Page 17 of Heart Strings
“Let’s see if we make it back to the pier dry before you start congratulating yourself,” she quips.
Captain McGrath is a man weathered by the sea, with a wiry silver beard and a no-nonsense demeanor. Not the kind of man I’d expect running a stag party operation. Waving us down the boardwalk for a crash course in boating before we board, he announces that we must learn a couple basic knots. Bundles of rope are laid out on a folding table for us close to a railing. Callum takes one and claims his place on the end, leaving me sandwiched between Lark and Lo, while Saoirse, Deirdre, Rory, and Anvi spread out at the end of the rail.
Captain McGrath begins with a bowline knot, explaining that it doesn’t tighten much under tension, making it both secure and easy to untie. He demonstrates the entire process first, then walks us through it.
Sunlight pours across Cielo’s bronze shoulders and up hergraceful, exposed neck as she loops a length of rope around the railing. Kissing that junction of sensitive skin used to make her squirm. I still remember the taste. Her full lips purse in concentration as she follows each the step.
God, those delicate, nimble hands.
Annoyed at myself for the lapse in focus, I double back and yank at the end of the rope to tighten it, then loosen the knot and try to repeat it on my own.
Beside me, Lo moves with confidence. Smooth braided nylon glides against her soft palms. Slow, deliberate movements manipulate the rope. Always in control. Her hazel eyes slide to me, seductive and smug. With a swift tug—bordering on aggressive—she undoes the whole thing. I suck in a tiny breath. She knows this will plant ideas in my mind: rope tied across my chest, snugly binding my wrists as she takes charge.
I swallow thickly.
We’d flirted with light restraint before but had never gone for all-out rope play. I didn’t know I’d find it so exciting until I saw the rope in Cielo’s elegant hands.
Focusing on the captain leading us through a clove hitch is impossible when Cielo bends closer to the rail, giving me an eyeful of her chest while tilting her ass up. The sea breeze stirs the hem of her dress around her powerful thighs. Following along is futile when all I can think of is being tied up and smothered between them. My own rope has become one messy tangle. I find myself holding my breath when she crosses the rope back over itself, sliding it through her fingers. I nearly collapse when the tip of her tongue darts out to glide over her plush lips. Diabolical woman.
“Hey!” Anvi hip-checks Rory. “Let me help you.”
That snaps me out of it. I blow a shaky breath through pursed lips and try to ignore the flare of heat between us.
Captain McGrath hands each of us a life vest, laying down some basic safety instructions. The boards creak underfoot as Lark and Callum zoom toward the ugly hooker at the end of the pier. Lo walks ahead of me, head high and hips swishing with each step. It’s awkward to board the boat, so I reach out to steady her. The touch of our hands, however brief and practical, hits me like a lightning strike, shooting up my arm and spreading through my chest before I can pull away.
The pungent aroma of fish assaults my senses when I step on the boat last, and I welcome its cooling effect on my libido. Lark and Cielo exchange pinched expressions. Is it the far end of the pier that smells so rancid, or the sailboat itself?
“Listen, Lark,” I begin. “If you want to do something else—”
“This is class!” Callum pulls me into a hug for the first time ever.
Surprised, I look over his shoulder at the rest of the wedding party. Deirdre grins and gives me a thumbs-up.
This really means a lot to him—and he doesn’t seem to notice the smell of rotting fish—so of course we’re doing this.
The boat is small, with no space wasted. There’s no techie equipment, not even a steering wheel, or winching handles or cleats to fasten down the ropes. Most modern hookers are used to race—a biannual event that brings locals much pride—not for sightseeing excursions. Callum goes right to the bow, craning up to examine the frayed sails. Dierdre wastes no time opening the cooler and distributing cans of red lemonade.
“We could be having brunch right now like normal people,” Lo mutters as we untie the moor lines and cast off.
“You can get a mimosa and some eggs Benedict anytime,” I say.
Deirdre thrusts a sandwich at Lo. “Here, have an onion and egg!”
Looking queasy, Lo politely declines and shoots a pointed expression at me. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Play nice and don’t throw Aidan overboard,” Saoirse replies through the hand covering her mouth and nose.
“I’m right here.”
“I said ‘don’t.’ ”
“Lark,” I ask, “does Callum have a sense of smell?”
“Pretty sure he does, but nothing seems to faze him.”
Deirdre shrugs and starts eating. Maybe formaldehyde exposure has affected them both.
Salty wind blows through my hair as we pick up speed. The smell abates as we head into more open water. Thankfully, it must’ve been the docks. Or else I’ve already gone nose-blind to it. Captain McGrath settles into a mystery paperback once we’re out in the bay, letting us take our places as the crew. Callum and Lark go first, delighted to steer the vessel.
