Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (22 page)

He spun the wheel and the boat turned smoothly, heading out of the marina and into the harbor. “It’s part of the surprise. It’s too late for you to make your escape, so unless you’re up for a swim, sit the hell down.”

Bree sat and grasped the table in front of her before finally remembering to close her mouth.

Storm steered with a steady hand through the entrance to the harbor. Once they were a hundred yards out, something hummed, and an enormous sail rose up the big mast. It fluttered for a moment and then caught the wind.

“I thought we’d cruise by Governors Island, and take a turn around the Statue of Liberty.”

They were moving faster now, and the boat tilted. The vibration from the engines died, and then all she heard was the rushing of water. The wind made a mockery of the work Rocki had done on Bree’s hair; it was flying all over and whipping against her face. She grabbed a handful of hair and stared, trying to take everything in. She didn’t know which was more interesting, watching Storm or the New York skyline with the sunset turning it pink, orange, and purple—both were equally stunning. Storm
looked every bit the competent captain—controlled, steady, and well, hot.

She was such an idiot. She
knew
he designed boats; the proof hung on Pete’s Wall of Fame. Storm was always doodling and sketching—even in the bar on cocktail napkins, but seeing a sketch on paper didn’t make it real. Sailing in New York Harbor on an eighty-foot luxury yacht was about as real as you could get. She was downright awestruck. “Am I allowed to get up now, or do I have to sit here for the duration?”

Storm looked as if he had forgotten she was even there—he was completely emotionless. She liked it better when he was angry—she knew how to deal with his anger, but this made her feel as if he were on the other side of the world.

“Feel free to roam around. You might want to take off your shoes, though. They’re not exactly skid-proof.”

She slipped out of the ballet flats, tossed them on the cushion beside her, and stood, holding on to the table for dear life. “The ferry never tilts like this, and it doesn’t seem to move as fast either.”

He nodded, his face a mask. Had she done that to him? Probably. After all, she had accused him of stealing the boat, which was pretty low considering he was what? Trying to impress her?

She went through all the things she’d said to him in the last few hours and cringed. What was it about him that brought out the worst in her? She was a nice person, except with Storm. She’d never been intentionally cruel. She tended to kill people with kindness. For the second time in her life she found herself in uncharted waters. She was confused; she didn’t understand herself, no less
what the hell he was doing with her. Rocki was going to have a field day when she heard about this.

Bree watched him and knew she had to apologize—again. She hated apologizing almost as much as she hated acting like a bitch without knowing why she was even doing it.

If she was going to apologize, she wanted to do it right, which meant talking face-to-face, not from across a boat. He wasn’t that far away, just a few yards, but the way he looked at her, it might as well have been miles. Unfortunately, a face-to-face would also require her to leave the table she clung to.

He’d probably have a good laugh if he knew how afraid she was to let go. Bree swallowed hard, stepped away from the table, and felt as if she were walking the plank with one hand holding her hair and the other trying to keep her too-short skirt from blowing up and giving him a show.

Storm watched her but didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. He looked wary, and who could blame him? She stopped next to him and did her best to smile. It was a wobbly smile, but right now, it was all she could do not to cry. If she’d wanted to push him away, she’d done a damn good job. “This is incredible.”

“That’s one word for it. An incredible failure. I got it, Bree. You only have to hit me upside the head a half dozen times before it sinks in. You’re more like your mother than even
I
thought.”

“My mother?” He couldn’t have shocked her more if he’d slapped her. “I’m nothing like my mother. My mother is afraid to leave the damn house.”

“And you’re afraid of living. You might not confine
yourself to a house, but you’re just as closed off, to me at least. You’d rather lick eleven-year-old wounds than try again. I get it.”

“Oh really? You get it? Well, I sure as hell don’t.” She was screaming, and she really didn’t care. Years of anger and hurt came to a boiling point. Every muscle in her body tightened, and she shook with it. “How am I supposed to forgive and forget something I don’t understand? I still don’t understand why you left without so much as a good-bye! Didn’t I deserve that much from you? Now you show up after all these years, and I’m supposed to pretend it never happened and trust you?”

“Bree, I was eighteen years old. I may have been a dumb kid, but I was smart enough to know I had to leave. I had nothing to offer you, and God help me, I didn’t want to get stuck in Red Hook and turn into my old man.”

He’d never mentioned his real parents. The pain she saw in his eyes took her breath away; she wrapped her arms around herself to keep from touching him.

“The only thing my dad could do was work the docks. He hated it, he drank, and he took the fact that he was trapped in his shit-hole of a life out on my mom and me. I was lucky social services took me away after one too many visits to the ER. You, Pete, Slater, and Logan were the only good things in my life. Pete made me see what I could be. And Bree, I wanted more for you. I wanted more for us. I wanted an education, I wanted to design boats, and the only way I could make that happen was to get as far away from Red Hook as humanly possible.”

“I would never have asked you to stay. I would have waited for you, Storm. I loved you.”

“Don’t you get it, Breezy? If we had made love, I
wouldn’t have been strong enough to leave you. As it was, I felt like one of those dogs who had to chew off his own leg to escape a trap.”

“Don’t you dare put that on me, Storm Decker. I never wanted to trap you.”

“It didn’t matter what you wanted. That’s not what I’m talking about. I was nothing but a punk kid with a record. I knew I didn’t deserve you. I would have dragged you down with me, and I loved you too much to take a chance on hurting you. I loved you so much, I had to protect you from me, Breezy. I did the only thing I could to save us both—I ran. It was immature, and maybe I could have handled it better. I’m sorry I hurt you, but dammit, Breezy, I still believe I did the right thing.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that when you came home? It would have saved us a lot of time and trouble.”

“I tried last night, but you weren’t ready to hear it.”

“I was angry.”

Storm nodded. “I got that, and you had every right to be.”

“Storm, when I said this is incredible, I was talking about the boat and the date.” She released her skirt and touched his arm; his muscles tensed under her fingers. “No one has ever taken me on a date like this. No one has ever gone to this much trouble. Accusing you of stealing the boat was cruel and way out of line. And I’m sorry I sounded obtuse. I just didn’t understand what you do—not really. I had no idea this boat was one of yours. It’s just so beautiful….”

“And a guy like me is incapable of designing something beautiful?”

Even with the wind buffeting her face, the heat of a fierce blush hit her like a third-degree burn. “That’s not
what I meant. I know I don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, but I’m obviously capable of insulting you right to your face, so please, don’t go putting words in my mouth.”

She turned to face him—searching for the boy she used to love in the man beside her. “You’ve changed so much. I just didn’t let myself see it. I think I was afraid to. I’m sorry I’ve been so hostile.”

“It’s okay, Bree. I’ll take you home. I’m sure that’s what you want.”

“You’re wrong.” She watched the colors of the sunset lighting the horizon, trying to gather her fragmented thoughts before she stepped closer. “I hope you can forgive me. I’m sorry for the way I’ve been since you got here. It’s just that you scare me, Storm, and I say horrible things and act like a complete bitch when I’m scared.”

When she got the guts to look him in the face to see if he’d even heard her, she was shocked to see him grinning. It was not a happy smile, but a tortured, almost cynical, self-mocking grin.

“Wow, you must be really terrified.”

Storm spared Bree a glance. She looked about to cry, and his gut tightened. He gripped the wheel with both hands to keep from reaching for her and cursed himself for even caring. After years of trying to forget about her and after everything she’d said and done in the last few days, he still cared. He was either a fucking lunatic or a masochist—probably both.

She stood within reach, looking about ready to crumble as quickly as his resistance. He adjusted the course and set the autopilot. He wasn’t about to leave the wheel while sailing along the tip of lower Manhattan, but he had better things to do with his hands than steer. Way better.

She took a step back and started to dissolve before his eyes. “It’s too little too late, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded hollow. “I understand.” One of those tears she’d been fighting escaped, and she turned away.

“No, you don’t.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and felt something shift inside. Holding her felt right. “I had to set the autopilot and increase our speed; the ferry is coming.” He nodded
in that direction. “We have the right-of-way, but I’m giving her wide berth. I don’t want to sail through her wake.”

“What are you saying?” Her hair whipped her face and hid it from him.

Storm tipped her face up to his and brushed back her hair, holding it before sliding his mouth over hers. It wasn’t a long kiss; there was way too much traffic to be making out at the helm, for God’s sake. He wasn’t about to get carried away here—at least not until they had
No Censor Ship
neatly docked in her slip. But damn, it was a good kiss, and he relaxed, letting his tension fly away with the wind. “Now, do you want me to come about, or do you want to sail?”

“That’s it?”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know. I figured you’d rake me over the coals at least a little bit. I wouldn’t blame you.” She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before, and maybe she really hadn’t.

“Breezy, if we’re starting over, we’re starting over. That was our first kiss; we have a clean slate. Don’t you think we’ve been raking each other over the coals long enough?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he held back a groan when her body strained against his. She was dangerous. If being with him was like riding a roller coaster, being with her was like sailing through a typhoon—much scarier than any roller coaster could ever hope to be. Storm tucked her more securely against him and scanned the water. It was a perfect night for a sail, so he adjusted the course and leaned against the transom.

Five minutes ago he thought he’d lost Bree, not that he’d been delusional enough to believe he’d had her, but
he’d thought she’d put a bullet between the eyes of their last chance, and the pain he’d felt almost brought him to his knees. Now she was in his arms, sailing across the harbor, and he’d be damned if it didn’t feel as if she belonged there, as if they both did.

He held her a little tighter, afraid if he loosened his grip, the feeling would escape as quickly as it hit him. He didn’t want to lose this, lose Bree. Shit, he felt as if he’d searched his whole life for what he had right this second. He didn’t know if it would last; all he knew was that he never wanted it to disappear. For the first time in his life he felt at home, complete, happy. Nowhere else he’d ever been had felt this right.

“Storm?” She took his face in her hands, and those bright green eyes of hers bored into his. “I’m not going anywhere, but I’d like to be able to breathe.”

“What?”

“You’re crushing me.”

“Shit.” He relaxed his hold. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, but I’d kill to know what was going through your mind when you did your impersonation of a boa constrictor.”

She stared at him until it was clear he wasn’t going to spill his guts—he’d already given her enough ammunition; any more could be deemed assisted suicide.

She looked as if a lightbulb had gone on, and she considered him with brows drawn together. “You really put yourself out there for me, didn’t you?” There was wonder in her voice, something he hadn’t heard since they were kids.

He did his best to laugh it off and scanned the water. What was he, an open book?

“You’re as scared as I am, only you’re braver. You don’t let the fear stop you.”

He shot her a get-real look and returned his gaze to a bright yellow water taxi.

“Oh, now you’re doing that man-of-steel thing. It’s as though you put on a mask.”

They were sailing between Governors Island and Ellis Island. The Statue of Liberty stood as rigid as he felt. He forced out a breath. “I’m not doing anything but trying to figure out if we’re on the same page here, Bree. This feels too right—you and me together, here, now—except for your play-by-play, that is.”

“I just call ’em like I see ’em. It does feel right, but then we’re sailing around on a yacht—not really a dose of reality, is it? I mean, how bad could it feel?”

“Pretty bad. I’ve been on a hell of a lot of yachts and never felt anything like this. The only thing different in the equation is you.”

A smile lit her face. “Really?”

“Really.” He scanned the water and then focused on her profile, her long hair blowing in the evening breeze. “With the sun setting all pink and purple, you look more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen.” He cleared his throat, swallowing back his emotions. “So where do we go from here?”

She stared at him for as long as it took to circle the Statue of Liberty and reset the autopilot. He snuck glances of her as she faced Lady Liberty with New York lit up in the background. Tension radiated off her in waves. Not good.