“We can still go,” I tell him. “It’s just a little rain, the waves aren’t bad.”
“I’m not worried,” he grins. “I’m used to rain.”
“That’s right,” I answer as I motion for him to climb aboard. “I forgot.”
He steps across and I untie the boat from the dock, before I toss the rope to him. I leap before the boat can float away, and land unceremoniously beside him.
He lounges against the hull as I steer through the bay, and suddenly, the rain stops as suddenly as it started. The clouds part, the sun shines down upon us and I lift my face to the warmth.
I live for times like these, when my grief pauses long enough for me to enjoy something.
And I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying more and more moments since Dare came to my mountain.
“You make me feel guilty,” I tell him quietly, opening my eyes. He’s sprawled out, his legs propped up on a seat. He glances at me, his forehead furrowed.
“Why in the world is that, Calla-lily?”
The name makes me smile.
“Because you make me forget that I’m sad,” I say simply.
Softness wavers in Dare’s eyes for a minute before they turn back into obsidian. “That shouldn’t make you feel guilty,” he tells me. “In fact, that makes me happy. I don’t like the idea of you being sad. Come sit by me.”
He opens his arms and I sit on the seat next to him, leaning against his hard chest and into his beating heart. His arms close around me and for the first time in my life, I’m lounging in a guy’s embrace. And not just any guy. Dare DuBray, who I’m guessing could have any girl he wants.
And right now, in this moment, he wants me.
It’s unfathomable.
It’s the perfect temperature as we drift in the sun, as the warmth saturates my shirt and soaks into my skin. I drag one hand over the side, letting it float on the surface of the water as I listen to Dare’s heart.
It’s strong and loud against my ear.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The rhythmic sound reminds me of the day he was punching the shed.
I pause, then freeze, my fingers on his chest.
What day was that?
I focus and focus, trying to recall the memory through foggy haze, but all I get is an image of Dare punching at the woodshed like a machete, or a machine.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, staring down at me.
“I…” I don’t know what to say.
“Sometimes, I have memories that don’t seem real,” I finally admit, not caring how it makes me look.
He stares at me for the longest time, his gaze so deep and penetrating. “How do you know they aren’t real?” he finally answers.
I cackle a hyena-like laugh. “Because they can’t be. If you could see my memories, you’d understand why.”
“I’m in your memories, right?” Dare asks, and each word is sharp.
“Yeah,” I answer. “Usually.”
He starts to answer, but I interrupt him, because he has taken off his shirt and his skin is getting a bit red.
“You’re going to get skin cancer,” I stare at him.
“I’m not,” he answers. I don’t argue because I like his bare chest, and the way the muscles ripple across his shoulders as he moves. I pause on my way to the helm, long enough to run my fingers over the letters of his tattoo. His skin is hot beneath my fingertips, and the friction makes me grit my teeth.
“I’m going to show you someplace new,” I tell him, guiding the boat out of the bay and toward a small rock pier down the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get there, and I urge the boat aground so that we can step out onto land.
I hold my hand out to Dare and he takes it, climbing down next to me. We walk all the way out to the tip of the land finger, where the fingernail would be.
Dare sits, and I sit next to him, our feet splayed out in front of us on the rocks.
We’re surrounded by nothing but the air and water, we’re utterly alone out here, with no one to overhear or watch us like we’re fish in a bowl.
The salty breeze blows Dare’s hair around his face and I turn to him.
“I’m ready to use another question,” I tell him. He grins.
“So soon? It’s only been days since the last one.”
I ignore that. “Why are you such a gentleman?”
Meaning, why are you so resolute to keep your distance until I figure my shit out?
He shifts his weight and crosses his feet at the ankles. “So you’ve noticed.”
His tone is wry. I roll my eyes.
“Seriously. Why are you trying to force me into doing something for my own good that I don’t want to do? All for the sake of being a gentleman? Maybe being a gentleman is overrated and archaic.”
He scoffs at that, shielding his eyes from the sun with long fingers of one hand. I stare at his silver ring glinting in the light.
“It’s not, trust me.” The way he says that is so knowing, so strange.
I raise an eyebrow and he sighs.
“My step-father, while refined and rich, was not a gentleman behind closed doors. From the time I was very small, I decided that I would always be the opposite of him. I used to read my mother’s journals, because that’s all I had left of her, and she always spoke of wanting me to be a gentleman when I grew up. She spoke of those traits with such…reverence that I knew that’s what I wanted to be.” He pauses. “Are you going to make fun of me now?”
He stares at me, his jaw so sculpted, his eyes so guarded. I find all I want to do is reach out and stroke the coarseness of his stubble with my hand. “No,” I tell him. “Not at all. Why did you have to read your mother’s journals?”
“Because she died when I was small.”
God, he has made that hidden part of me ache, the maternal place, the place that wants to protect him from everything, even if that means from me.
“What did your step-father do?”
My question is quiet in its simplicity and Dare sighs again.
“You’re really burning through your questions today.”
I nod, but I don’t back down.
“My stepfather was unfortunately, very much like his mother. A very calculating, controlling person. He had to have everything his way exactly and those people who didn’t comply were punished severely.”
I swallow hard at the closed look on Dare’s beautiful face.
“How severely?”
He turns to look at me, his black eyes staring into my soul.
“Severely.”
My heart twinges at the vulnerable pain in Dare’s eyes. He thinks he’s concealing it, but he’s not. “And being the rogue that you are, I’m guessing you were punished a lot.”
He nods and looks out at the sea and I pick up his hand, spinning his ring round and round.
“And no one interfered? Not your grandmother?”
He looks at me now, stricken. “She wouldn’t interfere. She never approved of me. She thinks I deserved everything I got and then some.”
The feel of this conversation is dark and ominous and scary. I examine his face, the planes and angles, and grip his hand harder. “Well, now that your mom is gone, you’re done with your step-father’s family. Thank goodness. You’re here in America and they can’t hurt you anymore.”
He sighs, a ragged sound, his slender fingers weaving around my own. “Can’t they?”
I start to answer and he interrupts. “You’ve burned through most of your questions, Cal. It seems to me like you’ve only got a couple left.”
I nod, because he’s right. “I’ve only got one more to ask today, and then I’ll save my last one for later.”
Nerves cause my heart to pound, adrenaline to rush, rush, rush through my veins as I look at him, the Adonis sitting next to me. Do it. Do it. Everything about him touches me… his voice, his story, his vulnerability that he tries so hard to hide. All of it. I want him. All of him.
“You’ve been such a gentleman,” I start, before I lose my nerve. “And it’s sexy as hell, I’ll admit. You’re sexy. And beautiful. And I want to be close to you, Dare. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Dare swallows. I see his throat move, I see him grip his leg with long fingers.
“And?” he asks hesitantly. “What is your question?”