The Carrero Effect Trilogy

Chapter 27

I'm grasping the rail with white knuckles and leaning over, scanning the dark sea frantically. The ship's crew is out on a small boat searching the water, and Jake has dived in and swum back twice. I'm hysterical that he's this drunk yet swimming to find his friend in an almost pitch-black ocean. Watching the water with fear gripping my throat, I hold my breath with every dive he takes, willing them to find Daniel so that Jake will get out of the water. I've never been so terrified in my life; I can barely move.

"He's here, Mr. Carrero," yells one of the crew from the boat; I spin towards them as flashlights illuminate the hauling of a lifeless body into it under the moonlight. Oh my god.

***

I'm sitting in my room, tired and cold; I haven't slept. Last night was hell. Daniel was airlifted to a hospital on the mainland. He's okay, but it gave all of us a huge scare. The atmosphere left behind is silent and tense.

Jake has been gone most of the night. I'm left reeling from what happened, churning it over and over. The drama of thinking Jake would drown every time he dove under, how drunk he was, and how terrified I was of losing him. Counting the seconds until I would see him surface again, and the terror whenever he went back down, then of Jake giving CPR to Daniel, his coughing up tons of water and coming around.

Then there was the craziness when he left in a flurry of paramedics, the helicopter turbulence hovering over the yacht; I barely got to say two words to Jake or even check how he was, and it was agony.

Finally, there's what we were doing when Vincent raised the alarm that Hunter was in the water. What Jake and I had been doing, where that had been leading, and just how far down that road to having sex with him I had been! I can't bear thinking about it.

How stupid I was!

I'm sobering up, and it's hard to digest how close I came to ruining all of this.

How could I contemplate even doing it?

I need to get off this boat and put some distance between us. I need to claw some perspective back and sort my head out. My inability to separate my hormones from rational thought is getting ridiculous when I'm in his proximity. I did this! I'm the one who made a move and kissed him when we were both drunk; I'm the one who initiated it. Hunter has maybe done a dumb thing and almost got himself killed, but he inadvertently stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life. Jake doesn't look at sex as any big deal, but I do. I've only slept with two people in my life, which was when I was pushed into it years ago.

He would have been able to brush it off as a drunken night, but would I?

I have a feeling that would kill me more than being fired.

What's wrong with me?

I get up and head to the main deck to stop torturing myself. In the early morning sun, it's warm but not overly so, and I'm still wearing last night's dress. I like that it still smells of him, soothing me, and I need it right now while I miss him so much. I can't stop obsessing over him and when he's coming back. This stupid thinking is precisely why I need to get my head together.

I'm seriously losing it over my boss. My inability to touch him when he came out of the water, to stop and check he was okay, has left me pacing and restless.

I lay down on a double sun lounger on the deck, sinking into the softness of the cushioned mattress; the sun has warmed it enough to give me some much-needed heat. I'm beyond exhausted; fatigue washes over me, leaving me detached and cast adrift.

Why haven't I slept?

I know why.

Jake left with Daniel, wet with ruffled hair, in sweats, a T-shirt, and a towel around his shoulders. He looked primal, devastated. I have never really understood the bond between him and Daniel Hunter, but it exists. They're like oil and water, yet they are best friends. In his past, he was more like Hunter than I want to admit, but I'm glad Jake is nothing like him now.

I doze finally, warmed by the rising sun and listening to the soft lapping waves, until the noise of a boat returning across the water makes me glance up, startling me from the first stages of slumber as my heart rate elevates.

Is it? Oh my god, it's them. He's coming back.

My heart lurches painfully, and I'm suddenly shy and afraid, despite my longing to see him back and safe.

We kissed last night. An actual make-out session. I mean, we properly kissed, a two-way, no objections, 'taking it further than just a moment of madness' kind of kiss.

I've never been kissed like that before Jake. I have never really been kissed by someone I wanted to kiss me. I never wanted to be kissed, yet it's like an instinctive urge with him. I almost lost control. I never knew a man could ignite such a flame with something simple.

Do I get up and greet him, or do I stay here and hope he bypasses me?

I don't want him to bypass me. I don't know if I want to face him, either. I'm shy, ashamed, embarrassed, and uneasy. He'll be sober now, and so am I. I have lost all bravado.

What will he say? What will he think about last night?

The engine thrums as the little taxi boat moves away. I still listen to him get on the yacht, sensitive to every slight noise and movement. His low voice as he quietly converses with the crew, even that simple sound, makes my heart pound through my chest wildly. I swear my heart will explode through my chest, and, for a second, I waver, wondering if he will even come up here or head straight to his room. I wonder if he's thought about what we were doing last night if he remembers.

God, this is agony!

"Emma?" His husky and exhausted voice pulls my gaze to him, and my stomach lurches into my chest.

I guess that answers my question.

"Hey." I smile unsurely from my position on the lounger as he walks toward me intently; he doesn't hesitate but slides down beside me and lies down with a tremendous sigh. He's on his front, buried his face in the crook of his arms, making it obvious he is utterly exhausted. His body sags heavily, taking up a vast amount of room. He's close enough that we touch delicately in places, but not deliberately. He smells good, of sea and sun and him. If I could bottle that smell and keep it forever, I would. My body is tingling with the proximity, but I'm holding my breath, waiting.

I glance over his profile, appraising how tired he is. His hair has nothing in it for once, and it's the first time I've seen it au natural. It's ruffled with a hint of curl, and it looks boyish and sweet somehow. I like that he keeps a short back and sides; it showcases his neck and jaw, but there's enough hair on top to run your fingers through.

Not that I should.

It's thick, dark, and unruly, like him, and the temptation to touch it is overwhelming.

I study him for a minute, wondering what he's thinking. His eyes are closed, and he seems like he's fallen asleep; maybe he has. I don't blame him. He was up all night in a cold, sterile hospital after the drama of diving into the ocean, frantically searching for his friend, and then whisked away in a helicopter ambulance in a flurry of chaos before dawn.

"I'm still awake." It's as if he's listening to my thoughts. My eyes widen at being caught, and I glance away. I don't respond.

Crap. How does he do that?

Maybe he could feel me staring; I know that I'm always aware of his eyes on me. Shifting his position slightly, he reaches out an arm and loosely drapes it across my waist. He pulls me closer so our bodies mold in the best way possible and brings his face closer to my shoulder. His eyes are still closed, and I've literally stopped breathing; my heart skips at least three beats. The position is sensual and comforting, but the fear inside me is notching into frantic worry.

"You smell good." His nose brushes against the naked skin at my shoulder near my dress strap, his touch burning through me, igniting some of last night's passion. Before making another stupid mistake, I must push it down and shove it away quickly.

"Thanks," I mutter, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I'm tense as hell, rigid with it. I need to relax. I must be emanating crazy anxiety, but he smiles against my shoulder. I see and feel the delicate, soft graze of his face as it moves, the slight scratch of the stubble of his jaw on my exposed skin.

God!

"Are you ever going to learn to let go when you're sober, Miss Anderson?" His voice is hoarse from tiredness. The change in its usually clear tone is devastatingly alluring.

"What do you mean?" I blanche.

"I can feel you stiffer than a board. Why so formal after last night?" He smiles again, tickling the skin at my shoulder with his mouth and breath, his tone flirty. I wasn't expecting this conversation, especially after the kitchen kiss. I want the kitchen kiss conversation, the 'sorry, we were drunk, it never happened' speech. I've no clue what to say, so I swallow and chew my lip, twisting my hair, practically ripping the strand from my scalp. He reaches up, still with closed eyes, and tugs my hand out of it. He has that annoying habit perfected nowadays; he can even do it when not looking.

"Relax, I only want to sleep," he mumbles, returning his arm to its previous position across my waist as if there was some agreement to do more. "Stop thinking and sleep with me; you look tired." He sounds gruff, but I'm bristling in full alert mode.

I glare at the side of his face, hating his ability to read me.

Why did I ever let my boss get so goddamned close?

I know! Because, since I took this damn job, he's practically forced me to live with him. I'm at his side every second of my waking life, and now it seems he wants me there unawake too. The betrayal of my body reacting to his has set me in a weird mood, irritation rising like a beast.

"I'm not tired," I huff and slide out of his grasp, diving off the lounger to dodge any attempts to keep me. "I'm going for a swim." To cool myself off and put some much-needed distance between us. I catch his movement from the corner of my eye as he lifts his head, watching me storming to the stairs, then lays his head back down.

"Don't drown," he calls, "I don't have the energy for a repeat of last night." He's already making jokes about Daniel. I guess that means Hunter will be okay after all, and I am pressed with guilt for not even asking about him. Also, I'm pissed off. I don't even know why. I throw him a shady look with a toss of my hair and head to my room for a bikini.

***

The water is exactly what I need; it's cooler than yesterday because of the early hour, and even though I'm tired, it helps rejuvenate me. I love the ocean; the peace it brings me is unparalleled to anything I've ever felt, maybe because there are no oceans in my past, no childhood traumas in the sea.

I eventually haul myself onto the yacht, walk along the lower deck to my bedroom, dry off and get dressed. As I pass Jake's room, next to mine, I notice that the door is ajar. It was closed this morning; he must have come inside. I peek into the darkened room, and I can make out his still form in the bed, the heavy, calm breathing indicating he's asleep, and I suddenly get stupidly emotional.

My Jake, my friend stroke boss, whatever he is, ignites some maternal urge in my belly when he looks so still and peaceful.

I can almost make out his face in the dark; he's just so damned cute when he's asleep like this. Irresistible in a completely different way from his wakened, vulnerable and young self. He sleeps in a way I would expect him to: childishly sprawled over the whole bed, taking ownership with cushions strewn and sheets tangled in his limbs. No wonder he wrapped himself around me in Chicago; he's a bed-hogger. He's face down, lying diagonally from corner to corner, his arms sprawled out, his fingers hanging over the edge of the mattress. Despite the heat, he's in his sweats and T-shirt, and I'm hit with a tug of disappointment at not glimpsing some naked flesh. There is something innocent about this spectacle, as though he came in and flopped down to sleep in any way he landed. It makes my heart twinge with adoration, and I close the door gently and head to my room to get changed.