It's in His Kiss (36 page)

One month later, Becca got a call. Her agency had been steadily sending her new assignments, and she’d done well on all of them. This time they were offering her one of their largest accounts, an American car company.

Finally.

Becca hung up and laughed, and then did a little dance right there on the boat.

The guys were sprawled out enjoying the last of the Indian summer as September came to a close.

After a crazy summer, the best summer of Becca’s life, they’d all taken a rare day off and were fishing. Or at least making a semblance of fishing, as in the lines were cast. But she doubted any of them, slouched in various positions on deck, each with a beer, dark sunglasses on, bodies relaxed and still, was worried about his catch.

It’d been Sam’s idea to take Becca out today. He’d been unhappy when Cole and Tanner had tagged along
without invitation, but he’d given in to the inevitable invasion, and they’d had a great day.

Cole was smiling at her little dance. “Probably you shouldn’t ever teach dance classes,” he said.

“I think she dances kinda cute,” Tanner said. “It’s white-girl rhythm, but it’s the enthusiasm that counts. Although I could tell better if you’d do it again, in a bikini this time,” he said with some hopefulness and a sidelong glance at Becca’s tee and shorts. “Maybe we should instill a new uniform code. A bikini code.”

Sam smacked him upside the back of his head. “My woman,” he said. Then he tugged Becca onto his lap.

“Hey,” Cole complained. “No PDA on this boat.”

“You tagged along,” Sam reminded him. “Deal with it.” He smiled at Becca. “What’s up, babe?”

“I got a big assignment.”

His smile was slow and sure. “Proud of you,” he said, and leaned in for a warm kiss.

She cupped his scruffy jaw. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

Sam nipped her bottom lip and slid his palm to the nape of her neck to hold her still for another kiss. “Show me,” he murmured against her lips.

“Christ,” Tanner mumbled to Cole. “They’re like bunnies.”

Cole sighed, rose to his feet, and headed for the helm. “Time to head in.” He pointed at Sam. “And that wasn’t one of those double entendre things. You can wait until we get back.”

Sam smiled into Becca’s eyes. “I’ll try.”

She smiled back. It’d been a great month, maybe the best month of her life. She was teaching, writing jingles,
sometimes still playing late at night at the Love Shack. . . when she wasn’t sleeping in Sam’s arms. They stayed at his house sometimes, but more often than not Sam left his place to his father and stayed with Becca in her warehouse apartment.

She loved it.

She loved him.

She loved life.

As a bonus, Jase had just gotten out of rehab. She’d talked to him the day before, and he sounded good, real good. He wasn’t going to go straight back out on the concert rounds but was going to stay with their parents and do some studio work and see how things went.

She was hopeful about that, and as Sam pulled her sunglasses off and kissed her, she realized she was hopeful about a bunch of things.

Thirty minutes later they pulled up to their dock.

Becca had placed an ad in the paper for help at the hut, freeing her up to teach music classes to the rest of the grades in the district. She’d hired someone who was perfect for the job.

“Hey, son.” Mark caught the ropes Sam tossed him and helped tie down the boat.

Becca looked him over carefully. He’d had a rough month health-wise, and they’d had to change up his meds, but he was looking good today at least, and she’d take that. She knew he was happy to be working, and that he loved feeling helpful, and most of the days he was even on time.

“You do it yet?” Mark asked Sam.

“Do what?” Cole wanted to know.

Mark blinked at Cole, then looked at Sam. “I thought
you were going to do it today. How did you do it with these clowns with you?”

Sam’s mouth tightened.

“She didn’t like it?” Mark asked. He turned to Becca. “You didn’t like it?”

“Dad, drop it,” Sam said. “Jesus.”

Becca grabbed her small backpack and the tin of ranch-flavored popcorn Sam had given her that morning as she’d boarded. Clutching all her stuff, she stepped off the boat. “Like what?” she asked Mark.

He tapped on the tin.

“Oh, I
love
it when he buys me the popcorn,” she said. “I just didn’t get a chance to eat any yet. Sam distracted me every time I tried.”

Sam looked pained.

Becca stared at him, wondering what the odd tremor in her belly was. She couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something.

Something big.

Mark looked at Sam and laughed. “You poor, dumb bastard. I almost feel sorry for you.”

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a sigh.

Becca set her backpack down and opened the tin.

Popcorn.

“Becca,” Sam said, and reached for the tin.

She shoved a handful in her mouth, and the delicious flavor exploded against her taste buds. Cole reached into the tin as well, but she smacked his hand away. “Mine.”

“Man, never get between a woman and her popcorn,” Tanner told Cole.

Becca shoved down another few bites, leaving enough room to push the popcorn aside. At the bottom was a
little velvet black box, dusted with popcorn crumbs. She stopped breathing.

“I knew you’d get hungry enough eventually,” Sam said. “I was just trying to avoid a crowd when it happened.” He leveled the guys with a look. “I should’ve known better.”

She just stared at him, her heart pounding.

Sam reached into the tin.

“Hey,” Cole bitched. “You’ll share with him and not me? I thought we were friends.”

Tanner wrapped an arm around Cole’s neck, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Sam pulled the small black box from the tin. He nudged a gobsmacked Becca to the dock bench and then crouched at her side. “I might be a little slow,” he said, “but luckily I learn from my mistakes.” He opened the box and revealed a diamond ring that dazzled her and left her speechless.

It spoke of forever and stability and calm acceptance. It was a testament to his life, proof of his love and commitment. “Oh, Sam,” she breathed.

“Is that
Oh, Sam
, you done good?” Mark asked. “Or
Oh, Sam
, you’re an idiot? ’Cause there’s a big difference, darlin’.”

Tanner wrapped his other arm around Mark’s neck and muzzled him as well.

“It’s so beautiful,” Becca whispered, throat tight, eyes misting.

Sam smiled at her. “I love you. Be mine, Becca. Marry me.”

Mark tore Tanner’s hand from his mouth. “Son, you’re supposed to ask, not tell.”

Sam slid his dad a dark look.

Mark grimaced. “Right. Don’t butt in. I almost forgot that part, sorry.” He then lifted Tanner’s hand back to his own mouth.

Becca let out a laugh and stared down at Sam, the big, tough, stoic man who was so good at coming in under the emotional radar that she’d never seen him coming at all. He had his heart out on the line, and she knew he wasn’t all that patient about such things. So she touched his face, feeling the rough day-old stubble beneath her fingertips as she leaned in. “Yes,” she whispered against his mouth. “I’ll be yours. And that makes you mine as well, you know. You ready for that?”

He grinned. “It’s all I ever wanted.”

For a guy balancing his weight between the fly bridge of his boat and the dock, thinking about sex instead of what he was doing was a real bonehead move. Cole Donovan was precariously perched on the balls of his feet above some seriously choppy, icy water. So concentrating would’ve been the smart move.

But he had no smarts left, which was what happened when you hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in so long you couldn’t remember what it felt like to be rested—your brain wandered into areas it shouldn’t.

Sex being one of those areas.

He shook his head to clear it. It was way too early for those kinds of thoughts. Not quite dawn, the sky was a brilliant kaleidoscope of purples and blues and reds. Cole worked with a flashlight between his teeth, his fingers threading new electrical wire through the running lights on the stern. He only had a couple of hours before a group of eight was coming through for a tour of the area.

That’s what he and his two partners and best friends did—they hired out themselves and their fifty-foot Wright Sport boat, chartering deep sea fishing, whale watching, scuba diving . . . if it could be done, they did it. Sam was their financial guy and boat builder. Tanner was their scuba diving instructor and communications expert. Cole was the captain, chief navigator, mechanic, and—lucky him—the face of Lucky Harbor Charters, mostly because neither Sam nor Tanner was exactly a service-oriented person.

They’d had a warm Indian summer here in the Pacific Northwest, but October had just recently roared in like Mother Nature was pissed off at the world, and maybe in need of a Xanax to boot. But business was still good. Or it had been, until last night. He and Tanner had taken a group of frat boys out, and one of the idiots had managed to kick in the lights running along the stern, destroying not only the casing but also the electrical.

Cole could fix it. There was little he couldn’t fix, but as he got down to it, a harsh wind slapped him in the face, threatening his balance. He kicked off the dock so that he was balanced entirely on the very edge of the stern. Still not for the faint of heart, but after seven years on an oil rig and two more running Lucky Harbor Charters, Cole felt more at ease on the water than just about anywhere else.

He could smell the salt on the air, hear the swells smacking up against the dock moorings. The wind hit him again, and he shivered to the bone. Last week, he’d been out here working in board shorts and nothing else, the sun warming his back. Today he was in a knit cap, thick sweatshirt, cargo pants and boots, and he was wishing for
gloves like a little girl. He shoved his flashlight in his pocket, brought his hands to his mouth, and blew on his fingers a moment before reaching for the wires again.

Just as they connected, there was a sizzle and a flash, and he jerked, losing his footing. The next thing he knew, he was airborne, weightless for a single heartbeat . . .

And then he hit the icy cold water, plunging deep, the contact stealing the air from his lungs. Stunned, he fought the swells, his heavy clothes, himself, eyes open as he searched for the flames that surely went along with the explosion.

Jesus, not another fire
. That was his only thought as panic gripped him hard. He opened his mouth and—

Swallowed a lungful of seawater.

This cleared his head. He
wasn’t
on the oil rig in the Gulf. He
wasn’t
in the explosion that had killed Gil, and nearly Tanner as well. He was in Lucky Harbor.

He kicked hard, breaking the surface, gasping as he searched for the boat, a part of him still not wholly convinced. But there. She was there, only a few feet away.

No flames, not a single lick. Just the cold-ass water of the Pacific Northwest.

Treading water, Cole shook his head. A damn flashback, which he hadn’t had in over a year—

“Ohmigod, I see you!” a female voice called out. “Just hang on, I’m coming!” This was accompanied by hurried footsteps clapping on the dock. “Help!” she yelled as she ran. “Help, there’s a man in the water! Sir, sir, can you hear me? I’m coming.
Sir
?”

If she called him
sir
one more time, he was going to drown himself. His dad had been a sir. The old guy who ran the gas pumps on the corner of Main and First was a
sir. Cole wasn’t a damn sir. He’d opened his mouth to tell her so, and also that he was fine, not in any danger at all, when she took a flying leap off the dock.

And landed right on top of him.

The icy water closed over both their heads, and as another swell hit, they became a tangle of limbs and water-laden clothing. He fought free and once again broke the surface, whipping his head around for the woman.