“We are,” I confirm, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and it’s doing things to me I’d rather not admit. Not out loud, anyway. We’re sailing back from the Isle of Wight to the mainland after a nice Sunday pub lunch.
“Why wasn’t I allowed to steer during the regatta?” she asks, throwing me a glare.
I smirk, watching her from my spot on the deck. Close enough to leap to her aid if needed but far enough to admire the view. “Being at the helm isn’t just about turning a wheel, darling. It’s strategy, navigation, split-second decisions. You weren’t ready for that kind of pressure. Couldn’t have you steering us in circles in front of the race committee, now could I?”
She rolls her eyes. “Fisherman Liam can be a bit of an asshole too, I see.”
A gust of wind catches her shorts, making them flutter against her long, tanned legs. She adjusts her stance, widening her feet to keep her balance, and damn if that isn’t a sight to behold. Her hand flies up to hold on to the captain’s hat, trying to wrangle her wild,fiery locks at the same time. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying the show.
She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, pulled into a knot at her stomach, leaving a strip of skin exposed. It’s like she’s trying to kill me, standing there looking like every sailor’s wet dream. Like a mermaid figurehead on the prow of a ship—my ship. Bold, fearless, daring the seas to mess with us. Safeguarding the journey home.
Yeah, she looks good up there. Good enough to make me consider capsizing my own boat just to get her wet.
“Well, now I’m in charge,” she declares, her voice carrying over the wind. “I’m captain of the boat.”
I chuckle. “Better not let Skipper Magee hear you say that. He gets mighty upset when people wear his hat.”
She freezes. “What? This is Skipper Magee’s hat?”
“Aye,” I confirm, barely containing my laughter at her stricken expression.
She lets out a shriek and flings the hat off her head like it’s on fire. Only problem is, she overestimates the deck and the damn thing lands in the water.
“Gemma,” I say, though I’m more amused than angry. “He loves that hat.”
“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I just meant to take it off! It’s just . . . gross!”
I stop the engine and fix her with a stern look, though I’m fighting back a grin. “Are you going to go in and get it?”
Her eyes widen comically. “What? Into the actual sea? Can’t I just buy the man a replacement?”
“His dearly departed sister bought him that one forty years ago,” I explain, laying it on thick. “Calls it his lucky charm—says it’s kept him from a watery grave on many an occasion.”
“Dammit,” she whimpers, and for a moment I feel a pang of guilt for teasing her.
I can’t keep up the act any longer, even if I wasn’t entirely fibbing about the old man’s superstitions.
Chuckling, I strip off my T-shirt, catching the way her eyes rake over my chest. “Relax, Gilligan. I’ll get it. Try not to crash the boat while I’m gone.”
“Are you going to be okay? Is that safe?”
“Probably not. If I’m not back in ten minutes, sell the company and name a charity after me.” I flash her a wink.
“Wait, seriously?” she squeaks. “Liam, don’t you dare—”
I plunge into the water before she can finish her sentence, the cold shocking my system. As I swim toward the bobbing hat, I can hear Gemma’s colorful curses floating over the water. The woman’s got a mouth on her when she’s not restraining herself.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this . . . light.
My fingers close around the waterlogged fabric of the hat, and I turn back toward the boat.
Gemma’s leaning over the railing, her fiery hair whipping in the wind, worry etched on her face. And fuck me if I don’t realize in that moment that I’d swim through a sea of hungry sharks just to see her smile again.
That’s definitely a complication. A complication that’s making my chest tighten in ways it shouldn’t.
I’m so distracted by the redhead waiting for me that I don’t notice the wave until it’s too late. It hits me hard, yanking the hat right out of my hand and into the water.
“Shit,” I mutter, diving under the surface after it. The current carries the thing away from me, and I power through the water, resisting the cold. I need to get this hat or the skipper won’t forgiveme. Stubborn old bastard shouldn’t have left it on my boat if he cared that much, though.
