Page 3 of Falling Overboard

I was a failure at everything I tried to do.

My hands had started trembling and I realized that I was on the verge of a panic attack.

I needed to get outside. Far away from prying eyes. I didn’t want the captain to think I couldn’t do the job. I could. I had to. Especially now. With shaking limbs I made my way to the private area on the bow where the crew would hang out on breaks. When I arrived my legs gave out and I slid down against the ship’s wall and landed with a thud on the deck.

All I could think about was all the ways this could go wrong. That I might be a terrible chief stew. That Emilie would somehow get worse and make my life even harder. That I would be so bad at this new position that the captain would have no choice but to fire me and I would ruin all my careful planning.

That I would never, ever get to open my bakery because I was a fraud and soon everyone would realize it.

It had been so long since I’d had a full-blown panic attack. Not since I’d found out that my ex-boyfriend had cheated on me. I did my best to keep the attack at bay, trying to make my breathing deep and even.

But my heart still raced, my stomach turned over, there were pains in my chest, and it kind of felt like I was going to die.

I tried to tell myself to calm down, that I was being ridiculous and overreacting, but my body did not listen.

“Are you okay?”

I shielded my eyes to look up, and a man I didn’t recognize stood there, peering down at me. The sun shaded him from my view and I couldn’t see him clearly. “Fine,” I said between clenched teeth.

He crouched down next to me and said, “Are you having a panic attack?”

“Little bit,” I managed.

“What can I do to help you?” he asked.

No one had ever asked me that before. My inclination was to tell him to go away but there actually was something he could do to help, even if it was weird. “Will you hold my hands?”

Without hesitation he offered me both of his large hands, encasing mine. His palms were warm and smooth, his fingers strong. For some reason having someone hold my hands when I was having a panic attack always made me feel grounded, and it was having that exact effect now. It was easier to catch my breath as he tethered me to the present.

I kept my gaze pointed down and gripped the man’s hands tightly. “How did you know I was having a panic attack?”

“My sister used to have them. You’ve got this. It will pass.”

His voice was calm and reassuring and just what I needed. “You’re doing a great job,” he added, and if I’d been able to, I would have laughed.

I was doing a terrible job of managing my emotions and anxiety. When I had an attack like this, I felt weak and pathetic. I shook my head to disagree with him. I again returned my attention to my breathing. I’d found that I could make the attack end sooner if I regulated the oxygen going in and out of my lungs.

His words were gentle and warm. “You’re safe and I’ll stay for as long as you need me to.”

It was precisely what I needed to hear. He didn’t think I was overreacting or making it up to get attention, like my younger twin sisters had. He accepted it and encouraged me. It was so kind.

Just as he’d predicted, after a few minutes the attack subsided. My breathing evened out, the dizziness in my head went away, my chest stopped aching.

Then I made the mistake of looking up at the man who had helped me.

He had dirty-blond hair, longer on top with sun-kissed streaks. His eyes were a piercing sapphire blue, like the ocean in Aruba. He had broad shoulders with well-defined muscles in his upper arms.

And his face? It was like an Italian Renaissance artist had sculpted it and then immediately gouged his own eyes out because he knew he would never create anything better. Total symmetrical perfection—high cheekbones, strong jawline covered in stubble, sensual lips. Despite the fact that I had just spent the last few minutes getting my body back under control, my heart began to beat a fast, unsteady rhythm. A dimple formed in his left cheek when he smiled, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth.

It was like somebody had shoved an angel out of heaven and dropped him directly onto this ship.

Chapter Two

Hunter

The woman crouched in front of me stared at me with her big brown eyes. I already knew her pale skin was soft from having held her hands, and she had long dark hair. I had always been a sucker for brunettes, and if we’d been at a club, I would have hit on her. There was something endearing and vulnerable about her that spoke to me, and I wanted to know more about her.

I wanted to help her.

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