Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Hmmm?” Jackson questioned as he came up behind me, his head over my shoulder.
“I said it’s beautiful.” My mind drew a blank as I struggled to think about anything besides how close he was. How there were merely inches—if that—between us, torturous yet necessary. Those inches were all that kept the flutters in my stomach from turning into something far more potent and dangerous.
“Yeah. It sure is.”
I tilted my head slightly, and his lips brushed my ear. Air rushed into my lungs as that tiny, accidental caress sent shimmers of unexpected pleasure down my spine.
“Do you see that?” He reached across my shoulder with a pointed finger.
“The waves?” I looked out to the ocean, following the path he’d given me.
“This is where the cold Labrador current meets the warm Gulf Stream. It makes the shoals shift in unpredictable ways that can cause ships to wreck.” His voice was soft in my ear, his lips close but not touching me.
“How many do you think have been wrecked over the years?” The waves seemed almost harmless in the distance.
“The experts around here estimate about two thousand.”
“The Graveyard of the Atlantic,” I remembered, watching the waves. So beautiful, yet so dangerous. “You think there are still shipwrecks happening out there?”
“Right now? I hope not. But yeah, they happen around here more than we’d like, that’s for sure.” He dropped his arm and moved so he stood beside me, both of our hands on the railing. His clenched the metal as he took what looked to be a steadying breath.
“It seems almost foolish, doesn’t it? To know how dangerous the water is and still choose to sail it? That seems like the definition of insanity to me. Once something shows you how deadly it can be, I choose to believe it and steer clear.” The wind swept over the backs of my thighs, and I immediately missed the heat of him while simultaneously cursing my decision to wear a dress.
Pain flickered across his features, and my stomach lurched. I’d touched a nerve somehow.
He caught me watching him and forced a sad smile. “Sorry, my mind drifted. My parents died in a boating accident when I was seventeen.”
“Oh God. Jackson, I’m so sorry.” My stomach halted its lurch and just plain plummeted as my hand covered his. “I didn’t mean…” I didn’t even have words to cover my utter insensitivity. Seventeen. He’d been so young.
“Don’t be. You didn’t know.” He looked back over the water as his fingers splayed on the railing. Mine fell into the gaps, and he tightened slightly, leaving our fingers laced. “Dad knew the waters really damn well, but the weather came in faster than forecasted and…” He exhaled slowly. “I lost them both off the coast of Maine. The thing about the ocean is she can lull you into thinking you’re her equal. You understand her tides, her waves, her currents, and you begin to feel like you’re partners, as though the love you feel for her is somehow returned.”
“Love, huh?” I questioned softly, wondering if that’s what had driven him to study oceanography. Where I had avoided everything that reminded me of my loss, he’d embraced and examined the very thing that killed his parents. Had that exorcised the demons of his grief? Or was I the only one who had those?
“Love,” he confirmed. “Being out there on the water is as life-affirming to some people as sex is to others. The ocean is in their soul. And you’re right, maybe it’s a little bit of insanity that brings people out on those waters in particular.” He nodded toward the divergence of the two currents in front of us. “But from what I’ve seen, the only emotions that overpower our own sense of self-preservation are obsession and love, and the ocean is both for a lot of people. They fuck up when they forget that she’s too deep, too stubborn, and too powerful to love you back. There’s never a partnership because she’s always in control.”
“I’m so sorry you lost them.” It was all I could think to say. It was the only thing I’d ever wanted to hear, so maybe it was the same for him.
His fingers tightened around mine in a reassuring squeeze. “Thanks. They would have really liked you, and they would have been utterly wrapped around Finley’s finger.”
I made a mental note to call Mama tomorrow and absorbed his words quietly as a comfortable silence fell over us. The ocean looked exactly as he described. Inky black under the night sky, breathtakingly beautiful, and wickedly powerful. His thumb moved, stroking the edge of my pinky in an absentminded pattern. It was soothing—comforting, even—and I had no desire to pull away or put distance between us.
Holy shit, I liked the way he touched me. I liked way more than that about him, if I was being honest with myself. Sure, I liked the way he looked, but there wasn’t much to not like. His profile was strong, his chin carved and nose straight—with a slight bump that made me wonder if he’d broken it once—and his lips somehow managed to look hard and deliciously soft at the same time. I’d seen enough of his body to know what was under that shirt, and the simple memory of him jogging toward me on the beach sent a flash of heat through my veins strong enough to kick up my pulse. He turned his head, looking down the beach, and I mentally sent up a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t caught me staring at him or turned those eyes on me.