Page 31 of Risky Desires

Stretching my back side to side, I moved to Rhino’s slow roll. Maybe that was why I’d slept so well.

Beyond my porthole, the blackness of night that had filled the circle when I went to bed had morphed into a faint pale orange hue.

A bang resonated from somewhere up top. Jumping up, I grabbed my gun and yanked open the door. The hall was dark and silent. I ducked back into my room to get my phone, and with my flashlight on, I ran along the passage to the ladder. Through the square hole, stars still dotted the night sky.

I tucked my gun into the back of my shorts and my phone into my pocket. The rusted ladder rungs scraped the soles of my bare feet as I climbed. At the top, the silence was incredible, like we floated in another world.

I climbed the final rungs, and keeping low, I stepped onto the deck. At the hut, Old Smithy was asleep on the sofa, flat on his back with his mouth wide open.

Another bang cut through the silence and ducking down, I pulled my gun from my shorts.

Old Smithy smacked his lips together and rolled away.

Holding my gun against my thigh, I crouched low and headed toward the front of the boat. A bang sounded ahead of me. I jumped toward the giant crane and pressed my bare back against the cold metal.

The boat rolled side to side. The silence screamed in my ears.

My gut told me there was nothing wrong, but my memory reminded me that I’d made that mistake before.

I stepped out from the crane, and crouching over, I dashed to another piece of rusty equipment that was about the size of my ten-year-old car. Pausing there, I peered around the corner. My breath hitched. A light was set up and Indiana was center stage. She wore the same outfit as yesterday, denim shorts, a black bikini top, and ankle-high boots. She had one boot braced on a massive metal pipe, the other on the ground. Using a wrench that seemed way too big for her hands, she was trying to move a bolt as big as her palm.

Hot damn, she’s fit. The muscles in her stomach were toned to perfection. Her arms were strong, and the definition in her legs was sexy as hell.

The urge to race forward to help was strong, but after her warning yesterday, I waited until she paused so I could announce my approach. She lowered her leg, raised the wrench, and bashed the massive bolt.

Mystery about the banging noise solved.

“Goddammit,” she muttered, adjusting her stance to the sway of the boat.

After shoving the gun into the back of my shorts, I whistled.

She spun toward me.

“Problem?” I called across the distance.

“Always.”

As I walked toward her, she shifted her stance, giving me a full-frontal view of her stunning physique. The previous woman I’d been with was milk and honey, and physically underwhelming. Indiana was 80% cocoa chocolate, bold and strong—and delicious.

“What’s the problem?” The bolt she’d been trying to move was rimmed with rust. There was a high probability that nothing would make that thing move.

She tapped the bolt with the giant wrench. “Damn equipment is older than Smithy’s sea stories.” She huffed. “You’re up early. Did you wet the bed?”

“Yeah. Funny.”

“What’re you doing up so early?” She made a show of running her gaze up my bare chest, and I couldn’t decide if she was trying to make me feel uncomfortable or if she liked what she saw.

I shrugged. “We went to bed early.”

Off the side of the boat, a shadow glided through the water, large and menacing.

“Shark.” I pointed at the foot-high fin.

“Yeah. Nosy bugger has been doing that for a while,” she said without looking. “Must think we’re chumming.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Sharks?” A smirk played on her lips as she finally met my gaze. “Only the two-legged kind.”