Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Hello,” he said simply, and a wave of chills ran down my spine at the sound of his voice — thick and smooth, like maple syrup.
I swallowed, pressing my eyes closed with one last internal curse at myself before I turned to face him.
I wished I had sunglasses on. I wished I was wearing something more impressive than ripped-up jean shorts and an old University of Colorado t-shirt. I wished on every star there was that I wouldn’t have taken that damn photo.
I rolled my lips together, trying my best to smile. “Hello.”
His lips tilted up more at the greeting, and he slipped his free hand into what I imagined was a satin-lined pocket of his dress pants.
“I don’t remember hiring a photographer for this trip.”
Another wave of heat flushed my cheeks, and I tore my eyes away from him, looking down at where I still held my camera in my hands as my dark hair fell around my face like a curtain. “I… I’m sorry about that. I’m just, I didn’t mean—”
“May I see it?”
I glanced up at him through my lashes, confused.
“The picture you took,” he clarified, and his hand came out of his pocket, reaching toward me, instead. He took a step forward that had me inching back without even thinking to. “May I see it?”
“Oh,” I babbled out, shaking my head and tucking my long hair behind one ear. “It’s not… it wasn’t anything special. I was just taking a few shots of the marina and then I…”
My next words were cut short because his warm, strong hand covered mine where it held my camera. It wasn’t even a full second, his skin on mine, but it shocked me still and silent, and I released my grip on my camera like it was never really mine to begin with.
It all happened so fast, me submitting to him. I stripped the strap from around my neck, surrendering the camera and standing there by his side like he was my professor and I was turning in my final assignment of the year.
I watched his thumb slowly tick the dial, the photos I’d taken of the dock and the boats flashing on the screen. He smiled a little more with each turn, and then the screen lit up with the picture of him, and his smile faded, his hands gripping my camera a little tighter.
I held my breath as he stared at himself, and I found myself leaning closer to him subconsciously. I wondered what he was thinking, what he saw when he looked at that photograph.
I wanted his approval, I realized idly. I wanted this powerful man to tell me he loved what he saw.
Something of a laugh came from his nose, and then his smirk was back in place, and he handed me my camera as I took a heady step back from where I’d been entirely too close to him.
The man moved slowly then, tilting his head a bit before he removed his sunglasses, revealing steel gray eyes that matched his suit. They were rimmed in navy, flecked with turquoise, an ocean of color that was utterly bewitching. Those eyes watched me for a long moment, a weighted pause that even the birds seemed to quiet for.
“What’s your name?” he asked in lieu of commenting on the photograph.
But before I could answer, Joel jogged up beside us, half out of breath, his slight panting breaking the trance.
“Mr. Whitman,” Joel said, taking off his ball cap before he extended his right hand for the man in the gray suit. “Wow. It is such an honor to finally meet you in person, sir. I’m Joel Woods, your lead deck hand. Thank you for having me onboard,” he continued as they shook hands, and I could tell he was nervous, because his voice was a little more high pitched than usual, and his words came out a little too quickly. “I’m a hard worker, sir, I assure you. And your boat is in good hands.”
The man’s smile had all but disappeared, but there was a glint of it now as he dropped Joel’s hand and put his sunglasses back on. “I have no doubt.”
The two men couldn’t have been more opposite. Where Joel was just a few inches taller than me and stocky, with dark hair and charcoal eyes and a flashy, wide smile, the man in the suit towered over him, long and lean, with light hair and eyes I knew I’d never forget as long as I lived. They were both devastatingly handsome, but in such opposing ways that it seemed ludicrous to compare them at all.
“Here, babe,” Joel said, handing me a bottle of anti-nausea pills. He tossed his arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple. “A couple of these should help your stomach.”
I shook my head, tearing my eyes away from the man’s stare as I took the bottle and murmured something of a thank you to Joel. I wanted to get away from Mr. Whitman. I wanted to spend my last few moments with Joel alone and in peace.