Page 101 of Story of My Life
“You okay?” he asked as he settled behind the wheel.
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Uh-huh. You seem a little tense.”
A little tense? Ha. Every muscle in my body was in full rigor mortis. “Where are we going?” I demanded.
“You’ll see.”
Five minutes later,he pulled into the lakefront parking lot. We were the only vehicle there.
“Is this where you take all the girls to murder them and throw their bodies in the lake?” I asked.
Cam reached over and retrieved the beer and food. “Only one way to find out.”
It was a good thing I was hungry enough to gnaw off my own arm because I doubted anything else would have gotten me out of the truck. Muttering every creative obscenity I could think of under my breath, I shoved my door open.
“Come on,” he said, leading the way toward the marina.
I followed him onto the wooden planks of the dock, reminding myself of all the reasons this had been the stupidest idea I’d had in a long time. Each piling was capped with an LED light that cast a soft, golden glow. Water lapped rhythmically against the rocky shore and the hulls of the half dozen boats moored to the pier.
Cam came to a stop in front of a small boat-shaped tarp in the water. “Wait here.”
“Can I at least start on my sub?” I called after him as he walked down the skinny wooden gangway between the boat parking spaces. Slips, I reminded myself. One of my heroes had captained a sailboat around the islands of the St. Lawrence River, which had required extensive boat research.
“It’ll taste better on the water,” he promised as he worked the tarp free to reveal a gleaming wooden bow.
I was tired, hungry, and pissed off. The last thing I wanted to do was trap myself on a boat surrounded by water with Cactus Cam.
“You know, I think I’m just going to call it a night,” I said.
“Hand me those,” he called from the back of the boat.
I debated just whacking him in the face with his sub and then running off with mine. But I still had the footwear problem, and I’d already used up a significant amount of mileage on the walk from the parking lot. So I gathered everything up and shuffled carefully along the gangway between the slips.
He stowed it all on the cream-colored leather seat and then turned back to me. “Come here.” His voice was low and about as smooth as a splintered two-by-four.
“I think I’m good here,” I insisted.
Then those big capable hands were gripping my hips and lifting me off my feet. I let out a squeak and grabbed his shoulders in a death grip. “If you drop me in this water, I will murder you in fiction and real life!”
“Relax, Trouble.” He sounded amused.
I opened one eye at a time and realized I was standing in the bottom of the boat, still clinging to Cam. I released him and tried to back away, but he was still gripping my hips. “Stop squirming or you will end up overboard.”
I froze in place and tried not to think how long it had been since I’d had a man’s hands on me like this. But it was hard to think about anything when I was plastered against hot, hard man.
“You good?” he asked gruffly.
“Super great,” I squeaked.
“Then I’m gonna let go.”
“Are you still touching me? I hadn’t noticed.”
In the dim light of the pilings, I could have sworn his lips quirked.
He released me. “Have a seat. I’ll cast off.”
