Page 13 of Captivating Nash

The night stretched on, a quiet tension hanging in the air asThe Reverieswayed gently in the shelter of the cove. Nash leaned against the galley counter, watching the slow drip of the coffee as it filled the mug beneath. The soft gurgle of the coffeemaker was a stark contrast to the storm they had just weathered. Outside, the wind had quieted, and only the sound of the water lapping against the hull broke the silence.

But Nash couldn’t relax. His senses were on high alert, every sound, every movement registered. The memory of those tracks on the beach nagged at him. Whoever had been here before, they were either long gone—or waiting. And that uncertainty gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He took a slow sip of his coffee, the warmth doing little to ease the cold feeling coiled in his gut. His eyes scanned the small cabin, the faint glow of the console illuminating the otherwise dark interior. Everything was in place, the boat locked down, alarms set, motion detectors primed. But even the best security systems couldn’t quiet the instincts honed from years of living on the edge.

You’re being paranoid.He knew better than to ignore his gut. Too many times, ignoring that feeling had ended in disaster.

Then he heard it—a dullthudagainst the side of the boat.

Nash straightened immediately, his body tense, the coffee mug forgotten on the counter. The sound was unmistakable, a solid impact followed by the faintest scrape, as if something—or someone—was brushing againstThe Reveriein the dark water below.

He moved quickly, slipping into the captain’s chair and flipping on the external cameras. The night vision engaged, and the black-and-white images of the surrounding water came into view on the screen. His eyes flicked over the display, searching for movement, for anything that seemed out of place.

Nothing.

The water in the cove was calm, still rippling slightly from the earlier storm, but there were no visible threats. He switched angles, cycling through the different views: the beach, the cliffs, the boat’s hull. Everything looked quiet. Peaceful, even.

But the sound had been real. He wasn’t imagining it.

Nash frowned and hit another switch, turning on the underwater cameras. The screen flickered briefly before revealing the dark depths beneathThe Reverie. His eyes scanned the screen, watching as the grainy, ghostly images of the water came into focus. The cameras weren’t perfect—underwater, in the dark, they could only capture so much—but they were enough to detect any mechanical issues with the boat or, more importantly, anyone trying to approach unseen.

The hull looked intact, nothing was amiss. No damage. No sign of anyone tampering with it. Nash cycled through the various views, scanning the water surrounding the boat. It was murky, the sediment kicked up from the storm swirling slowly in the dim light, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. It wasn’t mechanical, and it wasn’t a person. Just something drifting through the water—probably debris from the storm.

Bumbling around in the dark, he thought to himself, trying to tamp down the lingering paranoia. The ocean was vast and unpredictable, and things like this happened all the time. Pieces of wood, sea creatures, loose lines—they all had a way of knocking into the boat when you least expected it.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out there. Watching. Waiting.

He turned off the underwater cameras but left the motion detectors active, their quiet hum a small comfort in the otherwise quiet night. Taking his mug of coffee, he returned to the deck, his eyes scanning the shoreline. The island was still, the only movement coming from the distant sway of the trees as the wind picked up again.

Nash leaned against the railing, sipping his coffee, his thoughts drifting between the present and the past. The unease that had been gnawing at him all night wasn’t just about the island or the mysterious tracks he’d found. It was something deeper, more personal. Something he had been trying to leave behind but couldn’t.

He thought of Deanna below deck, probably restless even if she was trying to sleep. She was a complication he hadn’t expected. Too damn smart, too damn capable—and too damn dangerous to his peace of mind. Her quick thinking earlier had impressed him, but it had also triggered memories of his SEAL days, of relying on teammates the way she had instinctively relied on him. That level of trust and dependence was something he had walked away from for a reason.

He took another sip, the warm bitterness of the coffee grounding him in the moment.

But the feeling of being watched hadn’t gone away.

It clung to him, like a shadow, lurking just beyond the edge of his awareness. He’d felt it before—on missions where the enemy was always one step ahead, hiding in plain sight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. It wasn’t a feeling that went away easily. And it wasn’t one he could afford to ignore.

As the night deepened, Nash settled in for a long watch, his eyes never leaving the dark outline of the island. Whoever—or whatever—was out there, he’d be ready.

Because he knew one thing for certain: They weren’t alone.

Chapter Six

Deanna

As Deanna dreamed, she found herself in a different realm, a place where the ocean roared with untamed ferocity and the wind howled like a wild beast. The deck beneath her was no longer the sleek teak of Nash's sailboat but the weathered planks of an ancient pirate ship. The sound of waves crashing against the hull filled her ears, and the salty breeze carried the scent of adventure.

In this dream, Deanna was no longer the celebrated marine biologist but a captive, a prize for the notorious pirate captain.

Her wrists were bound above her head, tied to the thick wooden posts of the captain's bed. Her long, curly brown hair cascaded over the pillow, framing her face, and her intelligent green eyes sparkled with a mixture of fear and excitement. Her curvaceous body was on full display, naked and vulnerable, the soft curves of her breasts and hips beckoning in the dimly lit cabin.

Nash, the man she had come to know and desire, was a different entity in this dream. He stood before her, his muscular physique accentuated by the flickering candlelight. His sandy hair fell over his forehead, and his piercing blue eyes smoldered with a primal intensity. Dressed as a pirate, his shirt open to reveal his chiseled chest, Nash exuded a raw, untamed masculinity.

"Ah, my beauty," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "You're a treasure I've been longing to plunder."

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