Page 58 of Spindrift

“I’llremember that.”

“Althougha lot of it depends on if zombies can swim. That would make the boat lesseffective.”

Arewe really talking about the zombie apocalypse right now?At least zombies lacked sex appeal.Even necrophiliacs would agree. “I better grab that patch kit just in case theycan’t. Besides,” she added as she left Morgan to access her father’s locker.“Sailboats don’t require fuel.”

“ThenI want you on my team,” said Morgan.

“Justbecause I have a boat? I have other skills, too, you know.”

“Likewhat?”

“Like. . .” Her voice faded as she turned on her own cobwebbed bulb. Her father’sgreen jacket waited for him on its hook, along with the canvas bags and oddsand ends she’d grown up with. The patch kit sat on a shelf, but she didn’treach for it. If she moved too quickly, she might jostle his clothing and thefamiliar smell would summon tears.

Ahand settled on her shoulder, but Morgan said nothing.

“Howdid you and my dad become friends?” Emilia asked eventually.

“Hehelped me out a few times with my boat. I got it from my uncle when he moved.It was a piece of shit and I was broke, but the engine ran. My parents aren’tbig on boats. They’ve got the farm, so I had to figure a lot of it out on myown.”

“Ididn’t think my dad knew much about motorboats.”

“Heknew the water. That’s most of it really. Especially around here.”

“Didhe ever talk about me?” The blunt question would have embarrassed her anywhereelse, but here in the boathouse, confronted by the ghost of her father, shecouldn’t help asking.

“Alittle. I didn’t realize you were around my age, though.”

“Alwaysdaddy’s little girl,” Emilia said quietly. She grabbed the patch kit and shutthe door.

“Youready to do this?” Morgan asked. “We can always come back later. You can borrowmy skiff if you need one.”

Theinundation of grief receded, but she felt like something raw and exposed lefton the sand by the tide. In the shadows of the dim aisle, out of the glare ofthe June sun, the loneliness that had followed her since his death assailedher. It clawed at her breath, and she closed her eyes in sudden pain.

Morgansqueezed her shoulder. Emilia knew the gesture was meant to reassure, but thehuman touch against the rawness of her grief severed what little control she’dmanaged to maintain. Need raced along her synapses and forced everything elseout of its way. The scent of Morgan’s shampoo flooded her senses, erasing thesmell of the ocean and the slightly musty odor of the boathouse. Heat from herbody cut through the chill of shaded concrete and damp wood.

Somethingthat might have been a curse or a prayer beat its wings in her throat. She pushedMorgan against the row of lockers, taking her by surprise and knocking her offbalance. Her blue eyes flew wide, and she didn’t move from where Emilia hadpinned her. Beneath her hands, she felt like the only solid thing in the world.Barely four inches separated them. She searched Morgan’s face. Shock faded, andthe sound of Morgan’s rapid breathing filled her ears. This close she couldcount the freckles peppering her cheekbones. There was still time to pull away,apologize, and blame her actions on grief and emotional instability. Her eyesfell on Morgan’s lips. Need lanced through her again. She met Morgan’s eyes andsaw the same need reflected there.

Morgan’smouth met hers with hunger. Her lips brushed over Morgan’s once, and then shedeepened the kiss with her body, pressing her full weight into Morgan. Handspulled her hips in closer. A moan escaped her throat. The hair tangled in herfingers was thick and soft, almost as soft as the mouth beneath hers. She drewher teeth over Morgan’s bottom lip, brushing her tongue along it as she did.

Thisisn’t a first kiss,she thought, breathless.This is . . .Her mind blanked as Morganran her fingers up her back, thumbs dragging up her sides and drawing a whimperof desire with them. Morgan’s lips moved downward, but Emilia closed her handsmore tightly around her hair and stopped her. Instead, she kissed the smoothline of jaw leading down to her throat, tasting sweat and something else,something purely Morgan.

Morgangasped when Emilia nipped at the skin along her neck. The sound, so feminineand so at odds with her androgynous persona, drove any last shred of resolveout of Emilia’s mind. She abandoned her hold on Morgan’s hair and raked hernails down her arms.

“Fuck.”Morgan flung her head back as Emilia’s tongue passed over the hollow of hercollarbone. She tried to push Emilia off and turn her against the wall, butEmilia stopped her, taking Morgan by the wrists as her mouth moved back up tobrush her ear. Morgan gasped again. Emilia traced the curve of her ear and felther shudder. Still gripping Morgan’s wrists, she returned to her mouth, teasingher lips with long, slow strokes. She knew Morgan could have fought her off ifshe’d really wanted to top Emilia, but she also knew with growing certaintythat Morgan wanted no such thing right now.

Itfelt good, intoxicatingly good, to set the pace herself. She released Morgan’swrists and skimmed her fingertips up the bare skin of Morgan’s arms. Morganclung to Emilia’s belt, her muscles rock hard, and whimpered into Emilia’smouth as Emilia ran her fingertips just as lightly down along the sides of her breastsand down farther, lifting the hem of her shirt to trace the smooth skin of herstomach. She wanted to slide her hand past Morgan’s belt. She wanted to beinside Morgan, needed to feel her, needed to taste her hot against her.

“Emilia.”Morgan’s voice, raw, stopped her hand. She leaned her forehead against Morgan’sas their breath mingled in the space between them.

“Doyou want me to stop?”

Morgangroaned in frustration, and her hips pushed into Emilia’s. “No. Fuck no. I just—”

Emiliaslipped her hand into the waistband of Morgan’s jeans.

“Justwhat?”

“Just. . .” Morgan’s chest rose and fell, and she kept her eyes shut as she tried tospeak past the shudders wracking her taut body. “Is this what you want?”

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