Ocean Jewel by Cassie Mint

Four

Damian

The lights below deck cast more shadows than they illuminate. I prowl through the corridors after dinner, too restless to stand up on deck and watch the stars without knowing exactly where Roxy is. She slipped away after eating, excusing herself in that sweet little whisper, and I haven’t seen her since.

I’m just checking on her. Taking care of her, like Jake wants.

Not exactly like Jake wants,a voice whispers in my head, but I ignore it. If my best friend knew all the ways I want to take care of his little sister, he’d punch me in the face.

I’d let him. There’s no excuse.

Our three cabins are down their own corridor: first Jake’s, then a few strides later, mine and Roxy’s, clustered together at the end. I should have put Jake next to her. I know I should have. And he trusts me so well, he didn’t even question it.

I groan and dig the heel of my palm into one eye, coming to a stop outside Roxy’s door. I raise a fist, then lower it. Suck in a sharp breath through my nose. Hold it until it gusts out in one go. Then raise my fist again and knock this time.

Nothing. Her cabin is silent. There’s no creak of the floor; no sounds of rummaging or rolling over in bed.

She’s not there.

Panic crowds my skull, white-hot and overwhelming, but I don’t have time to do anything before soft footsteps round the corner. I spin on my heel and gape at the sight before me—Roxy padding under the weak lights, nothing but a towel wrapped around her wet body. Wisps of steam rise off her flushed skin, beads of water slide down her shoulders from her wet hair, and she gives me a shy smile as she approaches.

“Roxy.” My word cracks through the quiet. The smile drops off her sweet face. “What the hell are you doing?”

A tiny line creases her forehead. Her cheeks flush pink, but she raises her chin and meets my eyes. Those pale gray irises send shock waves through my chest.

I’ve rattled her.

She comes to a stop in front of her cabin, but she doesn’t reach for the door. And-and I’m in her way, blocking the door, so I clear my throat as I step to the side.

“I took a shower.” Her words are quiet but fierce. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Yes.” Screw giving her space. I crowd back in closer, rubbing the corner of her towel between my thumb and finger. One swift tug, and it would drop to the floor. “This boat is full of crew. Strangers. Men who’ll take a single look at your perfect body and your flimsy towel and take it as an invitation to stare.”

I can’t stop looking at her, like I need to demonstrate my point. I’ve thought of her naked so many times, hating myself for every second of it, but I’ve never been able to fill in the details.

Right now, there’s still a towel in the way, but I can see so much more than ever before. The gentle slope of her shoulders; the soft swell of her breasts; the line of her thighs beneath the far-too-short hem. I soak up every detail like a starving man, but behind the lust, there’s something else.

Jealousy. Bitterness. If I can see this, others can too.

And she’s mine. Mine to stare at. Mine to unwrap like a birthday gift. Except-except no, she’s not, and I force myself to step back with every last ounce of my willpower. I let the corner of her towel drop, forcing my grip open like it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Roxy watches me go, mouth parted and pupils blown wide, and I’ve never been so hard in my whole goddamn life.

Can she tell? Can she see how ravenous she makes me; how I’m two seconds from snapping and throwing her over my shoulder?

I reach past her and shove her cabin door open.

“Get inside.”

Roxy huffs, bundling her towel tighter around her, and stays put. I take her by the elbow, intending to steer her inside, but that warm, damp skin beneath my palm does something to me. I hiss, stepping closer again, my thumb tracing over her arm in circles.

“What’s going on?” Jake’s voice echoes down the corridor. We leap apart, eyes wide and chests heaving. I’m the first to recover, meeting Jake’s eyes and smirking as he walks to join us. He’s never looked at me like that—with a hint of suspicion swirling in his gaze—and I hate it.

“Roxy here is out to tempt the crew.”

She sucks in a breath, outraged, and gives me such a look of hurt and betrayal that I wish I could snatch the words back. I’m being an asshole, blaming her for my own primal reaction, and now I’m shoving all the awkwardness I’m feeling onto her shoulders. I open my mouth to put it right somehow, to take my share of the blame, but Jake booms out a laugh, tired but amused.

“Come on, sis. You know better than that.”

She throws us both a disgusted look. “You’re right. I do.” It’s the firmest her voice has ever sounded around me, and I’m not sure I like that. There’s a hard edge to her words, a cool distance in her eyes when she glances at me one last time before stepping into her cabin.

She shuts the door without another word, and I want more than anything to pound on it until she listens to me. Until she lets me apologize.

Until she lets me peel that goddamn towel off her beautiful curves.

I don’t do it. I can’t. Not with her brother right here—and it would be wrong anyway.

She’s young. Sweet. Too good for me by far. It’s not her fault that she doesn’t know what effect she has on me—what a torment her bare skin presents. And why would she? Roxy trusts me. Or she did, until I threw her under the bus.

“Come back to the galley.” Jake claps me on the shoulder, all hints of suspicion long gone. “We need to go over the schedule.”

Of course. This is a work trip. I have a job to do, and it does not involve snapping at his baby sister’s heels. We’re on tight deadlines, with a trail of boats we’ve arranged to meet with out in the ocean so Jake can film the occupants.

I can’t afford these distractions. I can’t afford her.

Not when she makes me want to throw all the rest of it away.

* * *

I knock on Roxy’s cabin door long after her brother is asleep. I know, because I ply him with whisky, bastard that I am. Not enough to get him drunk or even tipsy, but enough that he’ll let the work stuff go for a half a minute and let me usher him back to his cabin. His eyelids are drooping, his face already hollowed with exhaustion, and worry for him gnaws at my gut.

I’ve always taken care of Jake. Even when we were teenagers ourselves, we had each other’s backs, but Jake always managed to get himself in more scrapes. And I’d be the one to swoop in and fix things, to set things right and clean up his mess. He’s grateful, I know he is, and hell—I’ve made a whole career since out of being a fixer.

If people want something done, they call me. As long as it’s not illegal, as long as it doesn’t make my skin crawl, whatever it is—I’ll fix it.

They need an event thrown together with no notice? I’ll do it.

They need the press talking about something? Easy enough.

They need to protect an old building, to secure permission for a film shoot, to negotiate a stalled deal?

I’m the end of the road. I’m the person you call when all your other options are tapped out. And I charge top dollar for the privilege.

Except when it’s Jake calling, of course. Then I cover costs, and that’s it. Because for Jake, I’d do anything, and for his baby sister—I can’t let myself think it. Thoughts are dangerously close to actions.

“Roxy,” I murmur. Unlike earlier, I know she’s in there. I can hear the creak of her bed springs and the rustle of her blankets. “Roxy. Can we speak for a moment?”

“No.” Her voice is muffled. Like she’s speaking into a pillow. I check my watch, but it’s not yet midnight. Whenever I’ve stayed at her and Jake’s apartment before, she’s always been a night owl. I’m not waking her up.

I rap again, quietly. Jake may be sleeping, but he’s only a few feet away down the corridor. I don’t want to tempt fate more than I already am.

“Just for a second, sweetheart. Then I’ll leave you be.”

She huffs so loud, I hear it through the door. I just have time to wipe the smile from my face before she wrenches the door open, scowling up at me with her hair mussed. She’s wearing thick, patterned leggings, hiking socks and one of Jake’s old college sweatshirts. There are tiny pink crease lines on her cheek from the pillow, and her mouth is pressed in a firm line.

She’s perfect. So damn beautiful. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, and I almost reach for her before I snatch my hand back.

That’s not why I’m here. I’m setting things right. Then I’m going to put some much-needed space between us.

“About earlier—” I begin, but she holds up a palm.

“Forget it.” Her voice is gravelly. Is that from tiredness? Or is she getting a cold? Or—worst of all—did I actually make her cry? “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get dressed in the bathroom next time. Okay? Now please leave me alone.”

She turns away, already shutting the door, and I panic, blocking it with a palm. She looks up at me, startled, and I watch the pulse hammering in her throat.

Is she scared of me? Or excited?

“Wait. Yes, that’s fine, but I want to apologize too. I’m sorry for saying those things, Roxy.”

“What things?” She raises her chin. Yeah, she’s not scared of me anymore. “The part about how I was trying to tempt the crew? Or the part about my ‘perfect body’?”

She’s got me. I swallow hard, eyes darting down the corridor to Jake’s door.

“All of it,” I rasp. “Forgive me.”

I can’t keep the misery and self loathing from my voice, and that more than anything seems to soften her. Roxy’s shoulders relax, and she scans me again with fresh eyes.

“Are you okay?” she whispers. Shy again.

“I will be once you’ve forgiven me.”

Her mouth quirks up. A pink flush creeps over her cheeks, and I’d give anything to trace it with my fingertips. With my teeth.

“I forgive you.” Those quiet words flood through me, soothing and cool. Then her nose wrinkles. “But don’t be mean again.”

“I won’t,” I promise. Just the fact that I’ve hurt her at all, even in a small way—it hollows out my insides. I’ll do anything to avoid that a second time. I want to go back to the way she looked at me before. With hero worship in her wide eyes.

“Where’s Jake?” she asks, chewing on her lip and looking past me.

“Asleep.” I don’t mention the whisky. The second shameful thing I’ve done today. She nods, relieved, and smiles shyly as she steps back into her cabin.

“Goodnight, Damian.”

My reply is hoarse. “Goodnight.”

Her door shuts before I’m ready. I wasn’t done looking at her, damn it. I didn’t manage to get a whiff of her scent. Roxy changes her shampoo more often than other people change their shirts, and it’s become a shameful obsession of mine to try and guess each new scent.

I can’t sneak through her bag to see if I’ve guessed right until I can smell her better. Until I find an excuse to hug her, pressing my nose to the crown of her head.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, letting myself into my own cabin.

I am the worst kind of man.