She never could. Wishing it hadn’t happened was like wishing the waves from the shore.
Letting go wasn’t something she had to do, but she had to move on.
Hugging the book to her chest, she bent her head and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”
She knew—she knew—Elijah could only speak to her now because of what Mac had done. She knew what that meant.
Give him that night back.
You stepped into the middle of someplace you shouldn’t have been.
You aren’t a cruel woman.
Maybe she was. Perhaps she was a cruel woman because whether or not she was supposed to have been in the middle of his grief, that’s where she had been. And the words he’d said to her had hurt more than his hands.
Chapter sixty
Mac
HOLD ON
Itrainedforthreedays. Mac didn’t realize how attached to boating he’d gotten until he was deprived of it. Of course, Silas assured him he could, technically, still take his boat out in the rain.
Mac wasn’t that good yet or confident enough in his skills.
So now he was cleaning up, wiping off the last remnants of the raindrops in the morning light. He’d started at the bow and was working his way toward the stern. He piled the rags in a bright red nylon bag he’d take into town later and wash.
Captain and co-captain’s chairs dried off; he straightened for a moment between the two and stretched his back, looking out across the lake.
“Permission to come aboard?”
Her voice slid over him like a soft, long-awaited caress. His heart took off at a giddy gallop, followed by his cock, which was super inappropriate, but damn if her low, hesitant voice didn’t just do that to him. He cleared his throat and turned to look over his shoulder at her, bracing himself for the coldness in her eyes.
But the chill wasn’t there.
So, there was nothing to cool the heat running through his veins as his gaze drank her in. She was standing toward the bow, head tilted downward as she watched him guardedly from beneath lowered lashes, unsure of his response, as though turning her away was even something he was capable of.
Oh, right; he’d done it before.
But she was looking fucking smashing, hugging herself as she waited for his answer, wearing a clingy scoop neck floral cotton dress presenting an alluring amount of cleavage, hugging her frame down to hips where it relaxed to end mid-thigh. Easy access.
Did she wear that for him? Dragging his eyes back up to meet hers, her cheeks red with a blush at his thorough perusal, he greeted, “Mornin’, Cassidy.”
She lifted a hand and pushed aside the locks of red hair that remained longish in front. Her gaze dropped away and then came back to him hesitantly. “Do I have your permission?”
Mac regarded her warmly. “You don’t need permission; always welcome.” He stepped forward and held up a hand to her.
Cassidy waved him off, indicating she didn’t need—or she didn’twant—his assistance. Ignoring his proffered hand, she stepped onto the starboard side, then jumped into the stern, her little skirt giving him a lovely, and much too brief, peek at full side thigh and blue panties.
Fuck’s sake.
She looked at the semi-wet bench and hesitated.
“Wait,” he said, moving forward and scooping up a towel from the pile. He dried off a spot for her, causing her to skitter out of his way as he threatened to come into physical contact with her. Standing up, he frowned down at her as she once again held herself as though to ensure no part of her touched any part of him, her face averted.
Again,fuck’s sake.
But, she’d come to him. Faster than he’d expected, so he stepped back, giving her space. She side-eyed him until he came to rest against the back of the captain’s chair, folding his arms across his chest, regarding her curiously. “How can I help you?”