“You sure?” His hold doesn’t let up even a little, and I’m almost certain I can feel the ridges of his abs against my stomach. “Under no circumstances will I allow you to fall in the water. Tonight is about falling in love with Sunset Harbor, not giving you more reasons to hate it.”
“Relax,” I say—to myself as much as to him. It’s been a while since I’ve been up against any man, which explains my heart rate being through the roof. “I just haven’t been in a boat for a while.” Not true. I drove a boat less than a month ago when Mia’s fiancé took us out on Castaic Lake.
I pull back, and his hold on me loosens. I shift away from him. Verrrry carefully.
“And you forgot boats go on water?” He keeps a hand ready, apparently worried I’ll start doing the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” and tip us over.
“Yes, Beau,” I deadpan. “I forgot that boats go on water.”
He reaches over to turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, and the water by the motor sputters and churns. “Well, for the record, they do.” He puts out a hand to display the seat behind the wheel. “Sitting down is your best bet.”
“You are a veritable fount of wisdom,” I say. “But I’m not driving, so I’ll choose a different seat, thanks.”
“I need you to help drive while I untie the boat and push us off.” He catches my look and smiles. “You’re a capable woman, Gemma. It’ll be easy—especially compared to driving your grandma’s cart.”
I consider whether to let him know I can drive a boat every bit as well as he can. Or almost as well. But after a second, I take a seat and look at the gadgets around me, getting my bearings. I can’t pass up a chance to prove myself. Call it a family trait.
Beau starts unraveling the rope from around the cleat, explaining when I’ll press the gas throttle, how far to move it,which direction and how much to turn the wheel. If I’m so capable, why does he feel the need to describe everything I’ll need to do in such minute detail?
He tosses the end of the rope into the boat and puts his hands on the edge of the dock near the front of the boat, making his triceps muscles engage as he looks at me. “You ready?”
“Waiting on you, cap.”
He nods and pushes off the edge. “Go ahead and press the pedal gently.”
I do as commanded, and the boat edges forward. The tail end starts to drift toward the dock, and Beau hurries to the back of the boat, pushing off from there. “A little more.”
I press the throttle farther, and Beau pushes off a couple more times until we clear the edge and start moving forward.
He turns toward me and smiles. “Attagir?—”
I shove the throttle, and the boat jumps forward, sending Beau over the back and into the water. No one attagirls me.
I release the throttle, and Beau’s head pops out of the water, his normally perfect hair drenched and in his eyes. He whips it back and swims toward the boat, his gaze fixed on me. How is he smiling right now?
I consider gunning it again so he can’t catch up but decide against it.
“You got heels on?” he asks as he grabs the side of the boat.
“Nope,” I chirp sunnily. “I know how to drive a boat just fine, Beau.”
“Just not how to enter and exit one?” He rests his forearms on the side and sets his chin on top.
“It was a farther drop than I thought,” I defend. “So, did your love of Sunset Harbor survive a fall into the water?”
“Of course. My love is very hardy, Gemma.” Water trickles down his cheeks and into his megawatt smile, the full brilliance of which is directed at me like a spotlight.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I say suspiciously, my glance darting at the water ahead. We’re drifting toward the open bay, however, so there’s no need for me to steer much or accelerate.
“Just considering whether to pull you in right now.”
I jab a finger at him. “You promised.”
“I promised not to let youfallin. I said nothing aboutpullingyou in.” He hoists himself up using the side of the boat, and it rocks violently, forcing me to hold on even though I’m seated.
The question of the looseness of the weave of his shirt is answered unequivocally in that moment. I can see not only the outline of each rung of abdominal muscles through the clinging fabric but the actual skin color as well. Beau Palmer is a part-time cop. His body, however, is prepared for not just full-time but round-the-clock enforcement.
He climbs in, dripping half the Gulf of Mexico into the boat along with him, and I look around me for an escape route. The boat is only so big, though, and there’s nowhere I can go that Beau can’t reach me.
