Meanwhile, onboard the yacht …
Marie
Ugh! Another sleepless night.
I sigh, giving up the effort to drift into dreamland, staring up at the cabin ceiling as the nagging weight of depression that refuses to go away settles on my chest and pools in my eyes.
Losing my best friends in a car accident has jarred me to my core, and two months later, I'm still dealing daily with the emotional fallout.
I had hoped that going ahead with our plans to sail around the Virgin Islands, carrying on for Brenda and Karen, living my best life to honor their memory, would help clear away this nagging depression. But, so far, the peaceful silence has only amplified my loss.
I sit on the bed and grab a ponytail tie. Twisting my long hair up into a loose who-cares-if-half-is-sprouting-out-in-all-directions bun, I take a deep breath, then stretch, owning my insomnia. Then I slip into my bikini and head out of the cabin for some fresh air and moonlight.
Walking out onto the deck, I stop and inhale a deep, cleansing breath of the salty air. Then stroll to the handrail and peer down at the black water. The small waves, too insignificant to rock the yacht, softly slap against the side.
The sight lulls my tired mind into a peaceful trance-like state. But the clouds covering the moonlight slide away. Lifting my face to look out over the vast body of water, I enjoy the moonlight dancing on the surface of the water as the tears of loss slip down my cheeks.
I should have realized it was too soon to be alone and flown to San Diego to hang out with my stepbrother instead. Cash wouldn't have minded. He is always down for spending time with me, and he gives the best hugs.
I sigh and wipe away the tears. His "Be brave, beautiful" always makes me feel like I can handle anything.
I'll call him when we go ashore again. Hopefully, hearing his voice will help clear out this clusterfuck of emotion doing a number on my psyche.
I stare up at the sky. Without the interference of ground lights, the billions of twinkling stars are beautiful.
2
Gabriel
Peering over the edge of the deck, I survey the scene.
Dammit. What is she doing on deck?
I glance at my G-shock watch. It’s been fourteen minutes. The crew will crank the outboard in six minutes. I have one minute to decide how to handle this.
She’s resting on the rail with her face lifted to the sky. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head. Her curvy body silhouetted against the moonlight. This girl will bring top dollar to the pirates.
Be gentle. Try not to bruise her.
I pull myself on board slowly to avoid detection, watching her, being careful to maintain the element of surprise.
She lifts her hand to her face and wipes away tears. Dammit, she’s emotional. Better make this quick. I jump over the rail. Landing in a crouch like a cat on the deck with only a slight thud to announce my arrival, but she stiffens, startled.
As she spins around to face me, I hurl myself toward her, coming in hot. Her eyes flare as her mouth falls open, and she fills her lungs to scream.
What the fucking hell? Marie Daniels? The drop-dead gorgeous little sister of Cash Cohen, my BUD/S training officer? Cash threatened every last one of us to keep our distance from her. She was off-limits. Not only because she was his little sister, but because she was underage, “Jailbait.” Then he lectured on the dangers of Frog hogs, SEAL whores.
What the fucking hell is Marie doing on a yacht in the Virgin Islands? And what the fucking hell am I going to do?
As I advance, I unsheathe my knife, flipping it over, blade down, so it lays harmlessly against her throat.
The first order of business is to keep her from screaming. After that, it depends on whether or not she recognizes me.
Marie
Holy Hell! Where did you come from?
My mind screams while my throat chokes on the words.
Watching the majestic mass of man rush across the deck to me, I brace against the railing. Scared shitless, my mind absorbs every detail of the approaching threat. He’s very tall with swole, ripped, shredded muscles. His face is handsome, classic Greek-God, big dark brows, straight nose, full lips, black hair. He’s absolutely gorgeous! A perfect physical specimen of man.
Knife!
I raise my hands to shield myself, but it is useless. They land without any effect, except to absorb the initial jolt of electricity from his body. Then his speedo presses into my hips, pinning me in place, and he clamps one hand over my mouth while the other holds the cold steel of the knife blade against my jugular.
As every fiber of my threatened body amps up to supercharged sensitivity from the spike of adrenaline, waves of confusing feelings wash over me.
Am I about to join Brenda and Karen? The thought scares the hell out of me. I close my eyes, holding my breath, afraid the wild pounding of my heart will cause my neck to be sliced.
My hands and hips tingle from his touch like an electric current, churning up my insides, stirring my…. Dear God, he smells heavenly, a sensual scent of sea and musk. Overwhelmed, I turn my face away. His hot breath blows across my vulnerable neck caressingly as he studies my face.
Trapped, I wait for him to do something, to say something, but he simply holds his position, causing wave after wave of … what the fuck is wrong with me ... desire to crash through my fear.
His masculinity is undeniable. Testosterone reeks from his pores. Is he going to rape me? The thought makes me weak.
Finally, a low, deep rumble from his chest commands, “Look at me.”
I obey, lifting my eyes to his, and … holy hell …. I stare into the most amazing, amber-colored eyes, boring into mine, piercing my heart and seizing my soul.
My knees buckle….
“Christ,” he swears as I swoon.
…
I open my eyes to see the beautiful barbarian’s face hovering inches over mine. A few wet tresses dangle free. His strong jaw is covered in a thick, rough scruff. He hasn’t shaved in days.
He whispers, “You’re okay,” and I look at his mouth. His rough dark scruff surrounds full, luscious lips, and my mouth waters when they whisper, “Don’t make a sound.”
I look into his amazing amber eyes, outlined with thick, long, black lashes framed by a hawkish gaze, searching mine. There is no malice in them. There is only deep concern.
I’m wrapped in his strong arms lying on the deck under a billion stars, and I wonder if I’m dreaming.
He whispers, “I’m going to pick you up and carry you inside.”
I nod, and he stands, holding my hand. Watching his magnificent body uncoil as he lifts me to my feet is a sight I will never forget. He bends down, puts me over his shoulder, and runs with me to the stairs, then into the helm.
He drops me in the captain’s chair and whispers his command with a deadly tone, “Don’t break silence and don’t fucking move.” His voice is harsh, cutting, cold, and I stare stunned as he violently stabs the console with his knife. Disabling the radios and crippling the yacht's ability to communicate that it’s under attack. The force of each thrust sends uncontrollable shivers through me.
He glances out over the deck, and I follow his gaze. There are two male silhouettes leaning over the railing.
Holy Fuck! He isn’t alone! I have to get away!
I jump out of the chair, terrorized, and turn to flee. Of course, he isn’t alone!