Chloe
“Hey! Sorry to interrupt, but are you Captain Rossi?”
I squint against the brilliant sun and mentally cross my fingers and toes. This was the last available boat rental on the island. Well …the last trustworthy boat rental, I should say. All the others were battening down the hatches and shoring up for the coming storm. None of them would even consider venturing out on the water with the worsening weather. The weathermen weren’t saying hurricane, but one didn’t want to risk getting caught in 100 mph winds off guard.
If I had any sense, I would be in my hotel room with the rest of the twenty-somethings downing Piña Coladas like they were going out of style. Instead, I’m here, hoping this hulking mass of too-good-looking man can save my ass from getting fired.
I heft the bag with my camera and equipment, and wait as he wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Tall, dark, and pissed off is my first impression.
“Yeah, who wants to know?” His voice is quiet, measured, the epitome of the strong, silent type. I momentarily forget my goals as I study the way his full lips form the words. If I were under the influence of those Piña Coladas, I would have considered flirting. I note the strong lines of his jaw and warm brown eyes. Maybe I would even consider something more than flirting.
“That would be me, Chloe McKinney. I was wondering if—”
“No.” He turns his back and slips out of the grease-stained white shirt as he walks down the dock to the back of his boat. I fight a small mental battle about the ink snaking from shoulder to shoulder and the way his back muscles rippled and narrowed down to a pair of low-slung jeans. Why couldn’t he be one of those swarthy middle-aged sailors who’d be more than happy to take money from a pretty pair of legs?
I blink in confusion. My brow furrows at his interruption and rudeness. Incensed, I follow, resolve steeling in my middle.
So much for the flirting, and a definite hell no to more than flirting. Even if a glimpse of his front shows the defined lines of a V sculpting a path that disappears into his jeans. My brain nearly short-circuits and he ducks into the boat.
“Excuse me.” My completely inappropriate, but totally cute wedge sandals catch on a rotten board and I right myself before I land face first in the ocean. Unfortunately for me, my purse doesn’t fare so well. It slips from my fingers and falls to its death between the boat and the dock.
Cursing, I get down on both knees and try to fish it out. I manage to snag it with two fingers and it slaps onto the sea-worn wood with a wet plop. Great, just great. I dig through it and let out a small scream when I realize my phone is dead. All of my cash is soaked and the few photos I’d managed to get are completely worthless if the ruined storage card is any indication. Of course I hadn’t put them in the plastic bags I carried just for that reason. My situation is even direr than it had been ten minutes ago.
This is what I get for spending the first two days on-island enjoying the sights instead of getting work done first. And by sights, I mean the hotel bar. In truth, I enjoyed it a little too much according to the sharp pain behind my eyes.
He ignores both my near drowning, the death of my phone and the eventual end of my world. “Excuse me,” I say more loudly, getting to my feet. I know I must look a wreck, but I’m beyond caring. I bang on the boat’s window until I see him striding back out. Good, I hope he’s as annoyed as I am. I shouldn’t be the only one suffering today. Thunder rolls in the distance and the skin on my arms prickles with the current permeating the air. I ignore them, focusing instead on the boat.
He reappears from the captain’s room, his face schooled into a practiced calm. “Look, princess, I don’t have time to go on a pleasure cruise, and if you haven’t noticed, the weather is turning to shit. So do us both a favor and take your train wreck somewhere else. I’ve got shit to do.”
I take a deep breath. He may be a jerk, but he’s my last hope. I don’t need him to be nice; I just need his boat. “I only need an hour of your time at the most, Mr. Rossi, please.” He opens his mouth to give me another firm rejection. “I can pay,” I blurt. Really I can’t, but it’s either I pony up the dough or go back empty-handed. Either way, I’m going to be broke, so I might as well be broke with a job than broke without one. If he says no, I vow to spend what little I have left on alcohol, because getting drunk sounds like a good plan right about now.
He pauses, considering. “How much money?”
“Five hundred?”
He laughs, a deep, sensuous sound that is so incongruous with his previous dick-like behavior that I’m nearly stunned. And then he says, “Forget it. It’s not worth taking my boat out in weather like this for pennies. Go con someone else.”
“A thousand.” I gulp, my stomach churning at the thought, but I have no choice.
“Pay upfront and you have a deal.”
I shake my head. “Not a chance. You’ll get half now and half when we’re back here. I just need to go around the island for a couple of photos. It’ll take less than an hour of your time. That’s a damn good deal for you.”
He scans the skyline for a moment and says, “If you want to do this, we’re leaving now. We don’t have time to waste. We’ll go out for thirty minutes and no matter what, we’re heading back when that time is up. That’s non-negotiable.”
I’m nodding even before he finishes. Thirty minutes should be more than enough to get a few usable photographs. Not that my employers will care that a near-hurricane interrupted what was supposed to be a clear weekend. All they care about is that they have photos of their property to present to their multi-million dollar clients on Monday, no matter what. If I’m lucky, maybe they’ll expense the cost of the asshat captain and give me a promotion.
“If you’re coming, then get a move on. We don’t have time to waste, princess.”
Then again, maybe not.
Gabriel
I throw on a button-up shirt as she boards, but leave it opened as I check the instrument panels and pull up the anchor. Even though the wind is blowing something fierce, it’s still unbelievably muggy out, and the material clings to me like a second skin. Ten minutes, I think, ten minutes and I could have been enjoying a beer and a game. If I wasn’t in need of the money, I would have told her to fuck off to do just that.
Great legs and a mouth made for sin aside, I don’t have the time or patience for any bullshit today. Especially not the kind that is wrapped up in a tight little package with the most striking blue eyes I’d ever seen.
I pop a toothpick in my mouth to curb the sudden craving for a cigarette. It’s only been a month since I quit and I’m not quite certain the need will ever go away. It’s made me increasingly irritable, which was probably why I was such a dick to her, but whatever. Coupled with everything else going on in my life, I’m going to need to buy stock in toothpicks if I’m ever going to kick the habit.
She walks up to the chair beside me and sits, dropping her destroyed purse by her feet with a sigh. “I really appreciate you helping me out today—” she pauses and looks at me expectantly.
“Gabe,” I offer.
“I really appreciate your helping me out today, Gabe.”
I mumble something in response and she seems to understand that I’m not the chatty type. That’s fine with me. I crank the boat and ease out of the slip. The water is already darkening with an increase in cloud cover. According to weather reports, the storm should be arriving in a couple hours, plenty of time for us to circle the small Florida Key before it gets here.
An immediate sense of relief washes over me as I increase the speed once we get away from the beach. I never feel as at home as I do on the water. After eight years in the Navy, the rock of the boat and the scent of the salty air spells home to me.
Feeling marginally more conversational—and not quite so confrontational—I ask, “Where is it you need to go?”
She turns from her observation of the water, the remaining shafts of sunlight catch streaks of blonde that frame her heart-shaped face and her dimples wink as she squints up at me. God, she’s incredibly beautiful.
I refocus back on her response in time to hear her say, “Just around the south side of the island. The company that I freelance for owns some property there that’s about to go on the market. They need wide shots of the beach for their potential buyers.”
I whistle through my teeth. “Expensive digs.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me,” she mumbles.
Rockaway Key is a relatively small island, so it doesn’t take long for us to navigate to the other side. Unlike the hundreds of other chatty, obnoxious tourists I’ve had this summer, Chloe seems content to observe the scenery without commentary. I can’t remember the last time I had a woman on board who didn’t feel the need to get in my personal space. The fact that she’s not trying to draw me into conversation like the others makes me even more curious about her.
And that pisses me off.
“Whereabouts do you need me to stop?” I grunt.
She turns back from her observation of the darkening clouds and points to a spot a couple of hundred yards down the south side. “Right there, between those two beach houses.”
I navigate through the increasingly rough waters while keeping an eye on the skyline and my weather monitor. We should have plenty of time to get back according to the last report, but years of sailing has taught me that sometimes things can change in an instant and it’s better to be prepared than be caught off guard.
We come to a stop a way off the beach, but close enough that she can get a good look at the choice piece of land she needs. She’s already pulled an expensive-looking camera out of her other bag. While she sets up and starts snapping off pictures from the back of the boat, I take the moment to recheck the weather reports just in case.
As I’m pulling them up, the boat pitches under our feet. I turn just in time to see her nearly fall overboard. She’s able to catch herself at the last second, with her camera suspended precariously over the edge of the boat.
“You all right?”
“I could really use a Piña Colada,” she returns.
Satisfied with that response, I turn back to the screen. As I study the readings, I hear her in the background moving around, clicking the camera and chattering to herself. The weather map coalesces on the screen and my brows furrow as I study it. I check another and then another.
“Chloe, you need to wrap it up.”
She pulls the camera back and looks at me. “What? We’ve only been here twenty minutes.”
“I can leave you on shore if that’s what you want,” I tell her, “but it’s about to get rough and I’m heading back with or without you.”