I ran to the bedroom and shut the door. I needed to barricade myself against . . . myself. I needed to think about foosball and Pacman and pizza with Nick—a triathlon of nice, normal things with a nice, normal guy—someone worth romanticizing.
“Breakfast.” There was no knocking or privacy or nice, normal courtesies with Damian. He just walked in.
We faced each other for the first time since my stupid, clingy breakdown the night before. I didn’t know where he’d slept, but he hadn’t come down after he put me to bed. He looked at me like he always did—intense and impenetrable. He must have showered because he smelled like absinthe and mint. And I really, really wanted him to smell like pelicans and sardines.
“We’ll be anchoring in Bahia Tortugas tonight,” he said as we ate. “We need to refuel and fill up the water tank.”
I had no idea where Bahia Tortugas was, but fuel and water meant some kind of port or marina, and that meant we’d be around people.
Damian was warning me. Don’t do anything stupid.
I nodded and finished my food. We’ll see about that.
I was even more desperate to escape now.
It was dark when the rugged hills of Bahia Tortugas came into view. I had a feeling it was more out of design than coincidence. Damian had planned it so we came in when it attracted the least amount of attention. My heart started to race as we approached the harbor. I had to grab whatever opportunity presented itself in the next few hours.
I stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath. My hair was dirty and knotted, and I was floating in one of Damian’s t-shirts. I jumped in the shower and washed my hair. People were less likely to help a greasy haired androgynous runaway, so I rifled through my shopping bags and put on a slinky top and frayed denim shorts. Boobs and legs always get noticed. I found a make-up palette and applied some eyeliner and lip gloss.
By the time I was done, Damian had dropped anchor. We weren’t as close to the pier as I’d hoped to be, and looking out from the porthole I could see only two other boats. It was the perfect lonely outpost for a pit stop.
My spirits lifted when a couple of pangas came out to greet us. If it weren’t for the yellow glow from the kerosene lanterns on their masts, I would have missed the small dugout canoes. I remembered enough Spanish to figure out that the men were offering their services and negotiating rates for diesel and water. I thought of running topside, screaming for help, but it was dark and Damian could easily overpower me before I attracted much attention.
I was still peering out of the stateroom window when Damian came in. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me. For one full, glorious second, he wasn’t in control. His gaze swept the length of my legs, over the hip-hugging shorts, and lingered on the swell of my breasts under the scandalous top. Ha! He wasn’t immune after all. He caught the smug look on my face before I could wipe it off, and his eyes narrowed.
Shit.
I took one step back for each one he took forward, until I was jammed up between him and the wall.
God, he was intense. And deliberate. And he could say things with his eyes that made my knees tremble. One side of his face was bruised and distorted from where I’d hit him. He grasped both my wrists in one hand and pinned them above me. Every part of me felt flush with the heat emanating from his body, even though that was the only point of contact. He hooked a finger in the ‘V’ of my blouse, tracing the dangerously low cleavage. His touch was so soft, it was barely discernible.
“Skye?” He seemed hypnotized by the rapid rise and fall of my chest.
I swallowed.
“Don’t play with scorpions unless you intend to get stung.” He yanked the neckline apart.
Round, glass buttons popped onto the floor and rolled around like eyeballs, astounded by the sight of my bare flesh.
“We’re harsh and predatory and full of venom.” He gnashed his teeth at me and ripped my blouse in two.