Chapter Five

The moon lent adequate visibility and the ocean was smooth, but Seth kept an eye out for trouble. The short excursion from his uncle’s island to Key West proved uneventful. Other than the joy glowing on Devereaux’s pretty face, that is. The wind had tousled her short locks, bathing her forehead in moonlight with every wave they crested. She looked happy. Make that radiant.

Why her happiness meant anything, Seth wasn’t sure. When she throttled down to an idle, the boat slowed as its wake caught up to it, lifting the small craft as it slid alongside a much larger boat on its way to the dock. He hated that this trip to shore was ending. Devereaux needed someone in her corner and he wanted that someone to be him, not whoever this Molly woman was and not Uncle George.

Yet Seth’s promise to Katelynn had suffocated any hint of caring for Devereaux. They’d made vows to love, honor, and obey to each other. The marriage ceremony they’d never had would’ve been just a formality. That was how strongly they’d loved each other. To the moon and back. Lordy, Lordy, what kind of vow breaker was he?

Truth was he’d already broken those vows with a few illicit one-nighters. But they were nothing more than scratching an itch. He’d been drunk most days then, out of his mind with grief, and desperately grasping for something—someone—to catch onto in his downward spiral. He honestly didn’t think those women counted.

Was he still faithful to Katelynn? In his heart, yes. That had never changed and none of those women meant anything. He couldn’t even remember their names or asking in the first place. So, why’d Devereaux matter when those others hadn’t? Better question, why were the vows he’d made with Katelynn in his head now when he hadn’t dreamed of her once since he’d lost her? Latoya Franklin certainly had no trouble nagging him to death.

Maybe because he hadn’t picked Devereaux up in a bar? Maybe because he wasn’t drunk this time, and he knew precisely what he was doing? Nah. Seth shook those foolish conclusions off, convinced that once he knew Devereaux was home safe, she’d be on her own. He wouldn’t interfere in her life. She didn’t want him to.

The flashing turquoise and pink neon sign over Molly’s Marina and Pub came into view once they cleared the larger, longer boat, which was actually a yacht, now that Seth could see it better. Long and sleek, its regal prow towered over Devereaux’s tiny fishing boat. She didn’t seem to notice. Deftly she handled the tiller, maneuvering her minnow of a boat into the empty space ahead of the whale of a yacht.

When she killed the motor, he glanced over his shoulder. Whoever owned that yacht moored behind her had better not run over Devereaux’s boat on his way out to sea. Hers would be hard to see over that pompous prow. Again, it wasn’t Seth’s problem and he knew it. But still. She needed a fifteen-foot antenna posted somewhere on this little boat to announce her presence to the big guys. For that matter—he took serious stock of her bargain-basement conveyance—where was her ship-to-shore radio? A VHF transmitter? A walkie-talkie? The girl had no means of posting a mayday if the weather turned bad on her excursions.

“We’re here,” she said evenly as the motor cut.

“This rig licensed?” He had to know.

Her brows clenched. “Of course. What do you take me for, a—?”

“Then where’s your radio?” he challenged, not believing what he was seeing. “Tell me you carry a portable with you every time you and Scottie go fishing. You do, don’t you?”

Her chin came up and a smirk twisted her right cheek. “Look under your seat, smartass. I keep it locked up, right next to my bilge pump and my cold weather gear. Haven’t needed them yet, but I’m not stupid enough to trust that some jerk walking by on the dock won’t rob me blind.”

Whew. Seth let out the breath he’d been holding, why, he’d never know. “I never said you were stupid. I was just… concerned.” Concerned enough to bite her head off, this woman he’d intended to tell goodbye and never see again. Good luck. So long. And all those other lies.

Properly chastised for jumping to conclusions, he cleared his throat and politely asked, “How’d you keep this boat clean when you, umm…?”

Her bottom lip quivered. She knew what he meant. “I wrapped Gru in a plastic garbage bag, so he wouldn’t bleed all over the place. It was all I had,” she admitted, her tone flat and void of emotion.

He nodded, his nerves on edge now that he’d made a fool of himself. Scolding women wasn’t his forte, but the image of Devereaux and her son alone on the water without any means of contacting the Coast Guard had made him uncharacteristically—tense. Yeah, that was the right word, certainly not possessive. Lordy, this little boat could sink in a heartbeat out there on the ocean, and no one would ever know.

None of my business? Bet me.

Chagrinned, Seth scrambled to secure the line, tying it good and tight while Devereaux tipped the business end of her outboard out of the water, removed the key, and slid its lanyard around her neck. He couldn’t tear his eyeballs away as that shiny brass key disappeared beneath her stained white blouse to nestle—he guessed—between two small, but plump breasts. His cock noticed, too.

Forcing his stubborn male body to stand down, Seth offered Devereaux his hand. She grabbed hold, her fingers tight around his forearm instead of his palm as he’d expected. He gripped her arm accordingly. With an easy tug she cleared the boat, grinning when she landed off balance and one feminine palm made solid contact in the center of his chest.

And damn. Standing there looking up at him with the breeze whipping at her skirt, Devereaux was as slight as a water nymph, as ethereal as a goddess, and he had no business thinking what he was thinking. Everything ground to a halt. The planet. The waves lapping at the dock. His heart.

“Thanks for helping me tonight,” she whispered, those fluttering fingertips echoing the pounding beat in his veins. For two cents he’d thread his fingers into her hair, pull her to his mouth, and kiss her.

“Night’s not over,” he reminded hoarsely, more to keep his mind on track than to warn her. They still had a short walk to her place, or so she’d said, and he wanted every last step of that walk with her. A tiny thing like Devereaux wasn’t safe alone on this island or in this world, not at this time of night.

“’S okay,” she murmured, her eyes gone dark and hooded, her lips pursed and moist and begging for a kiss. What was it about this woman that made saying goodbye to her not only difficult, but impossible?

Seth drew her into his arms. Devereaux turned her head and nestled under his chin, her ear over his heart. Unable to stop, Seth dipped his nose to the top of her heard, breathing her scent into his soul.

His love for Katelynn cried out, ‘What are you doing?’

Inhaling deeply, Seth answered honestly, ’Living. I’m just… living.’