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I want to hug him. I want to help him. But he’s pulling away too fast.
“Thanks.” He grabs Nicolas’s backpack. “I gotta get him home before I get spotted out here.”
He’s not focused on me. Or on being outed. All he cares about is getting his nephew home safe because we both know…
A hellstorm of press is coming his way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I don’t know what rich dickhead is gonna buy this yacht but the owner, Mr. Nash, sure wants to sell this Sea Ray so he can upgrade to a new one.
It took me weeks to get it working again after his son and college buddies ran it aground on a sand bar and fucked the engines up.
That’s my job.
Trying to get a lipstick stain off the ivory upholstery on the berth cushion in the cabin is not. And don’t get me started on the used condoms I found, not thrown away.
The commission is high, though. If I can sell this for Mr. Nash, who’s too busy doing fuck-knows-what in Palm Springs, I get a big cut. He’s sending a potential buyer over today, and the payout better be big because it’s only February, but I’m sweating my balls off trying to get this cabin pristine.
“Hello?”
A deep voice calls from the dock, and shit, I need more time, and damn, I left my shirt at the helm.
“Hop aboard,” I shout out. Fucking lipstick. “I’ll be right up.”
I’m about to call Cade. She’s gotta know the secret to this, but for now, I cover the stain with a pillow.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the cabin’s mirror. Sweaty, bare chest. Hair in a messy knot. Marine grease smeared on my shorts. Boat shoes that’ve seen better days. Fuck, not the look of a half-a-million-dollar salesman.
It’s seven steps up the wooden ladder to the helm, and I say, “She’s a beauty, isn’t she,” going for the hard sell anyway before the sight punches my gut.
He’s equally shocked.
“Yes.” Redix stands on the deck of the stern. “She is a real beauty.”
Have you ever zapped your finger in an electrical socket by accident?
That’s the feeling you get at the first sight of Redix. Then, it’s heat firing through your nerves while logic takes a quick break, and you get to look like a stunned dumbass in his presence.
How long can we stare at each other while my hands start sweating and I map his eyes combing down my naked chest? Long enough for me to kiss my commission goodbye.
“You want me to show you around?” Fuck it. I’m fucking the hell out of his ex-girlfriend, and I love her in a way, and I don’t hate him, so what the hell? “Or do you wanna chop me into chum?”
No, I don’t hate Redix. I feel him burn like a long fuse down my body.
How he’s wearing his hair down, faded jeans, flip-flops, a white T-shirt that barely exists, silver rings on his tan fingers, and I’m feeling anything but hate.
“Show me where they keep the knives,” he answers, and his grin raises a white flag.
For now.
“You’re standing on one of the best parts of the boat. That stern has a helluva deck. Lift that lid. There’s a grill and a gourmet station under it.”
When in doubt, I jump into my job, and honestly, this boat can sell itself. Redix starts nosing around. I give him a wide berth. Sitting on the bench in the cockpit, I stay out of his way while he starts studying the helm.
“She’s got inboard propulsion. A VesselView link system. Automatic engine trim…” and I spew a list of the features while he nods, taking it in.
And damn, his shoulders are broad. As he studies the helm, the silhouette of the muscles across his back makes words rattle off my tongue while I have to stop my eyes from studying his perfect ass.
