His eyebrows pop high on his forehead and I freeze at the realization of what I’ve done.
I grab the first photo I see and shove it in his face. “This girl, Celia, me, is living life to the fullest.”
He eyes the photo then chuckles. “Yeah, she is.” He squints. “Those real?”
I flip the photo around and then smash it to my chest. “Pretend you didn’t see that.” God, Cece, Stephen Tyler signing your boobs?
My breath saws in and out of my lungs as I try desperately to regain my composure. “Listen . . .” I place the photo on the shelf, facedown. “I’m moving out. It’ll take me a week or so to pack up and arrange for movers. Since I’m paid through to December I’m going to need to get a prorated refund for the months I won’t be here.”
He crosses his arms at his chest and I almost get distracted by how the position accentuates his biceps. “’Fraid I can’t do that.”
“Of course you can.”
“No, you signed a one-year lease. If you leave before your lease is up, that’s on you.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“That’s not right.”
He shrugs.
“It’s unconstitutional!” My high-pitched shriek bounces off the walls.
“It’s contractual.”
“So that’s it, you’re not going to help me.”
“I’m trying to help you, but you’re asking for something I can’t do. It’s out of my hands, freckles.”
My hands fist uncontrollably at my sides and damn him and his growing smirk.
“I expected more from a military man.”
All the humor in his face dissolves. Gotcha!
“Isn’t your motto to protect and serve?”
“I ain’t a cop.”
“No, you’re not. A cop would have enough integrity to prorate my money back.”
“Feel better?” It’s casual but I don’t miss the tick in his jaw.
“Guess the whole military respect thing is a foreign concept to you.”
The light spark in his eyes dies and he stares at me blank-faced, completely emotionless.
I should stop, but Celia is dying and what kind of sister would I be if I just sit here and let him talk like she’s some money-hungry whore. “I guess I shouldn’t expect much from someone who kills people for money!”
“Fuck this.” He turns and stomps to the door, slamming it behind him so hard the walls shake.
I expect him to take a hard left in the direction of his cottage, but instead he jogs toward the beach.
“Dammit.” I huff out a breath, the anger in my blood calming with the growing distance he put between us.
Guilt washes in, but I push it back. I may have attacked his integrity, but he deserved it.
Okay, so he didn’t exactly call Celia a slut, I suppose all he did was point out the obvious. But no one talks shit about my sister. No one. Not even good-looking military men who go out of their way to get my electricity back up.
I plug in my phone and once it’s charged enough to turn on I dial my sister’s number all while ignoring the weird heaviness in my chest.
“So?” She answers right away but sounds tired. “Tell me how much you love my life.”
“Celia . . . this was such a stupid idea.”
“I got your message last night. Stop sounding so miserable and talk to me.”
I sigh and drop back to the couch as far as the phone charging cord will let me. “I think we should’ve talked a little more before I agreed to do this. Why didn’t you tell me about Brice?”
“Is he still there?” She laughs. “Man . . . we had some fun times together.”
“He kissed me!”
“Toe curling, right?” How can she sound so excited when I feel like I’ve been put through an emotional wood chipper?
“That’s not the point.”
“Of course it’s the point. Tell me right now you didn’t enjoy that kiss.”
I did. I totally did. “It was awkward, Cece. I don’t even know the guy!”
“So what? Haven’t you ever kissed someone you don’t know before?”
I roll my lips between my teeth.
“Your lack of response tells me all I need to know.” She huffs out a breath. “Jeez, Sawyer, you needed this more than I thought.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“If I had you’d go in with too many expectations.”
“Did you know your place had been broken into?”
“No.”
“Mr. Hurtado’s nephew runs the place now, he said he left a message.”
“I don’t listen to those.” There’s sadness in her voice. “I don’t want to know about everything going on outside of my bedroom. It only reminds me of what I’m missing.”
“Yeah.” I guess I can understand that.
“So you have to have sex with Brice.”
“Celia!”
“Shhh . . .” She laughs quietly. “You’ll give us away.”
“I have a lot to do, I just wanted to call and tell you I hate you for making me do this.”
“You love me. And if you have sex with Brice you’ll really love me.”
“Oh my GAWD!”
She’s still laughing! “I promise when you get back to Phoenix and your nine-to-five life you’ll thank me for making you do this.”
“Maybe.” So far I’ve met a gorgeous man who kissed me until my head spun, and an even better-looking, albeit rougher man who managed to excite me as much as he drove me crazy. “How are you feeling?”
“Fantastic. I have a ton of energy, might even go run some errands with Mom today.”
I grin to myself. “That’s good news.”
“All right, go pack up my stuff, and Sawyer?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be afraid to have a little fun. You’ve earned it.”
“Love you.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Bye.”
What do I do now? A small voice in the back of my head says I need to find Aden and apologize, even though that’s the last thing I want to do.
Digging into my pocket I pull out the single quarter Celia gave me and I close my eyes. “Tails I apologize, heads I get packing.”
I toss the coin and when I hear it land on the hardwood floor with a thump, I squat down to learn my fate.
“Shit.” This should be interesting.
FIVE
ADEN
I’m always amazed by how different the sun feels at the same temperature in different locales. How the same ball of flaming gas can feel like a blowtorch blasting against me when I’m belly down in the dirt staring through the scope of my rifle, and a warm blanket when I’m on the boat, hunched over an ice chest pulling out a cold beer.
Granted, no one’s trying to kill me when I’m grabbing a beer, I suppose that could be a contributing factor.
“Where’re you headin’, Colt?” Jenkins’s rusty cough caused by a lifetime of cheap cigars comes closer.
Somewhere far the fuck away from here. “San Clemente Island.”
He smells like stale smoke, bait, and wood rot, like any old-timer fisherman should. “Yellowtail’s bitin’.”
I crack open the pop-top on my beer and help myself to that first refreshing swig that soothes a bit of the fury left over from my encounter with Celia this morning. “You putting in your dinner order?”
“Damn straight.” He wobbles off, half hunched over from years of slinging fish. “I’ll be at the Office.”
His unsteady gate down the dock reminds me of what Celia looked like negotiating the planks in those ridiculous heels.
What the hell does Cal see in that woman? I mean, besides her being attractive, which she most definitely is, but not in an obvious way. I suppose my uncle being a dirty old man, he may have been able to look past her uptight attitude. Where’s the girl from the picture? I didn’t see even a hint of the carefree smile that screams of a well-loved life. And really, how can she b
e pissed at me for asking questions about photos she has proudly displayed in her place? Makes no fucking sense.
And her response, bagging on the military, the men who’ve become more family to me than my own blood, the men who died horrific deaths defending her freedom to be a bitch. She’s got some fucking nerve.
I bring the beer to my lips and my hand shakes uncontrollably. Shit. I squeeze the can so hard it dents and drain what’s left of the beer. And here I was doing so well.
I go about readying the boat for a day at sea, away from people who only manage to grate against my nerves just by breathing. There’s something so calming about being on the ocean, as far away from the desert and valleys that constantly haunt me. When I’ve got a pole in my hands they don’t shake, and my thoughts don’t drift to all I did wrong and all I lost.
With the bait hold full of sardines I check my gas gauge, poles, and step on the dock to untie. It’s when I’m untying the bow I hear a voice that makes my skin vibrate, whether it’s with interest or irritation, I’m not sure.
“Aden!”
Fuck. How the hell did she get past the gate? Maybe if I pretend I don’t see her she’ll leave.
I toss the tie-up ropes into the boat and move to the other side, but she intercepts me. Persistent little thing. “What do you want, Celia?”
She opens those thick lips, closes them, licks them, and fuck, I can’t take much more of that. Is it bad that I want to suck the mouth off a girl I can’t stand? I sidestep her and move to untie the other side of the boat. She follows on my heels.
“Aden, please, I’m—”
I get right in her face. Damn if the way she stumbles over herself isn’t cute as shit. “You’re what.”
She gasps and her wide green eyes move from my nose to my mouth to my chin and I curse under my breath because it feels like she’s stroking me with them. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” I slide around her again and climb on board.
Her arms drop to her sides and she watches as if she expects me to say more, but the truth is, I’ve never been good at relationships, friendships, fuckships, all ships I pretty much fail at. Boats I know. Boats I’m good at.
I fire up the engine.
“Wait, Aden!” She scrambles around to the stern and grips the side.
What the fuck is she doing?
She throws a leg up over the rail—I dart to the edge and grab her to wrangle her flailing body on board. “Are you fucking crazy? You can’t jump on a boat when the prop’s on!”
She pushes her shoulder-length hair behind her ears, her face pale.
Staring up at me, there’s something in her eyes, a vulnerability that calls to every male cell in my body to fix whatever it is inside her that’s broken, which is fucking bullshit. I don’t even know this girl.
I release her shoulders and stomp back to the cockpit to shut off the prop, then whirl on her. “Get off.”
Her eyebrows pinch together and she tucks her chin in, something I’m beginning to notice she does often. “You’re kicking me off your boat?”
“I’m going fishing, so unless you feel like playing deckhand all day, yes. Get off.”
She rolls those lips between her teeth and I have to look away to squelch the desire to kiss this obnoxious broad. She turns around suddenly and heads to the stern but freezes with her hand on the latched door. Then she pulls something from the waistband of her skirt, something small. She looks down at whatever it is, her shoulders slump, and she turns back toward me. “I’ll stay.”
“What?!” Is she insane?
She defies everything I thought I picked up from her and stomps to my side. “I’m staying.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.”
She rolls a silver coin between her fingers before tucking it back into her waistband. “I think you’re probably right.”
Fuckin’ hell, this woman! “Fine.” I turn and throw open the floor storage to snag a faded orange life vest. It smells like mildew but it’ll do the job. I hold it out to her. “Put this on. You wear it at all times.”
The light breeze brings the scent right to her and she crinkles up her nose.
“Do you, um . . . I mean, is it possible to get a cleaner one?”
I thrust it toward her.
Using her fingers like pincers she takes it and slides her arms through the holes. Acting like she’ll contract some fatal disease by touching it, she fumbles with the straps and clasps.
“Fuck, this’ll take all damn day.” I push her hands out of the way and fasten the straps, tightening them until I’m satisfied it won’t come off.
Then I turn my back on her to fire up the engine and pull out of the slip. “I got two rules on my boat,” I yell to her so she can hear me. “One, deckhands bait line. That’s it.”
She doesn’t reply but as I negotiate steering the boat away from the dock I catch her slowly sliding into a seat.
“Two, all deckhands drink beer on my boat.”
I peek down to see her arms wrap around her middle as the wind throws her hair around her face. Poor girl looks miserable. I grin to myself.
This might actually be fun.
I always did love a good torture session.
SAWYER
I’m on a boat. A real boat headed out into the middle of the ocean with a man I’ve known for twelve hours and managed to insult. Despite my apology, he’s hardly looked me in the eye. If the firm set of his jaw is any indication, I’d say he’s still pissed.
I don’t have time to concentrate on that. Right now all I can worry about is the two possible outcomes brought to me by using Celia’s stupid effing coin—I’m either going to throw up all over myself or die.
The farther away from land we go the more intense the ocean swells get, tossing the boat around with increasing aggression. Every muscle in my body is flexed to the point of pain, my hair is a massive crown of knots, and no matter how many times I try to slick it down, the wind manages to pull it back up. Not to mention I was not at all dressed for a day on a boat, not that I’d even know what’s appropriate for that, but my guess is a long skirt, tank top, and flip-flops only works in Ralph Lauren ads.
Okay, so sue me for wanting to look nice when I apologized. I stared at my clothing options for an hour before I finally dug through Celia’s closet looking for something halfway between sexy conservative and full-blown hooker. The skirt is long but sexy and tie-dyed in different shades of blue. I paired it with a navy blue spaghetti-strap tank that accentuates what little curves I have. The downside of the tank is my pasty skin is going to get fried out here in the sun. That’s okay; a sunburn I can get over, but death is hard to come back from.
I attempt to soothe my nerves by coming up with a plan for every possible scenario. Aden’s boat is equipped with shelter for a hurricane, a life ring if I go overboard, a bathroom for peeing or vomiting—whichever comes first. On cue my gut rolls in protest.
I feel full even though I haven’t eaten anything but a muffin and a cup of coffee, and yet something tells me if I coughed hard enough I’d lose everything in my stomach including, possibly, the organ itself.
Stop being such a wimp, Sawyer. Celia would do this, there’s no reason I can’t do it too.
The internal pep talk continues for a while until land fades and there’s nothing but water three hundred and sixty-five degrees around us. I don’t know how long we’ve been going, but the sound of the roaring engine and slap of the waves against the boat start to lull me to an acceptance of my fate. I’m stuck on a boat at sea with nothing but a contagious flotation device to protect me. If the ocean doesn’t kill me, whatever creeping fungus living in this thing around my neck will.
My eyes scan the water encompassing the vessel, keeping a lookout for a huge dorsal fin. The ominous du-dum, du-dum, du-dum dudum plays over and over in my head. This boat does kind of remind me of Quint’s. My pulse speeds. I’m going to die. I curse Celia for putting this damn coin in my hand. This was a mistake, a huge mist
ake.
I’m breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth when the boat slows and the engine cuts. Aden’s powerful legs come into view and I tilt my head back to peer up at him.
His light brown hair is streaked lighter in places from the sun, and though it’s not long enough to be a mess from the wind, it’s angled away from his forehead and strong brow line.
He pushes his sunglasses up. “You look like you’re gonna puke.”
Hearing the word calls the urge to do just that even closer to the surface. “It’s a possibility.”
He grunts, then turns and ducks into the belly of the boat. I stand up and sway with the rocking of the waves, which does nothing for my stomach. I grip the railing and look down into the water. It’s dark blue and so deep there’s no way I’d be able to see in time to react if a shark jumped up and pulled me under—oh God.
I stumble back at the thought and hit a solid wall of muscle. Steel bands come around my waist to steady me and I’m hit with the scent of soap, sunblock, and beer.
“Sit.” He motions to a padded bench seat that runs along the side of the deck.
I start to ask if we’re safe out here, but decide that’s not something Celia would say, so instead I nod. He guides me there, then hands me a little white pill and a bottle of water.
“What is it?”
“It’ll help with the motion sickness.”
I try not to think too hard on the fact that there’s no way he washed his hands before palming the tablet. “Oh, thank you.” I stare at the pill and prepare to toss it to the back of my throat, but again . . . I don’t know this guy. What if he’s trying to drug me so he can push me off the boat and leave me out here to drown? I’m still staring at it when suddenly his nose appears just inches from mine. Bracing his hand on the railing at my back he glares at me with a fierceness that makes me cower.
“Regardless of what you think you know about my integrity, Celia Forrester, I would never . . . ever . . . hurt a woman, understand?”
His nearness combined with his rumbled demand has me frozen beneath his gaze.
“Tell me you understand that.”
My eyelids flutter.
His expression turns sad. “Cece . . .”
I startle at his calling me by my sister’s nickname.
Wrecked Page 7
