Page 95 of Falling Overboard

Desire for him pooled in my stomach, mixed with confusion. “You want to kiss me?”

I had thought it was to sell his story. But then I thought about the times almost kisses had happened.

And it was always when we had been completely alone. In our bunk, in the galley.

Never in front of anyone else.

“Why do you want to kiss me?” I added, grasping for something, anything, to keep him at arm’s length because I was quickly losing this battle. The closer he moved the more my resolve wavered.

“Why?” he repeated, sounding far too amused. “Because there’s this hunger, this burning, every time I’m around you. Do you know how much it has tortured me to lie in your bed, so close, but not able to touch you?”

“Yes.” I breathed the word out. I knew exactly what he meant. The desire I felt began to pump hotly through my veins. “So you want to touch me?”

I wanted to groan. Why was I saying these things?

He grinned and somehow got even closer. “Very much.”

“And what else?” I managed to get out, my throat closing in on itself.

“Everything else.”

I couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even breathe.

And there was nowhere else for me to escape to as my back was now flat against the closet door. His skin had long since dried, and while we both should have been cold, given the air-conditioning and our damp hair, I felt nothing but heat.

Especially from him.

“I’ve tried really hard to just be your friend,” he murmured. “And I’m failing.”

“You don’t want to be my friend?”

“I want more.”

My mouth dropped open slightly and my heart pounded so hard it was going to bruise my ribs. “No one else is here. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending, Lucky. I’ve never pretended with you.”

That was a missile being launched directly at my heart and I could feel the impact of it exploding, blowing up the defenses I’d been hastily trying to construct.

“May I?” he asked, and for a second I didn’t know what he was asking permission for. Then I realized that he had his hand outstretched next to my arm. Not kissing. This was okay. It wasn’t kissing. As long as we didn’t kiss, I could keep my job. And my sanity. Which I was sure I would lose if I were ever foolish enough to be in another relationship again.

I nodded my head and he reached out and ran his fingers along my arm, from my shoulder down to my hand. My bare skin prickled in response and I audibly gasped.

This couldn’t happen. I couldn’t let it. I had to stop it before things went too far. Before we crossed that line.

“You’re my lucky star, you know.” As if he were answering the question I’d been too afraid to ask earlier.

And with that one sentence, he almost obliterated what little resistance I still had.

“Hunter, wait.” This time I put my hand on his chest and it was as firm and warm and strong as I remembered. I had my palm just over his heart and I could feel that it was beating faster than normal, his chest moving quicker as he breathed harder. “I don’t want to complicate things.”

He put his hand over mine, holding it in place, and it was the sweetest and most romantic gesture. “I’m not a complicated man.”

Who would have ever guessed that I would be the one to make the speech? “You’re such a great guy—”

“I am. I have references,” he interjected and I smiled. “And before you finish that sentence, what do you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant.”

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