He didn’t answer right away, only kept his focus fixed on the line of empty slips. Then, quietly—too quietly—he pressed his mouth next to her ear, sending a shock wave through her. “Yeah. I feel it.”
She went to move away, to push herself free before her mind started falling for Blake’s womanizing tricks, but he didn’t let go.
“Cover. Dear.” With only those two words… she stilled.
Her pulse stuttered—not from danger but from the way his breath brushed her ear, grounding her more than she’d ever admit.
The tone—steady, confident—hit a place she pretended didn’t exist. The one that remembered he had pulled her from worse danger before… and the one terrified to ever let him do it again.
A cold prickle slid down her spine. Instinct, not imagination. Someone was out there. Watching. Waiting.
She stood frozen in the icy wind and desire to break free, but after a few moments, his warmth seeped through her jacket, and his strong arms around her made her almost forget they were being watched. His warmth pressed against her, unwelcome and distracting. It was all part of the cover, she told herself.
“That’s long enough. Inside,” she ordered, breaking free of his embrace, pushing the cabin door open, and motioning him through with her most seductive smile and curling one finger at him, telling him to follow her.
He hesitated, the stubborn set of his jaw surfacing again. He followed her in, closing the door behind them with a muted click. The small space was filled with the smell of damp wood and tension. His presence loomed—warm, solid, infuriatingly close. “You planning to blow our cover before we even unpack?”
Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “What cover? Our boat’s wired to explode, and someone’s out there tracking us. Forgive me if I don’t have a reckless death wish.”
“Laurel Tide’s paranoid,” he said, lowering his voice. “Could be they’re just cleaning house. I told you, they’re probably attempting to get rid of any curious new neighbors before they move product again.”
She crossed her arms, heartbeat still uneven. “So you think this was a warning shot?”
“I think Laurel doesn’t take risks, and this is the best chance we have,” he said, leaning one shoulder against the bulkhead. “Listen, at least give me until tomorrow. I’ll test Dan and see if he’s working for Laurel or just a guy trying to make a living on the docks. For Jenson.”
She frowned. “You really think you can charm the truth out of Dan?”
He smiled, all infuriating confidence. “I’m good at figuring people out.”
She laughed. “Just remember, this isn’t some woman you can coax into your web, only to run off to the next spider.”
His grin widened, slow and dangerous. “Sounds like jealousy.”
Her pulse jumped, and she hated that it did. “Sounds like you’re delusional.”
He chuckled low in his throat. “We’ll see.”
Before she could retort, a faint thud came from the dock outside—measured, deliberate. Heavy boots on wet wood.
Blake’s expression shifted instantly—no more teasing, only readiness.
He moved to the window, careful, peering through the narrow slit between curtains. The fog pressed thick against the glass.
“Viv,” he murmured, his tone stripped of humor. “We’re not alone.”
The sound hit him first—soft,deliberate. Boots on fiberglass. Someone was on deck.
Blake went still, breath thinning, pulse slowing the way it always did before things went sideways. Every sense tightened, tuned to the vibration in the hull. Not the tide. Not the wind. A man’s weight.
He flicked off the lantern and angled his body toward the companionway. “Stay behind me,” he murmured.
Vivian didn’t argue, but he caught her reflection in the port glass, eyes narrowed. Calculating, not afraid. She always looked like that right before a breach—sharp, coiled, dangerous. It used to drive him crazy in more ways than one.
The footsteps paused above them. Icy drops tapped against the deck, each drop a tiny countdown. The struts squealed as someone opened the hatch.
Blake stepped forward, putting himself between the intruder and Vivian. The silhouette that appeared at the top of the stairs was broad-shouldered, rain jacket dripping, head cocked just enough to listen.
“Can I help you?” Blake’s voice came out calm, protective—the kind of tone that saidhusband first, threat second.
