Lake Michigan 2:02 a.m.

Come on. Come on, Eve silently begged the small inboard engine as she leaned down into the cramped motor compartment, checking the plugs and the fuel lines even though she'd already checked them three times before, and they were working fine. Which mean they weren't the reason the engine had suddenly stalled out. And it wasn't the dreaded zebra mussels-those pesky little critters that'd been introduced to the Great Lakes by the bilge water from transoceanic vessels-that'd fouled the lines. Because there was no tell-tale sooty residue near the output port. Which meant...what?

What the heck was wrong with the stupid thing?

She wracked her brain, coming up with a big load of nada. Which wouldn't normally be a problem. Just like being engineless on a sailboat wouldn't normally a problem. Sailboat equals sails, after all. Sails catch wind and voila! The boat moves.

Except for tonight...

Because tonight there wasn't a breath of wind. Tonight Lake Michigan showcased a gla.s.sine surface, not even one tiny ripple marred its blue-black expanse. Tonight it was an inky mirror, perfectly reflecting the glittering stars overhead and the minute glow of Chicago's city lights far, far in the distance.

Please tell me whatever is wrong with you is something simple. An easy fix, she begged the motor.

But in the general way of inanimate objects, the engine refused to answer her.

Thump. She pushed up and spun around in time to see Billy toss a big, yellow waterproof flashlight onto the turquoise cushion of the captain's chair. The softly glowing LED lights that ran the length of the sailboat's cabin and surrounded the small wheelhouse washed his dripping form in faint, bluish light. He tugged off his sopping T-shirt using that quintessential guy-move where he reached over his shoulder and grabbed the collar, dragging the entire garment off in one fell swoop. It landed on the teakwood deck with a splat. And if the sight of his mile-wide chest with its smattering of hair, and his tan, corrugated belly wasn't enough to make her heart skip a beat, then the stars tattooed just inside each of his hipbones, emphasizing the delineation of his abdomen muscles and accentuating the large veins that ran down into his groin certainly were.

Holy schnikes! Billy is ripped! Like seriously, brutally, cause-a-girl's-tongue-to-hang-out ripped. And, sweet Lord in heaven, those tattoos. He hadn't had them twelve years ago. And just looking at them now, looking at the perfection of his male body, watching the crystalline water droplets run down his chest and his stomach into the waistband of his swim trunks was enough to make the breath catch at the back of her throat, and caused most of her blood to pool hot and heavy between her legs.

Well, that's an improvement, I suppose. Because ever since she'd stood in the parking lot at Delilah's, contemplating the fact that her father might be the one behind the attempts on her life-and certainly after she'd discovered he and Blake had conspired against her with the press-her blood had been like ice.

"Jesus Christ!" Billy yanked off a set of diving goggles and tossed them onto the captain's chair to join the flashlight. Grabbing the white fluffy towel that was draped over the back of the seat, he used it to roughly scrub the water from his hair before moving to dry off his arms and chest. "That water is colder than a penguin's backside." He shivered once, then shook himself like a dog shaking off water before wrapping the towel around his shoulders.

Cold? Yep, she remembered just how cold it could be. Which was why she hadn't put up a fight over which one of them would jump overboard to see if whatever was wrong with the engine had something to do with the propeller.

And speaking of...

"Did you see anything?" she asked, unconsciously licking her lips when her gaze snagged on one lone droplet of water as it rolled lazily down the center of his torso until it dipped into his bellyb.u.t.ton, reemerged, and got caught in the thin line of hair that arrowed down the lower portion of his stomach.

Ripped. Jacked. Buff. A whole slurry of descriptors tumbled through her head, but none seemed quite up to snuff when it came to encapsulating the wonder that was Billy and- "We ran over some sort of rope, I think. The d.a.m.n thing's wrapped six ways from Sunday around the prop," he said, bending to wring out what water he could from his loose swim trunks. "I'm going to need to go back down there with a knife and see if I can saw it loose."

Saw it loose...which meant he'd have to go back into that frigid, pitch-black water time and time again. Coming up for air, going back under. Rinse and repeat until he was a human popsicle. Although, it would certainly go much faster if she just went with him. She could hold the light while he worked on the rope.

She could hold the light...in all that endless, frigid, pitch-black water...

The memory of the scooter ride, of the weight of her backpack pulling her down, down, down into the abyss flashed through her head and refroze her blood in an instant.

"c.r.a.p," she cursed, biting her lip and glancing out over the lake. "c.r.a.p, c.r.a.p, c.r.a.p!" She turned to slam the teakwood hatch down over the top of the engine compartment.

Blam!

The loud report echoed out over the water and gave her a tiny niggle of satisfaction. But not enough to mitigate the tsunami wave of self-pity and frustration and...fear that threatened to engulf her. And was it too much to ask that Fate throw her one, just one-she didn't need more than one, but she'd like just one-flippin' bone? Seriously? After everything, didn't she deserve just a teensy, tiny break?

She reached up to fist both hands into her hair, her wet hair, which reminded her how twenty minutes ago she'd tried-without any luck-to shower away all her cares and worries. The maneuver usually worked. Being out on the water, on her Catalina 34-foot sailing yacht nostalgically named Summer Lovin', with none of the bullc.r.a.p day-to-day...things around her, save for the absolute bare necessities, she was usually able to find some clarity, some...peace.

But not tonight. Because either her ex-husband or her father or both were trying to kill her, and they'd apparently teamed up years ago to ensure she'd not only lost what little free will she had, but also completely annihilated any chance she had of making a life with the one and only guy she'd ever had the good fortune to love and...and...on top of all of that, an innocent man was dead because of their duplicity, because of them, because of her.

Blood running down a beer belly...Bearded mouth slightly open...Gray eyes gla.s.sy and dead...A red puddle of waning life steadily growing on the floor beneath a bar stool...

The images invaded her brain like a disease, and shoot! Now, she was going to lose it. She was supposed to have toughened up. She was supposed to have grown a set of bra.s.s ladyb.a.l.l.s, but right now, despite her best efforts, everything was catching up with her, pressing down on her, pressing in on her. And she was going to lose it.

She bit her lip to try to hold it all back, but the sharp pain of her teeth sinking into the delicate pad didn't work. The world around her began to dissolve into a jumble of fuzzy shapes as tears welled in her eyes. No, no, no...Don't do this. Don't- "Hey, hey," Billy padded over to her, throwing a heavy, damp arm around her shoulders. "It's no big deal. If I can just cut it away-"

"Y-you'll need m-my help," she sobbed, turning her face into his shoulder, breathing in the crisp smells of lake water and Billy. And it was official. The dam had broken. No, not broken. Exploded. Suddenly, she was shaking and bawling and probably working herself up to be a big ol' snot factory. But she couldn't help it. It felt like the entire world was out to get her, out to punish her for...for..."And I-I," she hiccupped, "I'm scared to go down there with you after," hiccup, "I nearly drowned!"

"You don't have to go down there with me. I can do it on my own, and-"

"Th-that's not it," she cried. "I'm n-n-not supposed to be scared of the water. It's my," hiccup, "my job!" Turning to wrap her arms around his neck, she choked on another sob when he immediately hugged her close. Hugged her up all tight and secure against his warm, solid chest, instinctively trying to sooth her, protect her. Being so nice. Being...Billy.

Oh, G.o.d! What had she done? Why hadn't she been tougher twelve years ago? Why hadn't she told her father to go screw himself when he kept after her about Blake? If she had, she'd have never betrayed Billy and she wouldn't be in this mess right now. If she'd only remained strong, remained true, her whole life would be different.

What was that old chaos theory about a b.u.t.terfly flapping its wings and setting into motion a series of events that resulted in a hurricane? Well, her decision to submit to her father's wishes was like the flapping of that b.u.t.terfly's wings. And now she was experiencing the hurricane. She wished, oh, how she wished she could blame it on something or someone else, but it had been her decision, so this was all her fault...

And, holy cow, she was so tired. So tired. And so scared. And so unbelievably sorry for...for everything.

"Okay," Billy murmured next to her ear, his deep voice calm and capable-sounding. "You're not really scared of the water. You're just exhausted." She opened her mouth to refute his claim but snapped it shut when she realized he might be right. She was exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. "Which means you're going straight to bed."

"Wh-what about the rope?" she asked.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm a highly trained Navy SEAL. This little problem is exactly that. A little problem. And once I take care of it, by myself," he stressed, "everything will be perfectly fine."

Perfectly fine. Ha! Was he delusional? Nothing was perfectly fine. Everything was perfectly wretched, and see! Defeated. She was completely defeated. Which was...pathetic. And so not the kind of woman she'd been working hard to become.

Another wracking sob shook her shoulders despite her best efforts to hold it back, and Billy held her tighter.

"Hey now," he crooned. "It's okay. I know things look really bad and everything feels really disastrous right now. But you just need some good, solid sleep. You'll feel better in the morning. Things will look better in the morning. I promise."

She tried to nod. Unfortunately the gesture just elicited a wet-sounding whimper.

You are such a loser, Eve! A pathetic, wimpy, spineless, pathetic loser. Did I mention pathetic?

"All right," he said. "I can see we've reached an impa.s.se here. So, up you go." He bent to wrap an arm beneath her knees, then hoisted her up against his chest with the ease of the supremely fit.

"I can w-walk," she protested, her nose buried in the crook of this wonderfully solid shoulder.

"Shh," he murmured, turning sideways so he could squeeze them down the stairs leading to the small cabin. "I know you can walk, sweetheart. You can do whatever you set your mind to." No. No, she couldn't. Because she'd set her mind to winning him back, but so far she'd managed diddly-squat. Sure, he was being nice to her now, but that's only because she was having some sort of nervous breakdown and he was Billy. Loyal Billy. Courageous Billy. Trustworthy Billy. Sweet Billy. Kicking someone when they were down wasn't in his nature. But that didn't change the fact that her betrayal had cut him so deeply that even now, all these years later, he still had a hard time even agreeing to be her friend.

Maybe...Someday...The two words he'd mumbled back in BKI's onsite gym tumbled through her head like a couple of hot, th.o.r.n.y boulders, making her tears flow faster.

See? A loser! A sorry, pathetic loser!

"Come on, Eve," he begged. Peripherally she knew he was shuffling past the compact galley and the small table and booth toward the lone berth. "You've got to stop that. You're breaking my heart."

Oh, great. As if she hadn't done enough of that already!

"I'm s-s-sorry!" she wailed, now crying so hard her bones were rattling, so hard her lungs felt like they were trying to crawl out of her throat. "I never wanted to-to hurt you!"

"I know, sweetheart," he said, gently placing her on the mattress, dragging a pillow under her head and flipping one side of the blue and green coverlet over her. "I know you didn't. Just take a couple of breaths, okay? Can you do that for me?"

Could she do that for him? Was he serious? If asked her to jump off the John Hanc.o.c.k building, she'd happily pioneer una.s.sisted human flight. But he wasn't asking her to jump off the John Hanc.o.c.k building, was he? He was only asking her to calm down, to take some breaths. Which she could do. Which she would do...

Fighting with everything she had, fighting for him like she should have fought for him years ago, she raked in a couple of ragged breaths through her stuffy nose. Then sucked in another through her mouth for good measure. It helped. Miraculously, her lungs once more settled into her chest. But when she raised her eyes to Billy's face, she had to bite her lip to keep from losing it all over again.

His intent brown eyes-his beautiful brown eyes-watched her with care and kindness and...and sympathy. Holy Mother Mary, a sob the size of Lake Michigan itself threatened to choke her. But she held it back.

"I-I'm okay," she sputtered, her stomach quivering so hard she thought she'd be sick. By the way he twisted his lips-his beautiful lips-it was obvious he didn't believe her. "Really," she a.s.sured him, her breath hitching only slightly this time. "R-really I am."

"You've always been a terrible liar," he told her, smiling gently. And his expression was so warm. So warm and understanding and...and his nearness...all that tan skin covered in all those star tattoos was overwhelmingly intoxicating, and- "B-Billy, please," she begged him for...what? To take pity on her? To love her? To make love to her.

And just the thought had everything inside her screeching to a halt. Except for her heart. Her heart was pounding against her ribs so fiercely she was surprised her oversized T-shirt wasn't fluttering.

"That's better," he said, mistaking her stillness for calmness. Lord knew she was anything but calm. Because her grief and fear and sense of defeat had morphed into something else, something she'd been told grief and fear and defeat often morphed into, though she'd never experienced the phenomenon herself.

The French referred to it so eloquently as convoitise de la chair. But in the far more suburban English it was known simply as...l.u.s.t...

And how was that possible? How could a mental switch just flip like that?

"I'm going to run up, cut that rope from the propeller, reset the auto-pilot, and then make us some PB and Js," he said, reaching forward to squeeze her knee. The touch of his big palm-his hands were rough from years loading and cleaning weapons, arming and disarming explosives, battle-hardened hands, if you will-set her on fire as surely as a lit match touching a pool of kerosene.

"O-okay," she told him, licking her suddenly dry lips.

"Okay," he repeated, offering her a wink that caused his thick lashes to cast a faint shadow on his cheek.

When he turned to shuffle back down the length of the cabin, she pushed up on one elbow to watch him go, her breaths coming short and fast. The muscles of his broad back bunched beside the deep divot of his spine, his big, st.u.r.dy shoulders rolled slightly with each step, and his b.u.t.t? Well, not to put it too crudely, but his mama must've been a baker because holy smokes did she ever make the perfect set of buns!

Geez Louise and praise be to good genetics and squat thrusts!

Thrusts. Gulp. Just the word brought to mind carnal images. Images of Billy above her, pumping, straining, sweat dampening the hair on his brow and trickling down his temple, his warm eyes watching her as- Okay. And that was it. She had to think of something else. Because the truth was, he may not know whether or not he could ever forgive her enough to call her a friend, but that didn't mean he didn't still want her. She knew he still wanted her from the ferocity of his kisses alone, not to mention the fact that there'd been no mistaking his erection when she'd been pressed against him both back at BKI and out in Delilah's parking lot.

He wanted her. Lord knew she wanted him. And if she was the s.e.x-kitten-y type she might be tempted to give him the one and only thing he was still willing to take from her and, conversely, take from him the one and only thing he was still willing to offer. Unfortunately, she wasn't the s.e.x-kitten-y type.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, a voice whispered through her head, no more missed opportunities, Eve...

Chapter Twenty.

Despite her height, Eve looked very small and delicate in her oversized T-shirt and her bunched up tube socks as she lay propped against the bulkhead. But when Bill offered her a plate stacked with three peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly sandwiches, he came to the conclusion that she may look small, however, she was undoubtedly the biggest disaster of his entire life.

Because beyond all reason, beyond his better judgment, he felt himself falling. Again. Just a.s.s over teakettle taking the dive, much like Jack after he'd gone up to the hill to fetch his pail of water. And okay, that just proved his point, because look how that had turned out. Then, if a person-namely he-wasn't inclined to learn any lessons from nursery rhymes, then said person-namely he-had only to take a long, hard look at history...

At what did history tell him, do you suppose?

Well, just that she'd betrayed him once. That she'd proven he couldn't trust her. That it'd been her decision to go out with Blake Parish that night after she'd pledged to remain true to him and only him-of course what'd happened afterward wasn't her fault, but the initial decision had been hers. So...falling for her again would be bad...asinine...the stupidest, craziest, most ridiculous thing he could do, right?

Right.

Unfortunately, he felt himself standing on the edge of a cliff, poised to do exactly that. Especially when she looked at him, all big doe-eyes and hero-worship and...s.h.i.t.

He watched her pale, slender hand reach out to snag the top sandwich and just that one innocent move, that one silly, everyday occurrence felt somehow intimate. Suddenly, he was all about the I'm the big, strong provider caring for my little woman. Jesus Christ, it was pathetic.

"Thank you for taking care of the prop," she murmured softly.

"It was nothing a good, sharp knife couldn't handle," he a.s.sured her. "I didn't even need to come up for air." And to prove it, the boat's engine hummed happily beneath them, the autopilot directing them across Lake Michigan's smooth surface toward Ludington.

"I should've-"

"Shh," he interrupted her. "You should've done exactly what you did. Relax. It's been one h.e.l.l of a day."

She nodded, swallowing. "O-okay. Thank you, Billy," she said. And inexplicably he was thrust back in time, back to a moment twelve years ago when they were hot and heavy in the backseat of his Camaro with the windows all steamed up, with his hand in her pants and her sweet, pale nipple in his mouth. She'd been soft sighs and hesitant, searching hands, but the minute he thrust his finger inside her tight, wet body, she'd tensed in his arms and he'd known. Despite the slow-as-mola.s.ses-in-winter route they'd been taking to the ultimate physical discovery of each other, despite her a.s.surances that she was ready, he'd known.

She hadn't been ready.

So he stopped. It was the hardest thing he ever did, slowly removing his finger from her body while his b.a.l.l.s pounded so hard he thought they might just explode. But he stopped, and he told her, "Let's wait a little while longer, okay? Let's just hold off until you're really, really ready."

He remembered her opening her mouth to protest, but he halted her with a kiss, a slow, thorough kiss. A kiss he tried his best to infuse with all sorts of promises. Then he remembered pulling back, resting his fevered forehead against hers. "We have all the time in the world," he said.

She'd searched his eyes then, her expression torn. And he'd known the h.o.r.n.y teenager in her wanted to know what lay beyond that final hurdle, and, talk about a Charlie Foxtrot, because he'd soooo wanted to show her, had been dying to show her. But the scared young virgin in her hadn't been quite there yet. And she'd listened to that second part of herself that day. With a sigh that was one part regret and another part relief, she'd said, "Okay. Thank you, Billy."

And looking back on all of that now, knowing how it'd turned out, he didn't know whether he should give himself a medal for being a stand-up guy, or if he should just go ahead and dub himself Unluckiest b.a.s.t.a.r.d on the Planet.

Blinking, he realized he'd kept the plate raised toward her for a ridiculous length of time, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed it back, surrept.i.tiously watching as she took a delicate bite of the sandwich. She licked a dollop of grape jelly from the corner of her mouth and he thought, Alrighty, then. It's time to vamoose yourself, Bill ol' boy, before you do something really stupid.

Turning to head back to the small booth and table, her voice stopped him. "Don't go, Billy," she pleaded quietly. "Won't you...I...I'd like it if you sat with me."

On the bed. She didn't need to say those last three words. They were implied when she scooted over on the mattress, making room for him.

And talk about doing something really stupid...

For a moment he hesitated, glancing out the porthole on the starboard side, hoping...what? That there'd be a neon sign glowing out there, spelling out for him in no uncertain terms what he should do? But the only thing he could see outside the porthole was darkness, just a pitch-black void that gave him no help whatsoever.

Go figure. The universe was a total wad when it came to him, remember?

Which left him with no recourse but to swallow the lump of uncertainty in his throat before blowing out a covert breath and turning back to Eve. She sat looking at him, a combination of fear and hope in her eyes. Her usually sleek hair was still a little damp and a lot rumpled, and her red bikini bottoms were peeking out from where the hem of her T-shirt rode high on her hip. Her eyes were bruised and puffy, her nose was pink, and her left cheek sported a glistening tear trail. But even given all of that, she was still temptation personified, everything he'd ever wanted and knew for G.o.dd.a.m.ned sure he shouldn't, because he refused to put himself out there again. Not when he didn't know if he could trust her. Not when it'd nearly killed him to have his trust in her, his faith in her broken the first time. Not when- "It-it's okay," she said, tucking her chin and blinking rapidly as she hastily took another bite of the sandwich.

d.a.m.nit all to h.e.l.l, and now he'd gone and made her cry again.

"Of course I'll sit with you," he said, promptly perching on the smallest edge of the bed, barely putting his weight down because...well, then he'd be on the bed. With Eve. He'd be on the bed with Eve and that could be very...stupid.

s.h.i.t. Had he covered this ground before? Eve plus bed equals stupid? Yeah, that sounded like an equation he'd already solved.

Giving her his back while he devoured one of the remaining two sandwiches in a couple of ma.s.sive bites, the peanut b.u.t.ter and white bread stuck to the roof of his mouth and his tongue. He blamed them for the fact that he had a hard time swallowing.