Page 71 of The Sailor

Marit put her hand on Zach’s forearm. “Cut yourself some slack, Zach. This is your first year. I have a feeling the longer you’re around, the more people are going to want your food.”

“I’m going to expand into a more permanent space,” Zach said, and it sounded like a vow. “I’ll always keep the shack, because it’s in a primo spot downtown, but if I get an actual restaurant, then people can come in and eat no matter what the weather.”

“And it’ll be awesome,” Marit said from the heart. He was going to succeed because anything else simply wasn’t an option for him. But not only that, his food was damn good.

Looking at his watch, Zach said, “It’s getting late. You need to go if you’re going to beat Eliot and Jonah to the boat.”

“Damn,” Marit said. “You’re right.” She’d gotten into the habit of getting to the dock before her boss and Jonah to prep the boat. It technically wasn’t her job to do so, but she took pride in having things ready to go when the others got there. She could also admit she was a bit of a perfectionist, and she liked things the way she liked them when it came to her workspace. She could check the ropes and the safety equipment, and make sure the radio was working properly.

Safety was important to her. Not that Eliot didn’t insist on proper protocols, but Marit simply liked to see for herself that everything was in its place and ready to go . . . just in case.

They stood, and while she climbed into the oilskin overalls that would protect her from the icy spray, and made sure her tool belt was secure and she had her insulated waterproof gloves, Zach got down on one knee and helped her put on her rubber boots. Somedays she felt like the little brother in A Christmas Story, waddling around in all her gear, but especially in the winter, when it was important to have everything zipped and buttoned up tight.

“All good?” Zach asked when he stood.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Here’s your lunch,” he told her, handing her a bag with the meal he always prepared for her the night before. She didn’t always get to eat it, especially if the lobstering was especially good, but he hated to think of her going all day without anything to fuel herself.

“You’re too good to me,” Marit said, as she smiled up at him.

She used to find their height difference a touch startling, but she was used to it now. Loved it. She always felt more feminine when she was around him . . . which was particularly useful when she had on all her bulky fishing gear. He also made her feel protected and safe, always tucking her under his arm, putting himself between her and the street. All in all, this man had quickly become her everything. She couldn’t imagine life here in Rockville without him in it.

“No such thing,” Zach said, before he leaned down and kissed her long and deep. When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing harder.

“Damn, woman. Suddenly I’m thinking about that evening when you were so worked up, you didn’t even let me get your overalls or boots off completely after work before you insisted I get inside you.”

Marit giggled. She remembered that day clearly. She was irritated and tired, but horny as hell. The second she’d walked in, she’d gone to her knees and given Zach one hell of a blow job. Then he’d picked her up, slammed her onto the table, and removed just enough of her clothes to get inside her. The experience was hot as hell. And thinking about that fast and dirty sex made Marit want him right now.

“No time,” he said, reading her mind.

He was right. Damn it. “All right, but for the record . . . tonight . . . when I get home . . .” She let her thought trail off.

“Yeah?”

She sighed. “I’m gonna be tired, cold, hungry, and probably grumpy.”

Zach chuckled. “Noted. I’ll have a snack ready for you. Maybe a glass of wine. You can run a bath, and while you’re soaking, I’ll get the lobster ravioli going.”

“Ooooh, sexy,” Marit said with a huge grin.

“Anything for my girl. Now . . . stop stalling and git.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Marit usually loved what she did for a living. But today she felt a little out of sorts, and she wasn’t sure why. The weather was supposed to be good for lobstering, and she and the Sullivans worked together as if they’d done it their whole lives. Maybe it was the holidays approaching, maybe it was nearing her time of the month . . . which, now that she thought about it, was late in arriving.

Or maybe it was some kind of sixth sense. Whatever was making her feel out of sorts, she had the sudden thought that she should just climb back into bed and hibernate until spring.

She went up on her tiptoes and Zach met her halfway, kissing her more sedately this time before she headed for the door.

It was still dark as Marit headed for the docks. Late fall in Maine meant it got dark around four-thirty in the afternoon and stayed that way until around seven in the morning. But that was fine. It wasn’t a long walk, just enough for her to have a bit of time alone with her thoughts. Normally, they focused on the coming workday and the tasks that needed to be done. And thinking of the job inevitably led to thinking of Lucas Pearson . . .

Surprisingly, in the last few weeks the texts from Lucas had all but stopped. Well . . . surprising until Zach admitted that he’d found out where the man lived, and he’d paid him a visit. Actually, he and all three of his brothers had shown up on Lucas’s doorstep, and they’d basically told him that if he ever communicated with her again, it had better be respectful . . . except they’d used harsher words.

Britt had told her the whole story. About how Lucas had acted all brash and cocky at first, but then Zach had leaned in and told him that he’d gone to school with the police chief, and their moms were really good friends. That if he thought he could continue getting away with harassing Marit like he’d been, he was dead wrong.

Which didn’t seem like much of a threat to Marit, but apparently Lucas thought differently. She supposed it was the delivery of the message that mattered most. She could see Zach in her mind, scowling and delivering the threat, backed up by his three brothers, maybe all standing with their arms crossed and similar scowls on their faces.

It was one thing to bully a five-foot-two woman, quite another to come up against four grown-ass men who’d done time in the military and who were hometown heroes.