Page 24 of Chasing Grace
“Say what?”
“Trust me.”
“Do you?” He wanted her trust, more than he realized until that moment.
“Fuck no.” Eyes averted, she swept her hand from bow to stern. “Where do you want me?”
Turns out, he wanted her in a lot of places, beside him, on him, under him. Didn’t matter, so long as he had his hands on her. Not possible unless he rectified the trust issue. “Hang on.” He lifted her over the side of the boat and set her down on the metal bottom, holding her steady until she found her footing.
“Sit here while I push us out.” He tapped his fingers on the middle bench. She sat facing the rear, and he shoved the boat off the beach, jumping in before the water got too deep. The small aluminum rocked in the waves, and Gray clutched the gunwale.
Rain hammered on metal, and the wind swept them farther away from shore as Chase lowered the motor. He flipped the on switch, primed the gas, and pulled the starter cord. And nothing. On the second attempt, the FourStroke spit, sputtered, and died.
“That can’t be good,” Gray shouted over the noise of the storm. “Maybe we should go back while we still can.”
“Need you to trust me.” Already floating in one hundred feet of water, there would be no going back without the support of a motor. He adjusted the choke, and the outboard rumbled to life on the next pull.
The engine in neutral, he let the motor idle. “Come here.” He pulled the tarp off the nest of seat cushions at his feet and indicated where he wanted Gray to sit. She took the hand he offered and wobbled the two steps before dropping into a ball between his legs. “Water’s rough, and we have a long way to go. Safer and more comfortable for you here. Okay?”
She nodded, and he covered her with the tarp. It wouldn’t do much to warm her at this point, but it would keep the rain off and cut down on the windchill.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Listen, Rambo. I have no interest in dying because your dumb ass succumbed to hypothermia.” Rising to her knees, she took the tarp and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then pulling the ends tight around the two of them, she disappeared from view. “Try not to run us into anything.”
“Uh, Gray?”
“Yeah?”
“I need my arm to work the tiller.”
“Well, stick it out there, and let’s roll. I got places I need to be.” She settled her cheek against the top of his thigh, and he was grinning from ear to ear when he freed an arm, put the motor in gear, and pointed the boat into the wind.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Dead on herfeet and eyes too tired to focus, Gray gave up the fight and let them close. They were in a one-room cabin in the middle of nowhere. It had appeared as a black shadow against a black backdrop. Had she been alone, she would’ve walked right by.
Too exhausted to move, her body swayed, and the world tilted. Water dripped from her hair and fell from her fingertips. Didn’t matter. There wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it anyway.
In fact, she was about to make nice with the plank floor, and she didn’t give a shit. Onboard with her plan, her knees buckled, and then she was weightless, her attempt at unconsciousness foiled by the muscular arms cradling her.
“You can’t sleep yet.”
“Why not? It’s pitty mush all I can do.” She felt the rumble of a laugh against her cheek.
“We need to get you patched up and dried off.”
Chase lowered her onto a counter, propping her against a rough surface. No problem. She could sleep sitting up. Hell, she could sleep anywhere. She’d had plenty of practice.
Unfortunately, before reaching her desired state, she recognized the scratch of a match, smelled kerosene, and heard a whoosh as a wick caught. A bright light licked at her lowered lids. She squeezed her eyes tighter and moaned in protest.
Damn it, the Boy Scout intended to break out his survival training skills. The sound of a zipper intermingled with a coaxing voice, and with a few gentle tugs, Chase removed her jacket. Her ball cap, shoes, and socks came off next.
“Okay, arms up.” Her limbs heavy and numb, it took some effort to lift her hands in the air. “Good girl.” Fingers brushing against her ribs, he peeled off her shirt, and her skin pebbled with goose bumps.
The wet cotton hit the floor with a splat. Her hands did the same as they dropped into her lap. All too aware of the man moving around her, she didn’t bother to open her eyes. She’d seen herself in her sports bra before. Not much to see anyway. Chickens had bigger breasts than she did.
