“Mac—”
“No, goddamn, I fucked up,” he said miserably against the back of her head, holding her, his arms shaking; whether from his recent orgasm or something else, she didn’t know.
Cassidy scanned the pristine lake, the water sparkling in the morning light, the sailboat in the distance, the jet skis zipping by. The need that had driven him, that moments ago had her thrilled for being needed by him so badly, was extinguished. She moved to protest against his hold. “I’m feeling exposed.”
“Shit,” he cursed. Taking off his shirt, he wiped her off, cleaning himself from between her legs before allowing her to stand and helping her to pull up her shorts. Fastening his own pants, he left the chair and disappeared below.
Cassidy didn’t even bother to turn and look at Fred. The poor dog was beyond traumatized.
When Mac returned, his shirt was wet; she assumed he’d rinsed it in the tiny sink. He tossed it on a side railing before sheepishly looking at her, his hands on his hips. Cassidy attempted again, her tone beseeching, “Mac—”
“I lost control. I am so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him.
He looked at her like she was crazy.
“Isn’t it? You said you were clean,” she pressed, wondering if she should panic, remembering all the times he’d walked out with another woman. Had something changed?
He shifted, staring at her curiously as he answered, “I’m clean. You’re the only woman I’ve been bare with in years.” Letting out an exasperated breath, he added, “Only one I’ve let this happen with…fuck.”
Was he upset over his lack of responsibility or the fear of what could come of it? Regardless, she had to let him off the hook. “It’s okay. I’ve… I’m protected.”
At first, he looked confused, then a touch relieved, and finally suspicious. “What do you mean?” But the question was better interpreted as, “Who are you seeing?” based on his tone.
She answered carefully, “Birth control is my responsibility, too.”
Mac’s stare had so many more questions behind it, but he eventually ran a hand over his face. “Still sorry.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. Nothing to be done about it now, and there was no emergency, as shocking as it had been. He was always so careful, in control. She hadn’t been a beacon of responsibility, either.
She escaped his assessment by going below to see to herself. His focus was as unwavering and questioning, however, when she returned topside. The minutes away hadn’t lessened his intense contemplation.
Looking at the instrument panel, she diverted his attention, and to be honest, hers, to move away from the intensity of the moment that didn’t deserve the level of attention they were giving it. “It’s a clean ride. Smooth, no tremors. Sliced through the water like a hot knife through butter.”
Mac glanced at her warily.
“What did the engine look like?”
He stared for a few more minutes. But when she didn’t panic under his scrutiny, he relaxed and followed her lead. His eyes moved over to the panel. “Clean. Two 350s.”
“Nice,” she responded with a small smile, eyes beseeching that they let the moment pass. Besides, did they want to dissect how their desire had obliterated their common sense? No. Boats were safer.
“Well, let’s try to find something wrong, shall we? Stern to bow.”
For the next hour, she inspected every part of the boat, including the exterior. In the cabin, she discovered unused storage space beneath the mattress; she went into the tiny bathroom.
Mac leaned back against the table, arms crossed over his bare chest,frowning in at her as she primed the nautical toilet. “How the fuck’s anyone supposed to fit in there?”
She chuckled. “Trust me; we girls figure it out.” She raised an eyebrow as she looked his way. “Dudes pee off the back. I mean, let’s be real.”
Mac grinned.
Using her foot, she flushed it, satisfied with the result. Moving outside the space, she shut the door. “Bring some water up for Fred?”
Mac glanced at the world’s tiniest kitchenette.
Cassidy returned topside, petting Fred before she jumped up and walked to the long forward bow where a tiny seating pit was located. Because of the accommodations below them, the pit wasn’t deep; more of a suggestion, and enough to keep someone from going over.