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Charlotte broke through the surface coughing up salt water and sputtering obscenities she didn't even know were in her vocabulary. "Are you completely insane!?" Water rushed out her nose, burning her sinuses on the way out.
Thyssen gripped the back of her neck and jerked her ear to his mouth. "He's moving right now. We need to move. Big breath." He forced her back down into the water before she could argue. She held her breath on instinct as Thyssen kicked them through overhanging trees toward the other launch dock. Sunlight revealed the bottom of his old speed boat. He led them gently upwards to break the surface beside the hull.
"Who was that? The lunatic who wants your ass?” she demanded the minute she caught her breath. "If it is then we need to go back and give him another try." She pushed water off of her face and looked around.
"Nice." Thyssen held onto her arm and moved them toward the boat's drop down ladder. "So glad you care." He grabbed the roped ladder and waited for her to start climbing. "We're headin' to our safe place."
She drew back. "No, we're not." Her mind jumped to the hidden inlet where she and Thyssen spend most of their summers together, the place he made love to her, where she lost her virginity to him. She was NOT going back there. She hadn't even looked at the part of the area, on a map, since the day he questioned his paternity. "I am not going anywhere with you." She started to swim toward the dock. "This guy may be a lunatic," she whispered harshly, "but he wants you. Not me."
Thyssen grabbed and held onto her foot. "You think I'm going to sit around and let him use you or my son as bait. Lucky. You know how this works."
"Don't call me that." She kicked her leg from his grasp. "And all I know is that you—you Thyssen have brought this here. Put my son in danger—almost got us both killed and it's Iannis who is keeping him safe right now. Not you."
A muscle jumped in his jaw. "And my father has never brought danger to the door before?"
She glared at him, hating that it was true. Iannis had brought danger to their door before, a few times, but she was not going to admit that right now.
Thyssen grabbed the ladder and shook it. "Tear me a new one later. We're losing the advantage staying here."
She pursed her lips and swam past him. "Don't think I won't." She started up the ladder. "Consider yourself on notice because I am far from done with you." She gently rolled herself onto the boat's floor, the sleek smooth movement something Thyssen taught her how to do in order to stay out of sight. This was all so friggin surreal. She hadn't done anything like this in years. Run for her life. Have to hide out with Thyssen because some Greek mafia type was snarling at the door. She was an innkeeper with a young son now, living the life of a regular single mother.
She caught her breath and stared up at the perfect blue sky. How did her life turn so weird so quickly? She turned her head as Thyssen rolled onto the deck and pulled up the ladder. Like she needed to ask.
She growled in frustration as he started the engine. In seconds, he slowly backed the boat away from the shore, moving through the water beneath the tree lined rocky edge, staying beneath the canopy of trees, blending in with the other people out on the water. She knew it was all for cover as he headed for that damned inlet, their secret skinny dipping spot that nobody really knew about.
The entrance was easy to miss in summer with the trees in full bloom, most of them with overhanging branches, and in addition to the thriving ground bush, the narrow water pathway to the inlet was always out of sight. You had to know it was there, to know it was there.
Charlotte hauled herself up and went over to Thyssen. "So what's your plan then? Force me to that stupid place to sit around and wait for this guy to give up looking, get bored and go home?"
He slowed the engine to almost a drift, blending them completely in with the calm serenity of the day. Just two people cruising along on a boat like the dozens of others on the water enjoying the day. Total bullshit.
"No," Thyssen looked at her then back at the water, "I planned to stay out of sight until nighttime, then rendezvous with my father and the boys while I put an end to this. Then," he looked at her again, "come back, fall on my knees and beg your forgiveness?"
"Pffft!" She gaped at him. "That will never happen."
"Maybe after you let me explain, you'll—"
"What? Roll over and thank my lucky stars that you've decided to grace us with your presence?" She wanted to punch him again.
"Maybe. After you get over your initial anger."
She leaned over and thumped his arm before hissing directly into his ear. "Never. You have some nerve you know that?"
Without any warning, he leaned down and captured her mouth in a kiss.
"Ah—" She gasped, and he used that moment when she opened her mouth to slide his hot tongue between her parted lips. An onslaught of wild tingles raced over her body before she could stop them. To her horror, a moan escaped her traitorous throat before she had the presence of mind to struggle against him.
Thyssen reached around and spread his hand flat around the back of her neck, effectively holding her still and keeping her mouth to his.
She pushed at his chest even as frissons of pure heat and excitement rushed between her legs and vibrated delicious sensations over her sex she hadn't felt in years. Another moan of frustration escaped when he drew her closer and made her body flush with his hard muscles. Now she really couldn't move, not without sliding her body all over his.
God, this cannot be happening.
"I am so fucking sorry for all of this, Lucky."
The words sounded so intimately against her lips, sending more heat between her legs.
She tried again to pull away. "Stop calling me that!" If he used his pet name for her one more time she was going to lose it.
"But you are my lucky, my lucky lot in life, Charlotte." He pulled away and looked down at her. "You're the only one who sets things right for me, keeps me balanced and in line. Without you, the worst shit happens to me."
She stared at him then pushed him away. "Could you be anymore selfish?" She shook out her arms, determined to get the piqued excitement that raced through her body under control. "You. You. You. All the time you. Do you ever think about anyone else but poor bedraggled you? I keep you in line. Bullshit." She turned to the side of the boat wanting nothing more than to jump over and let the cold ocean douse the heat that raged through her system. Man, she was pathetic when it came to this man. Years ago, he overcame her virginity in one night, then every day after for an entire summer. Now he stoked and brought her into a heat in what, five minutes?
She inhaled as Thyssen turned the boat toward the inlet entrance. "Take me back." She turned and glared at him. "I'm not going to that inlet with you. I'll take my chances with the psycho lunatic back there."
"Not happening." He didn't even look at her.
Maybe she really could hire this Stop guy, her mind tempted. Take Thyssen out of her life for good. She turned back to the water in frustration. A warm breeze lifted her drying hair reminding her how wet she still was, and that her clothes clung to her uncomfortably.
She pursed her lips. "Hope you have fresh clothes down there." She started toward the stairs that led below deck, then froze as if they led to the cellar full of an STD. "What am I saying? You probably have a closet full of stuff other women have discarded down there."
Thyssen turned off the engine and let the craft drift toward the inlet entrance. He looked back at her. "Don't worry, Lucky. No one else's been on this boat since you."
Charlotte stepped out of the tightly enclosed shower and drew her old beach towel around her body. She hadn't seen this bright yellow and white striped thing since her late teens. Mind you she hadn't been on this boat in almost as many years. After Thyssen joined the Marines and she had taken over the inn, there wasn't a lot of time to enjoy cruise, or midnight skinny dipping jaunts.
She tucked the towel into itself and draped another one over her head to dry her freshly washed hair. That was when she noticed her old fluffy white housecoat hanging on the back of the door. It was not there when she came in the bathroom. She dropped the towel and drew the soft terrycloth robe around herself, momentarily lost to its decadence when she pulled the soft patterned hood over her head.
This robe had been a gift from Thyssen on her eighteenth birthday. Most girls wanted jewelry or dinners at Chez Francois, but she had seen this handmade robe in a shop in Port Raleigh and fell in love with it. Thyssen went back to buy it for her. He teased her that she had looked at the robe the way a priest looks at the Madonna. Charlotte shook her head at the memory and rubbed the soft material again. She'd worn this for him, with nothing beneath, the night he'd given it to her, and he'd made love to her in it several times over.
"Time's up, Lucky." Thyssen knocked hard on the door, and she almost jumped out of her robe. "Can't stay in there forever avoiding the inevitable."
Oh yes she could. She pulled open the door and glared at him. "I'm not avoiding anything." She strode into the stateroom. Everything was the same as the last time she'd been in here, complete with Thyssen sitting on a straight back chair, waiting for her with his elbows on his knees, a glass of amber liquid between his fingers. Bourbon no doubt. The last time she faced this scene she'd told him she was pregnant. This time he looked even more dire, if that was even possible.
"You waiting for your execution or something?" She eyed the opened bottle of bourbon. "This your last drink before this Stop guy comes to call?" Was she really making light of their situation? Anxiety did terrible things to logic.
Thyssen reached over and pulled the other chair in the room toward him. "Have a seat."
The hot seat? No chance. "Thanks, but I'll stand."
He shrugged, then leaned back and picked up an empty glass, raising one of his thick dark eyebrows at her.
"Again, no thanks, It's not even noon." She crossed her arms. "And even it was, I'm not drinking with you, Thyssen. We aren't teenagers anymore, sneaking off to get loaded together."
He threw back the bourbon in his glass and set it down. "No. We're not." He looked at her. "I want to talk."
She scoffed. "Do you now? After three years you want to talk?"
"Will you listen?"
Good question. Did she want to listen to what Thyssen had to say? There was nothing more she wanted than to see Thyssen suffer. To see him feel the same hurt and frustration, bewilderment and pain she had endured at not being able to talk or have your questions answered. She underwent three years of not being able to talk, of not being able to ask or get any kind of explanation from him. No apology. No remorse. No attempt to come back home. She got nothing from Thyssen Skalas. Now he wanted to talk and she was supposed to just let him?
She stared at him hard for a long moment before she nodded. "Fine. Talk." She crossed her arms. "I can't guarantee I'll listen, though."
***
THYSSEN DREW IN A BREATH and started talking about some of the hardest and lowest points in his life over the past three years. It wasn't a pretty conversation and he hated every minute. The entire time, Charlotte's face remained impassive as he spoke, and that was worse than if she'd looked at him with hate, anger or pity. At least then he'd be able to gauge her feelings, but without any reaction he didn't know what the hell she thought about his telling her he'd gone on a sex rampage when away from her, then a killing rage in the field that ended in burn out and depression, that he'd left SEALs because of it all. She just looked at him, unmoved, not saying a word.
He fucking hated it.
At one point, she uncrossed her arms and came forward to pull out the chair he had offered. She sat but still didn't say anything. She didn't change expression or even her breathing. She drank a hefty glass of bourbon, but other than that she just sat quietly as words fell out of his mouth, terrible words—downward spiral, out of control, potential court martial, loss of faith, and forced military counseling.
He'd been such a fucking mess, and it started before he questioned Ian's paternity and got a hell of a lot worse after that.
"Coming home had not been an option," he explained. "Not until now. I would only have just dragged you and Ian down to where I was."
She finished her glass of bourbon. "This," she looked around, "isn't much better."
He looked at his empty glass. "I know. And I'm sorry for that. I never planned to bring this shit back with me."
Finally, she looked at him. "I don't know what to say." She blinked those deep gray eyes. "I have to think about it all. Process it."
He nodded. Fair enough. At least she didn't just tell him to leave again. Thinking about it gave her chance.
"It's going to take some time." She stood.
"I don't care how long it takes. I just want to know that you might give us a chance after. Just one chance to make it right."
"I—" She opened her mouth then closed it. "I need to think." She turned to leave the stateroom.
"No." He stood quickly. "'l'll go. I don't want you out on deck." He went to the door and climbed the steps, breathing past the tight wedge of emotion locked in his throat.
Fuck, he hoped he hadn't told her too much. Maybe not enough? He picked up his field glasses and searched every inch of the inlet shoreline. What was she thinking about him and his shredded integrity? Had he completely lost her trust and respect? Would she give him the chance to earn it back?
He scanned the shoreline again. Nothing. Good.
The Stop would never find this place, at least not immediately, and if he did he'd be in for a Hell of a deadly shock. Thyssen lifted the storage hatch at the boat's portside to review his weapons hold.
He'd been adding to it throughout his years in the military. Every time he used a new weapon or learned about a new rifle, he gained himself personal access to it, snuck up here and put it in his hold. It was his excuse. His reason. The way he justified coming back to keep eyes on Charlotte and Ian over the years. It was how he knew how they were doing, made sure they were okay. It was how he knew the answers to her questions. He knew one day he'd work himself up to coming home, he just never knew how or when.
He picked up his M4 and checked the cartridge before he sat down on the deck with his glasses, and quietly took watch until night fell all around him.