Page 13 of The Christmas Cover Rule
“Oh,” she repeats, “okay.”
I study her face for a moment, wondering if I took it too far, but when I catch the blush creep across her neck and how her legs jerk at my words, I smile before hopping out of the truck.
“What’s that?”
“Motion sickness band.” I clasp the band around my wrist and nod my head back toward the truck. “Want one?”
“Mmm, no?”
I shrug, adjust my watch, and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
“You made it!” Mrs. Clarke waves us over to where the family is waiting on a bench. “I assume everyone was properly sued.”
“Properly sued?” I ask.
Stella’s elbow connects with my ribs, and I know a cover-up when I hear—or feel—one.
“Oh yes. Sued all morning.” I grin.
Both women look at me with the same crease between their brows. In my defence, Stella didn’t really pitch me that one to hit that one out of the park.
Mr. Clarke thankfully interrupts before I need to come up with anything else, though. “The catamaran is all ready for us.”
Mrs. Clarke takes her husband’s outstretched hand as he leads her down the dock, where everyone is making their way onto the boat.
“I hope they have tostones!” Mrs. Clarke calls over her shoulder with a gleeful grin.
“Ohh, me too!” I call out, having no idea what that is. I lean down, grazing my lips over Stella’s ear, whispering low enough for only her to hear. “All that suing this morning really worked up my appetite.”
She rolls her eyes, biting back a smile, and attempts to playfully jab me with her elbow. I catch her arm before she can pull away and tug her in closer, dropping my head back with a laugh as she pretends to still be annoyed.
The ride is much smoother than I anticipated. The motion sickness bands might have been overkill, but getting sick once on a trip to the Nã Pali Coast was enough to makeme never travel without them. Thinking back, it might have had more to do with the endless mai-tais than the ride itself. I snap a few photos of the impossibly clear waters before our boat slows to a stop at a designated spot only a few yards from another shore-lined beach. Staff begin pulling out snorkel gear, and I avoid eye contact like the plague. I’m not one to use rentedanything,let alone something that has been in someone else’s mouth. At this point, I’m just counting down the hours until they open up the bar. Everyone begins climbing down the ladder, and I look over to Stella, who has been edging closer to the side of the boat for the last few minutes.
When she looks up at me, something I don’t have time to name flips in my stomach. I cross the boat and drop down beside her in less than a second. “Hey. You alright?” I keep my tone lighter than I feel. “You’re looking a little green.”
“Those are just my undertones.” She waves me off with a forced smile and pulls herself until she hangs over the side.
Her skin is clammy against the backs of my knuckles, and when I brush the hair out of her face, her eyes flutter closed at the touch. I drag my hand down the back of her head, rubbing gentle circles across her back, and even though her face is somewhat pinched, I don’t miss the way she melts into my touch.
Pretty much all the tour guides and passengers are in the water now, but I spot a crew member near the helm.
“Hang tight.” I gather her hair, twist it like I’ve seen her do, and let it spill down her back.
I make my way through the cabin, getting what I need, and by the time I get back, Stella’s eyes are squeezed shut, and she’s holding on to the side of the boat for dear life.
A sad, little grunt escapes her lips when I slide my forearms under her legs and scoop her up. “Shhh. I’ve got you. You’ll feel better over here.”
There’s not a dramatic difference intemperature under the shade of the canopy, but at least the blistering sun won’t be beating down on her now. I sit down on the bench along the side of the boat, keeping Stella in my lap. She opens her eyes when I show her the Ginger Ale and crackers I snagged for her.
“Thank you, Jonas.” She takes them with a wobbly smile. “I’ll be fine now. You should go.”
She doesn’t look at me, but when I shift her onto the bench beside me, I catch the way the corners of her mouth falter. The knot in my stomach eases just slightly, knowing she didn’t mean it. Which is good, considering there wasn’t a shot in hell I was actually leaving her.
I reach back, pulling my shirt off over my head, and kneel, dunking it in the water. The water is warm, but still refreshing when I wring it out. Stella is lying down now, on her side in the fetal position with both arms tucked under her face, and the Ginger Ale must have done wonders because when I sink to my knees in front of her, bringing the wet T-shirt to her forehead, some of that starlight she’s named after returns to her eyes.
“I’ve got to be honest with you, Stella. I’m more of a land guy.”
“Yeah?”
