“Grayson?” I called out again.
Movement came from high above me on the boat. “Sam?” Grayson sat on the edge, leaning on the railing as his feet dangled over the side. “How did you…”
“Mia,” I admitted. “Is it okay that I’m here?”
He studied me for a moment, and I braced. “Yeah. There’s a ladder at stern, the back of the boat.”
I kicked off my wedges as he came toward me, then climbed the ladder, using the handholds on the last rungs until I stood inside. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking it in. The lines were smooth, every detail exquisitely attended to. This wasn’t an ordinary sailboat, or one I could dream of affording. The polished decks gleamed in the lights, the luxury seats were the softest leather, everything was buffed, polished, and standing in the middle of it was Grayson. Beautiful, ripped, kind, and complicated Grayson.
I’ll take one yacht and the deckhand, please.
“Your family built this?”
“She’s Dad’s pride and joy. We started the design a couple years ago, but only started building her this year. I helped out on the design, and whenever I was home. Well, when I wasn’t—”
“With Grace,” I finished for him, running my hand along the wheel. “You can say her name. You can talk about her, Grayson. I’m okay with it.”
His hand covered mine, the contact stopping my movement and my breath. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
Even the dim lights couldn’t soften his features. His jaw was tense, unyielding, his mouth set in a firm line. “Who are you?” I asked softly, resting my hand on his chest. “Are you the dutiful son? The one who moves home and takes over his family business? Designs sailboats?”
“Yes.” His hand rested on my hip.
My heart lurched. “Are you the army pilot at the top of your class, ready to be assigned somewhere? Deployed overseas?”
“Yes.”
I drew my gaze up from his chest to look in his eyes. “Are you the guy who kissed me covered in brownie batter? Or the guy who threw his ex-best friend against the wall?”
“Yes.” He pulled my hips against his, and a rush of desire slammed through me.
My hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Grayson, you can’t be both. You’re a whole different person here. At home, you’re a little hard, but here…you’re angry, and dangerous, and more than a little tortured.”
His other hand released mine on the wheel so he framed my hips.
“I get it. I see how they treat you, and what they all expect. I can’t fathom the guilt you feel over what happened to Grace, but I know it fuels what happens here…who you are here.”
“Sam—”
“No, let me get this out.” I steadied my nerves with a huge breath and stepped backward, out of his arms. “You were nothing I had planned. Not that I ever have a plan, right? But you happened. And I know you’re graduating flight school in five months, and then you’ll be gone. I get it. We’re not permanent. But you happened to me. And I have no claim on you, no right to you, and I’m falling for you. That’s…that’s dangerous to me.” His eyes, his mouth, his very being softened. “And coming here, seeing you like this—it hurts my heart. I would give anything for you to have your miracle, to have Grace back, but I can’t.”
“I’m not asking you to,” he said softly, stepping toward me.
I retreated. “Stop. I can’t think when you touch me.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Okay.” He took another step.