Behind her, she heard Mac talking to Fred and felt the boat pitch slightly as he moved around. It dipped and swayed as it should in the water. Overhead, the sun was blazing forth in full glory, and she squinted up at it. Stretching upward to look over the console at the empty aft deck, she called out, “Mac, would you please bring me my sunglasses?”
“I got you,” came the response from the interior.
She smiled, again berating herself that little things made her feel special. Everyone told her the same thing about Mac.Mactold her about him. He also told her when he was with her, he was withher. Making women feel special was what he did; it didn’t mean anything beyond this moment.
Mac clamored up and over to the forward deck. “That’s awkward.”
“It’s a boat,” she said, then he came into view. “Oh!” He was carrying two beer bottles, sunscreen, a plate of food, and both pairs of sunglasses tucked in his collar. She reached up and assisted with the plate as he stepped down. “Devin had food?”
“Devin had cheese, crackers, and summer sausage.” He held up the beer. “And Boulevard Wheat. Not a bad guy, Devin.” He handed her a beer, then danced the sunscreen in front of her. “Wanna rub it on me?” He wagged his brows.
Hell yes, but she said, “I’d better let you take care of that.” She sipped the beer, their eyes clashing merrily.
Mac raised a defeated brow and sat next to her. Handing over her sunglasses before slipping on his own, he asked, “So, what’s your opinion on this thing?” He popped open the sunscreen.
Cassidy moved her attention from his perfect profile to the white fiberglass in front of her. “You might not know a lot about boats, but you couldn’t have knocked it more out of the park the first time.”
He flashed a smile as he squeezed out the white paste. “But?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think he’s owned it long; ask him. In my opinion, that means he’s asking too much for it, way over what he paid, but he hasn’t put much into it, so he gets to take a loss, not make a profit. And it’s too clean. Either he didn’t know what to do with it, or he got in over his head. Regardless, it’s not your problem, and you shouldn’t have to pay for it.”
A corner of Mac’s lips lifted. “Damn, Mrs. Teague.”
“I’m not a mechanic, so I can’t tell you much about the engine. It was clean; that could mean he cleaned it to show it and it’s a leaky mess most of the time. Or it could be clean because it’s just unused.”
“I know engines; it’s solid.”
“There you go.” She shrugged it off. “The propellers, I can’t tell. You can assume they’re good. I could get in the water and—”
“Not going near them.”
“Not while they’re on,” she assured him.
“Don’t give a fuck; you’re not going near them.” He shot her a look over the top of his glasses.
His protectiveness touched her, but she said gently, “You watch too many horror shows.”
“Not gonna watch another live one; seen too many of those, too,” he parried. Then he turned to her. “Hold out your arms.”
Cassidy blinked at him, but she did as instructed. “I thought you were using that on you.” She looked away from her reflection in his glasses, dropping her gaze to his lips instead, which twitched in a smile.
“I’m not that level of asshole; you first.” He vigorously rubbed the sunscreen into her arms, then grinned as he did the same for her neck and chest, both of them aware of her physical response to his touch, the points of nipples pressing outward against the cotton. She stopped him as he moved to her legs, unable to bear it, the sweet torture of the glide of his hands over her, taking over the application herself as he chuckled knowingly.
He started on himself, arms first, looking out over the water as she relaxed back with her beer.
Cassidy watched his hands move over his muscled stomach, his pecs, his darker skin tone glistening in the sun beneath the lotion. She bit her bottom lip, regretting saying she didn’t want to assist him with the application because shesowanted to now; she wanted to crawl into his lap, run her hands over him, press herself against him—
He shifted, looking back at her. “Will it fit?”
Cassidy startled out of her daydream, thankful for her sunglasses as she dragged her eyes from his bare chest to her dual reflection; the annoyance of his glasses cooled her libido. Well, marginally. “What?”
A ghost of a smile let her know he was aware of her distraction, but he answered, “The boat. Will it fit your dock? It’s bigger thanThe Caseli.”
“Longer,” she corrected, gaining a momentary smirk out of him as though they were talking about something else. “Yes, but I am glad you recognize that it’smydock. Another negotiation ahead of you, Mr. Boyer.”
His smile faded in mock exasperation. “Fuck’s sake.”
Laughing, she asked, “You’ve already given up? At least play the game; that’s half the fun.”