Rescuing Her Seal(8)

So he did. Giant steps back. Which pulled the bag taut between them until she dropped the strap as if it had scalded her.

Okay, then. Off to an auspicious start. He should have pressed the advantage yesterday when he’d almost gotten her to flirt with him. Or he should focus on winning the game. Probably that.

He let Jack lead, then followed the women to the registration desk where he endured all kinds of innocent groping as Lilah pinned his number to his shirt. That unschooled blush springing into her cheeks as she fingered his pecs gave him a boner, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she missed closing the pin for the third time. “Clumsy. Thanks for holding still.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he informed her truthfully. More blushing. So cute.

Jack and Thora accepted a sealed envelope from the hunt official and ripped it open, pulling out pages and pages of rules and regs that immediately made Fitz want a nap and a beer.

“How ’bout you guys comb through that crap and meet me and Lilah on the boat?” Fitz suggested lightly and shouldered Lilah’s bag.

Lilah was the only one who heard him. Yin and Yang were doing that thing where no one else existed as Jack pretended Thora had something in her eye and he was the only person who could possibly get it out. Since it appeared they were yet again extraneous, Fitz raised his brows at Lilah in invitation and jerked his head toward the dock.

“Come on, I’ll show you to the boat. Get you acclimated.”

She nodded, her dark hair swinging and followed him meekly. That wasn’t going to work. He slowed down until they walked side by side on the sand.

“You’ll like the boat,” he told her conversationally in hopes of drawing her out like he had yesterday. “It’s nice. Twenty-five-foot Chris Craft. A little on the ancient side but serviceable.”

“You know boats?” she asked politely.

Something had changed overnight. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was like she’d given herself a stern lecture on the evils of saying what was on her mind, and he wasn’t a fan of the stiff version of Lilah Houston.

“Occupational hazard. Navy,” he reminded her, and then it occurred to him that they actually knew less than nothing about each other. “Or didn’t you know that was my gig?”

Lilah froze, staring at the dock where upwards of thirty-odd boats had moored since earlier. Motors hummed—not hers, unfortunately, but the day was still young—and people with numbers on their shirts thronged the area, shouting instructions.

“That’s a lot of chaos,” she said, and she started twisting that ring again.

“I know. Isn’t it great?” Concerned, he eyed her as she stood there, not moving toward the dock. “It’ll be okay. Give me your hand.”

Smooth. Even he was impressed with how easily she slipped her hand in his, and for all intents and purposes, they were just a couple about to embark on a boat ride. Except her hand was shaking inside his. He was the world’s worst dog for noticing that at the same moment he reveled in the little zip of electricity being generated between them.

When they got to the boat, he helped her over the side, released her hand reluctantly, and dropped her bag into the cargo compartment.

Another boat roared away from the dock, and its wake rocked their boat, nearly throwing her off-balance. He reacted instinctively, slipping an arm around her and easing her back onto the cozy bench seat behind the driver’s seat.

“Easy. It takes a little while to get used to being on a boat.”

The craft didn’t have a lot of maneuvering room, a feature he suddenly appreciated as he viewed it from a logistics angle. There was little more than room for four and a small crawlspace between the pilot chairs with a wide mattress that would easily fit one SEAL and one dark-haired nervous wreck. But he kept that one to himself. Ace in the hole and all.

“It’s my first time,” she confessed, her eyes a little wide. “It’s a lot smaller than I was anticipating.”

Oh, man.

“You’re a boat virgin?” he asked with a grin and bit back the thousands of other comments that immediately sprang to his lips. “That’s fantastic. You couldn’t have picked a better guy to do this race with then. I grew up on the water, near Gulfport, Mississippi.”

Her face calmed. A little. “I’m originally from Iowa. I know dairy farms.”

“Great. Next time I need help milking a cow, you’ll be the one I call.”

At last she smiled, and it hit him crossways how much he enjoyed coaxing one out of her. Most chicks considered flirting an Olympic-caliber sport, and while he liked a stress-free woman with Sure Thing scrawled across her forehead as much as the next guy, there was something really fascinating about uncovering the mystery of why a woman with a hot little body like Lilah didn’t have men crawling all over her. Because she totally could.