“DO NOT ABANDON THE VESSEL!” the voice on the loudspeaker instructs me sternly. “I REPEAT, DO NOT ABANDON THE VESSEL!”
But it’s too late. I’m already scampering over the railing like Rose inTitanic. When the Hinckley is directly beneath me, I toss my heels into the cockpit and take a deep breath.
“Now or never!” Archer yells.
I don’t think.
I just jump.
There are three seconds of heart-stopping free fall… and then I slam against solid wood, landing in a graceless half-crouch.
At least I’m not in the ocean.
The upper deck breaks into cheers, screaming for us at the top of their lungs. Even from here, Odette and Ophelia’s voices are the loudest.
A hand appears in my visual field. I slide mine into it, allowing him to help me to my feet. My heart is lodged so firmly in my throat, I’m not sure I’ll be able to speak.
“Hey,” he murmurs. He’s still holding my hand. His eyes never shift from mine.
“Um,” I squeak. “Hi?”
“Sorry I’m late.” His grin widens. “There was traffic.”
“Have you gone totally insane?”
“Probably.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear with so much tenderness, the breath catches in my lungs. “But… I’ll be even more insane if I go another second without doing this.”
He kisses me, then.
In plain view of the entire graduating class of Exeter Academy of Excellence, along with about a half dozen crew members of Odyssey Cruises. With so much passion, I’m surprised we don’t set the boat aflame.
The catcalls from the upper deck are ear-splitting. So is the loudspeaker.
“PLEASE RETURN TO THE VESSEL!”
But we’re already floating far out of reach, caught up in a current they cannot control.
Archer never lets go of my hand as he turns back to the wheel, pushes up on the throttle, and steers us off, across the glittering expanse of the Atlantic.
Chapter Twenty-Four
ARCHER
I steerus back toward home.
Jo stands in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, hair flying out of her updo into my face. She’s stunning in the moonlight. Even more so in that dress. It hugs her body so perfectly, it should be a criminal offense. I can barely see straight when I think about all that soft, creamy skin of hers, millimeters beneath a scrap of silk.
She shifts against me, a small sigh sliding between her lips, and desire surges through me in a hot rush. It takes exceptional effort to keep the boat on a straight course. I shrug off my jacket and hand it to her, in part to keep her warm but mostly so I don’t drive us into the goddamned rocks.
We race across the waves at top speed, sending up a huge wake behind us. I’m grateful for the lack of chop as we slice effortlessly across the ocean’s surface. If it was rough, the trip would take twice as long.
I slow down as we approach the cove outside Cormorant House. It’s difficult to see the bouys in the dark, but I’ve sailed these waters with Jo a thousand times. I guide us along the dock, beneath the stone archway, into the boathouse slip with ease.
It’s dim inside. In silence, I shut the engine.
“Wait here,” I whisper into Jo’s ear.
She shivers. “Okay.”