His eyes narrow. “You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were surprised by my ability to provide for my woman.”
“Your woman?” I roll my eyes. “What is this, an episode of Outlander? Because the only person allowed to refer to me as his woman is Jamie Fraser and you, my friend, are not wearing a kilt.”
“I understood literally none of what you just said.”
I grin, turn away, and grab my gear off the table. “Oh, never mind.”
“See?” he calls, just before I close the bathroom door. “We’re already fighting again! What’d I tell you?”
I laugh as I strip down to my skin and pull on the sailor suit.
It fits perfectly.
* * *
“Take the wheel.”
“What?”
“I have to put the sails up.” Parker’s voice is patient. “Take the wheel.”
“Last time you put it in that auto-pilot mode. Why can’t you do that again?”
“That was last time. You were new. Now, you’re a seasoned sailor. Take the wheel.”
“I don’t know how to steer this thing!”
“Zoe. Just hold it steady in one direction. It’s basically like driving a car, just… in an ocean. With no lanes or speed limits.”
“That’s really comforting, considering I never got a fucking driver’s license.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Huh. Well… luckily, you’re a quick learner. Just head for that green buoy in the distance.”
Before I can object again, he lets go of the wheel and scurries up onto the top deck.
“Parker!” I yell, watching the wheel start to spin off course.
He doesn’t respond — he’s busy putting up the sails.
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. With no other choice, I grab the wheel and attempt to straighten our course.
Head straight into the wind, Parker advised me before throwing me to the fucking wolves. Once the sails are up, I’ll come turn off the engines.
I grit my teeth and try not to panic. A few nail-biting minutes pass before he returns.
“See?” His smile is a mile wide and his hair is adorably mussed from the wind. “You did great. I knew you would.”
“I didn’t sink us at the bottom of the Atlantic. That’s not exactly the same as doing great.”
He just shakes his head as he walks around behind me and grabs the wheel, so his chest is pressed up against my back and his arms cage me in.
“Where are we going?” I whisper as he makes an adjustment to our course, reading the compass mounted on the wheel.
His mouth scrapes my earlobe, the faint stubble of his beard ticklish against the sensitive skin there.
“Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”
I smile and lean back against him, allowing the heat of his body and the gentle sway of the boat as she cuts through the waves to calm me. Thoughts of wrecked apartments and corrupt billionaires and evil henchmen and job offers fade away until it’s just me and Parker, sailing away from the world. Leaving it all behind.
It’s the best thing I’ve experienced in a long, long time.
We chase the sunset for just over an hour, then turn east and head straight out to sea. It’s funny — a week ago, in this same situation with Parker West, I would’ve been freaking out. Asking a million questions about our destination, demanding to know his motives, wondering why on earth he would possibly want to spend time with a girl like me.
Now, all I feel is an unflappable sense of calm.
Because I trust him, I realize in a flash. He won’t hurt me.
I’m totally safe with him.
I’m… home.
And, for me, a girl who never had a home…
That means everything.
The sun has almost set by the time the lighthouse comes into view. The sole structure on a tiny outcropping of rock in the middle of the sound, the pillar of granite looks ancient and weather-beaten, its stones caked with salt and brine from the ever-constant waves that crash with the tides. Every few seconds, a bright beacon flashes in the night from the top of the tower, the beam moving rhythmically across the darkening water to warn incoming ships of the small island and guide them into the harbor.
There are no other buildings on the island. Just a narrow dock, which Parker maneuvers the sailboat toward with expertise, cutting the motors at exactly the right moment so we glide to a smooth stop along the pier.
“This can’t be where we’re going,” I murmur, eyeing the towering stone lighthouse with wide eyes. It’s a lonely gray sentinel, guarding the city from afar.
Parker grins. “Help me with the lines, will you, lazy bones? I told you — we’ve got a reservation.”
“At a lighthouse,” I say flatly.
“Yep. Unless you plan on swimming back.” He tosses me the stern line and scrambles toward the bow. “Tie us off, darling. Don’t want the Swan drifting out to sea in the middle of the night.”
“But…” I stare at the rope in my hands. “You can’t mean… We can’t be staying here! Parker?”
He doesn’t answer; he’s busy securing the front of the boat to a cleat along the pier.