F o r g o t t e n s e a 7
The one in the water surfaced with an explosion of breath, tossing his wet hair back from his face.
He stroked cleanly through the water, making for the swimming platform at the back of the boat.
Show time, she thought.
Pasting a smile on her face, she walked to the edge of the dock. “Eight point six.”
He angled his head, meeting her gaze. She felt the jolt clear to her stomach, threatening her detachment. His eyes were the same hammered gold as the water, with shadows beneath the surface.
“Ten.”
She pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “I deducted a point for recklessness. You shouldn’t dive this close to the dock.”
He grinned and grabbed the ladder. “I wasn’t talking about my dive.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. No one under the Rule would speak to her that way. But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to respond to her while she figured out what to do with him.
“I’m flattered.” This close, she could feel his energy pulsing inside him like a second heart. She tried again to identify it, but her probing thought slid off him like a finger on wet glass. He was remarkably wel shielded. Wel , he would have to be, to survive this long on his own.
She cast about for a subject. “Nice boat.”
He shot her a measuring glance, hauled himself out of the sea, water streaming from his arms and chest. “Yeah, she is.”
She tried not to goggle at the way his wet shorts drooped on his hips, clung to his thighs. “How long have you had her?”
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“She’s not mine. Four of us crewed her up from the Caribbean for her owners.”
“So you’re staying here? In town.”
He shook his head. “As soon as she’s serviced, I’m on to the next one.”
Apprehension gripped her. She arched her brows.
“You’re stil referring to the boat, I hope.”
He flashed another grin, quick and crooked as lightning.
“Just making it clear. Once I line up another berth, another job, I’m gone.”
“Then we don’t have much time,” she said with more truth than he knew.
He stood there, shirtless, dripping, regarding her with glinting golden eyes. “How much time do you need?”
Her heart beat in her throat. Her mouth was dry. He thought her interest was sexual. Of course he did. That’s what she had led him to think.
“Why don’t we start with coffee,” she suggested, “and see what happens.”
He glanced at his companions, bundling sails on deck.
“Drinks, and you’ve got yourself a date.”
Lara swal owed. She had hoped to be back in Rockhaven by nightfal . But a few hours wouldn’t make that much difference to their safety. She wanted desperately to succeed in their mission, to prove herself to the school council. She rubbed her tingling fingertips together. If only she could touch him . . . But they were separated by more than four feet of water. “Five o’clock?”
“Seven. Where?”
She scrambled to cul a name from their frustrating foray along the waterfront earlier in the day. Someplace close, she thought. Someplace dark. “The Galaxy?”
F o r g o t t e n s e a 9
His eyes narrowed before he nodded. “I’l be there.”
Relief rushed through her. “I’l be waiting.”
*
*
*
Justin watched her walk away, slim legs, trim waist, snug skirt, nice ass, a shining fal of dark hair to the middle of her back. Definitely a ten. “Hot.” Rick Scott, the captain, offered his opinion.
“Very,” Justin agreed.
Her face was as glossy and perfect as a picture in a magazine, her eyes large and gray beneath dark winged brows, her nose straight, her mouth ful -lipped. Unsmiling.
Why a woman like that would choose a dive like the Galaxy was beyond him. Unless she was slumming. He picked his way through the col apsed sails and coiled ropes on deck.
Which explained her interest in him even after she’d learned he wasn’t a rich yacht owner.
The stink of mineral spirits competed with the scent of brine and the smel s of the bay, fish and fuel and mudflats.
“The hot chicks always go for Justin,” Ted said. “Lucky bastard.”
Rick spat with precision over the side. He was tidy that way, an ex–military man with close-cropped graying hair and squinting blue eyes. “Next time you send the halyard up the mast, you can climb after it. Maybe some girl wil hit on you.”
A red stain crept under the younger crewman’s tan. “It was an accident.”
Justin felt a flash of sympathy. He remembered—didn’t he?
—when he was that young. That dumb. That eager to please. “Could have happened to anybody.”
He’d made enough mistakes himself his first few months 10
V i r g i n i a K a n t r a
and years at sea. Worse mistakes than tugging on an unsecured line.
He wondered if the girl would be another one.
Dredging the disassembled winch out of the bucket of mineral spirits, he laid out the gears to dry. He was working his way north again like a migrating seabird, fol owing the coast and an instinct he did not try to understand. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up on shore.
