J. Kenner - Wanted

“Well, of course,” I said lightly, even though I was wondering if he meant it. “Who’d bother with a houseboat that wasn’t well-equipped?”

“I knew you’d understand.”

He cocked his head toward the stern. Or maybe it was starboard? I never could keep anything nautical straight in my head. At any rate, I followed him through a wooden door into a stunning salon that resembled a high-end condo’s living room. That opened onto a dining area, and beyond that I assumed there was some sort of cockpit area, but I didn’t see that because Evan led me down a small staircase to the next level that consisted of only one giant stateroom. The realization didn’t sit well with me, primarily because it conjured up thoughts of all the women he’d undoubtedly entertained there—women who didn’t come for platonic visits in which they slept in their own room. I mean, “Come back to my place,” is a time-tested pick up line. But how much better must it be if the line is, “Come back to my boat”?

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look pensive.”

“It’s an ugly rumor,” I countered. “I never think unless I can help it.”

He kissed my nose. “Or maybe you think too much.”

I frowned. Because with that, I was in total agreement.

Fortunately, his phone rang, distracting him from figuring out what I’d been thinking about. He glanced at the display, then looked at me. “Sorry. I need to take this. There are bathing suits in the top left drawer. Why don’t you put one on and join me back on deck?”

“Sure,” I said, though inside I was cursing. Apparently, I’d been right. And not only did he bring women here, he brought so many that he provided clothing.

“Hey,” he said as he took the call and left the room. “Talk to me.”

And then he was gone and I was alone in the stateroom with another woman’s bathing suit. Except that when I started to rummage through the drawer, I discovered that they all still had tags. I glanced toward the door, as if he was still there. As if I could somehow conjure him and, in doing so, I would understand all of his mysteries.

Since the drawer was spacious, I took the liberty of taking my clothes out of my bag and putting them inside. I picked an emerald green bikini, changed, and headed back up to the salon. He wasn’t there, and so I continued on toward the deck in search of him.

He was still on the phone when I arrived, standing with his back to me as he faced the expanse of the lake. “Come on, man. You know me better than that, and I’m sure as hell not going to leave you hanging. Yeah, I’m thinking two years across the board. But we need to take care of all this California bullshit now. I know it’s a mess, but it’s going to get messier if the rumors are true and they’re coming our way. Yeah, well, we need to be sure.”

He laughed. “You’re such an ass. Okay, fine. Hit me with the rest of it.”

I heard his low whistle. “Neely’s a prick, but you’re right. This could develop into a problem. Cole’s good, but—yeah, I know. It’s not the kind of thing I should joke about. Let me plot out some options, and get back to you on this. As for all the other—what? No. You know damn well, the more volatile, the sooner I want out. Shit yeah, I’m becoming risk averse in my old age. As soon as you get close to thirty, your whole perspective changes.”

He chuckled, then said a soft, “Fuck you, and don’t give me grief. We’ve already talked about my reasons. I can’t risk fucking things up for her.”

I frowned, feeling like a voyeur even as I tried to make sense of the one-sided conversation. I don’t think he realized I’d come on deck, and I sure as hell didn’t know who “her” was. The word seemed to hang above his head, pulsing red in some giant cartoon bubble. I didn’t want to be jealous—this thing between us was, by definition, a temporary arrangement. But while my head might know that, the rest of me was turning a jealous green as verdant as my suit.

Well, fuck.

I missed some of his conversation while I was off being jealous in my head, and the next thing I knew he was beside me. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“I’m very light on my feet,” I quipped.

“Are you?” he asked, then pulled me to him, my right hand in his left, and his right at my back, as if we were about to waltz.

Whatever angst I’d been feeling vanished. “Evan!”

He moved on the deck, leading me and—since I can barely ballroom dance with music, much less without—I had to give him points for avoiding my decidedly not light feet.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” I said. “But what’s up with Neely?”

“Neely?”

I laughed. “Yeah, you remember him? The guy who got the real Creature Notebook. You mentioned him on the phone just now. Like I said, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but his name kind of popped for me. Is it about the Da Vinci?”

“What could it have to do with the Da Vinci?” he asked, which was a good point. Before I could concede that, though, he spun me around, then dipped me with a flourish. I laughed, enjoying this lighthearted side of him. Then he pulled me up and kissed me, and my bubbly mood shifted on a dime to something much more intense. I opened my mouth, my body firing immediately just as it always did around Evan. Foreplay might be fun, but I damn sure didn’t need it. One touch, one look, and I was aroused. As if I was a lock and he was the only key that fit. As if we were two halves of a treasure map.

As if I’d been waiting for him my whole life.

I pulled away, suddenly confused.

“Lina?”

I heard the concern in his voice and forced myself to smile at him. “Sorry. I think I got a little lightheaded when you dipped me.”

“Sit,” he said, leading me to a lounge chair. “I’ll go get you some water.”

He was gone before I could protest, and I was left on the deck, feeling guilty about my lie. Because the truth was, the more I got to know Evan, the more the fantasy I’d spun since I was a teenager was being shoved out by the reality of the man.

Reality.

There was a funny word.

I thought of the secrets that Jahn had said that Evan held. I thought of the allegations that Kevin had made. I thought of the dark flashes I’d seen in the alley and about Evan’s own cryptic comments about being a bad bet. All those elements had played to my fantasy of a dangerous bad boy staying one step ahead of the law.

Now, though. Now I wanted more than the fantasy. I wanted to see the reality of the man.

I’d shined a light on the dark things that I kept hidden, and now I hoped that he would do the same.

“Hey,” he said, hurrying back onto the deck. He had a sparkling water with lime, and as he handed it to me, he knelt beside me, his free hand going to my forehead.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I felt dizzy,” I protested. “Not feverish.”

“Maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to touch you,” he said.

My mouth curved into a smile. “You don’t need an excuse.”

“No? I’m very glad to hear that.” He glanced back toward the stairs leading below. “Can I entice you with baked brie?”

“Um, yeah. I love brie,” I said honestly.

“I know. Jahn used to make a point of buying it before you came each summer.”

“And you remember that?” I was grinning like an idiot.

“I remember a lot of things. Green beans wrapped in bacon. Baked potato with no butter but tons of sour cream. And steaks medium rare.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I thought you couldn’t cook.”

“For you, I’m making the effort.”

I held out my hands and let him pull me to my feet. I caught him in a kiss—slow and wet and sensual. “Should I feel special, or do you cook for all the women you bring to your boat?” I was teasing—well, mostly—but his response was one-hundred-percent serious.