Page 92 of Ship Outta Luck

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

JUNE

My entire body aches.Unsurprising, since I spent the remainder of the night sleeping on the floor of a boat, rocking in the none-too-gentle embrace of the gulf. My middle is heavy, hot, and I open one eye to dawn breaking on the horizon.

Ugh.

The heaviness shifts and I swallow.

The warmth against me isn’t a blanket. Isn’t a pillow.

Nope. That’s Dean Evans curled up against me,spooningme, holding onto me as though I am something precious to him.

This is niiiiiice.

“Hey.” His voice is gruff, rasping against my ear, my languid body suddenly snapping to attention.

“Hi,” I say on a yawn. I close my eyes, leaning into him. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, I’ll open my eyes again and wake up next to him in my bed.

Maybe all this Russian smuggler crap is just a bad dream.

Instead, something long and hard presses against my back.

My eyes fly open.

Dean pulls me closer. “Is this okay?”

Yep. It’s better than okay. He fits around me like a puzzle piece, and I feel so safe. Well, except for the absolutely ridiculous erection pressing into my lower back. I don’t want to be impaled, after all. And except for the mild heart attack I’m having.

Slowly, he releases me, tugging his arm out from under my head, replacing it with one of the cushions he used as a makeshift pillow.

“Oh.” It’s a breathy exhalation, surprise tinging it. I didn’t respond out loud, and now it’s too late.

Dean is up, rubbing hands through unruly dark hair, the stubble on his jaw only serving to better highlight its perfection.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to…” He trails off.

“You spooned me.” This kind of awkwardness should be reserved for freshman hook-ups. “You were sleeping. It happens.”

A muscle near Dean’s eye twitches. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“I was sleeping,” I tell him earnestly.

His face falls, and I feel like an idiot.

“The lure.” I dive into a different conversation, dying to talk about anything but how danged awkward I am. “I figured out what it meant. The coordinates on the map, one of them said amberjack next to it. I wouldn’t have known what kind of lure it was if Thompson hadn’t said anything. We should go. To the where the fish are.”

I really don’t care about going to where the fish are. Nope. I want to go to where the clothes aren’t.

Or, just as tempting, back to sleep, to cuddling in the peaceful heat of Dean’s big body. But I’m awake now. TheSantu Espirituis within my reach. And if it is drugs, fine, whatever. At least if we find the drugs I’ll be safe. Safer. Probably.

Maybe.

Bracing myself against the rocking boat, I stand. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Still no contact?” I ask.

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