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“Need what?”
“A reminder.”
Donovan and Jason exchange a look. Can they talk telepathically? The jury is out. Whatever the look meant, they seem to come to some kind of agreed decision, because Donovan touches the railing and asks, “You want to see the inside?”
Donovan goes first, and then he takes my hand to help me over the railing.
He had a padlock on the cabin door, and it takes him a minute to punch in the combo and open it up.
I have to duck so as not to bump my head on the cabin door coming down.
“I winterized it, so it’s pretty much out of commission until the summer,” Donovan says as he descends the short staircase. “But you can get the idea.”
“I’ll just have to come back so I can see it in action,” I say. If I’m being honest, I don’t see myself coming back to Hannsett Island anytime soon if I can help it.
Then again…the chance to see these two again might be worth the trip.
Donovan disappears into the darkness to flick on the lights from the switchboard and—
He’s certainly cleaned the place up. Cherrywood walls. Dark navy cushions. A polished wood table, short shelves with mason jars, bottom shelves for the booze. An old-fashioned oil lantern hangs in the center, which I bet looks beautiful when it’s lit.
The tour is short, but Donovan gives it: the stovetop to the left compromises the “kitchen,” and then there’s a pull-out navigating table. The cushions that surround the table serve as the sitting area. The mast sinks through the center of the sailboat, and behind it sits the v-berth, where he fits storage. Then in the rear of the boat is the bathroom or “head,” which adjoins the main cabin.
The main cabin is almost entirely mattress. There’s a narrow strip of walking room between the bed and the wall, so we walk along it in a row—Donovan, me, and Jason.
Donovan opens a small closet and pulls out a space heater. He plugs it in on the floor. “It’ll take a minute, but then it warms up fast.”
“It’s amazing,” I tell Donovan. There’s a small oval window above the bed, and I can see the water through it.
I stumble backward, and Jason catches me. “Whoa there, Trouble,” he says.
“Sorry…”
Am I? When I turn to face him, it’s only blue eyes I see.
Donovan stands again, and I can feel him behind me, too. There’s no room in this cabin…but maybe that’s what I like about it.
There’s a shift. I don’t know what it is—maybe there are memories in the wood of this ship, creeping back into our veins. I can hear my breath—and theirs. The energy between us fizzles.
My heart hammers in my chest. I’m swaying—or maybe that’s the boat?
“Is this okay?” Jason asks, his fingertips brushing my cheek, coaxing me closer. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He kisses me. It’s gentle and deep. Donovan’s hands take my hips, and I lean back into him, encouraging. His lips tickle my throat. The scruff from his jaw feels rough on my skin.
This feels both incredibly familiar and incredibly different. Same guys, same situation…but they’re men now. Not boys. I feel it in Donovan’s stubble. Jason’s muscled chest. The boldness of each deliberate movement.
They were fumbling, exploring touches before. Now, they’re confident. Hungry.
For me.
It’s enough to make a woman’s head spin.
I grab Jason’s shirt. “I think we’re all…wearing too many clothes.”
He grabs his shirt from the back and rips it over his head. “Better?”
