“You feel like running, yet?” he asks gently.
I shake my head because I can’t form words.
“Good. Because, honestly, we’re in the middle of the ocean. And it would make for a pretty awkward sail home if you decided you wanted to leave after that speech.”
A laugh bubbles up from my stomach and collides with the lump in my throat, resulting in a choked sob-giggle conglomeration.
“I…” I try to speak, but can’t seem to form any words. “I…”
“Shh.” Parker’s arms wrap around me as he tugs me close and tucks me into his side. “Sleep, darling. You don’t have to say anything right now.”
“But…”
His mouth presses a kiss into the hollow of my neck. “I know, Zoe. I know.”
He knows.
And so, I fall asleep in the arms of the man who maybe, possibly, definitely loves me, not worrying about the future or the past or anything except this moment.
Here.
Safe.
Home.
* * *
There’s a magical quality to the five days I spend at the lighthouse with Parker. We stay in bed all day, talking about nothing and making love. He cooks terrible, semi-charred grilled cheese sandwiches on the tiny kitchen stove and I don’t complain, because it’s highly unlikely I could manage to produce anything remotely more edible if I tried.
Sunsets blend into sunrises as we stay up talking about everything and nothing. I tell him about my childhood bouncing around foster homes; he reveals the horror of losing his mother at a young age and raising his sister in the absence of a reliable father figure.
He doesn’t tell me he loves me again.
I don’t say it either.
And yet, it doesn’t matter.
There’s no awkwardness or stilted conversation. We never fade into small talk.
Every moment with him matters.
On our fifth day out at sea, we’re lying in bed after an afternoon session between the sheets when his phone rings. The chime is a harsh intrusion into our bubble of solitude; until I hear its piercing toll, I’d nearly forgotten the world existed outside this narrow pillar of stone.
“Nate?” Parker says into the speaker, forehead creasing in a frown. “What is it?”
Reality rushes back in a snap — Lancaster, the case, my trashed apartment. I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten, lost out here in the throes of lust and isolation.
“You’re sure?” Parker asks, his tone serious. “Okay. Fine. See you soon.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as I watch him hang up the phone.
When his eyes meet mine, there’s a serious look in their depths.
“Agent Gallagher came through. Robert Lancaster was just arrested. So was Linus, his Head of Security – according to Nate, the fucker has a Southie accent, which means he was probably the one who attacked you last week.” Parker’s expression darkens. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure he faces assault charges for laying a fucking hand on you.”
“What about the other charges?” I ask, eyes wide. “The factory workers…”
“Their case has been passed over to the DA. Nate says any family suffering from any kind of health issue related to the asbestos poisoning will be part of a class action lawsuit against Lancaster Consolidated. It’ll be a billion-dollar case.”
“And the doctor?” I ask. “Charles Birkin?”
“Apparently he took his payoff and fled the country. No one has seen him in days, though Nate won’t stop looking until he finds him. You can count on it.”
I suck in a breath. “So it’s over?”
A slow, sexy grin breaks across Parker’s face. “It’s over.”
“Wow.” I tilt my head. “Is it wrong that I’m a little disappointed?”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like we missed out on the action.”
“Adrenaline junkie,” he says accusingly.
“Takes one to know one.”
“Touché.” He smiles. “But, honestly, I refuse to be sorry that we missed the action if it means you’re safe.”
“And there will be more cases, right?” I ask.
“Of course, darling. Thought I’d prefer it if you’d give up trying to tackle every criminal in Boston single-handed. You’re very little, and it worries me.”
“But it’s not single-handed.” My lips twist. “I have you. And Luca. And, if I accept his job offer, I’ll have Nate, plus all his boys. That’s basically a posse of badass macho men to help me kick ass. I’m like Scarlet Johansson in The Avengers, surrounded by a group of superheroes.”
His eyes get warm. “Does this mean you’ll be modeling a tight spandex leather suit for me? Because, I have to tell you, I’m still having fantasies about that black wig you were wearing when we first met…”
“You’re gross. For the record.”
“Noted.” He cracks a grin. “You ready to go home, Superwoman? I have a feeling there are some people who want to see us.”
“Funny. I have a feeling those people are your sisters.”
His smile turns to a smirk. “Not just my sisters. Doesn’t Luca have a fight tomorrow night?”