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“Please tell me you’re joking,” she says.
“Okay. I’m joking,” I say easily. Too easily, because Sadie lifts one eye open, shooting me a doubtful look. I say nothing to confirm or deny it, butyes—Danny absolutely had to clean the side of the boat.
“How are you feeling?” I ask. “You look a little less like death reheated.”
She snorts softly and shakes her head, her hand moving back to her forehead. “Be careful with your flattery, Mr. King, or I just might start to think youlikeme.”
I say nothing to this, my heart quickens the slightest bit at her words.
“I feel better,” she says. “Slightly. The throbbing has lessened, but the thought of light still makes me want to cry.”
“Any more aura?” I ask. I’ve never experienced the dancing lights that streak across your vision during a migraine, but my mother had migraines when I was a kid, and I remember her mentioning the symptom. Sadie experienced a few different episodes yesterday. “Or nausea?”
I hope the seasickness patch and bracelet I gave her along with the medicine helped that, at least.
“My stomach feels better.” She yawns and rolls onto her side, curling into a ball, and I move a hand to her neck, massaging the back of her skull like I have so many times over the past twenty-four hours. She doesn’t flinch at my touch, instead leaning into it with a soft sound that makes my pulse quicken even further.
“Ben, this might be impossible, but I think I want to take a shower.”
For a split second, my hand stills, my throat going dry at the thought of Sadie in my shower. But I quickly push the thought away and resume the massage.
“It’s not impossible at all,” I say. “There’s a bathroom less than ten feet from here. My shower has a very comfortable bench inside.”
“Of course, your yacht shower has a bench.”
“Dang straight it does. What self-respecting yacht owner doesn’t have one?”
She smiles, the spark in her eyes making me unreasonably happy. “I knew it was a yacht,” she says. She pushes up on her hands, but then stills, wincing like the movement brought her pain.
“I don’t know if I can walk,” she says. “Or get to the bench.”
“I can help.”
She lets out a half-hearted scoff that makes me grin, despite how terrible she must feel. “Youwouldvolunteer for that job,” she mutters.
“I can help get everythingready,” I clarify. “I’ll help you get to the shower, then leave you on your own like the Southern gentleman I am.”
She barely arches one eyebrow. “You—a Southern gentleman? Don’t forget, I googled you.”
And I’d rather not know what she found. Actually, very little would come as a surprise, I’m sure. There are rumors about me dating a string of models and Savannah debutantes. Even a fewfrom Charleston. And, I somewhat regret to say, most of those rumors are true. At least, in part.
Those relationships always felt cold and empty, but never more so than now—when I’ve felt the warmth of Sadie’s back against my chest and the fire of her words aimed at me.
I clear my throat. “My shower is fully stocked but tell me what else you need. Your suitcase from your room? Clothes to change into? Just say the word.”
I must have asked too many questions because Sadie doesn’t respond, instead dropping back onto her pillow and shaking her head, pulling the blankets a little higher.
“Too hard,” she says softly. But less than a minute later, she must feel a new burst of energy because she pushes herself all the way up so she’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I don’t need help,” she says, looking toward the bathroom through narrowed eyes. “I can just—” She tries to stand, but her words cut off when she immediately wobbles and drops back onto the bed.
“Hey,” I say gently, steadying her with a hand on either shoulder. “Slow down. No shame in needing help every so often. Even if you are a capable, brilliant, independent woman.”
Too far, Ben. Too freaking far.
“Let me just get you started, all right? I’ll turn on the water and get out some towels and find you something to put on after. I’ll leave it all in the bathroom for you. Then, I’ll help you walk in and let you do your thing. Okay?”
She rolls her head forward like she’s stretching her neck, wincing with the motion. “No funny business?” she finally asks.
