, Vanny.”

  For one wild irresponsible second, he wanted to break his own rule.

  “Yeah, that’s the problem, Michael.”

  She led him out of the cabin and down the hallway. He’d get his stuff tomorrow.

  But as he closed the door on his solitary cabin, he wondered what had been so odd about the way she said his first name.

  * * * * *

  Vanny knocked on Michael’s door the next morning and he opened it a second later to her relief. Good. She hadn’t woken him up. He looked tousled and sexy, but definitely awake.

  She handed him his briefcase and his overnight bag. “Special delivery,” she said, feeling oddly shy.

  He smiled. “Thanks. I was going to be right down. I thought you might start early.”

  “Yeah.” As he dropped his bag on a bunk and his briefcase on the chair, she added without thought, “You should be more careful with your briefcase.”

  He raised one black eyebrow.

  “I mean, you know, your papers and your…” Shit. Why the hell had she said that? “Anyway, I’m just going down to get a little something to eat. Breakfast isn’t served for another hour or so, but I can scare up some coffee and maybe a bagel if you want me to bring anything back.”

  “No, I’m fine. Thanks, Vanny. I’ll get dressed and then decide what I’ll be doing. I should probably get back.”

  “Yeah, sure, of course.”

  “Go on down to breakfast. I’ll get dressed.”

  “Oh sure. Yeah.” She fairly stumbled away to the sound of the door shutting.

  Could anyone say awkward?

  Whatever kinship they’d felt last night had apparently worn off as Michael Reynolds donned his big CEO hat again. The jerk. She wished he’d never come for his fucking tour. She wished she’d never been to his stupid old penthouse.

  She wished—

  She stopped herself mid-thought. She was so totally not going to do this.