Page 4 of Unmoored

I’ve caught the intruder red-handed, but all I can see is his back. The trapdoor in the deck is open, and he’s crouched next to it, staring down at my engine. Whoever he is, he’s broad-shouldered, with windswept blond hair, and he’s wearing jeans and a grey sweatshirt.

He isn’t jumping overboard to escape my wrath. In fact, he barely flinched. I don’t think I surprised him at all… which means heknewI was here.

“You realize this is a floating junk heap, right?” he asks me in a deep rumble.

Holy shit, he even sounds like a pirate. And I’m trying to ignore how damn hot it is.

Finally, the stranger closes the trapdoor and pushes himself to his feet with a grunt. I close the gap between us in two quick strides. By the time he’s on his feet, I’m right there, staring him down.

“Who areyou?” I jab my finger into his barrel chest, pillow tucked firmly under my arm. “And what thehell,” I jab his chest again as he blinks down at me,“are youdoingon myboat?”

It would be a lot more badass if I didn’t have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

The stranger is a good four inches taller than me, and built like a mountain. Or a man who can move them—and often does. He has the kind of tan you only get from being out in the sun a lot. And he smells so fucking good, too. All smoke and musk and… something that makes my brain overheat.

But it’s his quiet, thoughtful eyes that make me forget to breathe. That shade of blue pierces straight through my indignation and pins me to the spot.

Oh. My. God.

I yank my finger away from his barrel chest and step back like I’ve been burned.

But this man is all water, not my bristly fire. His gaze is like the sea itself—powerful, magnetic, but a complete mystery to me. I’m helplessly bobbing in this feeling of calmness and certainty that he radiates without even trying.

He looks me up and down—and for the first time, he seems surprised. And not by the fact that I have more attitude than I have inches of height. There’s a ruddy blush spreading over his cheeks, a smile tugging at his lips.

There’s a look in his eye that I haven’t seen for a long time… or maybe ever. I can’t quite place it yet, but my brain is whirling as I try my hardest to figure it out.

“What?” I demand.

He clears his throat and stares away over the harbour, and it finally hits me: I sleep naked.

Oops.

A squeak escapes my throat as I clutch the pillow to myself so fast that I almost drop it, stumbling back inside.

“Just—I—uh—hold on!” I slam the door, burying my groan in the pillow before I crouch down by my suitcase.

Holy shit.

That’swhat that look was. Like it was all he could do to contain himself, to be a gentleman. Like he was suddenly thinking about all the ways I could take him for a joy ride. And it’s pretty hard not to notice his handsome features, or the stillness of his energy pulling me in, or the low rumble of his voice…

No way. This isn’t a pirate movie where he can out-sexy his way out of trouble.

I tug on a pair of my nice jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt, and as I open the door, he’s still standing there with his back politely turned.

“So,” I announce myself. “Were you trying to steal my boat?”

He turns on his heel to stare, his brows slowly furrowing. “Steal… your rust bucket?”

“Myboat,” I repeat, stubbornly defending her honour. “Yes or no.”

The more I smile, the deeper he frowns. At last, he huffs with irritation. “Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like the dead?”

“Well… yeah.” Once I’m naked and asleep, nothing can wake me—doorbells, alarm clocks, or house parties. “Why?”

The guy grunts. “Because that engine sounds like twenty otters having a gunfight. I just drove it half a mile back here, and you wake up the second I shut it off?” He raises an eyebrow. “You need a burglar alarm. Or a dog.”

“What?” I yelp, looking around. We’re still in between the two islands—right where I dropped anchor. “Are youactuallya pirate trying to steal my boat?”

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