Chapter 5 | Kate
FIVE | KATE
It takes me a second to pick up my jaw off the dock while that bewildering comment somehow boils my blood. Irritated, I peer over my shoulder, thankful I’m sitting.
One look at this man, and he possesses the raw power to drop me to my knees. From a single look.
Excuse me while I wipe the drool off my chin.
His light brown hair is swept lightly away from his face.
His cropped beard on his cut jawline is the same light walnut color, contrasting with his soft, tanned skin, which makes him appear to be in his late twenties, perhaps thirties.
As I take in the sight of him, there are faint lines carved into his face that convey the kind of exhaustion I feel.
The attractive stranger’s dark aviator sunglasses keep me from seeing his eyes.
His massive frame is clad in an impeccable navy-blue suit.
Paired with a white button-down and tie, he seamlessly blends with the blue sky and water.
A gold watch adorns his wrist, where the tattoos glide under and onto his fingers.
I realize I’m taking him in a little too long. When my eyes flit back up to his, hidden behind those glasses, his slanted head makes me think he’s taking me in, too. Yet I’m not sure what is going on in his head, considering his scold is blinding. He’s pissed.
My nose wrinkles. It's hot out here. Why is he in a damn suit?
Also, now that I’m thinking about it, why are so many of the men in Lachlan Harbor decked out in ink? Is that a requirement to live here? Even security at the park is branded from head to toe in tattoos that stretch over nearly every muscle. Not that I’m complaining.
They are always nice to look at.
He's been sucking the oxygen out of my lungs, so my voice comes a little airier than I expect. “Did you just compare me to a rat?”
His gaze washes over my body, leaving a searing heat in his wake that I try to ignore. The authority this man is commanding is enough to squash me right here, like an ant beneath his leather brown dress shoes.
I thought his tone was already hard, but when his mouth parts, it drops another octave. “You’re trespassing. Did you miss that big fucking sign that says restricted on your way in?”
His voice glides over my skin like smooth honey. Holy hell. At first, I was so frazzled I didn’t hear the Irish accent slipping through. My core isn’t the only part of my body responding to his presence—he has the kind of deep tenor that makes anything he says sound filthy.
My brows furrow. “And what makes you think I’m trespassing?” I counter.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “You want to try that again? I highly suggest you answer my question. I’m not a very trusting man.”
Good grief. What an ass.
My eyes land on one of the boats, navy and white, with thick poles that stretch into the sky.
Large, cage-like boxes are stacked on top of each other on the deck.
The name “Carpus Diem” is written in cursive on the side in large white letters.
I assume it's wordplay, since it should be ‘’Carpe Diem.” Creative, though I’m not sure what Carpus means.
I point at the vessel. “That’s my boat.”
A single dark brow raises, his thick arms folding over his chest. “That’s your boat?”
“Yep,” he hums, the sound low and disapproving in his throat at my answer.
“What, a woman can’t own a fishing boat?
” His eyes might be hidden behind his aviators, but I can feel them fixed on me.
I wave a dismissive hand. “It was a long morning out on the water, so if you don’t mind leaving me alone to decompress, that would be great. ”
His head tilts, the sunlight hitting his tanned skin so perfectly that it reveals the thick cords in his neck. The kind of tendons that my tongue would love to trace.
“And what were you out there catching, on the water?” His cynical tone grates against my nerves.
“Fish,” I deadpan, like it's obvious.
He’s dressed in a blue suit that appears tailor-made to hug his huge, strapping frame. I’m hoping that means he’s as clueless as I am about fishing.
He drags a hand over the cropped beard peppering his jaw. “Interesting, because last I checked, that’s my boat.”
My heart stutters. My discomfort with this situation slithers up my throat, lingering there. A reminder that lies always have a way of catching up with you. Some sooner than later.
Shit.
I was banking on him owning one of the other two. It was a one in three chance, so I guess the odds weren’t in my favor. At least I tried. But also, this is a smaller town, and all the fishermen are bound to know each other.
“Well then,” I blow out a breath, snapping my journal closed and placing it in my bag beside the chair. I zip it up, stand, and grab my coffee cup.
His unrelenting scrutiny feels hooked to every part of my body.
Despite my long floral skirt with a slit that shows my long legs and white tank top that feels like it enhances my smaller breasts and curves, he has the kind of eyes that feel like they are stripping me bare, with the way his head tilts downward to sweep his gaze from my head to my toes.
I’d say the heat pouring over me is from the sun, but that would be a lie.
I may not be able to see his eyes, but he’s handsome in ways that blur everything around him like he was meant to be a focal point.
I fill the awkward silence, somehow adding to its discomfort. “That’s funny, mine looks identical. Same name and everything.”
His mouth almost lifts, but it disappears just as quickly. It’s hard to tell against his cynical expression. “How ironic.”
“I should go find my boat.” I step to move past him, jumping in shock when his large hand gently grasps my forearm to hold me still.
He lowers his head, and for some reason, I wish I could see his eyes instead of my disheveled appearance staring back at me. I’m so flushed that it's noticeable in the reflection, which means he undoubtedly knows my lies are painting my cheeks—a physical red flag.
“Curiosity can be a double-edged sword, darling. You should be careful and consider the consequences the next time you find yourself drawn somewhere you aren’t supposed to be.”
I swallow, my eyes flitting between his, wondering if they’re blue like the water surrounding us or if they're green, like the stage where new growth on a plant matures into the dark green color that is warm and inviting, unlike his presence.
But I’ll never find out.
He releases my arm, nodding toward the fence. “How did you get in here anyway?” I withhold my answer and quickly get the sense my silence vexes him when he grumbles, “And it's a lobster boat.”
I stroll toward the gate, walking backward as he watches me create the much-needed distance between us.
My hand touches my temple, giving him a salute. It will probably piss him off more since he’s already in a dickish mood. “Have a good day, Captain.”
Without another word, I turn around and exit out the gate the usual way since the other side is the only one with the keyless combination. I’m not sure why I like the idea of his head swimming with all the ways I could’ve possibly gotten in here. It’s not that hard.
The weight of his attention hangs over me like a thick fog. He’s so attentive and observant that it's nearly suffocating.
The fence clicks shut behind me, and I force myself to slow my steps the rest of the way toward the parking lot to appear like I’m unfrazzled instead of running away like I want to. I don’t know what it is about that man, but I feel like I should.