Page 7 of Shiver Me Timbers

Duncan glances at me, then looks away. His thumb drums on the wheel—his signature nervous twitch. “A rut?”

“Yes.”

It’smyturn to draw out an awkward silence, and I revel in it. Oh, the power. Pressing my lips together, I watch this unbearable grump out of the corner of my eye. How does he like it?

Duncan scrubs a palm down his beard. He tugs at his shirt collar and clears his throat, shifting weight from foot to foot. Flips a switch on his controls, then quickly flips it back when a tiny bulb flashes.

“What rut?” Duncan says at last, biting the words out. “You’re bored?”

Oh, I’m not bored. Bored is the last thing I feel around this man. It’s more like I’m constantly,painfullyon edge.

It’s all the hoping and longing. Craving something that will never come. Holding my breath and praying that today will be different; that Duncan will finally admit the feelings between us; that we’ll do more than hover near each other and yearn.

I’m twenty three, for god’s sake. We’re both adults, both free and unclaimed. Why oh why am I living the life of a sexually frustrated nun?

My dad is long gone. He’ll never be able to give us his blessing. But he’d want us to be happy, surely—even if he ranted and raged about it at first, eventually he’d have come around.

“Not bored,” I say sweetly, leaning against the wall. There’s barely room in this glorified cubby for the two of us, but I always jam in here alongside Duncan. It’s a law of nature, or something. If this man is close, I must get closer. “But I wouldn’t mind shaking things up a bit.”

“Shaking things up,” Duncan repeats flatly. From the way he says it, you’d think I just suggested that we streak naked through the town.

The boat skims along the water, cutting through the warm September air.

And something about that dismissive tone, and the standoffish curve of his shoulders—something about his wholevibetonight snaps the last thread of my control. Narrowing my eyes, I turn and glare at him head-on.

“Yes.” My voice is clipped; my jaw is tense. Oh god, what am I doing? “I want to shake things up. Is that so hard to imagine? Or have you been set in your ways for too long, Duncan Matlock?”

Set in his pattern of ignoring me.Dismissingme. Not overall—lord knows this man is a good business partner and friend—but ignoring what is so clearly between us.

It wouldn’t be wrong. Why does he act like it’s so wrong?

Ithurtsme. Can’t he see that?

Duncan jolts at my tone, and the look he gives me is half irritation, half fear. “Don’t go there, Ellie May. Don’t say things that can’t be unsaid.”

But what difference does it make whether we say them out loud or not? We bothfeelit. We both know there’s something more here. Are we supposed to pretend we’re just business partners forever?

And… what then? Grow old apart? Date different people; torture ourselves in that way? Or spend our lives together like this: in a pale imitation of what could have been?

Holy crap on a cracker, I am tired of this strain. I’m weary of bearing this weight. Can’t he meet me halfway?

“You know,” I say, and you wouldn’t know from my jokey voice that my insides are sloshing with despair, “words can’t hurt anyone. Not these words, anyway. Shall we try them? We can say them together.”

“Ellie,” Duncan warns.

And I know I should stop, but I’ve been swept up in the current of my own desperation. I can’t bear this going unsaid for another minute longer.

What’s that saying?The truth will set you free.

When I walk my fingertips up the outside of his arm, Duncan’s muscles are tense beneath his sleeve. He puffs out a breath, but he doesn’t move away. “Ellie.”

“I want you, Duncan Matlock.” Maybe if I hide behind this sing-songy voice, it won’t hurt as much if this goes wrong. “Even though you’re old and grumpy and you’re being a giant repressed weenie right now. I want you more than anything in the whole world.”

Duncan’s arm is rock hard, quivering with tension beneath my fingertips.

“Stop it,” he says.

My heart lurches, and bile fills my throat.Stop it?That’s it? That’s all he has to say?

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