He smiles, letting me singRise and Shinefor him like a possessed scout selling mint cookies. Then, he says, “Can I put in a request forYou Are My Sunshine?”
“You can go stick it where the sun doesn’t shine,” I snap. “Nash, answer me! Give me details. Where are we going, how long will it be, and what will I do about work? I can’t miss more than I already have.”
“You don’t need money,” he answers. “I got you covered.”
“It’s not about money. It’s about pride. No man pays for me.”
He gives a resigned exhale. “Once Delta’s is secure again, I’ll take you to work.”
I slump in my seat. “This again?”
“Got any better ideas?”
“Books full,” I answer. “But you’re allergic to intelligence.”
“Wrong,” he huffs. “I missed the firehose of smartassery from your mouth every waking minute.”
Was that a compliment?
Tough to say because this is tough, too. I can smell Nash’s woodsy deodorant working overtime, the sexy aroma familiar. He looks way too hot in his felonious fashion. Even the way he drives this sportscar, like Lewis Hamilton, has me wandering down a very salacious memory lane. Too bad it’s a dead end.
The sun is starting to rise, but the stormy summer sky chokes its light. The air is heavy and humid as he parks his car in the gravel lot of a marina.
My pulse skyrockets. “Where are we staying?”
“On my boat.”
“But I can’t swim.”
He snarls, “That’swhy they make boats.”
Warily, I follow him to the last slip at the marina and scoff, “Don’t you have a bigger one?”
I’m talking boats.
Unfortunately, I know how big his everything else is: heart, dick, ego, rage, and his mind that reasons we can’t be together.
He throws our duffels on a watercraft that’s way too small to contain my immense fear of the water. Yes, I grew up in a city surrounded by it, but I was too busy playing golf to learn to be a good swimmer. Floating and fearing I’ll die: that’s the extent of my skills.
“It’s fast, safe, and doesn’t scream ‘mafia in a superyacht.’ Now,” he barks, “get on board, and I’ll find a pair of kids’ floaties.”
“Great, I get to cruise with Captain Asshole Ahab.”
I know he’ll savor myMoby Dickreference, but I can’t savor this, letting him take my hand and guide me onboard. His warm touch makes my broken heart flinch.
I scan the boat, dreading this. It’s fancy but small—like a mini yacht. It has a tiny gleaming kitchen, a little banquette table, and one cabin with one bed.
Wonderful.I’m drowning in sexual tension with him again.
For minutes, I stand silently, watching Nash store gear and provisions. Then he lifts the banquette bench, and my eyes get wide. “Wow. Sure you got enough guns?”
There are dozens and a whole bunch of lethal-looking stuff from the mafia Walmart.
“You know how to use one?” He picks up a gun, releases its clip, confirming it’s full before reloading it.
“The only gun I have is my mouth.”
He mutters, “Ain’t that the gospel truth,” before setting the gun on the table. “This is not a toy, so the safety’s on. Don’t play with it. I’ll show you how to use it later.”