by Tara Sheets
Why the hell not? The date was turning out to be a dud. Not only was his personality about as empty as that last champagne bottle, even his appearance was fake. Juliette took the bottle and drank directly from it. She needed to figure out how to get off this boat.
Brock let out a whoop of encouragement. “Drink up, luv.”
Juliette handed him the bottle. “So what do you plan to do after the filming is finished? We should head to shore while you tell me all about it.”
“I’m going to Burning Man, baby.” He was scrutinizing his abs now, running a finger along the darker contours of his spray tan. “Ever been to it?”
Juliette shook her head. She’d heard stories about the big hippie festival out in the desert.
“You’re coming with me, then,” he decided. “I’ve already got it set up. You’d be beautiful there. And the best part about Burning Man?” He took another swig. Burped. “Clothing optional.”
Yup, it was time to go.
“Um, Brock?” She forced a smile and threw in some extra eyelash blinkety-blinks. “See that stretch of beach right there?” She pointed to the shore. “There’s a really cool place where you can lay out and watch the sunset.” You, not me.
Brock checked the champagne basket. “Beaut, let’s go. We can finish the rest there.” He leaned over to start the engine.
It sputtered for a few seconds, then died out.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Brock swore. “I think it’s caught on seaweed or something.” He stood, swaying on his feet. “I’ll go take a look.”
Before Juliette could protest, he launched himself into the water. The boat rocked precariously, and she grabbed on to the edge.
“What are you doing?” she called.
“It’s bloody freezing,” he yelled, sputtering.
“I know. I told you that. Get back in the boat.”
He ignored her and swam over to the engine. “There’s seaweed stuck or something. I’m going to yank it loose.” He splashed around, tugging at the gnarled mass of seaweed that must have somehow caught in the propeller.
Juliette watched as he yanked at the slippery kelp. “You’re making it worse,” she called. The fibrous ribbons of seaweed had curled around the propeller and all his thrashing was tangling it further.
The more Brock swore, the more his Australian accent mellowed.
At first, Juliette thought he was just slurring because he was drunk. But no, his accent was definitely slipping.
“This is so jacked,” he said harshly. “Now my swim trunks are stuck.”
“How in the . . .” Juliette frowned and strained to see over the side of the boat.
“The string from my waistband got tangled.” Brock punched the water with his fist. “Call my assistant. Just use my phone. It’s in the basket under the bench.”
She searched for his phone, but the basket only held champagne. “There’s nothing here.”
He let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. “I must’ve left it on the houseboat. Use yours.”
Juliette pulled her phone from her small purse and dialed a number he recited.
A man’s voice mail picked up.
She glanced at Brock. “He’s not answering.”
More curses. “Yeah, he wouldn’t. They’re all down at the bar doing tequila shots. He probably doesn’t recognize your number.”
Juliette left a quick message, then put her phone down. The chances of Brock’s assistant calling her back right away were slim. The quickest way out of this mess was to jump in and help him. She’d really wanted to avoid it, but it was the fastest way to get rid of him and go home. Seaweed was a plant, and plants loved her. She’d have no problem untangling it. She grumbled under her breath and kicked off her sandals.
Why did she have to wear her best dress today, of all days? It was a soft floral silk, and the only thing she had in her entire closet that was Dry Clean Only. She’d paid full price for it at a clothing boutique in Seattle on her last visit there with Emma, and she was planning to wear it to Emma’s wedding rehearsal dinner. What a waste this date turned out to be.
Juliette considered her options. No use ruining her dress for Mr. Hollywood BoozeBoat. She made up her mind quickly and shimmied out of the dress, folding it and laying it neatly on the seat. Who cared if Brock saw her in her underwear? Her blue lace panties and bra were less revealing than Mirage’s thong bikini. Juliette’s underwear looked puritanical, by comparison. But at least they matched. Matching underwear was one of Juliette’s vices. Life was just too short not to wear good underwear. Everything else was negotiable.
“I’m coming in,” she said. “Don’t move. You’ll just tangle the seaweed further.”
Brock whistled low. “Dang, girl. You are smokin’ hot.” His accent had definitely faded. Unbelievable. Not only were this guy’s tan and muscles fake, his Australian accent was fake, too? She was so fed up with this little boating adventure.
“Tell me something, Brock,” Juliette said. “You’re not really Australian, are you?”
Brock’s face paled and she could see him trying to decide how to answer, but he was stuck in a mess of seaweed and not really in a good position to lie. “I’m an actor, babe,” he finally said. “That’s what they pay me for.”
Juliette scooted to the side of the boat. She dipped her hand in the water and shivered. The Pacific Northwest wasn’t exactly known for balmy ocean currents, even in the summer. “So they pay you to pretend you’re Australian?”
“For the ratings,” he said matter-of-factly. “They said Surfers Down Under would be more authentic if the main character was Australian, so . . .” His voice trailed off.
She frowned. “Is anything about you for real?”
He gave her the once-over. “I f’realz think you’re sexy. And I can show you what else I’ve got that’s real, as soon as we get off this boat.”
Juliette rolled her eyes. He could save it for his groupies. Brock Templeton had lost his luster for her. Kat would be so glad to hear it.
She plunged into the ocean and came up gasping from the cold, then quickly swam over to Brock to get her limbs moving.
He punched the water with his fist and swore under his breath. Drunk and disgruntled like this, he looked nothing like the surf god he’d seemed to be a few days ago.
“Hold still.” Juliette laid her hands on the knotted ropes of seaweed surrounding him. As always, she felt an instant connection with the plants. It was as simple as breathing, coaxing them little by little to slip free of the propeller. She closed her eyes and let her energy flow until she could feel the seaweed loosen, finally releasing the propeller and Brock’s swim shorts. In less than one minute, he was free.
“Dude,” Brock said with a loud hiccup. “How’d you do that? I was yanking on it as hard as I could.” Now that he no longer cared about faking his accent, he sounded younger—like a college fraternity guy on spring break.
“You have to be gentle with that kind of seaweed,” she said. “It’s very sticky, and the more you pull at it, the more tangled it gets.” It was much easier than telling him she had a magical connection with plants. Even if she’d wanted to tell him the truth, he’d just think she was a crazy local. Given that his entire image was contrived, he clearly had no problem with smoke and mirrors, but believing in actual magic? Not very likely.
She swam to the side of the boat to pull herself back in.
Brock reached it first and heaved himself up. The boat lurched sideways, but he managed to hook a leg over and drag himself into it. Once in the boat, he grabbed a towel from under a bench seat and started to dry off.
“Can I get some help here?” Juliette called, more than a little annoyed. The icy water lapped against the side of the boat, splashing into her face and mouth.
He looked over at her as if he’d forgotten she was there. How drunk was he?
“Sure, babe,” he said lazily. “Just let me get this towel—”
“Now,” Juliette said through chattering teeth.
Brock held his hands up, swaying with the boat. “All right, all right. Dang, you’re so prickly. But you know, I like my girls sassy.” He tried to lean over, but tripped on the discarded towel. “Woah.” He grabbed a bench seat, chuckling as the boat rocked violently back and forth. Pushing himself up, he leaned over and held out a hand for Juliette.
She reached up and grabbed his hand.
He yanked, but nothing happened.
“On the count of three,” he said with a laugh, his entire upper body hanging over the side. “Wait, let me brace my foot.” He stood and put one foot on the edge, then leaned over to grab her arm.
The boat listed sideways.
“Scoot back,” Juliette said in frustration. “You’re going to tip it.”
He made a clumsy grab for both of her hands. “Give me some credit, girl. I’ve done this a million times on my show. You know my show, Surfers Down Under?”
“Never heard of it,” she muttered. “Just pull me up, all right?”
“Count of three,” he slurred. “One. Two.” On three, he lifted his other foot onto the edge, yanked both of her hands, and toppled straight into the water, capsizing the boat on his way down.
“No!” Juliette tried to stop it, but it was no use. The upended boat bobbed up and down in the waves. Her purse, her cell phone, and her prized silk dress, all disappeared into the ocean.
She slapped the water as Brock whooped with laughter.
“This,” she said through gritted teeth, “is all your fault.”
Brock stopped laughing long enough to throw her an offended look. “Take it easy, babe. It’s just a dinghy. Not that big a deal.”
“No?” She wanted to strangle him. Where was that seaweed when she needed it? “Well, I just lost my purse, my ID, my clothes, and my cell phone because of you. And now how are we going to get back to shore?”
Brock seemed to sober for a moment. Without a phone, they couldn’t call for help. He looked back at the shoreline. “It’s not that far. I guess we could swim for it.”
“It’s farther than it looks. You should know that from all your surf experience.”
“Well, I’m not going to just stick around here waiting to be rescued like a loser,” he said.
Juliette tried to take a calming breath. He really ought to drown, the fool. Before she could open her mouth to talk him out of it, Brock started waving his arms and yelling.
She turned in the direction he was waving and saw a motorboat coming toward them about fifty yards away. As it pulled closer, she felt her whole body flush hot with humiliation in spite of the freezing water.
Of all the capsized boats, in all the oceans, in all the world, he had to pull up next to hers.
Chapter Sixteen
Juliette watched Logan O’Connor pull beside them in his grandfather’s old boat. The evening sunlight made his tawny hair glow like burnished gold. It suddenly struck her how gorgeous he was, in a very manly, down-to-earth way. He was the kind of man who made the Brocks of the world look like pampered peacocks.
Logan’s dark gaze captured hers. “You look like you could use help.”
“Can you please get me out of here?” She wasn’t too proud to beg.
“Hey, man,” Brock called. “So glad you showed up.” His Australian accent was back, though a little less pronounced. “Dude, oh, my god. I totally got stuck trying to get seaweed off the propeller, and then Juliette jumped in the water and then the boat tipped over.”
Juliette scowled at Brock. “That’s not exactly how it happened. There were a few other steps in there you left out.”
“Hey, no worries, luv,” Brock said easily. “Accidents happen. Let’s just get to shore.” He looked up at Logan. “We’re cool, right, mate?”
Logan didn’t respond. He reached a hand down to Juliette. She grabbed on and he pulled her smoothly out of the water, hauling her into his boat.
Brock was babbling about the waves and the seaweed, but Juliette didn’t really hear it. She was acutely aware of Logan’s hard body plastered against her wet, semi-naked one.
Their breaths mingled in the evening air. He dropped his gaze to her now transparent lace underwear. “You appear to have lost your clothes.”
She pulled away and tried to cover herself. “It’s a long story.”
“Is it?” he murmured. She felt an odd, swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach. He was so warm. All she wanted to do was press herself against him and soak in all that heat.
“Oi!” Brock called from the water. “Can you like, lend me a hand?”
Logan’s gaze stayed fixed on Juliette for several more heartbeats, then he turned away to help Brock into the boat.
Juliette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was impossible to deny the attraction she felt toward Logan, and she was pretty sure he felt it, too.
Logan took off his hoodie and draped it over Juliette’s shoulders. It was so big, the hem skimmed past her hips to her thighs, covering her like a blanket.
She slid her arms into it and zipped it up, grateful for how huge and warm it was, then sat on one of the cushioned seats near him.
He started the engine and soon they were heading back to shore.
“You don’t have anything else to wear, do you, man?” Brock asked, shivering. “Like another one of those sweatshirts, or . . . ?” He gazed forlornly at Juliette’s hoodie.
Logan didn’t even bother looking at him. He just shook his head.
“Do you have anything to drink, at least?” Brock whined. “A beer or something?”
“This is not a pleasure cruise. You’ll have to wait until you get there.” Logan jerked his chin to the houseboat docked at the end of the pier as they approached.
Brock’s eyes lit up like a fireworks display. “Thank god. Civilization.”
When they pulled up to the dock a short while later, Brock stepped onto the pier, swaying on his feet. He turned to Juliette. “You wanna come with me?”
“I for reals don’t,” she said with flawless diamond clarity.
He gave a halfhearted wave and took off toward the houseboat.
“God.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “That was a disaster.”
“I won’t argue with that,” Logan said. “What really happened out there?”
Juliette filled him in as he docked the boat, his lips twitching suspiciously while she told him the details. By the time she was finished, he’d tethered the boat and helped her onto the dock. “I can take you home, if you want. My car’s just over there.”
She followed him down the pier to the street where he’d parked his truck. If only she hadn’t left her car at home, but she’d caught a ride to work with Emma that morning, assuming Brock would take her home after their date. Stupid assumption. Even if Brock had wanted to drive her home, he was far too drunk to get behind the wheel.
Logan opened his truck door, and she slid into the passenger seat, clutching his sweatshirt around her. He grabbed a blanket from the backseat and settled it over her. It smelled warm and woodsy and comforting. She snuggled under it, grateful to finally stop shivering.
Something thumped against her foot. A pile of library books were stacked on the floor. She peeked down at the heavy hardback book stacked on top. Great Maples of the Pacific Northwest. That was odd. She expected Logan to read political thrillers or maybe even science fiction novels, not nature books. She nudged the stack with her foot, sliding the top book over so she could see the next one. Gardening Tips: A Healthy Tree Is a Happy Tree. What the heck? Maybe Logan was doing some research for his yard.
Awash with curiosity, Juliette “accidentally” toppled the rest of the books onto the floor. Before she could snoop, Logan slid into the driver’s seat and leaned over, gathering the books and placing them in the back.
When he started the engine, she stole a glance at his profile in the waning light. The angled planes of his face were sharper than they had been
years ago. There was a hard edge to him now that made him look more dangerous, but he was still beautiful. Juliette felt a twinge of yearning, and she fought to ignore it.
The problem with Logan was that he wasn’t just a gorgeous man. She’d been around handsome guys before, but with him it went deeper than that. He was part of Pine Cove Island, part of her history. She knew him back when she was young and vulnerable, before she learned that the people you love can leave and take your heart with them. He was dangerous because he made her remember that feeling. The yearning for something that was unattainable. Juliette had vowed a long time ago never to get caught up in someone so much that she’d risk herself— risk everything she was—to be with them. Her life just wasn’t destined to go down that road, and she’d accepted it.
“You okay?” Logan’s deep voice cut through the cocoon of silence as they drove down the highway that led to her house.
Juliette snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Yeah. I’m just cold.”
He reached over and turned on the heater.
That was the thing about him. He was always doing things to make her life easier, and it made her . . . uncomfortable. Why? Juliette frowned. Most girls would kill to have a hot guy like Logan.
“Sorry about your date,” Logan said.
“Don’t remind me,” she moaned. “It was a disaster, but I should’ve seen it coming. Kat warned me about him. I guess I just didn’t realize the extent of it.”
“Wasn’t he Australian a few days ago?”
“Yes. Shut up.”
He looked suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh as he pulled into the driveway to her cottage.
“Go ahead,” she said miserably. “Say what you’re thinking.”
“Nope.”
“Why not? I bet you’re dying to rub my face in it. Tell me how stupid I am. How I was an idiot to be dazzled by his nonexistent charm. How dating him was a big fat waste of time.”
Logan pulled the car to a stop in her driveway. He looked straight ahead, not making eye contact. “Actually, I was thinking what an utter moron he was.”
Here it came. This was the part where Logan said “I told you so” and she had to eat crow.