Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Sully pushes away from the faded wood behind her, sliding her hands into the pockets of baggy jeans that do nothing to disguise her strong legs and curvy hips. “Maybe. I have a few questions. Is now a good time? I know the funeral was this morning. I can come back later if—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, nodding over my shoulder. “But we should go below.”
“To talk,” she says, emphasizing the word in a way that makes her meaning clear. “Just talk.”
I incline my head. “Of course. My family will be driving this way. I doubt either of us wants to risk them seeing us chatting alone on deck.”
She nods. “Agreed. I don’t want my people to see anything, either. The quieter we keep this, the better.”
Her words give me an idea…
“Want to get out of town?” I ask. “I haven’t had the boat inspected, but Rodger’s attorney assured me it was in sea-worthy shape. We could head up the coast, dock, and grab lunch somewhere?” I barely ate anything at the post-funeral luncheon and like the idea of treating her to a nice meal.
She hesitates only a moment before she shrugs. “Sure. I’ve never steered a yacht before.”
“And you’re not steering it now,” I say as she moves past me to the gangplank.
Once I join her on deck, she pins me with a steady gaze. “Yes, I am. You’ve been in the city too long to be trusted on the water. I navigate this area five or six days a week. I’m the best choice for captain of this vessel.”
I arch a brow as I stow the plank. “You think I haven’t been out on the water since I moved to New York? I have a boat at my place in The Hamptons.”
“That’s cute, but the answer is still no,” she says, propping her hands on her hips. “Either I drive or we stay docked.”
“You’re bossier than I remember,” I say.
Her cheeks flush. “Yeah, well, that was your area of expertise. This is mine.”
My lips curve. “Thanks for the compliment.”
She rolls her eyes and exhales a flustered breath that makes me happier than it should. I shouldn’t want to fluster this girl. I shouldn’t want to take her to lunch or to kiss her again, but…I do.
So, I don’t put up a fight as she collects the keys from the hook by the door of the cockpit and starts checking the controls.
I simply settle into the leather chair near the window and watch her work, doing my best not to find her capable handling of the yacht sexy as fuck.
I fail, of course.
But I try. I honestly do.
chapter 9
GERTIE
The cockpit is quieter than any I’ve experienced, swiftly killing my hopes that we won’t have to talk until we’re settled over a sandwich somewhere.
In the build-up to showing up on Weaver’s dock, I’d convinced myself this conversation wouldn’t be a big deal.
Yes, I slept with this man, but we’re both grown-ups, and perfectly capable of having an adult conversation.
And, as expected, Weaver was cool about me wanting to “just talk.”
Of course, he was. He’s the epitome of cool. He’s so cool, it burns a little. I feel his frosty gray eyes on me like an ice cube dragging slowly down my spine, making me shiver…and wish he would touch me.
I underestimated how much I would want him to touch me. But then, I’ve never slept with someone before. Maybe this is normal, this itching beneath the skin that grows worse with every moment I’m in this man’s presence and not on top of him.
Or under him.
Or tangled with him against the wall.
That chair would also work. It’s a big chair, wide and deep enough for even a large man like Weaver to sprawl out on its seat.
He’s sprawled now, watching me as I guide the boat out of the tangle of boats and docks in the harbor and pick up speed, heading north.
Each time I glance his way out of the corner of my eyes, he’s watching me, until I can’t help shooting a pointed glance his way.
His lips curve. “Just enjoying watching a master at work. That was some impressive slow speed maneuvering, especially in this chop.”
I roll my shoulders uncomfortably. “I’ve been steering since I was a kid. Gramps needed me to help out on the boat after his cataract surgery. He started teaching me when I was thirteen. I was good at it, so I stayed at the helm on the days I worked with him before school. It was technically against the law, but everyone knew I was better behind the wheel than Gramps. We were all safer with me in charge.”
“Have you always worked with your grandfather?”
It’s the perfect segue into the conversation I’m actually here to have. I could tell him “yes,” and that I’ve lived with Gramps, too, since my family fell apart.