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I pushed my shades to the top of my head as I stared at the large fishing boat in front of me. My nose wrinkled in distaste as the scent of salt mixed with a distinctly fishy smell. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, I supposed, but to me, it was not appealing. I liked my fish on a plate at Nobu, nowhere else.
The dock itself wasn’t overly busy. The larger port of Stonington was where most of the state’s fishing revenue was generated. With a lot of boats moving to that port and Jupiter itself no longer relying on the fishing trade, I figured this dock was living on borrowed time. I made a mental note of the location, a prime spot for investors looking to build a resort. Which would ruin the quaint charm of the town of Jupiter but would make me a fuck-load of money.
There were a handful of boats around, men in waders and beanies giving me sideways glances.
“Keep walking, Popeye,” I told the man who eyed me for a second too long, eyes slimier than a piece of raw fish.
Granted, I looked out of place in my black pantsuit, heels and designer purse. But I looked good. Great, in fact. That didn’t give him license to stare, though, even if I did look like a proverbial fish out of water.
I’d abandoned New York, my job, my apartment, my entire existence. No way was I giving up my wardrobe.
I planned on being buried in Louboutins, Yves Saint Laurent, and my sins.
“Hello!” I called out, leaning over the dock to knock on the side of a barnacle-crusted boat. It had seen better days,Shaw and Sonswas painted in faded lettering.
No wonder they couldn’t pay their bills. They couldn’t even afford to put a fresh coat of paint on their boat. The invoice wasn’t for the boat itself but for the restaurant that was, apparently, connected to their business. A casual eatery that the rest of my family frequented. I did not. They served drinks inplastic cups. I didn’t drink out of fuckingplastic cups. Children did. I didn’t go to a place where I was treated like a child. Even though Nora said the lobster roll would change my life.
My life had gone through enough changes as it was. I was fine where I was, and no lobster roll would be that good. Plus, I didn’t eat bread—just another way to torture myself for sins never to be erased. And it was good for my ass.
“Hello?” I tried again. I assumed someone was there because there was a coffee cup sitting on the edge of the boat, steam wafting from it. I resisted the urge to snatch it up and drink it since I hadn’t slept well again and had quit Coke cold turkey when I left New York. I’d already had one coffee, but that was only the appetizer; I usually had at least three before noon—I needed some kind of stimulant to get me through these godforsaken days.
The day itself wasn’t exactly godforsaken, not with the cloudless blue sky, the balmy, salty air, the crash of the waves and the picturesque landscape.
Peaceful… Far too fucking peaceful. I needed chaos, sirens, cabs honking and skyscrapers blocking out the sun so I wasn’t blasted with the reality of just how dark my life had gotten.
The thump of boots against wood confirmed my belief that there was life within the boat. I snapped my attention back to the moment. I was not some daydreaming, slack-jawed woman. I was always alert. Even there, where I doubted some fisherman would possess the skills to best me. No man could. At least that’s the lie I told myself.
I was expecting someone older, even though the business was called Shaw &Sons.There was at least a 50 percent chance that I would meet the ‘son’ portion of the business. But I was working off cliches when it came to fishermen, and I was thinking of the old guy fromJaws—a weathered, cynical hermit, wearinga beanie with straw-like, gray hair poking out of it, muttering about doll’s eyes.
I got the beanie right.
The man in question was wiping his hands with a rag. They were large, tanned and attractive. Working hands, that I could tell immediately. His sinewy forearms were on display in a white cable-knit sweater he’d pushed up to his elbows. The sleeves were tight over prominent biceps, broad shoulders and a flat stomach. His skin was golden, weathered, but he was not old. My age, maybe younger. The smile on his face definitely made him seem younger. It was bright, almost carefree.Carefreewas an impossible trait to find in someone over thirty; even the most sheltered of those had experienced and been jaded by life in some way, shape or form. The world was burning, billionaires were reigning, and humankind was generally awful—there was no way to escape that. But this guy was grinning like we lived in a fucking utopia.
With his angular face, slightly crooked nose and high cheekbones, he looked like he was doing a photoshoot, cosplaying as a fisherman for some magazine.
I was immediately suspicious of him. Small-town fishermen were only attractive in Hallmark movies. He had to be a serial killer or something. Which was right on par with the men I was attracted to, and my pussy was fluttering, so it made sense.
His gray eyes were doing the same once-over of me as I was him.
“Uh-oh. Am I getting sued?” His voice was deep, thick, pleasing. Masculine. But there was also that same carefree undertone as his smile, an easygoing nature I’d never experienced—even with Kip, who did really well at pretending he didn’t have a care in the world.
“You think I’m a lawyer?” I snickered, hand on my hip, ignoring the pleasant warmth that his tone sent over my skin. My tone was not pleasant. I wasn’t capable of that.
He reached for the coffee I had noticed earlier, taking a long sip, still looking me over. He was doing it shamelessly, with a warmth to his eyes that was unhidden. A man appreciating a woman. It was honest.
And though I’d had many men check me out in my adult life, I rarely got the reaction that I did now. Toes curling in my heels, desire pooling between my legs.
It was alook,for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t tickling my clit.
“You look like a lawyer,” he answered, after swallowing another sip of his coffee“Expensive one at that.”
I tilted my head at him. “Calling someone a high-class hooker is still calling them a hooker. Same principle applies when calling me a lawyer.” My voice was low, soft, as I always ensured it was when I was throwing barbs, which was most of the time when I was speaking.
The man in front of me—maybe fisherman, maybe Shaw son, and definitely unhinged serial killer—chuckled. The sound was warm, genuine, and fuck if it didn’t make my nipples harden, just a little.
Alaugh... I hadn’t heard an attractive man laugh, truly laugh, before. That didn’t include Kip because he was too familiar to find attractive, and his laughs were always forced to cover up the depths of his grief. And none of the men I surrounded myself with laughed like they didn’t have a care in the world.
The men I surrounded myself with didn’tcareabout the world, but they cared a fuck of a lot about money and power.