“Do what?”
“Don’t act like I’m rejecting you.”
That gets my attention and I brave a peek only to find him staring at me looking as close to regretful as I’ve ever seen him. “But you are.”
Stop it right now, Sawyer. Cut this off right here. Whatever I’ve been feeling since I met Aden is nothing more than the backlash of being Celia. This isn’t me, it’s nothing like me. I don’t kiss men I hardly know.
His beautiful face twists in a grimace. “I guess it would seem that way, but it’s not.” He scoots closer to me so that our thighs are touching and when he leans in I’m grateful the sunglasses are blocking the shock my eyes would surely give away. “If you were any other woman . . .” He blows out a breath. “The things I would do to you.”
My entire body warms and I resist the urge to rip the hat from my head and use it as a fan.
“But you’re not. You’re Celia Forrester.”
His words douse the raging fire in my belly.
“Uncle Cal thinks the world of you.” He laughs, but only barely. “Pretty sure he’d disapprove of me fuckin’ his favorite girl.”
Fucking.
Right, because we’re virtual strangers.
No, he thinks I’m Celia Forrester, which means we’re literal strangers.
My skin practically crawls when I realize how close I came to doing something I’d surely regret. A one-night stand with a handsome man I hardly know. “You’re right. I’m not the type to sleep around—”
He lifts an accusing eyebrow, but it’s more of a gentle tease than an accusation.
“Okay, maybe I was once the type, but I’m not anymore.”
“No?” He readjusts to put some space between us. “You one of those born-again virgins?”
“Not exactly, but let’s just say casual sex has lost its appeal.”
He flashes me a playfully confused smile. “Is that English you’re speakin’?”
I laugh and just like that we’re back to comfortable conversation.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Damn straight I wouldn’t.” That beautiful crooked grin shines in the sun. “We better get back to fishing. Here.” He reaches into a small cooler I thought was only filled with beer and hands me a wrapped-up sub sandwich. “I’m assuming you’re no longer a vegetarian?”
My cheeks warm beneath his gaze. “It would seem that way.”
He chuckles. “I hope you like roast beef.”
I take the sandwich from him, smiling. “You had this the whole time?”
“Of course.” He pushes up to stand. “Man can’t live on raw fish alone.” He eyes me in a way that ignites my blood again, as if he could live off me if I were on the menu. Which he’s made very clear I am not. And I agree. “Fishing.”
“Yeah.” It’s agreement with a hint of disappointment, because I won’t lie to myself. I want Aden, in more ways than my imagination can even conjure. And what’s the harm really? People have summer flings all the time. In a week or so I’ll be gone and he’ll never know who I really am.
SEVEN
ADEN
The sun is setting by the time we get the boat back to the dock. It’s a mostly quiet ride except for the times I point out something I think Celia might find interesting—the lighthouse on Point Loma, Navy ships docked on Coronado Island, and the clusters of sunbathing sea lions on buoys.
The seagulls soar over our heads, their eyes downcast in search of fish scraps they can scavenge as they squawk every sailor’s welcoming song.
“Who’s Nancy?”
Celia’s no longer wearing the sunglasses, but the hat is still on, which is surprising with all that unruly hair fighting to get free from beneath it. “My aunt. Uncle Cal’s wife, he never talked about her?”
“Of course he did.” She adjusts the straps on her life vest. “I just . . . the boat is named after her, right?”
“Aunt Nancy is a good Catholic girl. She hated the name Nauti Nancy. They’d always fight about it.”
Her lips tip up warmly. “I can see why.”
“I’m surprised Cal didn’t tell you that story.” I head north toward the marina.
She dips her chin, but only slightly. “Yeah . . . maybe he did and I just didn’t remember.”
I steer the boat slowly through the inlet. “You mind throwing those bumpers over?” I motion to them and she hops up to play deckhand while I back into the slip and cut the engine. “Toss me the rope.” I jump over the railing to the dock. She tosses me one tie-up rope and I secure it to the cleat before following through with the others.
Not gonna lie, having a deckhand was helpful. Usually it’s Jenkins and he can’t really do more than sit with a fishing pole in one hand and a drink in the other.
When I come back on board she’s moving around the deck putting things away.
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll get it.”
She ignores me and continues wiping everything down with a dirty rag. “No, it’s fine.”
I grab her forearm and her eyes come to mine. It must be because of the contrast against her sun-kissed cheeks, but her eyes appear even greener than they did this morning. “Stop. You’re sunburned, you should go shower and put some aloe on. I got this.”
She twists to see her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good idea.”
Against my own will I release her and stand back to keep from pulling her in to my chest.
And what the hell is that all about, anyway?
A drunken kiss that leads to sex and an awkward goodbye is what I’m best at. But what happened today with Celia was totally unplanned. I knew going in for the kiss was risky, and I expected her to shoot me down. What I never expected was voracity. If she were anyone else I would’ve dragged her down to my cabin and taken her on every available surface. It took all my military training, every ounce of learned control and counter-interrogation strategies to peel myself off of her. And even though I know it was the right thing to do I’ve regretted it ever since.
She bends and fumbles to untie her skirt.
“I got it.” Anything to put my hands on you. I drop to a squat and just like before I’m tempted to lift the skirt like some horny teenager hoping for a panty shot. I wonder if they’re conservative white cotton, or if Celia has an inner sex goddess and they’re red lace. Either one would be a fantasy in the making.
I force myself to be a gentleman and untie the fabric, watching it fall to cover what little of her skin she was showing. “There.” I stand and her chin tilts to meet my eyes.
“Thanks.” She flashes a bashful smile.
“I have to say . . . your deckhand skills were impressive.” I lean back against the railing. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
She pulls off the hat I gave her, tossing all that wild hair around her face, and hands it to me.
I take it from her and resist the urge to press it to my nose to see if it smells like her shampoo.
A few beats of silence stretch between us until she blows out a long breath and dips her chin. “Right, well . . . I better go.”