Grayson
My heart is in my fucking throat as I leap into my truck and rip out of my driveway. Rain hammers the windshield, water spraying up from my tires. It’s one of those nasty summer thunderstorms, the kind that come in with a bang and leave a mess before you even realize what hit you.
I battened things down at the farm before I left, but I always head over to check in after storms like this.
It’s the only reason I was awake to pick up Eliza’s call, and thank god for that.
If I’d known she was living out of a goddamn boat in the area’s most rustic marina, I would’ve warned her about the weather.
Hell, I would have added her to my check-in list, despite the space I’m trying to keep between us.
The obvious panic in her tone was a bomb straight to the chest. Still is.
Fuck.
Keeping one eye on the road, I dial Mark’s number.
“The hell you want.” His grumble tells me I woke him up.
I don’t waste time with an apology. “I wouldn’t do this if there wasn’t an emergency.”
Mark’s been with me long enough to know what I’m asking. “Need me to check on things?” he asks right away, the edge gone from his voice.
“Yeah.”
“Done.”
No questions asked. He’s like a goddamn guardian angel.
“I owe you.”
“You need something else, you call me,” is his only response before the line goes dead.
I take a turn faster than I should in this weather and dial my brother. It might be ten-thirty on a Sunday night, but he’s no doubt sequestered in his office, starting his workweek.
He answers on the second ring. “Gray?”
I swerve around a downed tree branch. “Eliza’s living out of a boat at Joe’s place, and she just called me. It’s flooded. Bilge pump doesn’t seem to be working.”
“You heading there now?”
“Yup.” I take a breath, knowing I’m about to hit him with a big ask. “Any chance you can swing by the farm, grab the manual pump, and bring it to us?”
I could do it myself, but it’d add ten minutes to the drive, and I can’t accept that kind of delay. Not with Eliza sounding the way she did, ready to crumble with panic. And not with her stubborn tendency to try to solve problems herself.
She better be inside that car.
“Done,” Anson says.
I wince. “I know it’s late and Lala—”
“Stop,” he cuts me off. “Lala loves adventures. She’s either going to go crazy for this, or she’s going to sleep through the entire thing. I’ll see you soon.”
I end the call, beyond thankful. He might be a tight-ass, but he’ll drop anything for the people he loves.
The last two minutes of my drive are a collage of shit visibility and lightning strikes, and then I’m racing over potholes in the marina’s gravel lot until I’m next to Eliza’s little car. It’s the only other vehicle in this lot.
It’s also empty.
Fuck.
The pond is a mess of white caps and dark, churning water as I jog down the slick dock, vibrating underfoot as boats clang into it. Eliza’s vessel is easy to spot, its mast bobbing at the end of the row, the only boat here big enough to hold a livable cabin.
And if I had any doubts, the person-shaped shadow scurrying around the tilted deck confirms it.
Goddamn this woman.
“What the hell are you doing?” I bark as I bear down on the boat.
She must not hear me over the wind and rain, because she keeps furiously filling buckets and dumping them over the side—in a fucking tee-shirt.
Thunder growls in warning, lighting up the sky with white-hot energy as I hop onboard. “Eliza!” I bellow.
She hears me this time, stumbling, and the full bucket in her hands drops into the open bilge hatch beneath her. Her mouth falls open, hair plastered to her face, eyes blinking through the rain.
Without another word, I move in and haul her over my shoulder. Not caring that I’m being a Neanderthal, I march to the cabin.
“Grayson!” She wriggles against me, and I clamp an uncompromising hand around her thighs.
Even infuriated, my blood heats at the feel of her bare skin and the knowledge that her perky ass is right next to my face. If she was mine, I’d swat it for this stunt.
Instead, I lower her at the threshold.
“I have to—”
“Not a word.”
Jesus, where’s her self-preservation?
She drops into the cabin and I come in behind her, slamming the door shut. My hands land on my hips as I stare down at her, part-infuriated, part-worried, part-relieved she’s in one piece. One sopping wet piece, that is.
Her hair hangs in dark ropes, a Cape Cod tee-shirt plastered to her skin, dripping water onto the carpet at our feet. It’s either a blessing or a curse that she’s wearing a sports bra beneath the see-through fabric. Her eyelashes are wet spikes around big, vulnerable eyes that gaze up at me.
“I know you told me to stay in my car, but—”
“Eliza, there’s lightning outside,” I articulate, sweeping a hand to the tiny-ass windows.
Her face scrunches in distress. “I wasn’t just going to sit there. I had to do something!”
Yeah, like wait.
The reply is on the tip of my tongue, but I shove it down. She isn’t as panicked as she sounded on the phone, but she’s upset. Shaken.
Moving on instinct, I gather her in my arms. She comes without resistance, pressing her cheek against my neck and hands on my chest as I secure my grip on her frame. Her chest moves in shallow, quick breaths against mine, belying just how upset she is.
Save for the soaked floor, the small, rickety cabin is a startling contrast to the clusterfuck outside. Plants, fluffy pillows, and lamps emitting a soft yellow glow have made the space warm. Feminine. It even smells like her perfume in here.
And I’m reminded that while she’s been out of her element since she first came to Garnet Shores, she’s done an incredible job adapting.
Gentling my voice, I say, “You did do something. You called me.”
“And here you are, saving my ass. Again. Your ego must be through the roof at this point.” Her head nestles further into my neck, like hugging me is an easy habit.
Hell, it feels like one to me. Her body, both strong and soft, fits against mine perfectly.
“I think there’s some kind of curse in Garnet Shores,” she adds, “because I’ve never been part of so many disasters in my life.”
“Nah, I think you’re just clumsy.”
“The bilge pump has nothing to do with clumsiness.”
“Then this one’s karma for all the times you’ve been a pain in my ass.”
She shakes against me as she laughs. My arms tighten, sealing her there.
“I swear, you’ve gotten the worst version of me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
One of her fingers starts drawing little shapeless designs on my chest. “I was cheated on and laid off before coming here. One of my closest friends is hooking up with my ex. My parents are up my ass about getting my career back on track, and I’m living on a sailboat stuck in the eighties.
I think it’s pretty clear what I meant,” she says, almost apathetically.
I hate the defeat in her tone, almost as much as I hate her piece-of-shit ex and her so-called friend. Who the fuck does that? Especially to a woman like her?
I hate it all enough to peel my arms from her back and cup her cheeks, forcing her to look up at me. Rainwater’s still caught in those eyelashes, her damp skin gleaming in the soft light.
“Could’ve fooled me.” My eyes flick between hers, making sure I have her full attention. “Because the so-called worst version of you is pretty fucking impressive.”
Her lips part for a beat, then pull into a barely-there smile that makes me feel like I’ve just crested Everest. But I’m not sure that view could even beat this one.
She’s fucking beautiful.
I want to savor it. Want to keep holding her like a glutton, my self-imposed rules be damned. But the rain isn’t stopping any time soon.
Reluctantly, I drop my hands. “You’re going to grab what you need for tonight and tomorrow, then you’re going to go sit in my truck while I take care of this.”
She frowns. “I’m going to help you.”
“By sitting in the truck,” I re-emphasize, hoping she listens for once. “With your current track record, you’ll probably get struck by lightning outside. And then I’ll be stuck dealing with a new social media girl, and I’ve just figured out how to deal with you.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she replies, though she gives in and starts rummaging around the cabin.
“Who rents this thing to you?” I ask as she packs.
“Some guy named Gary,” she answers, opening what I’m pretty sure is a bin full of underwear.
I divert my eyes before I can discover what’s inside, not needing that kind of torture.
“He was planning to use it this summer, but got called down to Florida or something for a few months to take care of his sister.”
“You have Gary’s contact information?”
She nods toward a flimsy binder splayed on the bed. “He didn’t pick up.”
What kind of person rents their boat to someone with zero boating knowledge, then isn’t available for emergencies? A stupid, self-serving one, that’s who.
She starts shutting off the lights, but I stop her, telling her I’ll take care of it before ushering her out into the storm.
“Jacket?” I prompt.
She glances down at her soaked shirt, glued to her pert breasts. “Kind of pointless now, isn’t it?”
The rain is unrelenting as we splash across the deck and make our way to my truck. A pair of headlights cut into the lot just as I toss her bag into the backseat and open the passenger door.
“Who is that?” she asks, slipping inside.
“Anson.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “You called my boss?”
I level a flat look her way. “I called my brother, who was happy to drop off the portable pump so I could get to you sooner.”
“It’s almost midnight, in a storm.” She runs an agitated hand through her hair. “Your brother is going to think I’m an idiot.”
“Hey.” I grab her hand before it can make another pass, wanting to keep all the pretty hairs on her head. “He’s only going to think you’re an idiot if you run out there and try to help. You have nothing to do with the scuppers being fucked and the bilge pump shitting out on you.”
Her shoulders marginally relax, some of her resistance fading. Gravel kicks up nearby as Anson parks.
“Now stay in the truck.”