Page 67 of Knocked Up in Alaska

Chapter Nineteen

Lilah sat on the edge of the cushioned bench of Trent’s trim little West Wight, squinted behind her sunglasses at the blazing orange sky, and watched the wind plump the two white sails.

And resisted the urge to check her phone.

And stop mentally encouraging the wind to pick up and blow them back to the small boat marina faster.

Trent sat across from her, manning the rudder, letting the little boat take another long, leisurely turn around the cove. He looked completely relaxed, pleased with himself, the boat, the pretty evening sun reflecting on the glassy water.

She’d enjoyed it all, initially, too, but that was over an hour ago, when she thought they had an agreement about the duration of this “sunset” sail. Unable to stop herself, she checked the time on her phone and dealt with a chest-crushing squeeze of distress. Ford hadn’t returned her check-in text from thirty minutes ago. Worse, they should have been back at the dock by now, rolling the sails, unloading the light picnic dinner prepared by Captivity Inn and the chilled champagne she’d declined. No worries there. He’d drunk enough for both of them.

“Lilah, baby, you’re so tense. You really needed time on the water like this, just drifting with the wind and letting your cares float away. Why don’t we drop anchor like I suggested and chill for a while? Pop the other bottle of champagne and get to know each other better?”

“It’s been great, really.” She forced an appreciative smile when all she wanted to do was take the rudder from him and turn the boat to shore. “But I have to get back. Remember, we said an hour?”

Trent smiled and shrugged. “Time’s fluid when you’re out on the water. The wind’s gonna do what the wind’s gonna do.”

Right, except even a half-competent sailor like her could have steered the boat back to shore under tonight’s calm, steady breeze. Even if the wind had grown fickle, he had an outboard motor. They could drop the sails and motor to the dock inside of ten minutes. “My daughter—”

“I can’t believe you just had a baby a few months ago,” he interjected, and his eyes roamed over her. “You look amazing. Really fit and…gorgeous.”

Did he seriously think flattering her would make her forget all about her maternal duties and fall into his arms? No. Just no. “I left Shayla with a sitter, but I need to feed her soon.” Very soon. “So we need to head back.”

She’d fed Shayla before dropping her at Ford’s house and left him with a bottle of expressed milk—always fun, but she’d gotten better at it over the weeks—so she wasn’t ready to explode, but she and Shayla had a routine for the nine p.m. feeding that set the course for the rest of the night. Nobody else had ever put her baby down for the evening, and she hadn’t planned to change that tradition tonight. What if Shayla needed Mommy? She didn’t want to break trust with her daughter.

She didn’t, she silently admitted, want to be here with Trent. She’d accepted his invitation out of frustration with Ford who, instead of confessing his own feelings when she’d told him Trent wanted to take her out, had shrugged like it meant nothing to him and told her to go. No, not just go. Go and have fun. At which point, pride had demanded she do exactly that. Except she wasn’t having fun. She was stressing about being late picking up Shayla, trying to convey her need to return to shore without stepping over the line into rudeness to a guy who didn’t understand the importance of nighttime routines or any of the parent responsibilities ruling her life right now.

As if to prove this conclusion, Trent sent her a carefree smile. “What’s an hour or so here and there in the grand scheme of things?” He picked up the open bottle of champagne that still contained about half a glass worth of sparkling wine and offered it to her. “You’ve got to make time for you, too, right? A little mom-time. I figured we could watch the sun set. Sure you don’t want some bubbly? Might help you relax.”

Oh, God. This guy wasn’t hearing her. Sunset, in early August, occurred around nine thirty. That was just…out of the question. If he didn’t turn the boat around in the next five minutes, she was going to have to swim to shore. What a wonderful date this had turned out to be. Striving for patience, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t drink, Trent. Like I said before, I have to drive to pick up my daughter.”

He winked at her. “I won’t tell.”

“And I’m breastfeeding.”

He didn’t seem to know what to do with that information. He lowered the bottle to the ice bucket and simply continued smiling at her.

“And I have to get back. Now. I’m supposed to pick up Shayla at nine at the latest. I’m sorry, but I’m dead serious.”

Something in her tone must have finally gotten through to him. His smile dimmed and irritation flashed in his eyes, but he recovered quickly. “Hey, it’s fine. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

She hated that expression, but she forced a grateful curve to her lips and released her grip on the seat as he finally moved the rudder to turn the boat toward shore. Knuckles strained from holding onto the bench and her anxiety protested every slow flex of her fingers. “Thank you.”

Oh, he liked her gratitude. His smile returned, cocky and in control. “No problem. Look, don’t sweat the time, Lilah. You’re in good hands. When I was captain of the sailing team at Dartmouth, we won the championship two years running. Come over here and hold the rudder just like this.” When she did as he instructed, he moved nimbly forward and took lines to turn the sails. “I’ll have you ashore in record time.”

“Record time” meant they secured lines at the dock at nine o’clock sharp. If she floored it all the way from the harbor to Ford’s house, she’d be there by ten after. Frantic to be on her way, as soon as she secured her line, she stood, dug her phone out of the exterior pocket of her tote, and shouldered the bag. “Thanks for the sail,” she called, already speed-walking down the dock toward the parking lot.

“Wait!” He jogged after her, catching up when she reached her Jeep. “Hey. Hold up.”

Trapped between manners and maternal imperative, she sent him a distracted smile and climbed behind the wheel. “I’m sorry. I really have to go. I’m already late.”

“Just one quick thing,” Trent promised. As he did, he wedged his body in her open door, slid a hand around the back of her head, and…kissed her.

First thought? She didn’t have time for this.

Second thought? She didn’t want this. Even with all the time in the world, there was no magic here. No spark. Just a mash of mouths and an aggressive stab of tongue against the seal of her lips. Admittedly, she didn’t have a lot to compare it to, but this was officially the least intriguing kiss she’d ever received, including the ambush third-grade playground kiss from Thomas Eyre, who was currently in seminary school in Seattle. She wasn’t sure she sought the instant, combustible heat she experienced with Ford, but no worries. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t even close. It was…nothing.

She tore her mouth away. “Sorry. I can’t. I have to go.” In her rush to shut her car door, she accidentally hit him with it.

---