Page 74 of Moonlit Hideaway
“Of course. Nothing but the best for my bride.” Marco pressed his slimy lips over hers, spearing her with his tongue.
It was all Sierra could do not to hurl again, but she hoped he tasted the bile before coming up for air.
Patting her on the behind, he swaggered off to fetch the champagne. Sierra rushed around the deck and headed toward the stern. The yacht picked up speed, motors thrumming, and the waves heaved and tossed the large boat as it turned toward the open ocean. Once she was below the main deck, she found the lifejackets and life rings. She knew her way around yachts,and before Marco could find her missing from the bridal cabin, she bounded onto the swim platform.
Cold wind whipped her hair around her face, and the salt spray stung her eyes. She could no longer see Hank, but she knew he was back in the froth. She hesitated for only a moment, praying under her breath, and then, inhaling deeply, she jumped.
The ice-cold shock slammed the air out of her lungs, and the churning of water disoriented her. She went under, seeing bright, shiny stars zapping her vision. She scrambled with her arm in the life ring and surfaced, gasping.
Water flooded her mouth and stung her eyes. The ruthless waves crested so high that all she could see was the tip top of the lighthouse. She swam toward it the same way those passengers on that cold Christmas night swam toward that beacon of hope. Every stroke was a battle, and every breath a prayer.
A seagull shrieked above her and glided low. It wheeled around in an arc, and as she rose from the trough to crest the next wave, she caught sight of Hank. His beloved face grimaced and gasped as he fought the waves with solid strokes and kicks.
“Hank!” she screamed over the roar of the sea, but her voice barely carried.
His face filled with relief as he changed direction.
“Sierra!” he called back. “I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got you, too.” Elated despite being tossed to and fro by the waves, Sierra swam toward him. Each time they got closer, the ocean seemed to push them apart.
“Stay away from rips and head toward the lighthouse,” Hank shouted. He was closer to the beach than she was, but he came toward her.
“No, you keep going.” Sierra pushed the life ring before her, trying to get her bearings.
After hours of being tossed back and forth, they were finally close enough to touch. They were both gasping for air, drenched and shivering. For a moment, time stood still at their reunion as they shared a look of understanding—their connection strengthened by their need for each other and their fight for survival.
Hank grasped her hand. “You can do it. Just stay with me.”
“I never want to leave you, ever.” Sierra’s mouth and tongue were numb, and she couldn’t feel her arms and legs move; she wasn’t sure she had an ounce of energy left.
“Hold on to the life ring. I’ll pull you. Just relax.”
It seemed unfair for him to do the work, but he tied the rope around his life jacket and swam with long, powerful strokes. Sierra could barely keep her arms threaded inside the life ring, but she closed her eyes and prayed, kicking her legs, unsure if they moved or made a difference.
She concentrated on breathing, on raising her head just enough to pull in air. Bubbles and dizziness overtook her, and she surrendered to her life flashing.
There she was, at six, clutching her dad’s pant leg, watching a sequined goddess. Her voice soared to operatic heights, and the men shouted, “Bravo!” Then, she was surrounded by family in a storm shelter, singing her little heart out while the winds whipped and howled above them. Her first electric guitar, the zinging sound vibrating through her teeth down to her toes. The sweat underneath the spotlights, the buzz through her veins, the energy of her body, rocking out to the screaming crowds, and the thrilling euphoria of the rapt audience, dancing in shimmering waves as one.
She’s sixteen, burning rubber in the cherry-red Miata, her father’s gruff “Be careful” trailing behind like the wake of a speedboat.
And then, the funeral and the rain, the red eyes and the bad dye job. She’s on the ferry, and this magnetic man is staring at her. He wants to ask her questions. He’s seeing right through her—knowing her and unearthing her secrets.
His steely gaze spoke to her soul and whispered an unseen future—that this man would change her life.
She coughed, wheezing, as grit dragged across her skin and a bright pulsing light swept overhead—pulling her into the stars—drawn to those stormy gray eyes.
Hank’s beloved face above her, care and love written across his being. Strong hands and arms lifted her from the grasping tide onto the soft dunes where seagrass whispered sweet nothings—an answered prayer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Warmth embraced Sierra as she floated in soft numbness, listening to the voices talking just outside her reach. A sensation of lifting and falling swelled around her with the rush of waves in her ear. The crash of a wave swallowing up theSea Melody, the splintering, and then Hank’s beloved face sinking, sinking, sinking…
“Huh-Hank!” His name tore from her aching throat as she struggled to open her heavy eyelids. A blurry halo of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, and she was wrapped in thick, warm blankets. She was lying in a hospital bed with an IV drip attached to her arm. Groggy and disoriented but strangely comfortable. But where was Hank?
Panic swam through her sluggish mind, surrounded by angry churning waves, desperately searching for Hank. She tried raising her arm to rip out the IV, but a steady hand pressed over her, and she blinked at the kindly-looking man wearing a white coat.
“Welcome back, miss. You gave us quite a scare.” He checked the monitors. “You’re at the island’s medical clinic.”
