Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set (77 page)

“’Scuse me,” Tobin said, reaching behind her for a line.

She was in the way. Her shoulder was throbbing, her head spinning.

“Um, mind if I clean up?” she ventured.

Tobin nodded without taking his eyes from Seth, who was busy at the base of the mast. “Make yourself at home.”

Three steep steps — ladder rungs, really — and she was in the cabin, feeling a little awed. Just like Seth once told her.

“It’s kind of like a camper. A tiny, floating home.”

In front of her was a miniature kitchen with a sink, a two-burner stove, and a minuscule countertop squeezed into a corner. Across from it was a table covered by a chart, and on the wall above that was a control panel of switches and electronics: radio, GPS, and other instruments she didn’t recognize. All that fit in the tiny space flanking the steps. The rest of the cabin was taken up by a living area created by a U-shaped couch and a built-in table.

It was as cramped as a tiny studio apartment, but cozy too, thanks to the photos and mementos decorating the walls. The space of honor on the far wall was filled by a framed photo of a gray-haired man surrounded by a gaggle of young kids. That had to be the grandfather who’d left Seth and Tobin his boat. She’d bet anything Seth was the serious-looking ten-year-old on the right, holding the tiller. Tobin had to be the mischievous one next to him, tying knots in a line, and the others were sure to be their cousins.

My grandfather died last winter
, she remembered Seth saying. He’d left his beloved boat to his grandkids, together with a small sum of money so that each set of siblings might spend some time reconnecting with each other and with the earth.

She let her eyes drift across the happy faces in the photo until they came to rest on the grandfather. Such wise eyes, such a lively face, in spite of all the wrinkles. A man like that, she would have loved to meet.

There were more pictures and postcards hung along the side walls — some old, some new. The most recent ones chronicled the journey the brothers had made from North America: there was a postcard from Charleston, another from Florida, then the Yucatán peninsula, and Belize. Tucked a little deeper along that side of the boat was a recessed bunk with a tousled blanket. Seth’s bunk? She leaned in for a closer look and smiled at the titles on the built-in bookshelf, most of them from Patrick O’Brian’s
Master and Commander
series. Yep, it was Seth’s bunk, all right.

She squinted at the postcard that hung above the pillow. When the lines scribbled on it came into focus, her smile froze and her knees gave way.

Oh my God.

She plopped down onto the mattress, staring at the words.

The postcard was hung so the back showed, and the familiar scratchy script was her own.

Gone swimming
, she’d written on the postcard, one perfect morning. Julie could remember every detail of it: the whisper of waves over sand, the rise and fall of her sleeping lover’s chest. The scent of tropical flowers, filling the morning air.

See you soon!
she’d written, then sketched a little scene under the words: two smiling stick figures holding hands.

She clutched her hands together and twisted her fingers around and around. It was the note she’d left for Seth the third or fourth morning of that week they’d spent together. He’d been sleeping like a log, so she’d popped out of the bungalow, gone for a morning swim, then snuck back in for a shower.

Best morning ever
, he’d scribbled afterward in a corner of the same card. And that was the truth, because he’d woken up in time to join her in the shower and helped soap her up. Up, down, and sideways, in fact.

A perfect morning,
she’d added in the margin. They’d followed the shower with brunch and smoothies on the beach. She could practically hear the sigh of contentment written between the lines.

Perfect sunset,
said a later entry. She remembered how the bands of red, gold, and orange melted into each other as Seth’s reverent voice told her about his grandfather and the trip south. That night, his gesturing hands and vivid eyes had swept her off her feet for the second time.

She swallowed hard as the lines on the card blurred out of focus.

Seth kept the card.

He kept the memories. Right where he could see them, every morning, every night.

Footsteps sounded on the deck overhead, and she tracked them with her eyes.

Maybe he hadn’t run out on her after all. Maybe that Friday had hurt him as much as it hurt her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the hot, itchy feeling building behind them.

“Ready?” Seth called to Tobin outside.

Snap out of it, already.
She was the captain of this misadventure, not a passenger. It was time for action, not regrets. She sucked in a deep breath and climbed back into the cockpit just as Seth came the other way and flicked the corners of his lips up in a fortifying smile. “You good?”

Of course she was good. She was looking into those incredible eyes, and they were smiling back at her.

“Good,” she whispered.

He patted her back, and all she could think of was the note over his bunk. Then he ducked below, disappearing into the forward cabin she hadn’t explored.

Move. Act. Do something.
She looked forward over the cockpit awning, blinking in the midday sun. Tobin was loosening lines bundled at the base of the mast.

“What can I do?” she called out.

Tobin grinned and pointed with an elbow. “See that line?”

“This one? The mainsheet?”

His eyes registered surprise and he grinned wider. “You know boats.”

She threw her hands up in protest. “I know small boats.”

“Same thing,” he said in that breezy manner of his. As if raising the huge sail on a thirty-footer was anything like raising the sail on a tiny dinghy. “Let the mainsheet loose then go back there and unlock the wheel.”

She did as told and stood behind the steering wheel, chewing her lip. Her fingers tapped an uncertain rhythm as she eyed the long expanse of deck ahead. The boat looked bigger from here. A lot bigger.

But Tobin was right, as it turned out. The process of getting a big boat underway wasn’t all that different from getting a small boat going. It’s just that the waterline was farther down, the outlook a little grander.

Soon, the sail was up and Seth was back on deck. He went forward while Tobin came to stand beside Julie at the wheel. He didn’t take her place, though. Just stood beside her, watching Seth prepare to weigh anchor.

They were going to let her steer?

She clenched the wheel tighter, listening to her heartbeat pulse in her ears.

Seth glanced back to exchange nods with Tobin then started hauling up the anchor chain. The stories he’d had told her about sailing with his brother had all been accompanied by subtle eye rolls and sighs, but to her eye, they worked like a perfect team.

A sweaty, shirtless team. Every time Seth bent and hauled up another length of thick anchor chain, the muscles in his back corded tight, standing out in all shapes and sizes. Bulky trapezoids bracketed his shoulder blades while parallel lines of muscle wrapped around his sides. Her stomach fluttered at the memory of all the times she’d run her hands over that back and dreamed of running away with him.

Well, she was running now, all right. Just not the way she had imagined.

Seth raised a fist in some kind of signal, and Tobin nodded beside her.

“Anchor’s off the bottom. Ease the engine into forward,” he coached. “Start turning that way.”

She followed his directions, and though the morning had exhausted her, it felt good to focus on the mechanics of the boat.

“That’s it, that way.” Tobin’s voice had just enough of an encouraging lilt to give her a boost of confidence without sounding condescending. When Seth told her his brother was a ski and surf instructor, she figured it meant beach and snow bum. But maybe he was the real thing.

“Perfect,” Tobin murmured. “Now straighten it out.”

Funny how the world — and people — looked different from the deck of a boat. Seth was making his way back to the cockpit, and he looked different too. With his eyes checking the sail then scanning the anchorage, he looked every inch a captain. Like a man who’d honed his leadership skills in a busy office, then found his true calling on the sea. He wasn’t the blustery, pompous kind of captain, but one with a healthy respect for the ocean. The kind you’d trust your life with.

Which, she supposed, was fitting.

When she first met Seth, there was that sense of a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. Clearly, the tropics were freeing him from the cage of family expectations he’d hinted at in conversation. Now, two months later, the change was even more evident. What had been a reddish tint to his skin was all bronze now, the worry lines smoothed. But his eyes were harder, like a man who’d weathered an unexpected storm. A man who’d tasted bitterness and knew how much it hurt to lose something.

Or someone.

Seth turned and looked at her at exactly that moment, his eyes full of unspoken regrets.

Maybe she hadn’t been dreaming about how good that week with him had been.

Seth jumped back into the cockpit and adjusted the lines then watched as the mainsail filled with a snap and took shape. He unfurled the smaller forward jib and turned the engine off, letting the breeze carry
Serendipity
away from the mainland. Julie looked back at the palm-lined shore, glad for every inch of watery moat separating her from the men who’d chased her.

“Where to?” Tobin asked.

A quiet minute ticked by before she realized both brothers were looking at her.

She would have shrugged if it weren’t for her hurt shoulder. “Anywhere that’s away is good with me.”

“Over there,” Seth pointed. “Behind those islands. Out of sight.”

The
out of sight
part sounded as appealing as the low, leafy islands looked. All around them, the sea was a brilliant green-blue lined with occasional ribbons of froth that marked the reefs. The breeze generated by their forward motion was cool, and Julie pulled the beach towel over her shoulders like a cape. Not that she made much of a superhero. Not today.

Seth stood quietly, the wind ruffling his hair as his eyes picked out a route ahead.

Something inside her gave a little nod. This man, she could trust with her life.

“What’s behind those islands?” she finally asked.

“Cayo Coco,” he said.

She turned her gaze to the horizon.

Cayo Coco. It had a
Treasure Island
kind of ring to it.

The sun set not long after they anchored off Cayo Coco. One of those glorious tropical sunsets in which the sky went from perfect blue to bold streaks of yellow, orange, and red in a matter of minutes. The sun winked as it slipped out of view exactly as the full moon rose on the opposite horizon.

Julie held back the sigh building in her throat. The tropical sunset of her dreams, including a boat and a deserted island dotted by palms, all of them whispering in the breeze.

Except there was nothing romantic about this getaway. There was the wound on her shoulder, for one, and a couple of other minor details, like a gang of mysterious bandits who’d chased her for reasons she couldn’t explain. And other than the fact that Tobin was there, acting as chaperone, there was also the fact that she still wasn’t ready to forgive Seth for leaving her without a word, two months ago. Since then, every day was another day alone, not another day of freedom to do whatever the hell she liked. The independent streak she’d always had was gone with the wind, replaced with a hollowness that work and adventure just couldn’t fill. How dare this man do that to her? How dare he?

Somehow, though, she couldn’t work up the anger any more.

“Hey,” Seth said once the colors deepened. His voice was as soft as the waves sliding over the not-so-distant beach. He could put her to sleep with that voice that promised everything would somehow be all right. “Come inside. Let me have a look at your shoulder.”

He had every right to grill her about the motorcycle chase, to ask a dozen questions about the trouble she was in and who and what and why. She could sense the questions building on the tip of his tongue. But he bit them all back, giving her time. The man was a prince.

She followed him inside then plopped down on the couch. A herd of elephants could stampede past her at that moment and she wouldn’t react; she was that drained.

Seth peeled back the beach towel and promptly muttered. “Christ.”

Julie closed her eyes. Her shoulder wasn’t all that bad. It’s just that she was tired. Really tired.

His footsteps wandered away, then came back, and something rustled near her ear. Seth was opening a first aid kit and clucking over her shoulder like a mother hen. A little like he had that time they’d gone scuba diving together during that wonderful week. Of course, on that occasion, he’d checked over her air tank and regulator, not a bloody wound. She closed her eyes just as she’d done back then, letting his hands rove, touching down here, then there. His minty breath made its own little breeze in her hair, and the scent of him — sunblock, testosterone, and a deliciously salty tang — gave her a little high.

And God, those hands. Strong and capable yet gentle and warm. She’d had those hands all over her, once upon a time. Those fingers. That murmur in her ear.

She blinked. It wasn’t
then
. This was now, and
now
was completely different. His lips on her ear weren’t whispering to ask how she liked it, but if she was okay.

“Okay,” she echoed, feeling far, far away.

“I need to clean the wound.” His hands tugged her sleeve. “Can you take your shirt off, or should I cut it off?”

Her hands flew to her stomach, clutching the fabric against her waist. “It’s my favorite shirt.”

He eyed it dubiously, and she looked down. Shit. Her favorite T-shirt —
Archaeologists Dig Deeper —
was covered in blood. Her blood.

“Cut it,” she mumbled, and he did. When she opened her eyes again, it was on her equally bloodstained bikini. “Damn, my favorite bikini.”