Her mind instantly flooded with visions of themed book clubs, swanky meet-the-author events, even posh private parties. She could transform both the upper and lower decks into a whimsical wonderland of literature and luxury. But not the over-the-top opulence Cordelia Cahill paraded around town to make others feel less than. She wanted each person who entered her bookstore to feel special, like royalty in their own kingdom of story and imagination.
She smiled, thinking of her favorite childhood book,The Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepper. Oh, how she’d longed to be the heroine, Quinley, heading off on one adventure after another. Even at twelve years old, Quinley had no fear, no hesitation. She epitomized bravery and self-reliance. Qualities Sage sorely lacked. Until now.
“I gather the quarters are to your liking?” Herman asked. “Mr. Mackensie took great care to have the interior cleaned and polished.”
“Everything is perfect,” Sage whispered, overcome with a sense of reverence.
Until her gaze landed on the large queen bed at the back of the room. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she coughed, desperate for air as heat crept up her neck.
“Perfect, huh?” Flynn’s lips twitched, and her blush deepened.
“Obviously, apart from the sleeping arrangements.” An image of Flynn’s tall, athletic frame splayed lazily across the plush white duvet flashed in her mind.
Get out, get out, get out.
She tried to scold the unpleasant mental image from her subconscious to no avail. Now, Imaginary Flynn had his shirt slightly unbuttoned. Her cheeks flamed, rivaling two burning coals glowing in the moonlight. There might as well be the wordsSage Harper wants to cuddle with Flynn Cahillemblazoned on her forehead.
Except, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. If only her heart, body, and brain could get on the same page.
“What about the crew quarters?” Flynn asked Herman. “Mira didn’t sail this puppy all on her own.”
“The crew slept in a custom berth above deck that was, sadly, damaged during the shipwreck. Mr. Mackensie had it removed for safety reasons.”
“And with all his forethought and planning over the last two days, the guy couldn’t whip up an extra bed?” Flynn asked dryly.
“Even a man of great brilliance can’t think of everything.”
Flynn mumbled “Uh-huh” under his breath, as if he wasn’t buying Herman’s answer, but Sage kept quiet. Edwin Mackensie had gone above and beyond to clean and restore a boat he planned to practically give away.Ifthey could find his wife’s diary. She wasn’t about to complain. Even if the man’s methods were more than a bit suspect. Caviar and oysters? What wasthatall about?
“We’ll figure something out.” She offered Herman a smile. “Thank you for the tour. If it’s okay, I’d like to start looking for the diary before we lose any more daylight.” Soft rays of sun streamed through round portholes and the butterfly hatches overhead, illuminating the space with bright natural light. But, according to Herman, as soon as night fell, they could dispel the darkness only with lanterns and candlelight.
“Of course. I’ll bid you adieu.” Herman gave a little bow in farewell and excused himself, leaving Sage alone with Flynn and his dog. The latter had already made himself at home on a long leather bench.
In Herman’s absence, silence stretched between them, dulled only by the lapping of waves and occasional seagull cry.
“So, how do you wanna do this?” Flynn asked, glancing toward the bed.
Her skin sizzled again.Stupid hormones. “Do what?”
“This.” He swung his arms to encompass the room. “We have three days to find this thing. And I don’t think you want to be on top of each other the whole time.”
Another full-body hot flash swept over her.Good grief. Get it together. “Of course I don’t,” she snapped, then reeled herself in.She who doth protest too much. “Why don’t we split the boat in two sections? We can take turns searching the different areas.”
“Works for me. Do you want top or bottom first?”
“Um.” She bit her lower lip, struggling to decide. Was she the only one finding it impossible to think straight? She loathed this man with every fiber of her being. So why did her traitorous stomach still spin whenever he looked at her with those sultry amber eyes as deep and dark as buckwheat honey? “I’ll take below deck.”
“Fine by me. Cap and I will take topside.”
Sage felt a prick of hesitation at how readily he agreed. Below deck was the better choice. Unless Flynn knew that and assumed it had already been thoroughly searched in Mackensie’s previous attempts to find the diary. Did she need to expand her strategy beyond the most obvious?
Anxiety fluttered in her chest like a trapped honeybee, furiously beating its wings. She couldn’t lose this boat. Not to Flynn. Not to anyone. She needed a plan. She needed to get inside Mira’s head.
On any given occasion, Mackensie’s wife would have at least one crew member—usually two—help her man the boat. If she wanted to ensure her privacy, where would she keep her diary that was both safe but also accessible?
Her mind whirred with possibilities. Perhaps a secret compartment in one of the bookcases? She turned to find Flynn rummaging through the bedside storage. “Excuse me? Didn’t we just agree I would search below deck first?”
“Yes, thanks for the reminder.” He tugged two nautical-themed quilts from the cupboard. “But unless you want to share the bed with me and Cap—who snores, by the way—I’d better borrow these.”
