“Sure.”
He eats up the space I tried to create and annihilates two more of my logical brain cells. “That right there,” he murmurs, “is an eastern blue grouper. And that is a leafy seadragon. I almost missed it, but Doug has the eyesight of a hawk.”
His voice is low, intimate. The tips of his wet hair graze my scorched skin, and I jerk from the intensity of the contact.
He should get back in the water so I can recalibrate my system and stop thinking about the water droplet and the route it took along his skin. Goddamn liquid is haunting me.
“I read about those. Males care for the eggs, rather than the females.”
“Mm-hmm,” he hums. “We also saw a few massive groupers. Doug has footage of those.”
A strangled sound escapes me—I’ve found another water droplet cascading down his bicep— and Jett’s eyebrows squish together, but he flips through more photos. “They need to be edited, but I think we have some pretty good shots.”
“They’re great,” I say, and he beams at the praise. “Could you send me some to post to promote the documentary? I don’t have a lot of followers on my account, but maybe someone will like it?”
It comes out as a question, unsure and small. I hate it. It probably wouldn’t matter if I posted anything or not.
“I think that’s a killer idea,” he says, bumping my shoulder with his.
He finishes his food in a few quick bites and then swaps out the batteries on the cameras and secures the waterproof housing so it doesn’t leak when they’re underwater. My pulse skyrockets as he completes the mundane tasks, forearms flexing.
The heat is getting to me. I crack open another drink, this time an alcoholic ginger beer, which is much more palatable. Delicious and crisp.
The engine quiets, the boat bobbing back and forth, and the anxiety returns in full force.
“Gear up, lads,” Simon calls out.
Jett collects his camera. My body moves before my brain can process it, and I snatch his hand. He lifts a brow, his eyes flicking down to where I’m clutching his palm, then to me, a silent question in his gaze.
“Just…please be careful.”
The smile he offers me, all goofy and carefree, does not soothe any worries.
“I am the king of the ocean. Call me Aquaman.”
He lifts an arm and flexes his bicep.
Oh, god.
If he sees a shark, he’s gonna get himself killed. Nausea bubbles in my gut, and I take another deep gulp of ginger beer. It’s going to be a long hour.
Chapter 11
sofía
“Sofía?”
A knock rattles the door, and I groan, focused on willing the cells in my body to regenerate and get rid of the brutal sunburn covering my shoulders, back, and inner thighs.
This doesn’t happen. I don’t sunburn. Never have. It’s one of my greatest blessings in life if this is what it’s like to have sun blisters.
“Are you okay? I’ve got some aloe.”
“No,” I whimper, rolling onto my back and out of bed.
The skin on my shoulders pulls, and sharp stings prickle along my spine as I hobble over and unlatch the safety on the door. Jett greets me with a wide, charming grin and an armful of aloe and pain medication.
“Can I come in?”
