I don't do boats. I don't know how to swim. Hell, I've only been to the beach a handful of times in my entire life, and frankly I would've rather eaten a bucketful of sand than actually enter those shark-infested waters.

Um, hello? They filmed Jaws in Martha's Vineyard for a reason.

Still - my aversion to water sports is a rarity, in a place like this. Boston is surrounded on three sides by water. If you grow up here, there's a good chance you'll spend your summers tanning at a beachfront cottage on the Cape, sailing between the harbor islands, zipping around on jet skis, tubing or waterskiing off the back of a motorboat.

Assuming, of course, you have parents who are alive to do those things with you...

I feel Parker studying me, but I keep my eyes trained forward. I don't want to see the curiosity - or worse, the pity - in his stare.

"Well," he says, his voice softer than usual. "Let's do something about that."

I swallow hard, determined not to broadcast the idea of getting onboard that thing scares the shit out of me. I've always been in favor of keeping both feet planted firmly on the ground.

But... The more time I spend with him, the more I'm getting the feeling Parker lives in total contradiction to that belief. His is a changeable, mercurial existence - flying on wind currents, skimming over waves. He, down to a molecular level, challenges everything about the person I've worked to become and the values I've tried to instill.

I'm careful. Cautious. Methodical.

He's bold. Brash. Free.

It's anathema.

It's addicting.

"Spend one afternoon with me," he whispers. For once, his voice is totally stripped of that wisecracking sarcasm he's constantly using.

I look up at him, straight into his eyes, and feel my heart thudding too loud inside my veins. I don't want to ask the question - I don't want to reveal any insecurity to him - but I can't seem to stop the words from tumbling out.

"Why are you so intent on spending time with me?"

"I like you," he says softly, hazel eyes roaming my face like a detective searching a crime scene for clues. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"You don't know me," I counter.

He thinks about that for a minute. "Thing is, that's not really an excuse. Because no one ever really knows anybody. Some people spend their whole lives with someone, only to find out after they're gone that everything they thought they knew was total bullshit."

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. I'm stunned to find... I actually agree with him.

His hand tightens on mine. "I've traveled a lot. Been all over the world. Seen places of immense poverty and immense wealth. For a long time, I wanted to see everything, just so I could say I'd done it. Climbed Kilimanjaro, walked among the moai statues at Easter Island, dived on an underwater volcano in Indonesia, seen the dragons on Komodo. But at a certain point, you realize you'll never see it all before you die-" He pauses. "-or before some petite, pretty-as-hell hacker frames you for murder and sends you to prison with a cellmate named Nacho."

"Diablo," I correct, laughing.

He shrugs. "My point is, you can't see it all. You have to pick and choose. Prioritize the places you want to visit, the way you want to spend your limited days on this earth. Life's too damn short to waste it with people who don't make you happy, in places that don't excite you, doing things that don't challenge you." He looks at me - really looks - and I get the oddest sense that he actually sees me. This person who, by all accounts, is nothing more than a partying playboy, a tabloid prince, a paparazzi favorite... somehow understands me.

Me.

Zoe Bloom, who's never been anywhere outside the Greater Boston Area, never even heard of half the places he rattled off with such familiarity.

"Zoe," he says lowly, snapping my attention back to him. "You travel that much, you get pretty good at sorting out the things you'll enjoy exploring from the places that'll leave your soul empty." His hand gives mine a quick squeeze. "Only took one look at you to know which category you'd fall into."

I suck in a sharp breath.

Only took one look...

"So," he says, before I have time to recover.

"So?" I echo, ignoring the racing of my heart.

"Spend the day with me. Let me take you on an adventure. Let me show you what fun looks like."

I take a breath.

Here it is. The tipping point.

I've been putting him off all day, telling myself I don't like him, don't want to spend any more time with him than I have to, that lingering in his presence is due to the flash drive, nothing else. Certainly not because I might actually like him.

That would be crazy. Right?

His expression is easy-going as he waits for my answer, but his eyes never lose that intent edge as they stare into mine. There's something simmering at the back of his irises that I can't quite define - I don't know him well enough.

But I want to, a voice in my mind stuns me by replying. I want to know this man - want to see what lies beneath that facade of trust-fund entitlement and joking nonchalance.

"Okay, Parker," I whisper. His eyes flare when I say his name - his real name, not playboy or man-child. "One day. One adventure. You'd better make it count."

"Darling... Something to know about me?" He leans closer. "I always make it count."

7.

The Bad Idea

We walk along the side of the boat until we reach a narrow wooden gangway extending over the water. One end rests on the dock before us; the other sits on the rail of the sailboat. It looks far too thin to hold Parker's body weight, but he doesn't even blink as he strides out onto the ramp like he's done it a million times before. He probably has done it a million times before.

He pulls me along behind him and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from yelling, Wait just a goddamned minute! We don't all live like you, jumping into things without ever glancing at the ground.

He must feel my hand go tense in his, because his grip loosens to release it. He stops in the middle of the gangway and glances back at me.

"You okay?"

My eyes dart down to the thin piece of wood suspending him over the water. There is no fucking way I'm walking on that thing in heels. "Peachy."

His eyes narrow. "Oh really?"

"Yep." I swallow. "I just don't want to plummet into the harbor, seeing as it looks about as warm as the White Witch from the Narnia movies and I'd rather not freeze to death."

"Narnia?" His mouth twitches. "Really?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Yes, really. Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I just wouldn't have pegged you as a kids' movie fan. I kind of figured you only watched documentaries. Black and white silent films. Foreign flicks with subtitles. Shit like that."

"Well, you're wrong." My voice lowers. "And for the record, Narnia is not just a kids' movie."

"Whoa." He holds his hands up in surrender. "Happy to be proven wrong. Let's have a movie night, you can educate me on all things Narnian."

"We're not having a movie night."

"Why not?"

"We've been through this. Multiple times. I'm not going out with you."

"Technically, I was suggesting we stay in."

"Still not happening."

"Uh huh." His tone is amused. As though he doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

Idiot.

I strive for composure. "Listen. You really need to wrap your mind around this..." I make sure to emphasize every word, so he can't possibly misinterpret my meaning. "After today, we're never going to see each other again."

He thinks about that for a nanosecond. "You're very persnickety."

"This is me being nice," I inform him. "If you give me my flash drive back, you won't have to experience my truly disagreeable side."

"But, Zoe... I like your disagreeable side."

I look skyward and ask the heavens, "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

My gaze returns to Parker. "I hate you," I say tiredly.

"Well, can you hate me from onboard?" He bounces a bit and the whole gangplank shakes like a tambourine. "You're shivering. It's warmer inside."

My eyes widen. "Don't bounce like that, you'll snap the wood."

"That's what she said."

I glare.

He grins. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." He bounces again and the board jumps beneath his feet. "Come on. It's perfectly safe."

"Would you stop that?!" I exclaim, watching the plank rattle precariously. Another good bounce and he'll be in the water.

"Why?" he asks, bouncing again. The board slips closer to the edge of the rail. "You worried about me?"

"No." I swallow. My eyes are locked on his tread-less leather shoes - sliding again and again - and I feel my stomach clench. "You're going to fall into the fucking harbor and I am not jumping in after you, man-child."

"Aw." He laughs. "You're worried about my welfare. It's cute."

I make an incredulous sound. "Only you would interpret that statement as cute."

"How much longer are you going to delay getting on the boat?"

"At the very least until you stop bouncing like a six-year-old in an inflatable castle."

He stops, but his boyish grin never wavers. "There - I've stopped. Now, come on, scaredy cat. You won't fall in. I've got you."

My chin jerks up. "I'm not scared."

I'm not scared of anything.

"Prove it," he says, that challenging look back in his eye.

I grit my teeth and reach down to pull off my heels, one by one. Without saying a word, I shove them into the space between us and wait for Parker to take them.

His mouth opens, a question poised on his lips.

"Shut up," I cut him off, still holding out the shoes. "And take the damn heels before I change my mind."

He's silent as his large hands close around the slingback straps and even manages not to say anything as I grudgingly pass over my laptop bag. He can't quite hide the way his lips twitch, though, as he watches me jumping from foot to foot on the freezing dock, trying to stay warm.

"Not a word," I mutter in a threatening tone.

His eyes glitter with amusement but he remains silent.

Forcing a deep breath into my lungs, I make myself take a step onto the gangway. And then another. And another.

I'm watching my feet, entirely focused on not toppling into the water, so I don't notice Parker hasn't moved from the middle of the board. I bump straight into his chest, the jolt of my body against his throwing me off balance. For a split second, I actually think I am going to fall into that icy water and drown.

"Whoa," he whispers, his hands coming up to steady my shoulders. I can feel the warmth of his strong palms radiating through my thin blazer. My pulse is pounding like a kick-drum as we stand suspended over the water, eyes locked. Invading each other's space. Breathing each other in.

"There. That wasn't too hard, was it?" he asks in a soft, serious tone.

I pause and, equally serious, whisper, "That's what she said."

He throws his head back and laughs. "I could kiss you, for that," he says when he's done chuckling.