And this wasn’t the first time she’d had to find an alternate escape—by means of jumping over the side of a boat.
She picked up her pace as she hurried in the opposite direction along the wood-paneled passageway with wide, tinted windows overlooking the marina. Her heart skipped a beat as she spotted three men walking along the outer passageway, likely going in the direction of the flybridge. One of the men looked at her and… Oh God! Wait, he couldn’t see her. Not with the tint. Still, her adrenaline surged.
Feeling bold, she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures of all three men without the flash. Actual images of her client’s husband on this boat that he was pretending he didn’t own? That was gold!
But now she had to hurry. She ducked out of sight and on silent feet she hurried through the kitchen. The voices got louder as she eased the other galley door open. It silently closed behind her, but her heart was an erratic drumbeat in her ears.
It wasn’t like there were cameras here, and the owner was hiding that he even owned this yacht—in an attempt to screw his wife over in their divorce. Sienna didn’t think he’d call the cops if he found her. If he did, he’d have to admit he owned it on the record.
Still, she did not relish getting caught. Because from everything she’d found out about this guy, he was not a nice person. He might try to hurt her as opposed to calling the authorities.
As she stepped into the open living area, she raced across it and opened the door that led to one of the outside decks. A blast of summer air hit her as she stepped outside. Just as quickly she shut the door behind her, trying to force her heartbeat to slow down.
The deck chairs were all stacked together, not set out as if they were about to be used. She glanced around the marina, saw everything was mostly quiet, though a few fishing boats were heading in.
These yachts were owned by people who rarely used their expensive toys—people who had more money than sense. Or common decency, in her experience.
She glanced around and knew she only had a minute or two max to escape without being discovered. Since she was on the bottom level, she didn’t have far to go. Sighing, she hoisted herself over the edge of the railing and dropped down into the water.
She made a splash, there was no way around it.
Kicking off the side of the boat, she swam away from the bow toward another row of smaller boats—cruising sailboats. Her arms and legs burned as she swam, her shoes weighing her down. She risked a glance over her shoulder as she reached the next occupied boat slip. No one was shouting at her at least so maybe no one had seen her.
Of course there could be any number of people watching her from one of the yacht’s interior rooms. Oh well, she couldn’t help it now.
She just needed to get onto dry land—and get out of here fast.
Heart racing as she swam around the nearest sailboat and toward a sturdy-looking ladder, she kicked harder. As she reached the top, two strong hands grabbed her under the armpits, hauling her up.
She started to struggle, going into pure fight mode until she realized who it was. “Crap,” she muttered. What the hell was he doing here?
Carson Irish, brother to her new sister-in-law. A sexy detective she’d fooled around with once. Or twice… Gah, three times! A man she couldn’t get out of her head. His gaze swept the length of her dripping wet body, then he looked up and down the dock and sighed.
Across from them a shrimper eyed them for about a second, then went back to work untangling his net. Clearly he didn’t care what they were up to, which was good for her.
“Can we get the hell out of here?” she finally said, her adrenaline still pumping. The sailboat blocked them from view of the yacht, but she needed to get out of these wet clothes, check her phone and camera, and she really, really wanted to put as much distance as possible between her and the men on the yacht.
Jaw tight, Carson simply held on to her elbow as if he thought she’d run from him and they hurried down the dock toward the parking lot.
“Why are you here anyway? Are you following me?” she muttered as they reached the gravel parking lot, her sneakers making squishing sounds with each step.
“Where are you parked?” he asked instead of actually answering as they reached his truck.
“Over there,” she said, jerking her chin and trying to hold on to some sliver of dignity even as water pooled around her feet and her clothes stuck to her in odd places. She really hated that she was wearing a white T-shirt and a bralette right about now.
“Follow me to my place,” he said—basically ordered. “You can dry off there.”
She had a change of clothes and a towel in her trunk, but she wanted to grill him more about what he was doing here. “Thanks,” she murmured before jogging off to her Jeep. As her clothing made weird sucking sounds against her body, she realized that she’d been a fool for hoping for any sort of dignity at this point.
Sienna had been to Carson’s place before—once—so she knew exactly how to get there. He lived in a low-rise, two-bedroom condo two blocks from the beach. It was nice, with more than decent security, and since she knew where his assigned parking spot was, she parked there instead of in guest parking. By the time she grabbed her duffel bag out of the back of her Jeep and made it to his front door, he’d joined her on the front step.
“You mind stripping off before you come inside?” There was a hint of challenge in his voice, and in those pale blue eyes she wanted to drown in.
If he thought she wasn’t up to it, he was very wrong. As he headed inside, she left her shoes outside on his mat and stripped off everything except her bralette, panties and the lanyard around her neck. She’d checked on her phone and camera and they had come through her adventure perfectly fine.
When he returned a few moments later, his eyes widened slightly as his gaze swept over her shivering body, but he handed her a towel and, to her surprise, glanced away as if trying not to stare.
Which was just as well. They’d tried to make something work a few months ago and it simply hadn’t happened. Okay, that was a huge lie. She’d run away when he’d tried to get serious, because that was what she always did. Men were more hassle than anything. Except…that wasn’t true with Carson.
“Think I could grab a quick shower?” she asked through chattering teeth as she tightened the towel around her.
“Yes.” He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Then you and I are going to talk.”
That sounded ominous so she chose to ignore his words. She plucked her bag up and headed to the guest bathroom instead of his. It would feel too intimate, too weird to take a shower in his.
She didn’t want to see where he kept all his personal things or know if he hung his towel up after showering. Nope, nope, nope. That was more information than she needed in her head. Especially since she knew exactly how he sounded and looked when he climaxed. She’d been doing her best to ignore that she still wanted him with a hungry desperation bordering on stupid. It was like she couldn’t just shut her brain off, couldn’t completely forget about him—about his wicked kisses and all the dirty things he’d murmured in her ear.
By the time she’d washed the ocean out of her hair and gotten dressed, she felt like a new person. She even had mascara in her duffel bag so she swiped some on for good measure. And that was going to be the only makeup she had for the rest of the day, which was just as well.