Chapter 15

She stared through the porthole’s thick glass and studied the waves crashing on the gravel beach and the familiar rocky headland. How many times had she climbed over those rocks searching for treasures that had washed ashore on the wild west coast surf?

Russ cleared his throat. “You really believe that Angus was involved in your parents’ disappearance?”

“I can’t prove it, but I know he did something to them, something bad.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hair mussed from sleep, clad in a pair of navy briefs that only added to his sexiness. “Does anyone else believe your version of the events?” Doubt clouded his golden eyes.

She wasn’t surprised. Why would he believe the adoptive father he’d loved, a man who took him in after Russ’s parents died, was a cold-blooded murderer? Somehow, she found the courage to meet his gaze. “If it’s any consolation, no one else believes me either.”

A swirl of emotion blazed in the depths of his eyes. He stood and enfolded her in his arms, gathering her against him.

His unspoken compassion broke the dam, and tears flooded her eyes, slipped down her cheeks, and dampened his bare chest. She inhaled his male scent and burrowed closer to his comforting warmth. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear was calming.

As if reluctant to release her, he tightened his embrace, but then he heaved a deep breath and dropped his arms and stepped back. Grabbing his wrinkled shirt from the floor, he tugged the T-shirt over his head and shoved his legs into his jeans and yanked them over his hips.

A sense of loss weighed her down, and she sagged on the bed.

“I’m sorry we anchored here. I can see that the island brings back a lot of upsetting memories, but we needed a safe bay to ride out the storm.” He scrubbed the dark stubble on his jaw, and the rasp of whiskers filled the small space. “As soon as the storm dies down, we’ll sail back to the mainland like I promised.”

Relief coursed through her at the thought of escaping the painful ghosts of the past haunting Shelter Island’s mist-shrouded shores. “Thank you for understanding.”

“No problem. I always look after my crew.” He smiled, releasing that devastating dimple.

Her heart fluttered. His crew. When had that happened? When had she gone from being his sworn enemy to a member of his crew? More to the point—why did she like the sound of it so much?

“In the meantime, why not try and get some rest?” He gestured at the rumpled double berth. “I’ll check the weather forecast.” He headed up the ladder and disappeared through the hatch.

She was exhausted, and her head throbbed. For years, she’d struggled to shut away the painful past, but today she’d ripped off the scab and discovered the pain was as fresh as twenty-three years ago.

Slumping back on the bed, she closed her eyes. The gentle rocking of the boat, the steady patter of rain against the porthole window, the fresh rain-scented air drifting from the open hatch was soothing, and she dozed off only to awaken, her pulse pounding, the old, familiar terror raging.

She jerked up. Pink wisps of dawn’s early light seeped through the porthole. Somehow, she’d slept through the night. The bed beside her was empty with no indication Russ had slept beside her. Relief, mixed with a tinge of regret, washed over her.

In the past few days her world had been rocked to the core. Angus Crawford was dead. That knowledge should have been a relief and ended her nightmares once and for all. But for some inexplicable reason, he’d left her his fortune, and the old terrors had returned full force as if he haunted her from his grave. She shuddered and tugged the blankets to her chin. And now, mere meters of ocean separated her from Shelter Island, the one place populated by the ghosts of the past.

Add in the unexpected complication of her increasing attraction to Russ, and she was in a real mess. She’d expected to detest him like she hated Angus, but Russ was kind and compassionate. To say nothing of his rugged good looks and body like a Greek god. She shouldn’t be thinking of him in any aspect other than the necessary ordeal of settling Angus Crawford’s will, but there was her dilemma. Her brain told her one thing, but her body had entirely different ideas.

Oh man. Did it ever.

Tossing back the covers, she swung her legs off the bed and stood. Her clothes, wrinkled but dry, hung from a wooden rail at the foot of the berth. She slipped out of the oversize T-shirt and grabbed her leggings and wriggled into them, tugging them over her hips. Shrugging her bra and shirt on, she crossed the cabin to the head.

The tiny washroom was compact with no wasted space. She used the toilet, and then washed her face and hands in the miniscule metal sink. Peering in the mirror, she bit back a groan. She hardly recognized the woman looking back. Her face was pale, and dark circles underscored her puffy eyes. Even worse, her hair was a disaster. The short red strands were flattened from gale-force winds, salt spray, rain, and tossing and turning on the pillow. She cupped her fingers under the tap and splashed water on her hair, attempting to tame the unruly locks.

She grimaced. Hopeless.

Opening the door, she left the head and strode to the ladder. She’d reached a decision. If she had any hope of vanquishing the specters of the past, she had to face the nightmare head-on, even if the thought of doing so made her head ache and her heart pound. She climbed through the hatch and stepped onto the deck.

“There you are.” Russ smiled, white teeth flashing in his tanned face. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” She flushed at the blatant untruth. Her stomach churned, and her head throbbed. “How about you? Did you get any sleep?”

He pointed toward the stern of the small boat. “I stretched out on the bench for a couple of hours.”

“Oh. That’s good.” What more could she say? Tell him she wished he’d snuggled in the berth beside her? This thing—attraction? lust?—between them was wrong on so many levels. For starters, he was Angus Crawford’s adopted son. Add in his resentment of her for being the main beneficiary of Angus’s estate, and the circumstances spelled trouble.

Trouble? More like a complete disaster.

If that weren’t enough, she wasn’t into one-night stands. And she certainly wasn’t interested in a fling, no matter how attractive he was. They lived in different provinces, hundreds of kilometers apart. The only possible outcome was a broken heart, and she was too smart for that. Damn right, she was. She ignored the tiny voice laughing inside her head.

“The storm’s pretty much blown itself out.” He rubbed his hands. “We can heave anchor whenever you’re ready.”

Light rain pattered the deck.

She studied the menacing clouds. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I checked the weather report, and things are looking good. Barometer’s rising. We should have a smooth sail home.”

“I…I—” Her voice broke. “—I’ve changed my mind. I want to visit the island.” She inhaled a shaky breath. Every cell in her body protested her decision, but she held firm to her resolve. “Maybe if I see my old home again, I’ll be able to move on.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

“No, but this is something I think I have to do. I should have visited the island long before this.” For years she’d avoided returning to Shelter Island. She’d fought against the suggestion when both her therapist and Aunt Clara broached the idea. But maybe, now Angus was gone, seeing the old homestead, as painful as that would be, would give her closure.

Maybe.