Page 62 of These Summer Storms

Like a pirate. If pirates wore sunglasses.

As though he heard her, Jack reached up and pulled the aviators off, tossing them away, not caring where they landed.

And then he dove into the Bay and headed straight for her.

Chapter

10

“You didn’t just growup with boats.”

She spoke first, because she didn’t want him commandeering the moment, and she didn’t want him noticing how much she’d enjoyed the view as he’d executed a perfect, Olympic-level freestyle before emerging from the sea, his casual linen button-down clinging to him in a way some might consider a clear nod to Mr. Darcy.

Not Alice, though. She was definitely not likening this man to a beloved romantic hero. He was the opposite of romantic heroes.

I wanted to fuck you.

Definitely not something Darcy would say.

That, and no Austen hero had tattoos inked across his chest. She’d seen them in the dark the other night, but she hadn’t lingered on them—everything about that experience had been frenzied, as though they both knew everything would change the next day.

Only Jack had known how much, however.

She straightened at the thought, pushing her curiosity about the inky shadows beneath his wet shirt aside and reminding herself of the truth: Jack was the villain of the story.

Keeping her gaze fixed on his face as he stalked from the sea, she lifted her chin and said, “You can actually sail.” It came out like an accusation.

“Was that unclear?” There was no hint of the earlier calm in his voice now. He was furious—like he loathed being manipulated.

They had that in common. “You stopped that boat on a dime.”

“Aside from being taught to do that when someone jumps overboard into an active waterway—” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Yeah, I know my way around boats. I told you I grew up on the water.”

“I was perfectly safe. I didn’t do anything I haven’t done a hundred times before.”

For a moment, she wondered if she’d pushed him too far. “I don’t care what you did on boats piloted by your foolish friends while you were growing up, rich and stupid. When I’m at the helm, you take better care of yourself.”

She resisted the way that gruff concern made her feel warm inside. And the way it made her want to—very vaguely, barely at all, really—do as she was told.

He was obnoxious and domineering, speaking to her as though she’d never set foot in the ocean. Was he wrong about swimming across the Bay being dangerous? Notreally. But it wasn’t as though she’d been paddling around out there—she’d headed straight to shore. Just as he had.

“I thought I made it clear that I don’t need a keeper.”

“If the last three days have been any indication, you absolutely need a keeper.”

“Had I known that you’d been hired for the position, I would never have agreed to sail with you.”

“Is that supposed to upset me?” He was breathing heavily, and Alice had the feeling it had nothing to do with the swim.

She narrowed her gaze on him. “For the record, I was never stupid.”

“Of course you were,” Jack said, refusing to give her quarter. “You were young and rich and the whole world was yours for the taking. A recipe for stupidity.”

“Isn’t that how every young person feels?” Alice was feeling petulant, like the young rich kid in his example.

“Yeah, but the rich ones don’t just feel it. They know it’s true.”

She pressed her lips together at the words. At the judgment in them. Righteous? Maybe just right. “And you? Was the world for your taking?”