“I should go.” I couldn’t handle the weight or intensity of his stare. It was almost as if he were willing my deepest, darkest secrets to the surface.
“I enjoyed talking with you, Avery.”
The way he said my name, the pronunciation, was so different, as if he strung out the syllables to make the sound last. It was so unnerving that my skin scattered with goose bumps. “I enjoyed talking with you too.”
“I mean it,” he said, scanning my face before he brought his hand up and swept his thumb over my chin, just below my mouth. My legs weakened under his heat and I blinked slowly, desperate for time to slow down so I could take in every sensation. “About you being perfect.” He withdrew his hand and took another sip of coffee as if touching me like that was no big deal. Maybe it wasn’t. To him. This wasn’t a friendly grasp of my shoulder or a squeeze of my arm that I could dismiss as him being tactile—this was intimate and flirtatious, and I needed to leave before he saw how much I wanted it to happen again.
Thirteen
Avery
Despite it being days since Hayden had touched me, the heat of his fingers still echoed against my skin every now and then. Particularly when I was alone and trying not to think of him. This early in the morning, the entire boat was silent and, attempting not to make a sound, I made my way up the spiral staircase and out through the main salon to the deck. The outside lights were on but dimmed and the sea was particularly still this morning—a sheet of black silk beneath us. A ribbon of fiery orange trailed across the horizon as the sun threatened to burst into the sky. It was beautiful. I leaned against the railing, breathing in the fresh air that would become almost stifling by mid-afternoon.
In moments like these, yachting was worth it. But they were fleeting.
The sliding doors behind me whizzed as they opened, and I stood straight and twirled around as if I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have been.
“Good morning,” I said as Hayden appeared, his hair rumpled and gray half-moons settled under his eyes. I was more pleased to see him than I should have been. I spread my arms, presenting the horizon, which was threatening to burst into flames. “The sunrise is putting on a show.”
Hayden glanced from the sky to me. I was probably grinning a little too widely and looked like a maniac, but I couldn’t help it. It was so beautiful.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Was he laughing at me? “These moments have to be enjoyed, that’s all.”
He strode toward me, reached out and squeezed my upper arm. “You’re absolutely right.”
His touch momentarily paralyzed me before I found my voice. I needed some space, some distance. “Can I get you a juice while you enjoy the view?” I asked, stepping sideways toward the door.
He turned away from the sky to look at me and frowned. “Stay. This is a moment to be enjoyed, to share.”
I knew I shouldn’t stay. “I have a lot to do. I need to—I should really . . .”
“Stay.” He said it so simply, so finally, there was no arguing with him. I stepped up next to where he leaned against the rail, watching as the orange edged into pink and bled into the black.
“Sunrises aren’t something that should be witnessed alone,” he said after several minutes had passed.
We stood facing forward and he turned his head to me. I glanced at him, as the beginnings of the day caught the sharp edge of his jaw.
My body relaxed and I leaned forward next to him, our elbows just an inch apart.
“Thank you—this was just what I needed.” Did he mean he needed the sunrise or me staying to watch it with him? He unclasped his hands and shifted closer, our elbows touching as he trailed his knuckles over my hand as if to reinforce his gratitude. I glanced down to where our skin touched, then back up to find his eyes fixed on mine.
Though it was just his hand against mine, the gesture belied the nature of our relationship: guest and stewardess. We weren’t lovers or friends. Maybe it was the ocean air or the magnificent sky, but the more time I spent in this man’s orbit, the more I thought maybe I wanted to be friends with him, know him a little better, understand his changes in mood and temperament, know what drove him.
“I’m glad,” I whispered, our arms still close enough I could feel the heat of him. If he was happy that meant I was doing my job. Although the way my heart swelled, and my cheeks heated, it felt less like a job and more like a calling. Or fate. Something bigger than I’d known before.