Page 9 of Uncharted Desires

“Shit.” She heard Weston cry out.

Running back to the edge of the deck, she called out to him, panic rearing its ugly head within her. “What? What’s wrong?”

But she didn’t need an answer. The rope was coming untied, and Weston was slipping incrementally down the yacht’s exterior, past the point of no return. Without thinking, she grabbed the rope before he fell into the sea.

It burned her hands as it raced through them, but she threw her weight into it with every ounce of strength her body had. She grunted in determination as Weston continued to slip down the side of the yacht.

Kat felt herself being pulled over the railing as she pulled against the rope. Her knuckles whitened as they clung tightly to the fraying rope fibers, determined not to let him fall.

“Let go,” Weston cried out from below her. “You can’t pull me up.”

“No! I won’t let you fall in!” Kat said through clenched jaws.

“Then you’re going to fall in with me. I’m too heavy. You can’t pull me up.”

“I don’t need to pull you up,” Kat said with a grunt as she pulled on the rope. “I . . . just need . . . to tie it onto one of these rungs before we both go down!”

She leaned over the edge just slightly; if she could just . . . get . . . some . . . leverage . . .

“Kat, stop, just let me go, and tell—“

But before he could finish, Kat’s feet suddenly flipped over her head, and then they were falling together. And loathe as she was to admit it, Weston might have been right. Instinctively, she braced for impact as she plummeted into the void below.

Four

Well, West wasn’t drunk anymore. He hadn’t been since he had tripped on the deck chair and managed to fall overboard. And then Kat had tried to save him. Now things had gone from bad to much worse.

His body hit the surface with a thud. It hurt like hell. His back was aching from the impact, as saltwater pummeled his face like tiny fists.

In the light of the moon, he watched the yacht race along the water until it vanished out of sight. A slight breeze whipped through his hair, and clouds covered the moonlight, leaving him in complete darkness.

He pulled on the rope to the life buoy, and to his horror, he didn’t find Kat attached to it. Somewhere between her falling and hitting the water she had let go of the rope, but West couldn’t see anything in the darkness. Terror seized him as he imagined the worst. What if she hit her head while falling? What if a shark ate her? What if she was abducted by modern-day pirates?

His inner imaginings became more and more ridiculous as fear washed over him.

Snap out of it.

He forced himself to focus and stop spiraling. How many times had he pushed panic aside when stepping onto a stage? He didn’t have stage fright, but the anxiety of singing a new song live and waiting for the crowd’s approval, or lack of interest, always made him nervous. If he could set aside his anxiety then, he could certainly do it now. He had caused this predicament, and he had to find her. The last thing either of them deserved was to be floating alone in the Indian Ocean.

Without wasting another second, West dove into the dark waters, calling out her name as he surfaced, desperately searching for any sign of her. Every stroke through the rough waves felt like an eternity as he tried to conserve his energy, praying that he would find her before it was too late, the waves washing over him as he gasped for air.

His eyes darted across the sea, searching for any sign of life among the dense darkness, but all he saw was an endless expanse of choppy, unforgiving water.

“Kat.” He swam, listening for any sounds of her. “Kat, can you hear me? Kat!” He refused to let fear enter his voice, refused to let the frantic thoughts enter his mind. What if she didn’t make it? What if she had drowned? It would have been all his fault.

Dammit, Kat. Why had she even been out on that deck? She was supposed to have gone to bed.

“Kat . . . Kat . . . Come on, Kat, where are you?” He yelled until he was hoarse, waiting for her lilting voice to respond across the water, because right now he’d give anything to hear it.

Taking a moment to rest his muscles, he floated on his back, his arms wrapped around the buoy, his ears going under the water. He imagined what it would sound like hearing her voice. She had a beautiful voice; it wasn’t too high-pitched and had a nice timbre to it. Surprisingly sultry for a woman who could be quite prickly.

When he had decided to take on backing singers for his tour ten years ago, her voice had immediately stood out to him. It had been smooth and velvety and had wrapped around his soul. It had melded well with his, and, after a test run with various women, he had wanted her.

He imagined hearing her calling his name, always his full name, never West. Only his father and Kat called him Weston. He heard his name again, Kat’s perfect voice calling out to him in his imagination. Was he . . . He sat up so fast that he bumped into something, and there she was, looking disheveled, her body shivering.

“Weston!” she said, nudging him. “I thought you were dead for a minute. You were just floating there, and you had this weird smile on your face, and you weren’t answering me, and oh my god, why are you smiling at me?”

He grabbed her waist, hauling her into his arms. “You’re alive! Christ, I thought you were dead. I was yelling and yelling for you.”

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