Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
She can try to hide it, but I know why it’s there.
I read her body better than my own.
Her hands are balled up, her knuckles white.
Her eyes are empty and scared.
Her breath comes too fast, no matter how much she tries to control it.
Her gaze doesn’t settle anywhere for long, bouncing between the oncoming storm out the windows, the heightened wind, and me.
But there’s so much determination in the tilt of her chin and the tightness of her brows.
I swear, if it was down to bravery alone, this girl could tame the storm with a single glance. She’s that strong.
So is my need to do something incredibly stupid.
Instinct is stronger than staying paralyzed by fear as I grab her, pull her in, and let my heart whisper.
22
A Little Dip (Destiny)
I’ve felt emotionally confused before, but nothing like this.
The terror in the air is palpable, the atmosphere so thick it’s hard to breathe. It’s like an invisible wall between us.
But the minute I hear those words, the peril we’re in might as well be a bad dream.
“Destiny, I love you.”
Four simple words I never expect.
Yet it feels like they’re the most meaningful words ever spoken.
The ship groans, rolling with the waves as they intensify.
Everything is gaining intensity, honestly.
Especially the way Shepherd looks at me as he kisses me and pulls away.
He’s waiting for me to fall apart.
Honestly, I might.
Fear and love do that, two sides of the same coin.
They sever all the threads holding you together, grounding you, until all you can feel is the impossible, the flighty, the unreal.
His kiss rinses out my mouth.
Fear tastes like blood, gross and metallic, and there’s no telling how long it would’ve sat sour on my tongue without his lips.
But as long as I’m here with Shepherd, still tasting him, I refuse to give in.
Not when he hasn’t.
There was a flash of it in his eyes when his gaze locked on mine, but he pushed it aside and took charge the way he always does.
Before I can give him any reply worthy of the shock he’s given me, he’s moving, gesturing behind him.
“Come on. We can’t leave anything heavy sliding around if this storm isn’t done with us.”
We work together in near silence, taking everything we can from the room and forming a chain of bungees he pulls from a big white storage box, passing them from one hand to the next. Where Shepherd pulls his weight, I’m right there with him.
We fasten down the furniture with oversized straps and ropes.
Juan pops in a few times, helping batten things down with brisk efficiency.
Everything is happening so fast, but it feels like this weird time bubble where the outside world doesn’t move at all.
This yacht wasn’t designed to be caught in a storm like this. That’s what nobody tells you about multimillion-dollar luxury boats.
They’re nice toys, elegant and fun to ride, but they’re meant to stay out of harm’s way when the going gets tough.
This is a pleasure boat. We’re supposed to be lounging around boneless, sipping champagne and sampling caviar.
Not running around like hens on fire, securing what we can so we don’t get crushed by a flying chair.
And even if we do it perfectly, those floor-to-ceiling windows scare me a little, imagining a hundred ways they could break and send violent water surging in.
But at least the dread speeds me along.
We do what we can while Captain Juan and Peter work the radios and navigation systems, whenever they’re not tending to George in the sick bay below deck.
I can feel my heart beating in slow motion as I crouch down next to Molly in the corner. She’s curled up in a canine heap, drained from the stress, but very much awake.
It’s pounding nails outside again like an ominous rhythm counting down the fading minutes of my life.
I wish I’d been bored enough earlier in my life to look up storm survival at sea.
The wind picks up even more, just when it doesn’t seem possible. The yacht pitches and rolls and screeches from the stress, metal and fiberglass and God only knows taking a beating.
Soon, I can hear Captain Juan yelling overhead.
“Almost there, girl. You’re being so good. Just a few more hours.” It’s all I can think to say as I kneel next to Molly, pressing my face into her fur as she stress-yawns.
Her familiar smell comforts me, even if she’s a few days overdue for a bath.
My stomach drops into my toes before it leaps up my throat again.
Molly whines, and the sound eats into me.
Stupid, stupid me. If only I’d left her with Lena for this trip...
“Shhh. You’ll be okay,” I tell her again.
I guess it’s a blessing in disguise that she can’t smell my lies.
She doesn’t need to know there’s a chance we won’t make it through this.
She’ll also never know the heartache of a man who keeps shocking me to my core with he loves me, he loves me not words and gestures.