Rum Sips and Salty Lips (Wendell Beach #1)

Chapter 1

one

ORION

I don’t want her on my boat. Fuck. I don’t want anyone on my boat. But especially not Carina Webb, the woman I’m not allowed to disappoint.

It doesn’t matter if my personal vessel was accidentally added to the inventory of my newly purchased boat charter company. I’m in charge on the boat and pay everyone’s salary, but even with that authority, I’m still told it would be a mistake to cancel on Carina. A major faux pas. A black spot on my name before I’ve even been in town twenty-four hours.

I stand at the end of the dock, next to the stern of my beloved sailboat, the Twisted Rigging . The Florida sun is already beating down even though it’s only midmorning. I watch a blond figure walk down its length, past the few dozen other sailboats in this small marina, assuming it to be her.

I tried negotiating my way out of this earlier. Nathan, the deckhand who had shown up ready for duty, made the situation as clear as the water surrounding this island. “Captain, she’s basically Wendell Beach royalty.”

“Orion is fine.” I’ve never been formal with my crews. “And what does that mean?” I scrambled, cleaning up the galley.

“She owns the yoga studio. And everyone loves her clothes.” Nathan gestured like it was self-evident. I blinked at him, wondering how a yoga studio was the center of a beach town, especially one with more tourists than residents. “She’s friends with the Barneses and Foleys. She did a whole sea turtle thing last year.”

With the additional context, I sent Alex a text.

Me

The booking office messed up so I’m chartering Carina Webb today. You know I hate people on my boat. Give me one good reason to not cancel on her.

Alex Barnes

She’ll be the easiest charter you’ve had. She’s likely bringing her friend Haley. Haley’s food will change your life.

And I’ll ban you from Paradise if you upset Carina.

My skin itches with the threat. It’s more than exclusion from the bar he and his family have owned for generations. The message is clear: fuck up this charter and my future in Wendell Beach is in jeopardy. Alex is close with the Foley family who own Coastline Beach House, a luxury resort at the south end of the island. And part of my strategic plan is to get an exclusive contract with them.

I’ve been independent my entire life. Sailing around the world. Never staying more than six months in one spot. Sure, I end up with my family in Boston for a few months at a time. But I’m tired of the cold and the shuffling. I want a new anchor point. A place to be year-round.

I’ve always craved the heat, so Florida was an easy choice. I could have gone anywhere in the state. But I know Alex and the influence his family has on the tourist industry. I’m not quite starting from scratch here. I have connections. I bought the sailing company and a house to remodel. If ocean kayaking was going to get me killed, I might as well be warm.

After docking late last night, I haven’t even had time to go to my house yet. The one so close to the beach I can throw a rock over my neighbor’s yard and hit the sand. I had planned to go today, but when I woke up this morning I had an email confirming the Nebula Athletics charter.

Four women. They will provide the booze and food. They want to spend the day paddleboarding and sailing on the Twisted Rigging . The boat was technically available for charter since I told the Lost Craft Charters office manager I would be arriving today after sailing her south myself, unwilling to let someone else touch her.

I tried to tell everyone she is my personal vessel and not available for charter. They apologized for the mix-up and talked in circles about why Carina was such a VIP we couldn’t put her on a different sailboat. They said they might have been able to make other arrangements if I had spoken up sooner. But during my weeks at sea, I’d only been skimming my email.

“She’s the nicest boat on the island,” Nathan said. His flattery worked, to my annoyance.

So, I’d ground my teeth, hidden the lotion and tissues and all evidence a thirty-five-year-old single guy had been alone on this boat for weeks. Then loaded up the sail locker with inflatable paddleboards.

I had a second to peek at her Instagram profile. Just long enough to get the sense none of it is candid. As she walks closer, I check her out in the most professional way I can. My eyes go to her feet first. No shoes on the boat. I can tell how my day will go based on a client’s reaction to the rule. She has on what looks like a pair of lightweight sneakers.

Practical.

It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had guests tell me their sneakers cost the same as my new car payment.

Her legs are long and tan. I really shouldn’t be noticing them, but I suddenly can’t help myself. It must be the weeks at sea, because I’ve never ogled a guest before. I reset my mind. I will be professional all day and then get out my kayak to blow off some steam when she leaves.

She’s carrying an oversized tote bag, which can’t be heavy because she’s holding it with ease. Someone else must have the alcohol and food. I prefer to get those things on board quickly, so everything is stowed long before we sail.

She’s finally close enough I can get a good look at her face. I should have looked more carefully at her Instagram. I should have prepared myself better. She’s absolutely stunning. Her sunglasses cover her eyes, and I’m hit with the need to know what their color is. She smiles and I wonder what her lips taste like. She’s tall, so she doesn’t have to tilt her head up much to look at me. She has a stray lock of hair framing her face from her otherwise neat ponytail. I fight the urge to push it behind her ear.

She extends her hand for me to shake. “Hi, I’m Carina Webb.” Her soothing voice reminds me to stay in the moment. “I know I’m early. I’m here for the Nebula Athletics charter.” I shake her hand, holding on to it longer than I should, appreciating her soft skin.

Her face is already flushed pink. It’s barely ten a.m., but the sun bakes everything early. I make a mental note to find sunscreen. And why doesn’t she have a hat? Shouldn’t that be the first thing to grab before heading outdoors in Florida? “I’m Orion Edwards, captain of the Twisted Rigging . Let me take your bag. Your shoes can go in this basket, and I’ll show you around.”

I catch the way she looks at her feet and the gap between the dock and the stern. I swear she tries to calculate how to balance so she can keep the bag, take off her shoes, and step aboard. She reluctantly hands the bag over. It’s heavier than I expected. It can’t be towels or a change of clothing. Maybe it is the liquor.

I move to the stern and turn to offer her my hand as she’s bending over to pick up her shoes. I catch the faintest hint of a baby blue bikini under her white tank top before I have the good sense to look away. When she extends her leg to step aboard in bare feet, I try not to stare at the way her pale blue shorts travel up her thigh. There is an exploding star near the hem—the logo for the clothing company everyone is apparently obsessed with. I thought I gave her enough space, but she steps right up to me, so close she almost bumps me, her breath hitching. The cutest flush crosses her cheeks as she smiles.

Right. This will be a long day. I lead her below deck. “Is there anything we need to do with this?” I ask, setting the bag on the table next to the galley. I gesture for her to sit.

“Oh, it’s wine and glasses. I didn’t know what you’d have on board. And I have reusable wine tumblers. Plus, I didn’t want to bring glass on a boat, so I put the wine into other bottles. It’s already chilled, and since everything is double-walled it’ll stay that way. Your office said it would be fine. I didn’t want to use refrigerator space the food needs.”

I’ve never heard so much overthinking in one breath. And she’s clearly looking for my approval, her eyes wide and expectant.

“That sounds great.” She’s already proving to be a thoughtful guest. Unfortunately, I’ve seen so much shit in my seventeen years of giving tours that my approval bar is low.

I scan the space one last time, making sure I didn’t miss anything while cleaning. My existence has been erased. The boat looks great. If I am forced to sail with strangers, I want to make sure she looks her absolute best. The interior of the boat is done in cream and beige, making it appear more open than the space should. The table has sofa seating against the hull side, allowing us to be comfortable as we have this conversation. It also has a small galley where I’ve been cooking my meals. I can get pretty creative after I’ve been at sea awhile. “I apologize,” I tell her, “I only found out about your charter this morning. What are you envisioning for your day?”

She looks me straight in the eyes. I’m shaken by their gray color and with the potency of her attention. They should be cold, and I can see how someone else might think that. But they feel like warmth to me and simultaneously like my sea legs have been removed. Like I’m heeling without warning. I suck in a breath and hope she doesn’t notice she’s making the hairs on my arms stand on end. I’m not sure anyone else has ever looked at me with such intent before. I feel unnerved and safe at the same time. She’s not splitting her attention between me and her phone or thinking about her grocery list. She’s not watching the radar and the wind and scanning for other boats. It makes me excited and feel like I should do everything I can to keep her attention on me. I’m not worried I don’t deserve it, or I won’t hold up to her scrutiny. Only about keeping her attention.

I would have preferred my first trip to be with a tourist. Someone enjoying the Cultural Coast for a few days and then moving on. An uncomplicated way to start.

But this woman is a pillar of the community. This is “fuck up and face consequences” territory. And I haven’t had time to prepare so I don’t know what she’s expecting. And she’s making me flustered. I can’t count the number of charters I’ve done in my life. I’m a professional who doesn’t cross lines. It’s been years since I’ve been tempted. I don’t know why it’s her, but I need to shut down my attraction.

I won’t let it ruin the plans I have for this business and this move.

“I’m bringing out my top two executives. They’ve been with me since the founding. I want to treat them to celebrate the last ten years.”

Ten years? She looks to be in her early thirties so she must have gotten started right out of college. I wish I’d had more time to google her. I’m curious. But I can wait.

I show her a map on my phone. “I can take you down to this island here. The water should be good for water sports.” Nathan filled me in on the popular spots. I’ve done research but this is an art—knowing where to go based on the conditions of the day and what’s least likely to be crowded. I’ll figure it out in time. Until then, I hate relying on someone else.

“Sounds great,” she says brightly, her excitement contagious. “I’ve never chartered a boat, so I’ll leave it up to the experts.” I expected her to be high-maintenance, but she’s not.

“Great. I need to do a few more things before we’re ready to sail. Feel free to hang out down here, or on the deck.” I stand, ready to get back to work. Less because I have work to do, and more because I need extra air when I’m around her.

She looks around the galley. While I’ve picked up everything personal, she has an exacting eye and will find the dirty sock I missed. Her gaze stops at the small bookshelf next to the radio. “ Sailing in the Mediterranean ,” she reads. “Have you been?”

“I have. A few years ago some friends and I took the Twisted Rigging across the Atlantic.” I don’t want to leave now. Not when I have the chance to share my passion with her.

She nods, not quite impressed with my sailing record. “ Circumnavigating the Globe ?” She names the next title.

“I haven’t done that. Maybe one day,” I muse. But I won’t. I don’t think so, at least. The urge I’ve felt to move from place to place as quickly as the tide is gone. I should mourn the sense of adventure I’ve lost, but I don’t. I’m ready for calm seas and the same bed every night.

If I find the right life partner to share everything with, I’d try it again. But I’ve made my choice. I’m tied here, to Wendell Beach. To the house and the company I bought.

I’ll always come back here.

Carina looks at me with her whole attention. It’s fierce and I don’t think she means it to be. She’s so still, her eyes steady and a little guileless, like she’s found something captivating drawing her in, stealing her attention. I’m suddenly comparing it to my interactions with other people. We’re always fidgeting or distracted in some way. Carina isn’t.

I’m intrigued. I want more. I want to know everything about this woman. I want to give her all my time and attention.

She opens her mouth, but Nathan’s voice on deck greeting someone cuts her off.

“That must be Haley,” Carina says. “She’s the chef.” She stands quickly and heads up to the deck.

I follow, the muscles in my jaw tensing. I didn’t want her on my boat. I can’t be lusting after a client. And I really can’t when it’s this woman.