Mine Until Moonrise

by Jennifer Bernard

  Yeah right. He also kept checking on her slim form braced at the helm, so bright with her yellow slicker and spray-sparkled hair.

  Megan Miller was so much more than he’d realized. He knew she was smart and idealistic and determined. He knew she was attractive, obviously. But he hadn’t predicted that she’d be so much fun to be with. In a situation like this, with her guard down, every moment with her made him either laugh, smile, or experience a hard-on. Sometimes all three at once.

  He usually loved being alone on his boat, with no customers to chat up. But now it felt lonely. He missed her vivid, sexy presence. Every time he looked in the direction of his bed, he missed her even more.

  When they reached the midpoint of the bay, cell service picked up again. At least the storm hadn’t knocked that out. He called Megan and watched her answer, then prop the phone between her neck and her shoulder.

  “We’re not in the harbor yet. How about some last-minute boat sexting?”

  She looked over her shoulder and wagged a finger at him. “Boat sexting? I’m pretty sure they didn’t cover that in my boating safety class.”

  “I’ll teach you myself. Private lesson.”

  “With an offer like that…”

  He lowered his voice to a hot growl. “I’ll start off easy. What are you wearing, you sexy woman? Under that industrial plastic rain slicker, that is?”

  “Well, since you ask, everything on my body is extremely…wet.” She spoke the word “wet” in a breathy whisper.

  Figured she’d be good at boat sexting.

  “The wetter the better.” His mouth had gone dry so he couldn’t think of a good enough response.

  “In that case, I’m very, very good. Good and wet.”

  “I think you’re very, very bad. And I’m not just talking about the way you’re steering a little too close to Mussel Shoal.”

  She adjusted course immediately. Good, now he could focus on the fun stuff again.

  “So about this wetness…tell me more.”

  “Why tell when I can show?” And then she surprised the hell out of him by turning all the way around so she faced him. She put her phone down and with her back to the wheel, she opened her jacket and yanked up her shirt to flash him.

  Great. Now he’d be pulling into the harbor with a massive hard-on and honestly, it served him right, trying to play games with her on the water.

  He’d much rather play games with her on dry land. In a bed.

  “You win,” he growled. “I’m hanging up now. See you in the harbor.”

  Laughing her ass off, she tossed aside her phone and put both hands back on the wheel.

  Since he couldn’t stop thinking about her naked breasts and damp skin under her rain gear, the rest of the trip was not comfortable. Not one bit.

  But at least she didn’t hit Mussel Shoal, so things could have been worse.

  He slid into his berth just past the Forget Me Not. Several fishermen jogged down the ramp as soon as they docked.

  It was a tradition in Lost Harbor—as soon as anyone returned from a run-in with a storm, the entire harbor community gathered in support.

  Megan reacted with alarm when she first saw the guys swarming the tie-up float to help out. But when Old Crow handed her a thermos of hot chocolate, she brightened right up.

  “You don’t mind a little extra something in your drink, do you?” he asked.

  “I could use it,” she assured him after taking a long swallow. Then another one. Uh oh…she probably had no idea how strong these guys poured their drinks. “That was the most terrifying experience of my life. Well, except for childbirth, of course. Nothing really compares to that.”

  If there was one topic fishermen didn’t generally discuss, it was childbirth. With impressive speed, they changed the subject and asked both Lucas and Megan what they needed boat-wise.

  For the next half hour or so, the other fishermen helped rinse the salt off the decks, coil ropes and stow buckets. When Lucas saw Megan sway with exhaustion—and probably a little too much rum in her hot chocolate—he gestured for her to grab her things and follow him.

  “We’ll finish up in the morning, guys. Thank you.”

  “Thank you soooo much,” Megan gushed, her face pink and glowing. Yup, that hot chocolate must have quite a kick. “You guys are the best. I’m so happy you’re not mad at me about the things I said in the show.”

  “Yeah, you pretty much trashed us,” said Ralphie, Lucas’ deckhand. “You made us sound stupid.”

  Megan’s face fell. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

  Lucas glared at his deckhand. Megan didn’t need this shit right now. “Did you ever think that maybe we are stupid?”

  “That’s not what you said on the show.”

  Megan stopped Lucas from answering and put a hand over her heart. “Don’t get mad at Lucas. I’m the one who insulted you even though it definitely wasn’t my intention and I never thought that part would make it on the air because it’s so boring. I never meant to imply that you were stupid, just more like, in denial and—”

  “Okay, I think we’ve done enough here.” Lucas took the thermos from her limp hand and gave it back to Old Crow. “It’s been a long day and we’re a little loopy here.”

  “Still listening for that part about not being stupid,” grumbled Old Crow.

  “Not stupid,” said Megan, “just uninform—”

  “We’re going,” Lucas said firmly. He clapped a hand over Megan’s mouth and practically dragged her down the ramp. “It’s been a long day. Getting caught in the storm really takes it out of you, right, Megan?”

  Megan scowled behind his hand, her wide eyes shooting daggers at him.

  He hauled her up the ramp to the sound of the fishermen grumbling. They knew perfectly well what she was getting at. They probably even knew that she was making a valid point. But getting them to accept it—that was another matter.

  Right now, whatever she said was guaranteed to rub them wrong.

  Hopefully she’d understand tomorrow—if she remembered. After that big scare, no food beyond a few crackers, an orgasm and a rain-soaked hike, it hadn’t taken much alcohol at all to knock her on her ass.

  “You’re driving with me,” he ordered as she tried to veer off toward her own truck in the nearly empty parking lot.

  “You’re being very bossy.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “But that’s okay because I don’t want to drive. My arms hurt. Especially my wrists. And hands.”

  They reached his truck, a burgundy crew cab with a bumper sticker that read, “Hammer Time.” His brother had found it and slapped it on the truck without permission. She tugged away from him and leaned against the side of the truck. Her eyes half closed as she tilted her head toward the sky, which was finally showing hints of darkening.

  He lifted her left hand in his and gently rubbed his thumb across her wrist. “It’s hard work, what you did out there. You’re taking tomorrow off, right?”

  “Can’t. I have two tours tomorrow. I never have that many tours.”

  “Reschedule them. It can take a few days for the aftereffects of a storm to die down.”

  She rolled her head back and forth against the truck. “I’m not rescheduling. Storms bring rare birds, you know. They get blown away from their usual habitat. It’s a great opportunity. Hey, you should come with me.” Her face lit up with delight. “You’ll get to see some amazing wildlife and you won’t even have to kill it.”

  “Then what’s the point?” he said dryly.

  She sighed. “You’re hopeless. It’s a good thing you’re so attractive. That makes up for a lot.”

  “Good to know. Get in.” He opened the door for her.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Home.” Where did she think he was taking her? What happened to the one-time only-in-Ninlik Cove thing?

  She blinked at him innocently. “Ruby’s staying with Zoe. I’m available. And I’m quite buzzed. It’s like a perfect storm, so to speak.�
��

  “Haven’t you had enough storms for one day?”

  “I think I could manage one more.” She hooked a finger through his belt loop and tugged him closer.

  He laughed and opened the door of his truck for her. “I’ll think about it. Now would you get in already?”

  “Bossy.”

  Back at his place, Megan spent some time drunkenly admiring the pioneer-days construction and profusion of woven and quilted things. “Your mother did all that? She must not have had TV or Internet.”

  “She told me once it was more about the socializing than anything else. She and her friends called it ‘stitch and bitch.’”

  “That’s funny. Or maybe it’s not. Sounds inappropriate.” She reeled over to the big stone-cut hearth that dominated the main room. “This is amazing. Can I sleep in that fireplace, like Cinderella?”

  “Nope. You’re coming with me.” He swooped her into his arms and carried her into his bedroom. She yelped in surprise and clutched at his shoulders—as if there was any chance he would drop her. He marched past his bed and into the bathroom beyond.

  “Oh my God, is that a shower?” She peered over his shoulder. “I thought I wanted to sleep, but that’s only because I forgot that showers existed. It’s been a long day.”

  “That’s for damn sure.” He plopped her onto the floor with the tiles he’d laid himself as an early construction project. He could still point out every flaw—because his father had pointed them out first. “Can you handle this part yourself or do you need me for anything in there?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll be right out. You’re an angel. At first I thought of Lucifer but I’m rethinking that. You’re just an angel from heaven. I’m sure people tell you that all the time.” She was already unzipping her fleece jacket. The damp swell of her t-shirt over her breasts made him clench his teeth.

  “Oh yeah. It gets tiring, really.” He left her then, determined not to lose control over a simple thing like a shower. Despite her teasing “perfect storm” come-on, he knew what she really needed. A shower and some sleep.

  Why did this woman bring out his protective side so strongly? He didn’t want to think about it too much; he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Megan woke up the next morning in a state of floating bliss so unfamiliar that she wondered for a moment if she’d died in the storm.

  She was so warm, first of all. Surrounded by heavenly warmth, snuggled in the most luxurious comfort. Maybe clouds in the upper atmosphere felt like this, the big fluffy white cumulus clouds.

  She’d always wondered what it would be like to dive into one of those clouds.

  But why was it so warm? Clouds were generally about sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, unless they were ice clouds, in which case…

  As her scientific side kicked in, she opened her eyes and realized something else. Someone was in the bed with her.

  That person was naked. Or at least the upper part of him was. His shoulders could have been chiseled from some especially durable rock. His head was turned away from her, but the curve of his jaw showed some heavy-duty dark stubble.

  Lucas Holt. Sleeping like a hero after coming to her rescue.

  His dark hair curled against the tendons of his neck, which were extra prominent because of the way his head lay on the pillow. She wanted to stroke that strong line all the way to his shoulder. Maybe she could lick it.

  Her mouth watered. This man got her juices flowing in a way no one had in a very long time. At least since Dev, and maybe before that too. She’d stopped desiring Dev long before they’d ended their relationship. She’d gotten so tired of his manipulative ways.

  For a moment, she dwelled on her ex and the constant worry that he might be up to something. She wanted to trust him. He was trustworthy in so many ways—financially, for instance. But Dev always had a hidden agenda or two. Sometimes more. That made him an excellent chess player, but not the best partner in a relationship.

  Lucas, on the other hand, was blunt to a fault. If he had a problem with something, he had no trouble speaking up about it. She knew where she stood with him. Even if he was unhappy about something she’d done or said, she’d much rather know about it. Dev never came out and told her when he was upset with her. They could never resolve anything without the professional help of Eliza Burke. Outside of mediation, he deflected and distracted and moved on. Quarreling with him was like wrestling an eel.

  Maybe that was why she and Lucas argued so much. Because she could.

  If someone had a problem with Lucas—like her, for instance—he didn’t pretend to listen but really just scheme about how to change her mind. No. He listened. He might disagree. Okay, so he often disagreed. But then he said so. Right out in the open. It was freaking intoxicating.

  She licked the hard curve of flesh on the outer part of his shoulder. Clean skin. No salt. He must have showered after her. She remembered the shower. The sheer stunning joy of warm water sluicing over her skin. She remembered stumbling out in nothing but a towel. Silky oversized pajamas had lain on the bed.

  She’d called for Lucas, but gotten no answer. Then she’d spotted the note—“Checking on my mom. You can borrow the PJs if you want. Mis-order from Amazon. Brand new unless you count Fidget sleeping ON them one night. Be back soon.”

  She’d tried to stay awake, but didn’t last long once she’d put on those amazing jammies and crawled into this ridiculously comfy bed—seriously, how did Lucas have so many comfortable beds? He was such a rugged dude. Did hard-edged fishermen always live in luxury like this?

  It made sense after working his body so hard during the day.

  She slid her tongue along the bulge of his triceps. She didn’t normally thirst after muscles. Brains were her catnip. That was what had drawn her to Dev, who had been studying statistics before he decided to use his skills in the business world.

  But Lucas was smart too. Not in a “savant” kind of way, but in a real-world, observe-and-act kind of way. Not just on the water, but in every situation.

  Like the Harbor Commission meeting, where they’d spoken for the third and most annoying time.

  The hot issue at the meeting had been whether or not to allow a disabled oil tanker to berth in the harbor while a crew of welders worked on repairs. Even though all the oil had been removed from the tanker, Megan had been part of a group opposing the idea. They didn’t want to provide a safe haven for anything having to do with the oil industry.

  On the other side of the argument, the company was willing to pay full rate for every day its tanker stayed in the port. That money could do so much for Lost Harbor—fund new ramps, a pavilion that had been talked about for years, new public restrooms.

  For days, the community had argued and taken sides; two fishermen on opposing sides had even come to blows at the Olde Salt one night. Everyone remembered the Exxon Valdez, and not everyone was ready to trust an oil company.

  Then had come the big meeting. Because interest was so intense, it had to be moved to the auditorium at the local high school. Even so, the crowd spilled into the hallways.

  Advocates on both sides had taken turns coming to the microphone and presenting testimony. Megan had given a dire speech about the potential risks of diesel seeping into the harbor during the repairs. Sea otters would be harmed, the bird populations would be affected, fish could be tainted. Children would no longer be able to wade in the harbor water.

  She’d had the audience in the palm of her hand. As she finished painting her post-apocalyptic vision of an oil spill in Lost Harbor, she just knew she’d swayed everyone to her side.

  And then a tall man had casually strolled to the microphone. She recognized the man from the slip next to hers, the one who’d been so rude just a couple days earlier. A low rumble had swept through the crowd; the sound that means people are sitting up and taking notice.

  “Lucas Holt here. As you all know, my dad lost everything thanks to the Exxon Valdez. That’s wh
y he started fishing for tourists instead of King Crab.”

  Oh good, she’d thought. Anyone who’d been a Valdez victim would hate this plan. Lucas Holt—so attractive with his dark hair, black jeans, black sweater, strong build, casual posture, deep baritone, confident manner, at ease in the spotlight—was going to back her up.

  Then he kept going.

  “Unlike for some people, it’s personal to me.” She’d looked up sharply. Was that a dig at her?

  “The way I see it is, the oil companies owe us. If they’re willing to hand over large sums of cash in exchange for parking their empty tanker here, I say what are we fucking waiting for? Excuse me, kids.”

  That was a joke because salty language was part of harbor life.

  “I vote we say yes and charge them for every single little thing we can think of. Use of our water? There’s a fee for that. Occupancy? Charge them extra for every person onboard past the first five. Require them to hire local. We’ve got world-class welders here in Lost Harbor, let’s put them to work. Require their food vendors to be local. Charge them for the fricking air they’re using. Let’s make these bastards pay.”

  By the time he was done, the entire crowd was on its feet. The final vote was a crushing defeat for the anti-tanker forces.

  Megan had been so furious that she’d dodged through the crowd to snag Lucas before he could slip out the auditorium side door.

  “Is that all that matters to you? Money?”

  “Sorry, who are you again?” Propping the door open, he’d lifted an arrogant eyebrow at her.

  “Megan Miller. We met before. My boat is in the slip next to yours. As a boat operator I’m horrified at the thought of a big oily tanker seeping chemicals into our harbor.”

  “Well, as a boat operator myself, sorry, but your side lost.” The brusqueness of his answer sent steel through her spine.

  “This isn’t a game. It’s not about winning or losing.”

  “Isn’t that what losers always say?”

  She set her jaw. Never in her life had she met such an instantly irritating man. “Call me a loser if you want, but if the ecology of the harbor is adversely affected, we’re all going to pay for it.”