Page 5 of One Forbidden Night with Her Orc Boss

“Thank you. I look forward to being part of the team.” I force the words out, cringing at the croak in my voice.

“Oh, and Beckett? Bring a swimsuit for tomorrow. Wetsuits are provided.”

Oh gods.

Chapter 4

Brann

“Get it together, Cragbeard,” I growl as Bjorn dumps swim gear on the ground of the parking lot beside the beach, instead of in the bin where it’s supposed to be.

“Geez, someone sleep on a bed of pinecones? I thought you would appreciate the extra sleep our nine o’clock start provided. I sure did. So did August,” he winks at me and Kaj, who snorts in return, as he picks up the goggles and fins.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I say under my breath. We normally joke around a good amount—it happens when you work so closely with people and depend on them with your life. But I’m in no mood for joking. All I could think of last night wasNatasha. Every time I rolled over, my erection had other thoughts for me. It was...unrestful, to say the least.

I’ve kept my distance so far this morning, and it’s been good. She knows the equipment, reads the maps properly, asks smart questions. I think she’s a keeper—in the sense of work.

“Alright! I’m manning the RIB,” I yell to be heard, jerking a thumb over my shoulder at the small inflatable boat bobbing in the water behind me. “I’ll throw the dummy overboard. You’ll work as a team to recover it. CPR is expected as well as care for hypothermia. Speed is of the essence—both for the dummy and you. It’s still early season, and the current is running fast. Beckett, you’re swimming first. Get ready!” I bellow, ready for action. Ready for anything to distract me from Natasha Beckett.

I smell her panic, but her face is steely with determination. She’s wearing a pink one piece, her wetsuit pulled up to her waist, which only accentuates the curves of her hips, stomach, and breasts. Her nipples stand at attention from the coolness of the morning.Pure torture.

It’s my job to make sure she’s ready, but gods, I don’t want to be any closer to her. “You good? Any questions?”

“Is this the point where I tell you I’ve never done open water rescue before? I’ve only done pool training rescues.” She pulls up the wetsuit, covering her gorgeous breasts, shoulders, and arms. Good, she should be warm, at least.

“Yes, this is the point. You’ll be fine. There’s only one way to learn this. You’re swimming with a flotation buoy. The water is calm today. You swim back with the dummy to the shore. Pull it out of the water and perform CPR. Easy-peasey. And remember, you have crewmates preparing on shore to help. Don’t be afraid to ask for assistance. We’ve got each other’s backs.” I fix her with my stare, trying to ensure she understands she isn’t to put herself at risk for this exercise.

Once I start the engine and drive the RIB out into the bay, I blow the whistle, throw the dummy overboard, and start the timer.

I’ve watched my crew for almost a decade now, in exercises and rescues, putting their lives at risk to help others. Forest fires alongside firefighters, mountain rescues in winter and summer. Fielding blizzards, summer storms, landslides and churning seas. But never have I felt this nervous watching one of my people.

It’s just because she’s new and unknown, I tell myself over and over. No, I do not unbutton my shirt in anticipation of jumping in after her when it looks like she’s struggling with the dummy and goes under. I certainly don’t hold my breath and count the seconds. I don’t have one foot on the rib, ready to dive in. No, not me. I’m the boss, and I’m cool and collected.

The pride I feel at her success is normal, I say. It’s perfectly normal for me to throw a fist in the air in triumph when she reaches the shore, and exhale a deep breath.

We run the exercise several more times. The crew is excellent. I’m glad I’m in the RIB and not standing near her while she waits and cheers with the rest of the crew. Separation of boss and employee, I repeat it to myself like a mantra. Everyone warms up with coffee and hot cocoa in between runs. I splurged and ordered carafes from Moonlit Grounds, knowing the good stuff would help with morale. All that is left is the debrief and packing away gear.

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