Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
The hatch opens once it’s all quiet. Outside, it’s still dark, but a lighter darkness. He stands at the bottom of the steps and looks at me, silhouetted by the boat’s lights, his face drawn and exhausted, black bags under his eyes, his hair and his clothes soaked to the bone. They cling to his body, to his muscular chest and strained arms. He’s the picture of beautiful exhaustion, and I don’t know if I want to kiss him or offer him my warm towel.
“Come up.”
That’s all he says, come up, and turns to head above. I hesitate only a second before following.
The desk is slick. Everything’s drenched. It smells like kelp and salt. The ocean’s quiet now, like the storm was never there, but something’s peeking through the clouds above and casting light across the rippling waves.
It’s the moon. And stars, so many stars. I’ve never seen this many stars in my entire life, it’s like a painter tossed a brush and let white dots cover a black board, but did it a dozen times, a thousand. Each star is a pinprick and sends a dizzying shiver down my spine. How was that up there all this time? How have I never seen the heavens before, not really?
Emilio stands at the railing and I join him. He says nothing. I lean my head against his shoulder and we stay like that, watching the sky, happy to be alive.
Chapter 12
Emilio
We limp into port several hours past when I planned. I dock and tie off and get the fuck away from the water. I love the ocean and I love sailing, but my god, if I never see another wave in my entire life, I don’t think I’ll miss the fucking things.
Kaye has no clue how bad it got. I was hanging on for my life up there in the cockpit, strapped down to the chain to make sure I didn’t get thrown up against the glass. The storm was a rager, a monstrosity, and I heard chatter on the radios from boats all over the ocean complaining about the aggressive wind. It was all I could do to keep the ship from getting swamped, and each second that dripped past felt like forever.
I wanted her up with me, sitting in my lap. But that’s selfish.
Besides, she would’ve probably managed to get herself killed.
“Where are we right now?” Kaye asks as we head toward the street. I summon an Uber with my phone, too tired to walk.
“Huntingdon Beach.”
Her eyes bug out. “You have a marina spot in Huntingdon Beach? Isn’t that expensive?”
“Obscenely,” I say absently, already planning on where we’ll stay. I promised her luxury and she’ll get it. Shit, we survived a fucking storm at sea—I want to celebrate.
I shoot a text to one of my people on the mainland letting him know that we arrived and that we’re not leaving until the morning. I tell him to load it up with the usual stuff—liquor, beer, cigarettes, cigars, condoms, all that fun shit a bunch of bored, horny college kids need.
“How can you afford it?”
“I make a lot of money.”
“But still—”
I glance back at her. I’m tired and cold and angry. She was nearly swept off the fucking ship within the first half-hour of that damn storm. I was forced to save her life for the second time since we met each other, and I don’t know a single person that needs so much damn saving. Seriously, how is she an adult? How has she survived for so long, stumbling around blindly, nearly getting swept into the fucking ocean?
Lucy, most likely. Lucy probably kept her alive all these years.
But her sister is gone and I’m all she has now.
“We can talk about it later.”
That silences her. I feel bad but, fuck, I’m exhausted and cold. We stand at the curb outside of the marina until the Uber shows up, and the driver takes us to a gorgeous hotel, the sort of sleek, sexy place rich people stay in when they come to the beach. The night clerk doesn’t seem surprised to see two exhausted, wet college-aged kids, and doesn’t bat an eye when I pay with a black card.
The room is lavish. It’s the most expensive room in the place, a luxury suite wrapped in oiled wood and lush fabrics. Kaye wanders from the sitting area back to the bed and stands at the foot of it, frowning.
“Only one,” she comments.
“We can share.” I’m not about to sleep on the fucking couch after surviving that nightmare. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
I order champagne as promised, along with a selection of finger foods since the main kitchen isn’t open. Kaye takes a shower and I lay out my clothes to dry, opting for a robe from the closet. She comes out in a matching outfit and laughs lightly as I uncover chicken fingers and French fries and pour the drinks. “The best I can do this late at night,” I say and we toast to surviving the storm.