Page 70 of Ship Outta Luck

She turns the full force of her attention on me, and for a second, I’m awestruck by everything I see in her. The perfection of her lashes against the tawny brown of her eyes, her full mouth. Intelligence working overtime. The way she matches me, would complement me. The way we would fit together like puzzle pieces.

In every sense of the word.

It takes everything in me not to steal another kiss, to see how hot I can stoke the barely banked fire in her eyes.

“Your little man-squad is back from their retail mission.” She tosses her hair, sending rivulets of water cascading down her collarbone. The oyster shell in my hand falls to the sand and I take a step closer, a moth to flame.

Sure enough, the noise of a motor roars into earshot behind me, the unmistakable strains of Jimmy Buffett still blaring from the speakers.

“Are you avoiding answering?” I shouldn’t press her—I should know to back off. I can’t resist.

I want to know exactly what’s going on in her head. I want to know more.

I want to know everything.

Her mouth parts in surprise, though. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

I expected a witty comeback. A smart remark, a sassy look. Not her reaching up on her tiptoes and pressing a quick, searing kiss against my mouth. One that’s over before I can even process it.

“We’ll finish this later.” She ducks around me, racing into the surf, waving her arms, shouting at the boys to anchor at the sandbar, the lure glittering in her grasp.

Leaving me on the beach, wondering just what, exactly, she’ll let me finish later.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

JUNE

The black andsilver inflatable dinghy the guys brought to ferry supplies skids across the shoreline, the surf rushing and foaming alongside it. Tugging the ropes, I help haul it onto the sand. Though, with the three-massively-muscled-man squad, I’m not sure I’m actually helping at all. My hair, mussed from salt and sand, sticks to my eyelashes, and for the fifteenth time, I wish I had an extra hair tie.

“Back again, huh?” I say, twisting my hair into a low knot. There. Maybe it will stay put.

Thompson grins. “You’re stuck with the two of us.” He dips his chin at Dean. “Three, if you count him.”

I flick my gaze to Dean, who, alongside Thorne, is stacking supplies on a massive beach blanket. His muscles ripple in the late afternoon sun, and my throat goes dry. The sticky, wet sand underfoot gives way as I dig a little pit in it with my toes.

I shouldn’t have kissed him.

It might have been the best kiss of my life, but everything is mixed up and harder than it needs to be. He’s barely looked at me since his team got here.

“You guys thought of everything, huh?” I nod at the loaded Zodiac raft. “Smart to grab the inflatable, too.”

“Well, we tried to, at least.” Thompson points at the supplies already offloaded. “Propane tank, fire starter, cooler with ice and drinks for tonight, some groceries to go with the crab…” He pokes around the raft, snagging three overflowing plastic grocery bags. “Here. Some shampoo and soap, clean clothes for you, and…” he clears his throat, “some unmentionables.”

I peer at him. “Unmentionables?”

“Stuff to wear, you know? Just take it, will you? We even brought Sir Shirtless over there something clean to wear.” He thrusts the bags at me. “Have Evans set you up a makeshift shower when you’re ready.”

Peeking into the bags, I see a bright blue loofah, some herbal shampoo, soap, and as promised, new underwear and clothes.

A shower sounds incredible.

“This was really—” I cough as my throat closes up. “Really thoughtful. Thank you, thank you so much.”

On an impulse, I throw my arms around his neck, his wet t-shirt clinging to my skin. Sniffling, feeling gratified that they thought of my comfort, that I’d at least sleep clean tonight.

“Thompson, did you want to help? Or were you two going to stand around all day?” Dean’s voice sounds from directly behind me.

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