Gingerly, he gathers my hair and holds it back while I grip the rails and lean over the boat. The dark water dips and swells, splashing the boat. Droplets smack my face, cooling my skin. Oddly, it makes me feel better.
A minute passes as I wait. Nothing happens. “False alarm,” I say, taking a step back from the railing as the nausea subsides. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he murmurs, releasing my hair, only for his hand to drop to my lower back, where he begins rubbing circles. “It happens to the best of us.” A small smile tugs up one corner of his mouth as he gazes down at me. The waning light darkens his green eyes like a maritime forest.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you adore me.” Should I have chosen less meaningful words? Something that would’ve given Klein the chance to have a less impactful response?
For several seconds he stares, eyes riveted and glimmering and thoughtful.
“Tell me to stop,” he says hoarsely.
“Don’t stop.”
Whatever sickness I’ve been feeling is long gone now. An incredible surge of something that used to feel foreign, but is now familiar with Klein, comes from somewhere deep inside me.
What is happening to me? To us?
CHAPTER 36
Klein
Why wasI looking at Paisley like I adore her?
Short answer: because I do.
Long answer: because her evident vulnerability when she thought she was going to be sick made me feel a caveman type of protectiveness over her. Like somebody imperative to my own survival was weak and I needed to stand guard and ensure her safety, barring predators from absconding with her.
Predators in the form of revoltingly good looking first mates.
Crew. The name is too perfect for the job. It must be a pseudonym.
Since we’d climbed aboard he’d been staring at Paisley a little longer than what I consider friendly. And then he put his hands on her in the guise of steadying her.
I went caveman. And I don’t regret it.
Paisley is feeling better now. I located a ginger ale in the galley, and she munched on leftover crackers from theplatter on the table. The wind has died down, and the ocean with it.
Paisley’s dad has remained at the bow of the boat, visiting only with Spencer, who is right now staring at his phone and doesn’t appear to be much for conversation.
Bending, I brush a kiss onto Paisley’s cheek and say, “I’m going to go talk to your dad.”
She looks at me with a question in her eyes. “Why?”
I shrug. “He looks lonely.”
Paisley leans left, peering past the captain steering the ship. I know what she sees, because I saw it myself a few moments ago. Her father, sitting alone and staring out at the Atlantic.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
“You don’t have to. I think I can hold my own with him.”
Paisley smirks. “I know you can.”
I make my way down to where he sits. “Mr. Royce,” I call out as I come up behind him, so I don’t startle him.
