Chapter 16 #2
I’ve taken plenty of people out here. Business associates who spend the whole time checking emails. Women I’m fucking, who curse the wind for wrecking their hair. VIPs who treat it like a photo op instead of seeing what’s in front of them.
Most wouldn’t know a fulmar from a bloody seagull.
But Georgie’s absorbed, binoculars glued to her face, guidebook pages flapping in the wind. Every few seconds she makes these tiny sounds—a quick breath when she spots something, a low hum when she’s pleased. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
Thirty minutes on the water and the wound-up nerves she carries around me have finally bled out.
That’s the sea for you. Strips the world down to wind and salt and the fact that most of the shit we stress about on land doesn’t mean a damn thing out here.
It’s the first time I’ve seen a flicker of Jake in her.
She jabs a finger toward the cliff. “Look at that dumbo.”
I follow her line of sight. There’s a sheep perched halfway up a sheer drop, chewing grass like it’s enjoying a seaside picnic instead of one misplaced hoof away from a nosedive into the Atlantic.
“He thinks he’s too sure-footed to fall, but he absolutely can,” she says, lowering the binoculars.
“About fifteen thousand sheep die falling off cliffs in the UK every year. They get so focused on the grass they forget the drop. Honestly, I can empathize. I once walked into a glass door three times in one day because I was thinking about code.”
I chuckle and cut the engine to let us drift. “Fifteen thousand? You just carry that statistic around waiting for moments like this?”
She gives a tiny shrug. “Since I made the list, I’ve been doing research. On everything.”
My grip on the wheel tightens. God knows what kind of research she’s been doing for that bloody list. Hopefully not compiling an index of eligible sheep farmers.
Safer to think about the sheep.
“The farmers here find them washed up on the beaches all the time,” I say. “Nature’s way of thinning the herd.”
Her smile falters. “That’s sad when you put it like that.”
“Circle of life.”
She lifts the binoculars again. “Maybe he’s just an adrenaline junkie. Has that ‘fear of missing out’ thing more than a fear of death. The grass is literally greener on the dangerous side.”
I huff out a laugh. “Comparing me to a daft sheep now?”
She bites her lip, fighting a smile. “Well, you both think the best views require maximum danger.”
I lean a forearm on the wheel, my gaze steady on her. “Views worth having don’t come easy. You’ve got to get close to the edge to see something worth looking at.”
I spot something that’ll get her excited. “Speaking of rare views… gannet at two o’clock. Big bastard, too.”
“Where?” She spins so fast her ponytail whips her shoulder.
“Morus bassanus—oh my God, I think that’s what it is—hang on—” She bites her bottom lip in concentration, flipping open her guidebook with one hand while keeping the binoculars locked on the bird with the other.
I step in behind her, close enough for my chest to brush her back, close enough to catch the faint mix of salt and something soft drifting from her hair.
She’s so damn small in front of me, barely reaching my shoulder.
I could rest my chin on top of her head.
A few strands of her hair catch the wind and tickle against my jaw.
“Here.” My hand closes over hers, steadying the binoculars, guiding her left. “See him now?”
Her fingers are warm and delicate under my palm, so tiny I could wrap my entire hand around both of hers.
The gannet hovers—six feet of sharp-beaked predator—then drops like a missile, slicing the sky at sixty miles per hour before spearing the water. It disappears beneath the swell, then surfaces a moment later with a fish thrashing between its beak.
She gasps. The sound shudders through her body straight into my chest.
When’s the last time anyone’s reacted like that to something I’ve shown them?
“He’s magnificent,” she breathes. “I can’t believe I got to see that. The poor fish, though…”
That soft, guilty note in her voice curls a smile out of me. “That’s mother nature. Doesn’t pull her punches. Brutal and beautiful at the same time.”
“I wouldn’t want to get too close to him.”
“Yeah… someone your size, he’d have you off that cliff before you knew what hit you. Wouldn’t take much.”
She twists in my arms, mock-offended, those green eyes flashing up at me. “Hey! I’m not that small.”
“Compared to me, you are.”
A nervous laugh slips out of her. “Well, you’re abnormally large, so that’s hardly fair.”
I nod toward the gannet as it wings back to its nest. “See that? Most territorial bastard in the sky. Males will fight to the death for a nesting spot. Push rivals straight off the cliffs.”
“That’s… quite aggressive.”
“Has to be.” My hand stays over hers on the binoculars, holding them steady. “Only the strongest males get to mate. Size matters. Dominance matters. Everything else is just survival of the weak.”
“Sounds like how you run McLaren Hotels.”
I glance down, trying to decide if it’s a tease or a jab. “No one’s been shoved off a cliff yet. Not literally, anyway.”
She tilts her head back further to look at me, eyes soft, smile genuine.
She’s… sweet. The kind of sweet you want to protect. And the kind you want to ruin, just to see the way her face changes after.
Christ, Patrick.
I’m pressed up against Jake’s sister like a fucking predator, talking about mating and dominance. And she’s not pulling away.
Then she shifts. Her denim-covered ass presses right against my cock through the thin barrier of my shorts.
It’s innocent. Unintentional. I can tell by the sudden stillness in her body, the sharp hitch of her breath when she realizes exactly how we’re lined up.
Mine stops dead.
For one long, loaded second neither of us moves. My head’s a wreck of don’t touch her colliding with Christ almighty, yes.
The binoculars tremble in her grip.
I jerk back sharply. My hand drops from hers.
“Come on,” I growl, already turning away from her before I do something even more fucking stupid. “We’re moving to the next spot.”
I fire up the engine.
She opens her guidebook like it’s the most riveting text she’s ever read, but I see her fingers worrying the corner of the page, flipping it over and back again.
“There’s a seal colony about ten minutes northeast,” I say, trying to sound normal, but the grit in my voice gives me away. “You’ll want your camera ready.”
I keep my eyes on the water. Nowhere else.
Fuck. Maybe I’m the one getting carried away with this whole wildlife tour.
Ten minutes later, I throttle back as we approach the rocky outcrop where the seals hang out. There’s already another boat there, a tour vessel packed with about twenty passengers, all crowding to one side with cameras and phones raised.
The tour guide’s voice carries across the water through a megaphone: “If we get a little closer, you might see them dive. Sometimes they’ll perform for us if we’re lucky.”
Georgie winces as the boat edges closer to the rocks, engines rumbling. The seals are getting agitated, some slipping into the water.
“Fucking idiot,” I mutter under my breath, watching the tour boat push closer. Most of the operators on the island know better than this. This bastard’s giving us all a bad name.
“Look how desperate they are to get the wildlife to perform for them,” she says quietly, lowering her binoculars. “They don’t want to observe the seals being seals—they want the seals to be entertaining. It’s like... we’ve forgotten that some things aren’t meant to be for us.”
My jaw clenches. “People want nature neat and convenient. On demand. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Right? But the whole point is that it’s not ours to control.” She keeps her voice low, like she doesn’t want to disturb anything. “The seals don’t owe us a show. They’re just trying to exist.”
The tour boat revs its engine again, and more seals abandon the rocks.
I keep our distance, letting us drift in the quiet water. After a few minutes, some of the seals return, cautious but settling back into their natural rhythm.
“There,” Georgie breathes, raising her binoculars again. “That’s what they actually look like when they’re just being themselves.” Her voice drops. “It’s funny how much better everything works when you give it space to be what it actually is, instead of what you think it should be.”
She turns that sweet smile on me, like butter wouldn’t melt, but whether she’s doing it deliberately or not, she’s circling back to our dinner conversation, the one about loud voices and quiet spaces.
I’m starting to realize she has this way of dropping these quiet observations that dig in and won’t let go.
The implication hangs between us: I’m no better than that bastard tour guide.
I cut the engine with a sharp twist. “Here’s good for swimming.”
Her eyes go wide as she peers over the side, where the water darkens in patches. “We can swim here? It’s safe?”
“There’s nothing in these waters that’ll take a bite out of you. You bring your gear?”
“Yeah.” She hesitates, biting her bottom lip. “Are you… coming in too?”
I hadn’t planned on it. I was going to stay on the boat, fully clothed, keeping a respectable distance while she splashed about. I know I can dive in at a second’s notice if anything goes wrong.
But then she glances between me and the water, weighing whether she’s brave enough to do it alone.
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to, really. I don’t want to monopolize your whole day—”
I’m already stripping off my shirt and tossing it on the bench. “We’re getting in.”
“Okay,” she says softly. “I’ll just… change then.”
The sun’s got a bite to it today. Used to be you needed three layers in a Skye summer. Now it’s like the Mediterranean.
I take a long pull from my water bottle, telling myself I’ve done a good job so far. Shown Jake’s sister the sights, kept her safe—responsible big-brother-by-proxy boxes ticked.
The stairs creak as she makes her way up to deck.