“M’lady,” he says, bending at the waist and making a sweeping motion with his arm.
“Oh, cut the crap,” I mutter, gingerly stepping down out of the SUV, careful not to tip the fish tank. “This is a joke, right? Wait, are you in the mob or something? Is that why you brought me out here? You’re going to take me out on a boat and make me swim with the fishes? I knew there was something shady about you.”
Eric chuckles, slamming the door closed behind me and I curse my godforsaken skin when the sound of his laughter makes my arms break out in goose bumps. Did someone give me a fucking lobotomy earlier, when I was so out of it? That is the only explanation for the effect this man has been having on me today.
“Sorry, not in the mob. I’m Greek. We don’t really have mobs. We just have loud, overbearing families who want to feed you to death.”
I take a minute to study him, wondering why he doesn’t look Greek. And with a last name like Sailor, I’m guessing he takes after his father.
“My family owns a luxury-yacht rental company. See those two white ones at the end of the dock?” he asks, pointing a few hundred yards away at two, huge white boats docked side-by-side in the water. “Those are mine. I’ve always had a thing for boats and the freedom of being out on the open water, which I guess is natural considering I grew up around that stuff. I have my own side company now, and I rent those two out, but I use them as living quarters when they’re not in use,” he concludes with a shrug.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I groan, closing my eyes and shaking my head.
I feel like at some point since I met this guy in the last few months, I maybe remember him mentioning something about his family and boats. Honestly, during our first few interactions, whenever he spoke all I heard was “Blah, blah, blah, I’m a manwhore, blah, blah.”
Of course this guy is giving me goose bumps when he laughs, and making my heart flutter when he says something like, “Seeing you broken and hurting and sad is like having someone stick a fucking knife in my chest.” Of course this guy owns fucking luxury yachts that are bigger than my house, Cindy’s house, and an entire street of houses. Out of all the men in this world, of course I find another one who has a thing for boats and freedom. My ex-husband’s parting words to me were, “You know I’ve always loved boats and dreamed of working on one. I just need my freedom, Ariel.”
Fuck boats. Fuck all of them.
“Those were my eighteenth birthday present,” Eric adds.
“Normal people don’t get yachts on their eighteenth birthday. You know what I got on my eighteenth birthday?”
I got married to a freeloading bag of dicks who ruined my life.
“I got a sweater from Target,” I say, instead of what I’m thinking.
I’ve already let this guy get under my skin entirely too much. There’s no way I’m going to let him burrow even further. My ex was an asshole, and so is Eric, and I just need to remember that.
“If it makes you feel any better, I believe the comforter and pillows in one of the master bedrooms are from Target,” he tells me with a smile.
“No, no that does not make me feel any better. I changed my mind. Take me back to Cindy or Belle’s house. Actually, I didn’t even make this decision to begin with, so technically, you kidnapped me.”
“You got in my SUV of your own free will,” he reminds me, crossing his arms over his chest and raising one of his eyebrows. “But if you’d like to start kicking and screaming now, I have no problems tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you to the yacht.”
An image of my body draped over his muscular shoulder while he rests his hands on my ass as he carries me down the dock flashes through my mind, but I quickly shut that shit down.
“Seriously. I’m not staying on one of those,” I tell him, my nose wrinkling in disgust as I look over his shoulder at the death trap floating on water. “I can’t swim. What if I fell overboard? Nope. This isn’t happening.”
I turn away from him, hefting the fish tank higher up in one arm, and reach for the handle of the SUV door, when Eric gets into my personal space. His chest is against my back, his arm comes around me, and his hand presses down on top of mine, stopping me from opening the door. I can feel his heart beating against my back and the damn smell of his cologne surrounds me again as he leans his head down until his mouth is right by my ear and I can feel his warm breath skating over my cheek.