Page 2 of Grant’s Flame

Her dark brows pulled together. “Why?”

“Because we’re cruising on the Pacific Ocean,” I answered, taking the now-empty glass from her. “And will be for a few days. Honolulu is our destination.”

Good thing I’d gotten the glass back when I did. Within half a second, Rio jerked higher and looked around the room again. “Okay, back up the wagon.”

“Well, technically it’s a yacht.”

“What did you just say?” she plowed on, prompting my own small scowl. I wasn’t sure which detail was hanging her up.

I scooted back a little farther, occupying the space next to her calf now. The whole time, I watched her carefully. Her composure was still notably cautious. I related, though I hid it better.

“What’s wrong?” I asked gently. “What has you worried?”

“Really? This is a boat?” She swung her head back and forth, dark bedhead hair not moving from where it was stubbornly matted down from heavy sleep. “It’s nicer than my house, for God’s sake.”

I looked around the room again, trying to see things through her eyes. It definitely was a well-appointed vessel.

“Well, it’s a different kind of beautiful than your place, but I’m glad you like it.” I tried to infuse my words with the right amount of excitement. “Wait. You do like it, right?”

When Rio reached out far enough to clutch my fingertips with her own, my heart skipped a couple of beats. Seriously, like I was sixteen years old again. This woman—this fucking gorgeous woman—and her hold over me…

“I like it a lot,” she husked. “And thank you.” She looked down and picked nervously at the blanket. “I’m just not used to surroundings like this.”

“You’re going to love the rest of it, then, too. Do you want to get up and walk around? Might be nice to go up top and see the sunshine and ocean.” I stiffened though, worrying again about her unknown fears. The freak-out I’d witnessed in her private room at Clear Horizons would stay with me for life. I’d walk barefoot over hot coals before subjecting her to those kinds of emotions again.

“What is it?” This time she was the one to ask, tilting her head like a curious puppy. “You just got very worried about something.” She physically twitched, as though an answer balloon just popped right over her head. “Oh, Grant, this isn’t Sebastian’s boat, is it?”

She started pushing the covers down her thighs, until realizing she was only wearing one of my T-shirts, and then quickly pulled them back up.

The alarm that one thought conjured, however, never left her face. “He’s not here, is he?” Her voice rose with the same level of distress her movements had. Each word tumbled out atop the next, making it close to impossible to understand what she was asking.

“No,” I reassured her gently, but her eyes shot around the room as though she still expected my best friend to spring from one of the closets and yell Surprise!

“No.” My repetition was sterner. I dropped my voice by an octave, compelling her to re-center on me. Oh, hell yes. Just the way I liked it. Exactly the way I liked her.

I slid my hand over and placed my open palm on her blanket-covered leg. But the moment we both gazed at where our hands rested, I pulled back just as quickly as before.

You don’t get to do that, man.

I frowned. God, I wasn’t used to this kind of awkwardness. This sense of not knowing where I stood with a woman. The feeling was damned unsettling. “Sebastian doesn’t have anything to do with this,” I said with quiet reassurance. “I chartered this boat. For you. For us.”

“You did?” she asked, bewildered. After scrunching her forehead and looking around the stateroom again, she said, “But…why?”

I shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea. I don’t know, the right thing to do. Clearly you needed to get out of Los Angeles for a little while.”

I raised my gaze to meet hers head-on. Time to get really serious—and really honest. “Away from all the things that were pulling you under.”

She grinned and rubbed the top of her head, making her hair stick up like a baby bird’s new downy feathers. “Is that what you think was happening?”

“What?” I was more taken aback by her mischievous grin than her mocking tone. Unfortunately, I’d grown far too used to her sarcasm for that part to bother me. But her open amusement? That was new. And troubling.

When was I going to figure this woman out? And why did I keep trying?

Time for another tactic. “Let’s get some food in you.” I stood to get my cell phone off the table. “I’ll feel so much better if you eat something.”

“Isn’t that backwards?” she volleyed back, looking up at me with large, challenging eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, woman,” I answered in a rush of frustration. “Is it so hard to comprehend I’ve been worried about you?”