Low.
Hushed.
A voice meant only for my skin.
I did.
His hands slid the sweatshirt over my arms, slow, like he was dressing something breakable. The fabric brushed my bare collarbone, my stomach, my hips. He pulled my hair free from the collar with careful fingers, his knuckles grazing the nape of my neck so light it felt like a promise instead of a touch.
My breath stuttered.
His hands lingered.
Just a second.
Just long enough.
“That’s better,” he whispered behind me, breath warm against my ear.
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to lean back into him, to feel his chest press against my spine, to let the day tilt into something neither of us were saying out loud yet.
But when I turned, he was already stepping away.
Not far.
Never far.
Just enough to keep himself from reaching.
Just enough to stop himself from touching me the way he clearly wanted to.
The skipper untied the last rope. The yacht eased away from the pier, cutting through the water so smoothly it felt unreal.
The world shifted into motion.
Waves lapped softly against the hull, each sound like a heartbeat against wood. Lantern light shimmered on the surface of the sea, breaking into tiny gold shards that danced away with the yacht’s wake.
I walked toward the bow, drawn by the view, drawn by the way the wind curled around me like an invitation. The sweatshirt Dane gave me held his warmth, and each inhale filled my lungs with him.
The ocean widened ahead endless blue deepening into indigo as dusk folded over the horizon.
I leaned on the rail. The breeze kissed my cheeks, lifted the ends of my hair, brushed my knees through the thin fabric of my pants. Salt hung in the air, crisp and grounding, pulling a deep peace through my body.
Behind me, I could feel Dane before I heard him.
His presence was a temperature shift. A gravity. A slow pull at the base of my spine.
He stepped beside me, not touching, but close enough for the warmth radiating off him to meet the wind and wrap around me like a tide.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked.
I didn’t know if he meant the sea or…something else.
So, I kept my eyes on the horizon and whispered, “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
He exhaled softly, and something about the sound made my stomach flutter like maybe he’d been waiting years to hear my voice carried on ocean air.
The yacht glided further from shore, and the city behind us softened into a silhouette a smudge of lights and memory.
