He’s broad and strong. Hairy belly. Muscular arms that have nothing to do with a personal training plan. They don’t grow them like this in Hollywood. He turns as he pulls the dry shirt over his head, and even his back has a dusting of hair on it that would get him kicked off a shoot and sent straight to the aestheticians, but all I want to do is press myself against it and cuddle into him.
Jack sits on one of the benches, removes his boots, and glances up like he can’t smell the hormones pouring off me like a rainstorm.
“What’s wrong? Doesn’t it fit?”
I’m still clutching the shirt to my chest, and now there’s a wet spot along one side because I’m basically a human puddle. Ninety-nine percent water and lust. That’s me.
I pretend I’m on set as I pull my shirt off. It’s only awkward the first ten or so times. Then you get used to the rush of cold air and stop blushing when a grip somewhere beyond the camera lets out a low whistle. I struggle into the dry one with no finesse at all, and I’m annoyed when I finally get my head clear and Jack’s rummaging under the console, because apparently my striptease was unworthy.
Until he turns around and hands me a pair of woolly socks that practically make me moan.
“Are extra socks a standard part of my VIP package?” I ask.
Jack peels his own socks off without looking at me. “I’m glad your boss isn’t here. He could probably fit both feet in one of my socks.”
And my brain goes off on another cosmic voyage as I think about that tidbit of information. These arehissocks? I unroll them and yup. They’re huge. You know what they say about a man with big feet.
Jesus, I should throw myself at him and be done with it. Would be less painful than this waiting and hoping he feels the same pull I do.
But he’s all business as he gets the boat’s motor going. “You sit tight,” he says, and that doesn’t sound like a pickup line. It sounds like he wants me out of the way.
The rain has lessened some as we pull away from his fishing spot, but it’s still coming down hard enough that there’s no question of us staying. I’m sorry for that. Whether he was flirting or toeing the line of friendly professionalism, I was having a good time.
My heavy coat swings on the hook where I stowed it this morning. The big envelope sticks out of one pocket, beckoning me. Time to come back to the real world where I have a career to think about.
Except a banging noise from outside makes us both jump. Jack swears as he glances over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I left one of the lockers open.”
“Want me to go close it?”
“No, you’ll get wet all over again. Come take the wheel.”
“You want me to drive the boat?”
“It’s not hard.” He steps aside like he did when he handed the fishing rod off to me. “Just like driving a car. Hands at ten and two and keep us going straight. I’ll only be a minute.”
Sure. Sure, I can do this. I drove a speedboat through the canals of Venice in a high-speed chase. I can drive a fishing boat in a straight line with nothing around us but water.
There’s a spatter of rain on the back of my neck as Jack opens the cabin door, but it doesn’t last long before he closes it again. I try to watch him, but I have to twist my whole body, and the boat veers off course for a second. Jack has to grab hold of a rail to keep from falling, and I mouth “Sorry” before I turn my attention back to the water ahead of us.
A particularly big wave rolls up, crashing over the front as the boat slams down so hard I nearly bite my tongue. The impact jars me all the way up my legs into my hips and back. With one hand on the throttle, I glance over my shoulder. Should I slow down? Jack said to keep going, but—
Where is Jack?
The rear section of the boat isn’t particularly spacious. It has a lot of gear, but a big guy in a rain jacket shouldn’t be that hard to see.
“Jack?” I say, even though he would never hear me from in here.
I slow the boat down as my heart beats faster than the drum of raindrops overhead. We rock in the churning water, but at least we’re a long way from anything, so I don’t have to worry about where we drift as I throw the cabin door open and stumble outside.
A long leg extends from the other side of the benches and lockers.
“Jack!”
But the only answer I get is a soft moan.
