Page 29 of Single-Minded
“I’m not sure yet. The boathouse is part of the consideration. I’d also need to learn to drive a boat.”
I chuckled. I couldn’t fathom how much money she must have for learning to drive a boat to be a bigger deterrent than figuring out how to pay for it. This rich girl was so far out of my league it wasn’t funny.
And yet I was dying to sample that skin at her waist.
“Are you laughing at me?” she said, grinning good-naturedly. “I’ve never driven a boat. Do you know how?”
“I do.”
“Where did you learn?”
“I grew up good friends with Jagger McNamara. His family owns?—”
“McNamara Marina,” she cut in, nodding. “Got it.”
“They offer boat safety courses and lessons.”
“Perfect. But back to the boathouse…”
“I’ve got ten more minutes of lunch break. Let’s go take a look.”
If we could add on to this project, that would look good to Levi and maybe win me some points toward that promotion.
She led me through the house, out the patio door, and down the path to the shore. There were overgrown paver stones leading to the boathouse but no actual walkway, which had me agreeing that the previous owners must not have used it much. I made myself pay attention to the stones instead of Presley’s ass, but not before noticing the tantalizing heart shape of it in those little shorts.
She unlocked the door and pushed it open with a loud, slow creak. Several steps led down to the deck level that was a couple of feet above the water line. A closed garage door on the lake side let filtered daylight in, enough so I could see from the top of the stairs that the wood was in bad shape.
“Is there electric?” I spotted a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.
“It’s wired, but I need to change the bulb. The garage door is electric.”
She reached back by the door we’d entered and hit the button to open it, allowing more light in. I followed her down the steps.
The boathouse was no frills with room for a decent-sized craft, the deck forming a vee similar to the shape of a hull, built on what appeared to be a permanent steel-pile dock foundation.
The wood needed more than refinishing. Between being old and not being treated correctly or regularly, the floor looked to be rotting in places.
Presley walked toward the cutout for the boat, peering at the water that lapped below. “I’d love to turn the roof into a patio directly over the water. I could add an outdoor sectional, a dining table, some tiki torches…”
“Since it’s been wired, you might be able to do an outdoor kitchen,” I said.
“Oh, maybe a wet bar? Could I get water out here?”
“We’d have to see if there’s a water line.” I bent down to inspect the decking more closely. “You’ll need to replace all this wood,” I said as I pushed against a section, and it gave a little. I stood, alarmed at how bad it was. “This isn’t stable at all. We need to get back from the edges?—”
Presley took a step toward me, then let out a yelp as the board beneath her cracked and shifted. I instinctively reached for her and pulled her into me. Fortunately the board hadn’t broken all the way through; otherwise she might be in the drink right now.
As it was, she was facing me, chest to chest, because I’d instinctively dragged her up against me.
We stood there catching our breath. My heart pounded like a jackhammer, fifty percent from the scare, fifty percent because…Jesus. Presley Holiday was in my arms.
Part of my brain was screaming that I should let her go, but when her hands rested on my chest and she peered up into my eyes with those pretty blues, that call went ignored.
When her gaze flitted down to my lips, all bets were off, and my dick went as hard as the steel piles beneath us.
All logical thought drained from my brain as I registered the slight sheen of her tempting lips and the way they were barely parted, as if in invitation. Ignoring the few brain cells that knew this was wrong, I leaned in and touched my lips to hers.
She was all softness and sweetness and femininity, smelling of flowers and lightness. She let out a little moan as she kissed me back, revving me up higher, hotter.
