Looking over at the dock, she expected to see Fred sitting there, gazing back at her as though she was crazy, immersing herself in water. But he wasn’t there; he would never be there again, looking out for her.
She still saw him around the house. She still talked to him and had caught herself filling his bowl in the morning. Seeing movement in the corner of her eye, she’d glance over, expecting to see him before realizing it couldn’t be him, and she’d burst into tears.
She dropped her legs into the water on that morose note—time to go in.
Her attention fell on the Viper as she climbed the stairs to the dock. She slowly walked down the wooden planks, reaching her hands up to push the water back from her short hair as her gaze roamed over the sleek vessel. His boat; that he got to have his boat irritated her irrationally. That it wasthisboat taunted her, pissed her off. Silas teaching him how to drive it instead of it wasting away here, useless, impotent, infuriated her further.
At the bow, she stood glaring at it, all of her resentment and hurt and petty jealousy building. Taking a step back, she shifted her weight so she could lift a leg and kick it, green lights highlighting her actions before they fizzled out and floated down. The action jarred her foot more than it hurt the boat, but it made her feel better to express some of her rage.
“Stupid boat,” she muttered, childishly blaming the object for all she wanted to lay at its owner’s feet.
She cast a withering glare toward the cabin.
And froze, her eyes going wide.
Mac leaned against the post on his porch, his silhouette outlined by the light behind him, arms folded over his chest.
He was staring right at her, she didn’t need to be told. She could feel the heat of his eyes. Dropping her hands from her head, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, the contents of which she was pretty close to heaving up based on the dip and sway of her head, the roar of blood in her ears.
Sucking in air, she stared back.
This was the first time she’d seen him since that horrible night.
And she wasn’t seeing him; it was more likeexperiencinghim. Her whole body became aware of him, and she wondered how she hadn’t felt him there until she’d looked because the explosions in the sky were nothing compared to what seeing him did to her. He may as well have been standing right in front of her. He exuded so much energy, she could feel him wrapping around her. She had goosebumps. She recalled the feeling of his powerful body moving against hers, the ripple of muscle.
She was possessed by the sight of him.
She stood there longer than she should have, frozen, a deer in the headlights. She knew she should have moved first becausehemoved first, straightening off the post. She was his destination. He wasn’t stretching; he wasn’t tired of his casual lean. He was a hunter who’d sighted his prey and, after stunning it stupid, was going in for the kill.
Her panicked eyes finally tore from his shadow to her house. Could she make it?
Glancing back at her pursuer, she noted he’d stopped—or hadn’t even started—at the top of his stairs. But she wasn’t going to stick around and try to figure out which one or why. She raced up the hill toward her house.
Chapter fifty-seven
Mac
GUTTED
Macpulledthebowline into the boat. He was taking the boat out on his own today, to the Trading Post. Silas was on the other side, waiting for him. Before, when they had taken the boat out, Silas had helped Mac navigate the tricky inlet, which made Mac admire Cassidy even more for navigating it at night. This would be Mac’s first solo, in-broad-daylight venture. He was optimistic but expected a few war wounds to be added to theDreamer.
Situating himself behind the navigation panel, he glanced up the hill, as was his habit, and stopped moving, feeling a familiar hitch to his heart.
Because she walked out of the house.
All senses were instantly alert to her; he wasn’t even sure he breathed. He drank in every detail of her, from the lock of red hair she pushed out of her eyes and secured behind her ear, to the gentle swell of breasts under the simple form-fitting summer dress, her long legs, and bare feet.
How had he not noticed before the way she took his breath away just by existing?
Fuck him, he’d noticed. Denied her effect on him because he was a pussy.
She turned to look back into the house, presenting her backside to him and her fine ass he loved smacking. He gripped the steering wheel, wanting to grasp her luscious flesh again, to pop it, to make her squeal. At least he’d had the honor of being the first man to spank her.
Easing the boat back, he didn’t look again until he was clear of the dock. When he did, his heart stopped. He wondered if this was how she’d felt when she’d looked up to see him looking back after she’d kicked his boat—gutted.
Because she was standing on the porch staring at him.
Difference was, he’d been looking at her with both amusement and lust.