Chapter 15
LOCKE
She didn’t need to fill the silence with small talk which I appreciated.
I liked the quiet.
Hell, I was afraid I’d lost most of the social skills that made me a good agent with Kendrick.
Cilla didn’t seem to care. She just dug in and made messy work of her dinner, but seemed to be eating with relish. I didn’t know much about her background, but it was obvious she wasn’t the type to eat fajitas with her hands like this.
You have to try harder with the next meal.
My jaw tightened at the invasive voice. I didn’t need to do jack shit. It was bad enough that I needed to go soak my head in the shower from our last interaction. Having her in my arms so much was messing with my head.
I went from no interaction to skin-to-skin, and the scent of her coconut-lathered skin was going to freaking end me. I was taking care of her—and she was wounded.
She didn’t need my bullshit.
Anger fizzled in my chest. I needed to get away from her for a while. Sunset was a few hours away and I’d planned to give her a nice view. Something to make this shitshow of a situation good for her, but I couldn’t.
I picked up the platter of scraps from our dinner and dumped it into the sink.
Shocked, she sat back. “Did I do something?”
“No.” I gripped the edge of the counter. “I just need some air. Let me get you back onto one of the benches.”
“You don’t need to do anything with me.” She made a soft sound.
I turned and saw the pain creeping into her eyes. “I do.” I stalked back to her and lifted her.
She yelped and held onto my shoulder, her breath lightly grazing my neck. “Locke!”
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
I paused at the stairs near the kitchen.
She huffed out a breath. “Yes.”
I shifted her so her middle was against my chest and her head was higher than mine. The narrow stairs didn’t give us much room, and her breasts rested on my shoulder. Her very soft and perfect breasts.
Hell.
I maneuvered down the stairs and set her in the bathroom, quickly letting her go and closing the door. I rested my forehead against the door. I just needed to get through a few more days and she should be able to at least hobble around on her own.
I could do anything for a few days.
I heard her moving around and then a crash.
I swung the door open to find her sagging against the sink. The first aid kid scattered in the bowl.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to fix my dressing.”
“Call me,” I gritted out.
“Because you’re in such a good mood already?”
I gnashed my teeth together. “Doesn’t matter.”
“You think I want to be here?”
“I know you don’t. We just have to make the best of it.” I straightened her and took one of the thick gauze packs, then crouched in front of her. My breath stalled at the endless honeyed skin of her thigh. Even with the big bandage, she was all soft skin and smelled like a warm beach.
My favorite thing.
I concentrated on replacing the pad and the tape. On washing her.
On trying not to linger.
When I stood, she was staring straight out the porthole with a stony face.
My voice was little more than a growl as I muttered, “Let’s go.”
I picked her up, my fingers digging into the flesh of her ass to anchor her to my upper body. Anything so she wouldn’t notice my body’s reaction. I got her up the stairs and onto the upper deck so she could see the sunset at the very least.
I left her without a word and climbed up into the captain’s seat. I needed to change the heading and straighten out so she could see the coastline from where she was.
I set us to drift. The winds were light, and we weren’t going anywhere for a good bit. I dropped the anchor, and still itching with annoyance and something I refused to name, I climbed up to the top of the lookout and stared at the horizon until my system evened out.
This isn’t a good idea, Milligan.
It’s what you need. She needs you.
I’m no good for anyone. Least of all her.
You’re perfect for her.
Disbelief dropped his voice back until it was a mist behind me. I gripped the railing and did a few box breathing cycles of my own. I just needed to put whatever this was in a box.
I needed to simply treat this like a job.
She was a client, even if I wasn’t getting paid.
That’s all there was to it.
I looked down at where she was sprawled on the deck. She was stretched out on her side, her arms around one of the cushions to prop her up so she could watch the sun make its slow descent behind the lighthouse.
The quiet of the moment seeped back inside of me, giving me a level of calmness that I hadn’t felt since she’d crashed into my life.
While I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to work again, compartmentalizing her helped to shove the feelings into a box.
I waited for the sun to wink out and the dark to take the boat before I climbed back down to where she was. She’d passed out again, which made things a little easier. She needed her rest. I moved her into my cabin and left a low light on above her bed.
She rolled onto her side to hug a pillow. Her sooty slashes brushed her cheeks, and her eyes made rapid passes under her lids. Bracing for a nightmare, I sat next to her for a few moments.
She was a bit restless and my chest hurt for her. I knew what it was like to live in fitful sleep. I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d slept through the night.
With her last night, asshat.
I grit my teeth against Milligan’s voice.
He was right. Or my subconscious was right.
I wasn’t sure which. And right then I didn’t care.
I just wanted to make sure she was okay and I’d go.
Then she slid her hand out and found mine.
The tips of her fingers coasted over my thumb, and she finally seemed to settle.
Because of me?
Fuck.
I didn’t want her depending on me. It was the wrong road to go down for both of us. I lasted a few more minutes and slipped out from under her hand, but I left the door open so I could hear her.
I shook out my hands, the ghost of her touch finally dissipating.
I couldn’t sleep with her again.
Absolutely not.
I strode down to the other side of the hull and began digging out. It used to be Milligan’s bedroom before he met Alyssa. Back in the days where we escaped after a grueling job with Kendrick to fish and drink too much beer.
I was moving a bin of clothes when a postcard fell off the wall.
On the back was a photo of us that he’d taken with his Pentax camera.
It was slightly out of focus as all his shots were, but the two of us were mugging for the camera in front of the absurdly large shark display showing off how big a Great White’s bite circumference was.
He had this stupid tripod he brought everywhere that tucked in his vest.
He’d practically tackled me to get in frame for the photo, his booming laugh making me smile in reaction.
I slumped against the wall and slowly slid down until I was sitting. The temptation to get the bourbon and push away the memories washed over me like a wave. But Cilla needed me.
It made my skin feel too tight.
No one should be counting on me.
I closed my eyes and thunked my head against the wall.
She needs you as much as you need her, pal. Suck it up.
“Fuck off, Milligan,” I said aloud.
I blew out a breath and struggled to my feet. I tacked the postcard up near the skinny wardrobe closet and finished the room.
By the end I was sweaty and dusty, but tired.
I checked on Cilla, but she was deep asleep. The drugs doing their job to let her rest.
At least someone would be getting some sleep tonight.
I rinsed off in the shower then climbed on the mattress and listened to the water as I dried off. I must have drifted off.
I guess we’d count that as a win for both of us.