Leo pushed up from his lazy sprawl, suddenly alert. “It’s here?”
Bran grinned, nodding. “Just dropped anchor. The others have already taken the dinghy to check it out. Mad Dog and Harper are piloting the skiff back to pick us up.”
“How does it look?”
“Like a fucking dream.” Bran wiggled his eyebrows, motioning over his shoulder with his chin. “Come on.”
Leo was up and out the door in under a second, taking the porch steps two at a time and sliding on his sunglasses. The sun was sinking low in the western sky, painting the clouds in pinks and purples. The fluffy confections were being pushed eastward by the same breeze that rattled the leaves of the palm trees. When he stepped onto the beach, the warm sand sifted between his bare toes. But he didn’t feel it. His eyes were glued to the big salvage ship anchored just past the reef.
Her hull gleamed a shiny gray on the upper two-thirds and a deep red on the lower one-third. There was a J-frame crane on the aft section and a HIAB hydraulic loader on the bow. She had what looked to be a pilothouse, a laboratory, and a computer room, and that’s just what he could see above deck. What was below was probably just as impressive. She was a beauty. No doubt about it.
But honestly, he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright. When Morales called the morning after Whackass Wednesday, asking Leo if there was any place he preferred to purchase a new salvage ship—Olivia hadn’t been shitting him; she’d come through like a champ, which was just one more reason on top of the ten billion reasons why he loved her—he hadn’t hesitated to point the man toward the other remaining member of the original Great Eight. Mad Dog’s family had been building ships in Atlantic City since before there was a boardwalk.
Leo supposed he could have gone on ogling the gorgeous vessel for a good solid six hours, watching his friends and his uncle crawling around the deck inspecting things, if not for the fact that there was an extra person in the dinghy with Mad Dog and his wife, Harper. His former teammate had contacted him last week to say they’d be the ones delivering the ship—a second honeymoon and a chance to see Leo and the boys again. And that extra person was…survey says? Special Agent Olivia Mortier.
Hotdamn!Leo was so happy to see her black hair blowing in the breeze as the little skiff zoomed across the lagoon and up to the beach that he felt dizzy. Would have planted ass right there if not for Bran slinging an arm over his shoulder and keeping him steady.
“I used to think civilians and operators could never make it work in the long run,” Bran said, watching Mad Dog cut the engine, hop out of the little rubber boat, and pull it onto the sand. “But I gotta say, I think you two have a fighting chance.”
Leo was able to rip his eyeballs away from Olivia long enough to slide his best friend a glance. “I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” Bran chuckled. “It’s written all over your face when you look at her. And all over hers when she looks at you.”
Leo closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Even though he’d convinced himself he hadn’t misread her, it was still good to hear he wasn’t the only one who thought she felt more for him than could be satisfied by a quick slap-and-tickle in the belly of some billionaire’s yacht.
“Steady as she goes, bro,” Bran said, giving him a squeeze before jogging toward the trio walking up the beach.
Leo was able, just barely, to unstick his feet from the sand and follow. He’d gone no more than ten steps when Mad Dog wrapped him in a bear hug pretty similar to the one he’d just given Bran, pounding him on the back until he feared the man might jostle a lung loose.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, LT, you big piece of shit!” Mad Dog boomed.
Leo chuckled, hugging him back. “Takes one to know one.” And as soon as Mad Dog set him down, Leo glanced over at his redheaded wife. “Harper,” he said, dipping his chin at her. “It’s good to see you again. Was the sail down from Atlantic City all right?”
She made a face. “It would’ve been if I wasn’t already green with mornin’ sickness. I think I threw up over the side of her”—she hooked a thumb toward where the new salvage ship was bobbing with the tide—“about fifty times. Consider her good and christened.”
Leo widened his eyes at Mad Dog. “Pregnant?”Nowthat’showyougrablifebytheballsandreallyliveit. Good for you, man.
Mad Dog’s face split into the kind of satisfied smile only men who’ve planted a baby in the belly of the woman they adore can pull off. “Ten weeks.”
“Mazel tov!” Bran crowed at the same time Leo offered the happy couple his congratulations. Then Bran threw his arm around Harper, hugging her until Mad Dog was forced to growl, “Get your dirty mitts off my wife, or find both of them cut off and shoved up your ass.”
Bran chuckled, bending to kiss Harper’s cheek before dancing out of reach when Mad Dog took a swing at his head.
Leo couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to look at her. Olivia.HisOlivia—if she’d just pull her head out of her ass and admit it. And when he did look at her, he felt like he’d taken a haymaker to his diaphragm. He couldn’t breathe because she was so beautiful. Her inky hair wild around her face. Her soft cheeks pink from the sun. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, giving him a glimpse at her sexy front tooth.
“Hello, Leo,” she murmured in that smoky voice he’d been hearing in his dreams for three long weeks now. Her subtle perfume drifted on the evening breeze, causing his nostrils to flare.
“Olivia.” He nodded, giving himself major points for playing it cool when cool was the dead last thing he was feeling.
“You ever get the feeling we’ve done this before?” she asked, tilting her head and referring to their initial salvos, which were basically the exact same greetings they’d given each other when she first arrived on Wayfarer Island the morning of Whackass Wednesday.
“I’m beginnin’ to think that when it comes to you and me, it’s a case of as it ever was and—”
“Ever shall be, darlin’,” she finished for him. “I think we need to get some new material.”
“You won’t hear any complaints about that from me,” he said, his tone full of innuendo. His point being that simply “leaving it at that,” as she’d said that night before walking away from him, wasn’t going to cut the mustard.
“Uh.” Bran glanced back and forth between them, no doubt feeling the tension radiating in the air. Quick to change the subject, he turned to Mad Dog. “Did you guys build that beauty in record time or what?”
