Page 30 of Moonlit Hideaway
Enthralled by the melody and the woman, Hank started the motor and steered the boat from the harbor to the sound. Sierra’s beautiful voice carried over the noise of the engine and the gentle lapping of the waves. The water was glassy and calm, reflecting the pastel colors of the dawn sky. Here and there, sand spits jutted out into the water, some topped with tufts of grass, creating islands of shifting sand.
His boat had a center console with a windscreen from where he steered, but Sierra, standing at the bow, had the wind full in her face. She looked back at him, her hair flapping into her face, and stretched toward the sky with both hands. Her exuberance brought a lump to his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to put that expression on her face all the time—to be the reason she smiled and to give her the love she deserved.
“I feel so free out here. Do you know how claustrophobic the island is to someone who’s not used to the close quarters?”
“Nothing can hem us in when we have both the Atlantic and the Pamlico sound? Water, water, everywhere.” He swept his hand at the horizon with the lighthouse at the inlet to the line of islands continuing to the south. “North Carolina is the only state with this unique arrangement of land, water, and a natural breakwater. There’s something about taking a boat out here. It’s not just about the fishing or the sailing. It’s about being part of this—the water, the sky, the life around us.”
“Being in tune with something bigger than yourself.” She came around to stand at his side, and he slipped an arm around her, loving the feel of a partnership and a whole lot more. “This is amazing. I’ve never seen the water change colors like this.”
“That’s the Outer Banks for you. You gotta know how to read it.” He gave her a cuddle, wanting to move into a kiss—to explore this insane compulsion inside of him—but only if it wasn’t one-sided. “The water shifts colors depending on what’s underneath. You see those white ripples out yonder? Those are shallow areaswhere the sand comes almost to the surface, and then there’s the deeper blues and everything in between.”
“It’s all so amazing.” She turned those sea-green eyes at him, and it was all he could do to restrain his overeager heart. He hadn’t taken her boating to make moves on her—that would be improper, especially since she was a paying guest and a friend of his daughter. But what could a man do when every impulse wanted to make this remarkable woman his?
He tamped down his pulse and pointed toward a distant ferry coming into Hattokwa. “See those buoys out there? They mark areas to steer clear of. Not only do we have shifting sand, but also relics of old piers, jetties, and even the foundation of the old lighthouse, which had to be moved and rebuilt at its current position.”
“You must know these waterways well.”
“That’s why I have to come out often. Even that last storm changed a few landmarks.” Her admiration made him proud as he gestured toward a strip of dunes barely visible above the dissipating mist. “You see those dunes? You never know what’s buried along these shores. Ever heard of Blackbeard?”
“Only in stories.”
“He made his home here in the Outer Banks. They say he buried his treasure somewhere along these shores.” Hank’s voice took on a playful, storytelling cadence, the better to amuse his guest. “And on moonlit nights, some say you can still see his ghost ship sailing the sound, guarding his hidden loot.”
Sierra’s laughter was as light and carefree as the breeze, and once again, hope filled his heart. “I call dibs on the jewels.”
“And I’ll gladly split the gold with you for a song.”
“In a neon heartbeat? You got it.” She smiled teasingly as she moved away from him to the bow, bouncing to the beat and shaking her head. “Neon Heartbeat keeping us alive. In the city,the rhythm of the night… boom, boom, boom, gotta go. Boom, boom.”
The tiny boat rose and swayed over the choppy water, accentuating Sierra’s dance moves. Oh, she was well aware of Hank’s gaze penetrating to the core of her being—taking in and absorbing the pent-up energy she’d held at bay while hiding her stardom. And ordinarily, she wouldn’t have been fazed one bit. She was used to performing under the glare of spotlights and zoomed-in cameras, recording every drop of sweat and every shake of her head. Her videos looped on millions of cell phones, and her voice, whether smooth or crackly, crooning softly or screaming in raw passion, was a signature she couldn’t hide on stage.
But with this one man, Hank, she was knock-kneed and a little too tipsy on adrenaline—or it was the rocking of the boat? He always saw her—looked right through her with that knowing way of his, and she felt naked, as if he knew everything about her and still wanted her.
She wasn’t a baby, and she wasn’t too young for him, although he treated her delicately as if she were a fragile lily too gossamer to touch.
So she hid behind her hit tunes and her dance routines, knowing that out here on the sound—they were too far out for nosy islanders or persistent journalists. She had an audience of one, and somehow, he was worth more than a million. She hadn’t missed the heat in those steel-gray eyes of his and the focus that made her lips tingle, as well as showering sparks over her heated skin. If she read him right, he was busy talking himself out of it, making excuses, and putting up roadblocks.
She definitely should—but she couldn’t pass up a chance to escape the town with only a few streets and the same people moving around staring at her, wondering at her story, and sizing her up. That creeper Liam guy was a case in point. He kept himself on a first-name basis with her, and the way he called her “Jane” was off-putting, as if he tried to catch her off-guard.
Jane. Jane. Jane.
She had to wake up every morning and run her Jane persona through her head. But out here with Hank, she could be Sierra, and Sierra Rayne desperately wanted the kiss Hank’s body language promised. As the last beat of “Neon Heartbeat” faded, Sierra raised one hand while the other pretended to hold a mic.
“Whoo-eee! How about it? Is your heartbeat as dazzling as the neon lights?” She bowed deeply to Hank’s applause. “Thank you, thank you! That got my heartbeat going. Wooo!”
He threw his head back laughing, and she loved the carefree joy she gave with her performance. Out here, he, too, could be himself and not the worried innkeeper and single father who had to shoulder all the responsibility.
“That was amazing,” he crowed. “Now I know why you’re such a star.”
“Wanna hear my new super duper secret song?”
“It’s a privilege, and I’ll etch it in my heart forever.” He put his hand over his heart, and she believed him.
Unlike other fans, Hank hadn’t taken out his phone to snap pictures and videos of her. He respected her wish for privacy, and she loved that he would go off his memories alone. That was something her generation had never known—a life without being tethered to an electronic device.
“Okay, I don’t have a guitar, so we’re going to have to pretend,” she said, sitting down on the bow deck with one leg crossed over the other—as if she cradled a guitar.
He raised his hands in the position of a camera and pretended to take a paparazzi shot, grinning like a young man with his first girlfriend, and then he let the boat drive as he sat on the seat in front of the steering column—his gaze never leaving hers.
