Page 80 of The Oscar Escape
“Then we’re a party of three. What’s the camera for?” Del asked as he secured a line of rope.
“To document Aria’s lobster boat triumph.”
Del’s eyebrows shot up and disappeared into his weathered cap.
Take that crusty old lobsterman.
She couldn’t ask for a better fake husband—or a sexier one. Watching Oscar become bossy and demanding was a real turn-on—not that she needed him to jump into gray-hoodie-wearing protector mode. She could take care of herself. She exhaled a shaky breath. Maybe she was a teensy-tiny bit nervous. She glanced up at her hooded defender. Her nerves calmed, and the tingle intensified. Oh, who was she kidding? She liked having him there. There was real comfort in knowing that it all didn’t fall on her—that she had a partner.
He had her back. He wasn’t going anywhere.
No secrets. No distance.
She wasn’t completely sure he’d meant it when he’d spoken the words. No, it wasn’t that he hadn’t meant it, but that as much as he’d wanted to agree to no secrets and no distance, his nomad, wandering ways would get the better of him. Did she have a changed man on her hands?
“What if you find yourself snapping shots of your wife losing her cookies over the side of the boat? Can you deal with that?” Del shot back, but there was far less bite to his bark.
“If Aria gets sick, you’ll turn this boat around. Then you’ll have to explain to the committee, and your wife, and everyone who cares about this island why you’re standing in the way of a successful festival.”
Del took off his cap and ran his hand through his tuft of gray hair. His face might be hardened and weather-worn, but his pale green eyes welled with worry. “It’s important for me to know that your wife appreciates what we do on this island. That she understands who we are as islanders and that this place is like nowhere else. It’s special, and it’s up to me and those who choose to make this place their home to keep it that way. You’ve been out on the water with me, Oscar. You’re a solid sternman. If your wife can’t hack it on the sea, she’s not the right person to help us. It’s the Havenmatch Island way. The island decides.”
What the hell was a sternman? And Jesus, this place sounded like a cult again.
“Let’s not keep the spirit of Havenmatch Island waiting,” she answered, so damned ready to get this trial by sea over with.
“I need a second with Aria,” Oscar said, his voice evening out.
Del nodded, then returned to the cab of the lobster boat.
Oscar squeezed her hand. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She flashed her eat-worms expression. “Absolutely, I could sternman in my sleep.”
His lips twitched as he suppressed a grin. “Do you know what a sternman does?”
“No clue,” she offered up with a playful shrug.
He caressed her cheek. “It’s like a deckhand. You’ll help him haul in lobster traps.”
“With actual lobsters in them?”
She figured Del would tool around the ocean to see if she could handle the ride. Pulling crustaceans out of the water for sport wasn’t exactly a skill in her wheelhouse.
“Yeah, real lobsters.”
She pictured her last lobster encounter—granted, it was a plastic lobster—still technically a lobster. A wicked rush of heat warmed her wind-chilled cheeks. She drew her tongue across her top lip. “A whole bunch of threesome-loving Clawdias?”
“Something like that,” he said, his gaze darkening and his voice growing gravelly.
Yep, he was also thinking about their romp in the lighthouse museum.
“It’s a good thing you have your fancy camera. You can film some lobster erotica. Now there’s a documentary I’d watch,” she purred with a sly grin.
He twisted a lock of her hair. “Jesus, I love you.”
“How could you not?” she mused playfully. “I’m a hot little number rocking a moldy life jacket circa 1974.” She touched one of the chipped buckles. “Or 1874. This thing smells like it’s been marinating in a vat of steaming lobster guts for more than a few decades. With my luck, it’s probably another island artifact. I better be careful with it.”
He gifted her with a heaping scoop of Oscar smolder. “I love your dirty lobster talk.”
