Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
RAFAEL
The current was more determined than an hour ago.
Rafael straightened, gauging the wind.
“It should hold for a while longer,” his bodyguard, Voss, said, tying off a rope. They’d been sailing together often.
He revised the course: shorter, safer, near enough to return fast if the sea decided to change its mind.
He craved the water today. Needed Bea on it with him. The ocean brought the truth out of you. It showed you what you loved and feared. What you’d fight to keep.
The SUV pulled up at the far end of the dock. He’d sent Cain, his other sentry, to fetch her so he could get the boat ready with his own hands. Partly because it was ritual, mostly because it meant that when she arrived…he’d get to watch.
Let me take you out hadn’t been a question so much as a direction.
Toward him.
Bea stepped out of the back seat. White shirt knotted at her waist, navy one-piece swimsuit glinting beneath, skirt fluttering. Her hair was pulled high, which made her look both younger and braver. She slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses from her bag and slid them on like armor.
He tightened his hold on the stern rail. Every muscle urged him to meet her halfway, but that wasn’t the game today. This was her crossing.
Sunglasses hid his eyes but the way he rested his forearms on the polished steel made it clear he was tracking her as she walked the length of the pier.
Nerves and anticipation were written into her stride. She glanced now and then at the neighboring boats, anywhere but directly at him. Every cell in his body absorbed the moment like parched soil soaked in summer rain.
“This yours?” she asked when she was close enough.
He nodded and held out his hand. “Come aboard.”
She stared at it for a beat.
“You’re safe,” he assured. “Mostly.”
Her fingers met his, delicate yet certain, and the gangway bowed beneath them.
Cain and Voss traded a look that said they’d follow orders but didn’t have to like them.
Rafael read them in a glance, Bea’s hand in his. “You’re still not coming.”
“Sir, at least one—”
“Unless you plan to swim after us?” He gave them a dry look over his shoulder. “No one’s gonna take me at sea.”
Voss muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘not the bloody point,’ but he knew better than to argue.
He led her aft, guiding her with a light hand at her back. She left her tote on the sunken lounge, eyes roaming the rigging and the taut geometry of the sails.
“No crew?” she asked.
“Didn’t want witnesses.”
Her brows arched. “You’re sailing us yourself?”
“Yep. I’ll try not to sink us.”
Her mouth formed a smile. “I’ve seen you win two Winter Regattas. I trust your sailing ability. I just didn’t know you could do it solo.”
At St. Ives University, nearly the entire student body turned out for the Regatta. The two years he and Bea had overlapped, despite there being thousands along the shore, he’d known that somewhere in that blur of faces, she was watching. He’d wanted her to see what he could do with wind and will.
The lines slid free under his hands, the sound clean against the wind. The yacht caught it, found her rhythm in the sea, and they were in motion.
He glanced back. Bea stood mid-deck smiling into the wind, one hand on the rail, eyes wide to the horizon.
“You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Took the seasick tablets just in case like you said. I don’t usually need them.”
“Good.”
Her eyes chased him, curious, as he moved from place to place. “You need help?” she called. “Can I…do something?”
“Come take the helm.”
She blinked at him. “You really trust me with that?”
“Let’s find out what you’re made of.”
She crossed the deck carefully, the yacht swaying beneath them, skirt whipping against her legs.
She faltered, unsure. There was barely room between the wheel and his body. He waited, then reached for her, his hand finding her waist. “Not there,” he murmured. “Here.”
He drew her in until her spine met his chest. Her warmth soaked through the thin cotton between them. Her breath came small and quick, each rise brushing his ribs, lighting every synapse in his body. Her grip found the helm.
“How do I do this?”
He lowered his head, his breath brushing her hair. “Just don’t fight it. It’ll take you where you want to go if you stop second-guessing yourself.”
Her fingers twitched. “I’m not sure I can manage something this big,” she said as the yacht rolled over a wave, spray flashing across the bow.
“It doesn’t need managing. It just needs the right touch.”
She stilled. Awareness. Inevitability.
His body was coiled to follow hers at the slightest shift. “Nervous?” he asked.
Her chin dipped, barely. “Always.”
His fingers slid over the curve of her waist, tracing the line of her before settling back in place. He felt her tremble. “But you want to anyway?”
“I think so,” she said softly, voice nearly lost to the wind.
He exhaled, long and controlled, keeping still while everything in him wanted motion.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The yacht cut through water; the wind threaded past them. Their breathing synchronized, hers shallow, his deliberate.
Then: “Am I doing it right?” She meant the boat, probably. Either way, he answered the thing pulsing in the space between them.
“Doesn’t matter if you’re doing it right. All you have to do is stop running, little Bea. I’ll take care of the rest.”
The sky turned in a breath.
One moment she was steering. The next, light changed and the air thickened, thunder cracking overhead. Clouds collapsed inward, wind sheared across the deck. The air tasted metallic.
Rafael swore under his breath and seized the wheel. The yacht jolted hard as the first sheet of rain hit, sails snapping like gunfire. He widened his stance, knees bent, jaw locked, trimming the angle.
“We’re docking.” Calm, absolute.
The sea flipped without warning. What had been a steady roll bucked into chaos. Wind slashed sideways, the deck slick underfoot, lightning carving his profile into something fierce and elemental.
Her heart slammed; she gripped the rail. “Can we make it?”
“There’s a marina on the southern island. We’ll reach it. But I need you.” He thrust a rope into her hands, voice cutting through the wind. “Take this line—see that cleat? Loop it there. Keep her straight, don’t let it slip.”
She nodded, planting her feet. The wheel fought her grip as salt stung her eyes.
“Now—loop!”
She wrapped the rope twice, pulling until it bit, her arms trembling with exertion.
He moved fast across the deck to the winch. Sails, lines, metal groaning under strain—his hands flew, movements methodical.
She lost footing, the deck tilting. He caught her mid-fall, hauled her back. “Stay with it!” he shouted over his shoulder.
Through the rain, a scatter of lights. Hope flared until the next wave smashed broadside, cold salt drenching her to the skin.
“Good girl. My turn,” Rafael said, beside her again. His hands closed over hers on the wheel before taking it. “Hold fast. Grab the side rail.”
He threw the wheel hard to port, the yacht shuddering. The impact hit a breath later, hull grinding against the fenders. He was already at the ropes, pure motion and mastery.
The boat was moored. Barely, but that was enough.
“Go!” he shouted, voice cutting through the wind. “Get inside!”
Rain streamed down her face. “What about you?”
“I’ve got the boat. Gangway’s down—stay low and get to the inn!”
She ran.
Two men were already sprinting down the dock, their jackets snapping in the wind. One caught the railing, shouting to Rafael for the line; the other outstretched an arm for Bea’s but stopped short when he saw she was steady.
The dock rattled underfoot, slick boards pitching. She caught the rail, wind screaming, the boat straining behind her, Rafael a dark blur in the spray. Relief cut through her panic when she saw hands on the ropes and knew he wasn’t alone out there.
She traversed the path by feel more than sight.
The inn loomed ahead, a square of light in a world that had gone dark.
Two more figures waited under the awning, towels already in hand.
They’d seen her struggling up the dock. One stepped forward the moment she arrived, offering the towel.
She wrapped it around herself gratefully.
She pushed through the door.
Stillness.
The sound dropped away, replaced by the rush of her own breath. She gasped, bending slightly, water running down her spine, clothes plastered to her skin.
The clerk, young, maybe a trainee, snapped into motion as soon as she entered. “Can I help you, miss?”
Bea considered the storm. It was late. The chances they’d go back tonight were zero. “Two rooms, please.”
“Sorry, we only have one available.”
Her stomach clenched. One.
Behind her, the door opened.
Rafael strode in, soaked through, a waterproof duffel slung over his shoulder, wiping his face with a towel he’d been given. His eyes cataloged her from head to toe, as if checking for damage. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “But they only have one room.”
He turned to the concierge, pulling his phone out of his zippered pocket. “We’ll take it.”
The room was simple and clean. Pale floorboards, two armchairs, a desk. A wide bed.
Rafael shut the door behind them and turned to her. The silence hit hard. Her teeth had started to chatter, a small sound against the quiet. He caught her shoulders.
“Hey.” His voice was rougher now, threaded with something she hadn’t heard from him before. “You hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head, or tried to. He didn’t seem convinced. His hands moved lower, tracing her arms, her wrists, the outline of her ribs where her blouse clung to her skin. His touch was gentle but slightly unsteady, more shaken than she’d ever seen him.
“Cold,” she managed.