Page 91 of Ship Outta Luck

“Okay, Rambo.” A high, hysterical laugh follows.

“Rambo?” I cock my head at her. “I wasn’t the one who blew up the propane tank with one shot.”

“That was better than a James Bond movie,” she laughs.

“I didn’t know you liked James Bond, professor.” I smile at her and kick myself again for thinking she leaked our location. “But you don’t get better than him.”

“Nah. That felt like revenge. Payback. Bond. June Bond.”

I sweep the rest of the boat, taking my time to explore the cabin, the few nooks and crannies where it would be possible to stow a cheap tracker.

“It’s clean.”

“Are you disappointed you can’t crush another tracker with your bare hands?”

Sweeping her into my arms, I chuckle as she lets out another laugh. And then shivers.

“Dammit, June, let me drive.”

“No.” A soft smile.

I look to the sky as though the high, wispy clouds blocking the moon will somehow have the answers.

“Can I at least I warm you up?” God, I want to. Want to take her in my arms, press her body against mine until my heat seeps into her.

She nods and I duck into the cabin and find the fleece blanket.

The soft fabric smooth against my hands. Placing the blanket around her, I release my grip reluctantly. June’s teeth quietly chatter; her eyes so large they swallow the starlight.

“Adrenaline.”

“Huh?”

“You’re shaking again. It’ll stop soon. Try and breathe. Deep breaths.” I cast a look back at the receding flames billowing on the beach.

“Try and breathe? I was planning on continuing to breathe, thank you so much. Certain functions tend to cease if I stop.”

I step back, relief at her sass making me weak.

I care about her. I want her more than I thought possible. The thought overpowers me. Staggers me.

I always get what I want, sooner or later.

And I want June. All of her. Not just now, but for as long as she’ll have me.

A slow, deep-sounding laugh escapes me, and she turns, her lips curving up in automatic response.

“What?” she asks, bemused.

“Just thought of something funny, that’s all.”

“What?” she insists.

“You’ll see,” I say, raking my gaze over her, smirking when she quirks an eyebrow and lets out an exasperated sigh.

She will see. She’ll see me. All of me.

I’ll let her in.