Page 85 of Hideaway Heart

Yes. He is.

* * *

When we left the house, Xander hustled me from the front door into the car like I was the President of the United States. He made me wear another gigantic sweatshirt of his over my bathing suit, hood up, covering my hair. My oversized sunglasses helped hide a good portion of my face.

The drive to the marina was tense, with Xander constantly checking to see if anyone was following us. Not that he told me what he was doing, but he looked in the rearview mirror a lot, and he was unusually silent, his face uncharacteristically grim. At the harbor, he parked, came around to get me, and once again shepherded me quickly onto the dock and down to his well. He got aboard the boat first, and then helped me on.

Only when we were heading out of the harbor and onto the open water did his shoulders relax and his jaw unclench. I shed the sweatshirt and my shorts, slathered myself in SPF 50, and spread out a towel on one of the reclining leather seats. Leaning back, I tilted my face to the sky and let the sun warm my skin. The bay was a little choppy, and every now and again, we’d hit a wave that would splash me lightly, but the cool water was refreshing in the hot air.

Eventually, Xander found a spot he must have felt was safely distanced from land and dropped the anchor. Only then did he doff his shirt, unfold a towel, and stretch out on the back bench seat, perpendicular to me. For a while, we just lay there like two turtles on a log in the sunshine. I breathed in—sunscreen, sea air, maybe a whiff of the woods that lined the shore. The call of the seagulls above us mingled with the soft lap of the water against the hull, and the boat rocked gently on the waves. It was blissfully peaceful, and my heart was happy. This was how I’d imagined feeling on my vacation.

I just hadn’t imagined company.

My heels were propped up on the back bench next to Xander’s. I picked up my head and studied our feet. It made me chuckle—Xander’s were so huge compared to mine, his toes long, his ankles sturdy. His legs were hairy, and my gaze wandered up toward his muscular thighs, causing a little involuntary contraction at my core.

I nudged him with my foot. “Hey.”

“What?” He sat up immediately. “Everything okay? You see something?”

“No,” I said, laughing. “I was just thinking how nice this is. And I wanted to thank you for taking me out on the water. I know it makes you nervous to be out and about with me.”

He sat all the way up and moved to one side of the bench. “Come sit with me.” I moved to the bench, and he reached down and took me by the back of the calves, swinging my feet into his lap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good,” I said. I could look at his body in the sun for hours. His skin kissed by gold, the ink gleaming, the rays glinting off the water behind him.

“So when is the awards ceremony you’ll sing at?”

“It’s in about two and a half weeks. Thursday, the twenty-first.” Over breakfast, I’d told him that I’d agreed to sing with Duke on the condition that I would be introduced as Kelly Jo Sullivan.

“The night before Buckley’s Pub will open—I hope.”

“I wish I could be in two places at once,” I said.

“Me too.” His hand bracketed my ankle, his thumb rubbing the tendons of my heel.

“I’m expecting an argument with my label on the name thing.”

“Fuck them.”

I laughed. “I can’t fuck them, but I’m going to fight for it.”

“Good.” He looked at me. “This is a big event?”

“Huge.”

“And where is it held?”

“It’s at the Milton Auditorium. Most famous stage in country music.”

“That’s a theater?”

“Yeah, but it’s also got a museum, offices, and conference rooms on the upper floors. A lot of agents and publicists and even singers keep offices there.”

“Does it have good security?”

“It will that night, I’m sure.”

“What about you personally? What will you do?”