* * *
There are over 4,000 islands off the coast of Maine, but Wychwood is the closest to Sugar Creek. I’m not sure what Sutton plans to research on the little hunk of rock, but then, I’m just here to drive the boat. As we get close, I slow down. Sutton gets to her feet looking like she might lose it again.
“What are we looking for?”
She pulls out a laminated photocopy and shows me an aged sketch of the island with slanted script around the edges.
She points to a large crescent-shaped cove. “There would have been a dock here and some fishing shacks up above.”
I study the island, pulling the boat around until I spot the cove. “This feels like one step away from reliving my Goonies phase.”
Sutton sighs. “Honestly, I’ll be thrilled to find anything left at all. It wasn’t even a permanent settlement, just a spot for local fishermen to take a break.”
“So… a glorified man cave?”
Sutton’s full lips pull to one side like she’s trying to suppress a grin. “If you have to be reductive… I guess.”
We motor into the cove and sure enough, the moldering remains of an old dock are sticking out of the water. I steer clear of it, dropping the first anchor off the bow as we crawl along. Once we get close enough, I kill the engine and lift the motor. I head for the stern, whipping my shirt off over my head and unbuttoning my jeans as I go.
“Excuse me? What are you doing?” Sutton looks horrified. I wink at her as I drop my pants, revealing my swimming trunks underneath, reveling in the brief glint of intrigue that flashes across her face. But then she purses her lips, annoyed at me all over again. I jump off the back, grab the second anchor line, and start pulling the mammoth of a boat toward shore.
“Can’t you just do that thing where you run the boat up on the sand?” Sutton shouts over my splashing.
“Only if you want it to wash away at high tide or risk capsizing,” I call back. “You’re not afraid of getting wet, are you?”
Her face goes beet red.
Huh, Little Sutton has a dirty mind. I file that away for later, pulling the boat as shallow as I dare before dropping the anchor. I turn my attention back to the boat to help offload Sutton’s bag, but the sight of her has me grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
Her eyes are wide, pretty pink lips parted and expression unfocused as she stares at my abs.
Staring might not be quite right. Gawking? That fits. Scooping up a handful of water, I pour it over my chest, letting it trail down my muscles. Her cheeks flush, and she blinks slowly. I’d laugh out loud if her response didn’t turn me on so much.
“See something you like, Sunshine?” I call up to her, settling my hands on my hips. Sutton’s eyes meet mine, wide with guilt. Busted. She whips back around and starts adjusting buckles on her backpack. I climb back up the ladder and grab a towel, standing next to her and dripping water all over the deck as I dry myself off.
“You can look all you want,” I tease her. She blushes but continues pretending I don’t exist, so I lean down, angling my face in front of hers. She peers up at me through her lashes. “I’m still single in case you were wondering.”
Sutton squeezes her eyes shut. A soft, strangled scream vibrates in her throat before she looks back up at me, exasperated. She balls her hands into fists and then extends her fingers like she can’t decide whether to punch me or push me away. “Do you ever get tired of being so… so—”
“Charming?”
“Insufferable.”
I grin down at her and flex my pecs. “Never. It’s a gift, really.”
3
Sutton
Iwonder how often Dean gets slapped. I feel like it has to be a disproportionately high number compared to the average man. Every word out of his mouth seems to be calculated to either ruin my panties or send me into a blind rage. And I’m ping-ponging so fast between the two extremes that I can’t get my head straight.
Dean climbs down into a little cabin at the front of the ship, pulling out a backpack. He stuffs his clothes and shoes inside, slinging it over his shoulder. He hops down into the water and gestures for me.
“Let’s go, Sutton.”
I eye the water at the back of the boat. It’s only mid-thigh for Dean, but that’s at least waist deep for me and I’m worried about getting my camera wet. I don’t fully trust the waterproof bag it’s stashed in.
He rolls his eyes at my hesitancy and offers me a hand. I take it reluctantly, lowering myself toward the water, but at the last second, Dean pulls me off the little deck, tossing me over his shoulder.