I gave him my best innocent smile, praying the double entendre didn’t translate into French.
With the wind buffeting his back, he grumbled and moved to the bow. The boat rocked beneath us. Ignoring the growing swell, he coiled the rope and draped the net over his arm. With the sun at his back and the mesh catching the light, he looked like something from another time—another world.
I tugged on my lip, biting down hard.
Then, with one smooth flick, he cast the net wide. It unfurled midair, spinning open like a silver halo before landing with a soft splash. It spread out perfectly before sinking fast. A moment later, he pulled the line, tightening the circle beneath the surface. He hauled in the net, water dripping from his arms, rivulets racing over his tattoos.
“You’ve done that before,” I murmured. He made it look so easy. I wondered if asking for a fishing lesson had been the smarter option. It might’ve been easier to come clean about my dyslexia.
“Do you want to try?” he asked, gathering the net into his arms.
“Oh, okay… sure.” I mean, trying was what I’d signed up for. But as I drew closer, and his body heat reached mine, my knees wobbled.
He stepped away, making room. “Turn your back to me,” he said.
Instantly my mind went in all the wrong places, thinning my breath. Holy hell, what was wrong with me? He wasn’t telling me to hold the headboard.
I backed into him and stopped short, but he closed the distance in a beat, his body framing mine. The heat of him, his nearness, sent my heart into overdrive.
As he draped the net over my arm, I tried to focus. Really, I did. But with his breath at my ear, and his cologne mingling with salt and heat, my limbs forgot basic coordination.
He guided my arms, and we cast the net together, only he let go at the end of my setup. Without his help, I missed the rhythm, tangling the line. If that wasn’t the worst, I almost elbowed him in the ribs.
“Sorry!” I squeaked, praying he didn’t think I did it on purpose. Although, if he really was hurt, I’d be the first offering to rub it better.
Maxime chuckled low. “Okay, let’s try that again. It takes practice.” He took the net and gathered it up. This time, he didn’t move away. His chest brushed my back as he leaned in, arms wrapping around me to shape my movements.
As we worked together, the slippery rope ran through my fingers. Before I dropped it again, Maxime closed his hands over mine, steady and warm, correcting my grip. One calloused palm skimmed my wrist as he curled my fingers around the knots in the rope.
Under his touch, my heart thuddedin my chest, and my head swam. He was too close. He was too warm. And I was way too aware.
We rocked together on the deck, every movement making me hyper aware of where his skin ended and mine began.
“Relax,” he murmured against my ear.
It was all very well for him to say that. I had other things to focus on, like ignoring his chest resting against my shoulders.
“Your stance is all wrong,” he whispered.
“So, fix it,” I ground out, my voice sounding lower and raspier than I ever remembered.
Maxime stilled behind me before bringing his foot to mine,nudging it aside, and opening my legs. With the gesture, a gentle tingle sprang low down in my belly. His breath was ragged, or was it the rising wind? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care. With a tempest raging in my body, I was on the verge of exploding.
The boat rocked harder in the wind, jolting beneath our feet. I lifted my head and caught his gaze—steady, searing—over my shoulder. My breath caught, and without thinking, I turned into his body.
“Maxime…”
I got no further. We dropped the net, the thud barely audible over the wind, and his eyes locked on mine—dark, intense and stormy like the sky, as if he could see every molecule under my skin. Time stilled and the air around us thickened. Every nerve in my body prickled with awareness. He leaned in, just slightly, just enough to make me certain he was going to kiss me.
But as if the fates were against us, a wild gust ripped across the cove. The boat pitched violently, snapping us back to reality. He tore his gaze from mine, looking behind as the first heavy drops of cold rain splattered our skin.
“The squall is here,” he said.
My heart crumpled in my chest. Why, oh why, did the sea gods have such bad timing? Were they angry with us? Was my net throwing that bad?
The wind wrapped around us again, and the raindrops turned into sheets of water, driving across the bay, making it impossible to see the beach.
The boat rocked hard again, and Maxime guided me to the bench. “Hang on,” he shouted, over the drum of the water. “It should blow through fast, but we need to get to shore.”
