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“I look forward to it,” Ben says.
“Youwantme to throw you off your yacht?”
“Boat,” he teases. “And no. I don’t want you to throw me off.” His fingers squeeze the base of my skull, and I let out a soft moan. “I just want you to feel well enough to try.”
There is so much tenderness in his voice, it should surprise me. And yet, somehow, even through the fog of my pain and discomfort, I’m intensely aware that what I’m getting here, in the hazy darkness, is therealBenedict King. This shouldn’t make me so happy, but in my current state, I don’t have the fortitude to argue with myself so I give up and give in, relaxing into Ben’s warm, firm body and somehow managing to fall asleep through the pain.
SEVEN
Ben
I tellmyself it’s not creepy to watch Sadie sleeping. It’s not.
Not when I’ve been taking care of her basically nonstop for the last twenty-four hours. I’m only paying such close attention to make sure she’s well. Like a doctor would. Or someone conducting a clinical trial.
Yep—that’s why I’m letting my gaze rove over her cheekbones and the pale lashes resting there. It’s why I’m watching the curve of her shoulder as it rises and falls with each breath. Why I let my eyes linger on her lips, lightly parted as she makes soft breathing sounds.
It’s what any doctor would do.
Okay—maybe a doctor on one of those TV dramas where they fall for their patient even though they shouldn’t.
But I can’t help it. I have to drink my fill of her because, at some point, probably very soon, Sadie is going to wake up and feel better enough to remember that I basically kidnapped her and lied about being her boyfriend.
I wonder if she’ll also remember that every ounce of food or water she’s put in her body since she got sick has come from me. Or that I’ve been the one to walk her to the bathroom, hovering outside the cracked door, eyes averted but close enough to hear her if she gets too wobbly on her feet. I wonder if she’ll recall how I spent the night spooning her, running my fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp. How she told me she hated me but also whimpered with raw need any time I stopped touching her.
Though, knowing Sadie, remembering these things might infuriate her more than my lie about being her boyfriend. Once she’s fully cognizant, she’ll hate that she needed me, that I saw her in such a vulnerable state. Knowing Sadie like I do—which I’d argue is pretty well after this—I bet she won’t just back off to settle into our previous status quo of precarious friendship mixed with disdain.
No—this brief intimacy is going to have her bolting for the hills. As much as she can, anyway. Since there are no hills and, despite the size of my boat, very few places to run.
Regardless, I don’t have any regrets. I still don’t know anything about why Sadie is in trouble or who might be looking for her. But as soon as we were out of sight of Oakley Harbor, Agent German visibly relaxed, as much as hecanrelax, so I feel certain I made the right call. And pretending to be her boyfriend was probably the only reason the agents agreed to take my yacht—and me—in the first place. Even if my current status as Sadie’s definitely-not-a-boyfriend doesn’t entitle me to feel so protective, there’s no arguing that she’s safer out here than she would be back on land. Her ire is worth that alone.
“What did you get yourself into, Sadie girl?” I murmur as she shifts in her sleep.
Before we left the marina, a little before dawn yesterday, Agent German tasked a second pair of agents to stay on Oakleyto watch over Sadie’s sisters and their families. The thought sends another wave of uneasiness washing over me. I’m sure they’ll be fine, but I’d feel better if I could check in with Jake just to make sure.
Acting on instinct, I reach for my phone, but draw my hand back, abandoning the effort.The Oakleyhas a satellite internet connection that my phone is usually connected to, but as a matter of safety, we’ve cut off all communication with the mainland. Agent German insisted I disable the internet, so even though I still have my phone, it’s basically useless.
Which is more than Sadie can say. Her sim card is in Agent German’s pocket, but her actual cell phone is sitting at the bottom of Oakley Harbor, where he tossed it with a grumbled, “Better safe than sorry.”
Yet another reason Sadie is going to be furious. Hopefully, no one will tell her it wasmewho showed German to her room and let him inside. I had no idea he’d go through her things and take her phone. I definitely didn’t expect him to destroy it.
Sadie shifts, lifting a hand to her face. I lean forward in the armchair I moved close to the bed yesterday. The room is mostly dark, heavy shades blocking out the sunlight, but there’s enough light for me to have spent hours watching her and to notice now, as her eyes slowly crack open.
Licking her lips, Sadie glances toward the nightstand where I’ve set a bottle of water. “What time is it?” she asks, her voice rough with sleep.
I reach for the water bottle and uncap it, then move to the edge of the bed so I can offer it to her. “A little after two p.m.,” I say.
Sadie takes the water, propping herself up on her elbow while she takes a long drink. It’s the most I’ve seen her manage in the last thirty-six hours. I hope this means she’s feeling better.
“Good girl,” I say gently as she hands the water back and drops onto her pillow.
“Two p.m.,” she says, eyes glassy. “Does that mean—?” She frowns. “How long has it been?”
“Since we left Oakley?” I ask. “Or since you christened the side of my boat?”
She closes her eyes again, but there’s a small smile playing on her lips. “I did not get any vomit on your yacht. I had good aim. It all went in the water.”
“Boat,” I correct, “and yes you did. At least according to the guy who rigged himself up in a harness and dangled over the water to scrub it off.”
