His To Break

by Dani Wyatt

  For one thing, I know that the best catch won’t be made at this time in the morning, not the kind of catch that I’m associated with; the high-quality, tastiest, largest fish. They don’t bother themselves coming near nets until after the sun’s over the yardarm. By that time, I’ll have my boat out at the shallow grounds near Edgar’s Point, where they’ll congregate at this time of year.

  “Howdy, James!” Eric Gregson shouts up to me, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare. He’s in his midfifties, lived here all his life. My dad used to know him, back in the day. White hair, a thin white moustache, heavily tanned arms. I wave back to him before he carries on. “Would’ya mind taking a look at my radio ifn’ya have a moment? I was struggling to get a decent signal when I was coming in to dock yesterday evening.”

  “Sure,” I call back. “Give me a minute.”

  I grab my lime and soda before I head out to his boat with him. On our way over, we pass the monstrosity of a yacht, The Beachcomber, that belongs to Lance Pollack.

  Well, it belongs to his dad anyway, but Lance has full use of it. The thing’s not really built for docking in a fishing harbor like Port Hope; it should be in some luxury marina down in Florida or maybe Saint-Tropez. Gregory Pollack owns the sawmill, which has an international reputation for quality and brings in a lot of cash. Greg pays a man just to keep the boat clean and sparkly-white, which it is.

  The yacht is the most modern thing in the harbor, too, and filled with all kinds of electronics I wouldn’t have a clue how to work. Gizmos and gadgets really aren’t my thing. But it means that despite its size, one person can pilot it without any trouble. In reality, it could pilot itself so long as someone just set the controls to begin with and there was nothing in the way.

  “Here’s your problem,” I say to Eric as we stand on his deck, “you’ve had a rat on here sometime in the last week I’d say. Chewed nearly right through the cable. Might be worth putting some bait around, but it’s probably jumped ship by now, just passing through while you were docked. Still, can’t be too sure.”

  “Thanks, boy, you’re a lifesaver. Can you fix it?”

  “Do you have a bit of gaffer tape? It won’t be a permanent job, but it will get you through until you can get it into the shop.”

  After I’ve patched up Eric’s radio, I head back out onto the dock, planning to give my own boat a thorough check through before setting out myself. I doubt there’s anything to worry about, but one of my mantras is that it’s better to check and find nothing than wish you’d taken those few extra minutes. If there’s been a rat chewing through wiring, then who knows what other damage it might have done?

  Lance Pollack has arrived now, and he’s standing with the girl I met in the bar last night—what did her friend call her? Ev? Is that short for something, maybe Evelyn? She looks so good I can’t avoid my mind wandering to ideas of forcing her onto her knees, stripped down to her bra and panties, her eyes looking up at me...

  Fuck, Jesus, get a grip on yourself.

  I have to be sensible here. Not only did she make it very clear that she wants nothing at all to do with me, but there’s also the fact that she’s a researcher from another goddamned state. Nothing could ever happen between us. And I’m not even sure I want it to. I have to physically force all the thoughts of Sarah and everything that happened to her out of my mind.

  “Beautiful morning,” I say, giving the girl a thin smile, and she nods back, a look of recognition in her eyes. Maybe I catch a glimpse of something more, but it’s gone as soon as it’s arrived.

  “Taking your rust-bucket out on the water are you, Jimbo?” Lance flashes me a sneer as he takes the girl’s hand to help her up onto the yacht. “When are you going to join the modern world? Or can’t you afford to?”

  His attitude riles me, and the nickname makes me want to start throwing punches, but what really twists the knife is the way he’s touching her. Sure, she may not want me around and I can respect that, but Lance thinks he’s got some sort of God-given right to treat women any way he wants.

  I have a mind to give him a piece of mine, and then maybe lay him out on the deck of his own yacht for good measure, but with a woman around, I have to keep myself in check. I may not be as old-fashioned as I was making out last night, but there is such a thing as manners.

  “Take care out there,” I say, keeping my cool and ignoring Lance’s insults. “There’s a possibility of a storm later, judging by the taste of the air.”

  “Pfft. There’s been nothing forecast. Besides, this thing has the most state-of-the-art equipment in the world. I think it’ll weather a little rainstorm.”

  I shrug, trying not to care, but the truth is, he has someone else going aboard with him, and I don’t want anything to put her in danger.

  Chapter 5 – Everly

  “Fuck it!” Lance kicks the control panel hard, then slams his palm against the wheel. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck!”

  “Er, is there anything I can do to help?” I offer, forcing a thin smile onto my face.

  We’ve been here in the cockpit—bridge? I don’t know what you call it—for nearly half an hour now, but it’s becoming pretty clear there’s something seriously wrong. And I’m not just saying that because of the foul language that’s started to fill the air. There’s also not a single noise coming from the boat’s engine, not even an attempt to start up. There are also no lights on any of the controls.

  “I don’t fucking know... Do you know how to fix a million-dollar yacht? No? Didn’t fucking think so.”

  “Hey! I was just trying to help!”

  “Yeah, well, go do it somewhere else. The last thing I need is some know-it-all posh bitch trying to tell me what I’m doing wrong. There’s no fucking power.”

  I was already annoyed by his screaming and swearing, but aiming his anger at me is definitely not okay. Without another word, I turn around and head down onto the deck.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going? We’ve got an arrangement.”

  “Not anymore, we haven’t.”

  I climb out onto the pier and stand there, wondering what I’m going to do. My equipment is already loaded aboard The Beachcomber, and the university has already paid for the charter up front. They won’t be happy that I stormed out of there, but there’s no way I’m going to spend another moment in that man’s company.

  Looking along the pier, I decide the only thing to do is head back to my bed-and-breakfast and phone my head of department. I’ll have to beg him to make alternative arrangements if I don’t want to lose my research funding altogether, but I can’t see that I have any other choice.

  As I walk back toward the dock, I hear a male voice from my left.

  “Hey, is everything all right?”

  I ignore it, not interested in having a conversation with any more sailors today.

  “Hey, what’s-you’re-name, Evelyn? I heard shouting. I just want to know you’re okay.”

  Reluctantly, I turn, shading my eyes with a hand as I look up at the deck of an old, but well-kept fishing vessel. And there he is. Oh my golly. He looks even better shirtless than he did last night. The sun catching on his shoulders gives him a kind of sheen, the sweat already beading on his skin. Muscle ripples along his stomach, leading my eyes down, down to where a delta of muscle points beneath his torn-off denim shorts. For a moment, I’m speechless, unable to think of anything except my own name.

  “Everly.”

  “Everly?” He saunters over to the side of his boat, hips swinging a little with his sea-legs.

  Oh no, please, not right now. If only I hadn’t forgotten to pack my underwear.

  “That’s my name,” I squeak, squeezing my thighs together in the vain hope that I might be able to escape with my dignity.

  “It’s a beautiful name. Is everything all right, Everly?”

  “No, not really.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “But I doubt there’s anything you can do to help. Thank you, though,” I add, feelin
g guilty about the way I acted last night. After all, I wouldn’t normally have given him so much attitude. As usual, that part of my personality is Trevor’s fault. “And, er, sorry about last night. I was tired from my journey,” I lie.

  He waves a hand dismissively. “Water off a duck’s backside.”

  I snort a laugh at the twist to the old proverb, a cartoon image suddenly catapulted into my head.

  “Tell me what’s up. Maybe I can help if you give me a chance.”

  “I really doubt that. The boat my department chartered...The Beachcomber... It seems there’s some sort of technical problem. It won’t start. Won’t even make a noise.”

  He glances off in the direction of the yacht, and I see a flash of amusement, but then it’s gone and he’s all seriousness. “I’m sure the engineer will have it running again in an hour or two. These modern boats have a lot to go wrong, but it’s not usually anything serious.”

  “Hmmm. Well, I’m afraid I don’t think I can spend another moment in Mr. Pollack’s company anyway. Do you know of any other yachts around here that my university might charter? Preferably one with a friendlier captain?”

  He purses his lips for a moment, then rests his hands on his hips. “I could take you out on the water.”

  “You?” I don’t mean the word to sound so incredulous, but his boat is clearly meant for fishing, not for diving from. It’s well-maintained, but I can only imagine the smell, and as for modern equipment to find the dive site...

  “Sure, why not? I know these waters better than anyone else. Where is it that you need to go?”

  Say yes, Everly, say yes please, please, please let me spend time alone with you, Mister James. Mister James? What exactly is his last name, anyway?

  “I don’t actually have coordinates or anything. We were going to use the sonar on board The Beachcomber. I mean, I know the general area, but I need to find the breeding site for Port Hope’s hammerhead population.”

  He’s silent for a moment, and his eyes go distant. Once again, he purses his lips, deep in thought, but I know that there’s no way that he can help with this. We’ll need scientific equipment, stuff that The Beachcomber has, but his fishing boat is obviously going to be lacking.

  “Thanks for your help anyway. I’m staying at the Merryfield Bed and Breakfast if you have any thoughts about who might have the kind of vessel I need.”

  I turn to leave, but he speaks from behind me.

  “I know the place.”

  My head feels like it’s going to fall off, I whip it around so fast. “You know it?”

  “The breeding ground for the sharks. Yep. I’ve been there a hundred times. I’ll take you, Everly.”

  Chapter 6 – James

  What exactly in the absolute fuckety-doo-da do you think you’re doing, James Morelock?

  I must be off my fucking perch. Offering to take her out there to the breeding grounds? I’ve lost my marbles. Every last one of them, gone spinning out into the ocean. Heatstroke. It must be heatstroke. Nothing else would explain it.

  Her equipment from The Beachcomber is loaded onto the deck of The Signet, my little fishing boat: cage, winch, electronic equipment that means absolutely nothing to me at all. She’s checking it over again right now while I navigate us out to the dive site. Not only is the direction of our travel setting off all kinds of alarm bells inside me, but I’m also now chartered out for the next week at least, while she studies these things, and no way I’m going to be able to bring in a catch. So unless her head of department approves all this—something she hasn’t actually found out yet—I’m earning a big fat zero dollars for as long as she wants me.

  Wants me.

  She wants me.

  Those words send a shiver down my spine.

  Truth, I don’t give a ripe shit about my catch for today. Or the money.

  “Lance didn’t look at all pleased,” she says conspiratorially as she enters the cabin, and I glance across at her only to see her immediately look away, her cheeks reddening. It’s the same look I caught last night, but I’m no longer sure if I’m reading her signals wrong.

  “Me and Lance...we don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  “Oh?”

  “A story for another time, maybe. But he wouldn’t have liked me stealing you away, even if he’s still being paid for his time.”

  I don’t know why, but I’m reluctant to share too much of my history with Everly. Reluctant to get close to her, I think. After all, isn’t this the very same place where it happened? That shark cage might be the latest, greatest shark-diving equipment, but I don’t trust it one bit.

  “Stealing me away, are you, James?”

  I chuckle, wondering whether I should put up some sort of defense. Just a turn of phrase. But, is it? Or did I mean it the way that she insinuated?

  “I thought your boat would smell more. Of fish, I mean. Aren’t you a fisherman?”

  She moves around to lean back against the control panel in front of me, and I have to force myself to keep my eyes on the sea outside. Even from the occasional glance, she’s starting to give me another hard-on. Those tits, all perky and round and seeming to defy gravity...they’ve got me held in thrall.

  “I am, but it’s been a long time since I’ve needed a big catch. I prefer quality over quantity these days. You can fetch a much better price if you can guarantee the highest possible standards.”

  “And how do you guarantee those standards?”

  I take a long look at her, and this time, she meets my gaze. The idea of those eyes staring into mine when I thrust into her sears itself into my brain, and I have to gulp a breath of air before I’m able to focus my thoughts.

  “Experience, knowledge, a lot of hard work. I’ve steadily reduced the number of fish I need to catch and increased the price I can fetch for each one. It’s a careful process, one that takes years to perfect.”

  I slow the boat as we get closer to the dive site, sharp rocks jutting up out of the water all around. I’m not sure whether she would have gotten as near to where she wants to go if she’d stuck with Lance—The Beachcomber has a much larger draft than The Signet, its weight being that much greater. This water has shallows that would have been risky for the Pollacks’ yacht.

  “That’s how I know all about the breeding grounds. This time of year, it’s full of sharks fuck—” I catch myself in the middle of the word and glance her way. That kind of language was what finally got her to take her leave of Lance’s company, by her account. “I mean, the sharks are breeding here now. But later in the year, come November, they’re all cleared out, and the waters here have some of the best albacore tuna in the world.”

  “And this time of year?”

  “I should be a bit farther out into the ocean right now, but I’m happy to help you out, if only to make up for last night.”

  She giggles and places a hand on my knuckles on the wheel. “You don’t need to make up for it. I overreacted. I can see you’re a nice guy.”

  “I try to be.”

  But there’s another side to me, Everly. One you are awakening like no one has before.

  I kill the engines completely. My heart is thumping around in my chest, and there’s no longer any way of hiding the monster trying to break free from my pants, but I have to act professional. It’s what she wants, right?

  “We’re here,” I announce.

  She pushes herself up off of the control panel and takes a look around outside, and I use the opportunity to take in the full sight of her. I assumed when I heard that Lance had a marine biologist coming that she’d be older. Maybe I’ve just seen too many David Attenborough documentaries.

  “I’ll need you to check over my equipment for me, if you don’t mind. Is there somewhere I can get changed into my wetsuit?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I open a door set low beneath the aft wall of the cabin. “You can change in here.”

  Chapter 7 – Everly

  Why can’t I get him off my mind? I’m going all go
oey and girly around him every time I get near. I didn’t even need him to check my equipment; it was just a way to get him out of my line of sight for a few minutes while I regroup. I absolutely have to keep my concentration now, or things can go very bad, very quickly.

  I know that from past experience.

  “You ready to go down?”

  Go down... Every single word he says sets my vagina pulsating.

  I give the thumbs-up sign, and he pushes the lever on the winch, kicking it into action. The sound of grinding metal, the squeak of hinges taking the strain, is a familiar old friend to me. It’s been a while since I was last in the field, but some things are immediately settling.

  Others, I think as my feet sink into the water, are immediately worrying.

  I count down from ten, settling my nerves. There’s no reason to think that anything will go wrong this time. The last time, there was a fault with the equipment, and that’s why I’ve triple-checked everything. Every single item of equipment that I have with me. There isn’t a hint of rust. There isn’t a single loose bolt.

  Breathe easy, Everly, just keep breathing. Push those negative thoughts away. You can do this.

  The water covers my head, and I’m floating inside the cage. Kicking my feet, I turn myself right around, getting a good look at the surroundings. It’s beautiful. The way the sunlight is filtered through the waves on the surface makes patterns of silver and gold on the sides of the rocks and the seabed below. The water is so clear here that I can see individual grains of sand twenty feet beneath me and schools of small and medium-sized fish scouring the bottom for food.

  A large hammerhead glides past languidly, coming from my left and swimming right on by. It could be four or five meters in length. I try to sex it, but I can’t see enough of it to make a proper determination.

  I turn myself around in the direction it just came from, knowing that at this time of day it’s not unusual for hammerheads to school, and I’m not disappointed. Half a dozen dark shadows lurk just beyond my field of vision. The size and shape are distinctive, and again, I’m excited by their apparent length. They’re not record-breakers, but it’s unusual to see so many of a consistently impressive size.