“Nice try,” I enunciate more slowly. “You don’t want me here so you’re trying to scare me off. Nice try. But it won’t work. I know you’re not going to hurt me. I know you have zero interest in me sexually. In fact, I’m pretty sure even if you’d been celibate for the past decade, you’d still rather fuck one of those turtles than touch me.”
He snorts a disbelieving laugh. “You are so—”
“Annoying? Yeah. I know. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck with me until the storm passes.”
Shooting daggers at me, he grunts again, seeming to struggle for words.
Which is fine by me. I don’t need to hear him make excuses about why he doesn’t want me here. And frankly, I have enough words for the both of us.
“If I had to guess, you were out there fixing the dock because you’re trying to get things ready for the storm. So I’m assuming there’s plenty of work to still do. You might as well put me to work.”
chaptersixteen
Jonah
There are about five hundred things I’d rather do with Clara than hammer up plywood—hammer her, being pretty high on the list.
Nevertheless, we spend the rest of the afternoon doing exactly that.
When I first arrived, the only buildings on the island were the cottage where Raul occasionally stayed and a shack where he stored the equipment he used to monitor the nesting sites. As soon as he told me about Jenny and Noah, I knew we needed a better setup. I raised money through grants and by hitting up pretty much everyone I know for donations. SEALs don’t make a lot of money, but we’re suckers for sea life.
So once I could afford the building supplies, I was able to recruit guys to come down and help with the construction. That’s the other thing about SEALs. None of them want to spend their leave just kicking back. They want to do things.
Since the station is new, it’s state of the art. Designed and built to withstand any storm that climate change sends our way. I knew it would have to be, since I designed it to house the turtles if a storm came. In addition to being up off the ground, it has state of the art hurricane shutters.
The cottage I live in, on the other hand, is significantly less nice. I’ve done repairs and maintenance since I got here, but plywood over the windows is the best we can do to prep it for the storm.
As much as I hate to admit it, having her here to help is useful. Everything about her is a distraction I don’t need and can barely tolerate, but having an extra set of hands makes things go three times faster. It doesn’t hurt that she’s smart and tireless.
No. Actually, that does hurt.
It would be a hell of a lot easier to manage my hopeless infatuation with her if she was pretty, but vain and spoiled. I kept hoping she might turn out to be that way. After all, what kind of woman is set up to inherent her own Caribbean island?
But time and again, Clara defies my expectations. I don’t want her to be competent and helpful. I don’t want her to be stubborn and brave.
But when the hell have I ever gotten what I want?
When I agreed to this arrangement, I’d just gotten out of rehab. I was between jobs and had no real plan for the future. Even though our bargain involved me owning my own island if we pulled this off, I hadn’t really gone into this deal for the money. When the sister of your oldest friend asks for a favor, you say yes.
When Sissy, and then later Clara, explained what she needed of me, it seemed like a pretty sweet deal. I needed time to figure out what to do with my life now that I couldn’t be a SEAL; and hanging out in the Caribbean seemed like the perfect place to do it. As a bonus, now that I’m working with the turtle rescue group, I have lots of opportunities to dive.
In fact, the only part of this arrangement that sucks is being married to Clara.
More to the point, being married to her, but being unable to touch her. To kiss her. To bury myself in her lush, gorgeous body like I’ve been dying to do since the moment I saw her.
Because, yeah, the moment I saw her, I fell. Hard.
I don’t know that I even believed in love before the moment she slid her hand into mine. Hell, I still don’t know that this is love. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s just some freak obsession I’ve developed. Some abnormal attachment I created since having to leave the team has clearly fucked with my head.
There are only two things I know for sure.
One, I’m obsessed with this woman. I want to fuck her. And protect her. And follow her around like that damn parrot of hers does. I want to lick every inch of her body. I want to bury myself in her cunt and leave bite marks on her ass. I want to watch her sleep, for fuck’s sake.
Two, she didn’t sign up for any of that shit.
She needed a husband. Someone she could trust.
If she’d wanted a fuck buddy, I would have happily signed up for that. But that’s not what she needed.
