Bidding on Brooks: The Winslow Brothers #1 (17 page)

One hand held hers like iron while the other cupped her cheek. “Are you okay? Are you okay? Skye?”

“Y-Yeah,” she sobbed, gasping and coughing against his neck.

“Let’s get back!”

“Okay.”

“There’s a line around my waist,” he yelled in her ear. “Grab on!”

The line was still slightly slack, so Brooks gathered it into his hands until it was taut and began inching them back to the
Zephyr
, one hand over the other. He panted with exertion, swallowing seawater and spitting it back out. Twice he looked back at Skye, and though she looked bedraggled and exhausted, she was still holding on. Between the ungodly coldness of the water and the crashing of the waves, it took several long minutes to get back to the boat, but by the time they did, the wind had probably calmed to twenty knots and the sky was clearing from black to gray.

“You okay?” he yelled over the crashing, gurgling water and still-howling wind.

“Yeah.”

“Strong enough to climb up?”

She nodded, and Brooks held the line as steady as possible as she grasped onto the red sheet and walked up the side of the boat, hoisting herself over the side and onto the deck. She looked down, giving Brooks the thumbs-up sign and he followed suit, using the sheet to climb up to the deck and fall in an exhausted heap beside her.

Lying on his back, Brooks panted in exhaustion, staring up at the clearing, light gray sky. The wind was down to fifteen knots now and he could see the brightness of the late-afternoon sun trying to break through the lingering clouds. Twisting his head to the side, he looked at Skye, whose chest heaved up and down, her breathing just audible over the waves that still crashed and lapped against the side of the boat. Sliding his hand from where it rested over his life vest, he reached for hers, lacing their fingers together.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he panted softly, his nose and throat burning from the salt water he’d breathed in and ingested.

Flush against his, her shoulder started shaking violently and it only took Brooks a moment to realize that she was crying, her whole body wracked with sobs.

“Skip,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

He sat up gingerly, reached under her shoulders, and pulled her onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her wet, bulky body, and she let the side of her head fall limply against his chest, weeping soundlessly, her whole body trembling.

“Shhh, Skye. You’re okay, baby,” he said again, smoothing her hood down and running his palm over her wet hair. “You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“I l-l-lost control of the b-boat. I f-fell overboard.”

He clenched his eyes shut, the image of her falling over the side burned into his brain, and the resulting feeling—one of pure, cold terror—would be difficult to ever forget. Resting his chin on her head, he held her close, stroking her hair.

“That wasn’t you. That was the storm,” he said, gesturing north where the sky was black and angry. “Crazy flash storm. We didn’t see it coming.”

“I c-could have d-died.”

“No. Impossible. I could never let that happen.”

“B-Brooks,” she sobbed. “Oh, God. I c-couldn’t b-believe it when you j-jumped in.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t lose you,” he murmured against her hair, kissing the top of her head, then holding her tighter.

“You could’ve k-killed yourself.”

“Nah. I was tied to the Cutter.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, burrowing closer to him.

He realized that although she was still crying, she was shaking and stuttering, in part, because her body was very cold from the water and her drenched clothes. He looked up at the sky. Not as furious, but still gray, and the sun wasn’t going to be warming them up anytime soon. Though he didn’t see another storm rolling in, the rest of the afternoon and evening could very well be overcast and windy. Overcast would be chilly, but windy could be good.

He did a quick calculation in his mind. That squall was too short to have thrown them much off-course. They were probably still about three or four hours from Beaufort, but with good wind, no more. If they could both change their clothes and get the sails unfurled again, they could be there by dinnertime.

“Skye,” he said. “You’re soaked and cold. You’ve got to change.”

“W-What?”

He looked down. “Your lips are blue, baby. You’ve got to go below and change.”

“Y-You trying t-to get me n-naked?”

In spite of everything…the storm, their recent swim, their soaked clothes, and the hours of sailing still ahead, he grinned at her, then laughed softly.

Damn, I love this woman
, he thought again, just as he had right before she was thrown overboard. Only this time, his heart swelled with gratitude for the fact that she was still alive, still breathing in his arms after such a terrible scare.

“I’m crazy about you,” he blurted out, kissing her head.

She froze in his arms, stiffening as the words left his mouth, sitting awkward and heavy between them.

“Wh-What?” Leaning back, she twisted a little bit to look into his face, her blue eyes uncertain, but hopeful. “What d-did you say?”

He recalled her words from this morning,
We just need to keep our feelings out of the equation.

Well, that was impossible. He wasn’t going to be able to do that.

Cupping her cheek with his hand, his heart pounded from the force of his feelings. “I’m crazy about you, Skye. It’s true.”

Taking her hands in his, he stood, pulling her up with him.

“Go below and change,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. “I’ll start getting the sails unfurled.”

“Thank you for saving my life.” Her eyes were glistening, and she swallowed, flinching like it hurt a little bit. “And me too, Brooks. I’m crazy about you, too.”

Then she turned and headed downstairs.

***

Arriving at the Olde Beaufort Yacht Club in Beaufort, North Carolina several hours later after an uneventful evening, they pulled into their designated slip and Skye cut the engine, her body limp and weary. Her jeans and sweatshirt were damp and uncomfortable, her hip ached like crazy, her throat and lungs still burned from the salt water she’d ingested and she was physically and emotionally drained. Brooks cleated the bow line to the dock securely then jumped back on the
Zephyr
, walking purposefully down the deck to her.

“Pack a few things in a bag,” he said, catching her eyes before lowering the mainsail.

“What? Why?”

He looked back at the Yacht Club for a minute—a bright white hotel-like structure on the harbor—then gazed tenderly at Skye. “Because I got us a room for tonight. After today, you need a hot shower, a hot meal, and a decent bed.”

She gasped softly in surprise and gratitude, tears filling her eyes as her knees nearly buckling with relief. There was literally nothing Brooks could have offered her that would have sounded better.

“Thank you,” she sobbed softly.

He stopped what he was doing, shimmied around the mast, and pulled her into his arms.

“No more crying, skip,” he said gently.

She leaned into him gratefully, letting his solid strength support her and protect her and take care of her.

He’s good at taking care of people.

Jessica’s words from several days ago swam in Skye’s head, and she sniffled softly, realizing how true they were, realizing that no matter how bad of a match she was for him, with her floozy mother and middle class background, she had fallen in love with Brooks hook, line, and sinker. She wanted him to take care of her…even if it was only for today. Even if he
couldn’t
offer her forever.

She bent back her neck and looked up into his face, letting her eyes zero-in on his lips. He lowered his face, his mouth finding hers, his lips strong, but soft, moving gently, taking her upper lip between his, then releasing it. His tongue parted the seam of her lips, coaxing hers to meet his, to tangle, to slide and dance and be happy that they’d both survived today. His arms tightened around her and she moaned softly, running her hands up his back, into his hair, her fingers spreading into the thick, dark strands.

She had always loved Brooks Winslow a little. But now? Now the image of him leaping off the side of a boat into dark water to rescue her would be burned into her head for the rest of her life.

Now she’d love him forever.

“Skye,” he groaned. “Go pack a few things. I’ll finish up here and we can go to bed… uh, to, uh, up to the hotel.”

She laughed softly against his chest. “Bed sounds good.”

He dropped his chin to her head and groaned again. “You’re killing me.”

“No,” she said tenderly, repeating the words he’d said when he scooped her into his arms after rescuing her from the sea. “Impossible. I could never let that happen.”

He blinked at her, staring down into her eyes like they were a lifeline or his last hope for something he longed for. It only lasted a second before he blinked again, sighing as he released her. “Grab me a change of clothes too?”

She nodded, pulling away from him. “Will do.”

***

An hour and a half later, Skye murmured softly beside him in their king-sized bed, her back against his chest, as a warm breeze blew in off the ocean from their open balcony door. It was only nine o’clock but his girl was winded.

They’d secured the
Zephyr
, then walked hand-in-hand to the Yacht Club, checking in quickly and taking the elevator up to their room. While Skye showered, Brooks had ordered them both cheeseburgers, fries, and cold beer. And while Brooks showered, Skye had tipped the waiter and set up their dinner on the balcony.

As much as they touched and kissed easily when they passed each other, or whenever else they felt like it…and as much as they wanted to touch and kiss and do a million other things to one another, they both recognized—in the manner of seasoned athletes—that their bodies needed sustenance and rest before they could be used to exertion again. After dinner, Skye crawled onto Brooks’ lap to watch the sunset and by the time it had sputtered into the sea, she was sound asleep.

As gently as possible, Brooks stood up and walked from the balcony back into the room, carrying her in his arms. He placed her on the bed, turned down the sheets, and gently pulled her under them. Then he shucked off his jeans, turned off the light, and got into bed beside her, pulling her small body against his.

He was in love with her, but he had no idea what to do about it.

No matter how it had started, this wasn’t some one-week affair that he could walk away from on Sunday. He loved Skye as a friend, and he’d always be grateful for her friendship, but now he loved her as a woman, too. As a heroine, as a muse, as a partner. He didn’t want to fall asleep without her body next to his, or wake up to omelets and coffee alone. The idea of being with any other woman made his stomach turn over and the idea of her with another man made him want to kill someone.

But his heart.

His beating heart, half made by his father, could give out at any time.

He thought about Jessica’s face outside the restaurant at Hatteras. She’d been so insistent that his fears were crazy. That with regular care, Dr. Dryer would catch any threat to their lives. And yet, Dr. Dryer didn’t know what to look for. No one did. As far as Brooks knew—and he’d asked both Dr. Fiorello before he died and his mother—no one knew what condition had ultimately stopped Taylor Winslow’s heart and ended his life.

Brooks held Skye tighter, and she sank back into him, her breathing deep and smooth.

He’d heard of a place in Princeton, New Jersey—the Princeton Longevity Center—which offered full body scans, coronary artery scans, and full cardiac angiography that would show exactly how his heart was pumping. Yes, it would cost a great deal, which really didn’t matter to Brooks, but more, it would take a commitment to his preventative health that he hadn’t considered thus far in his life. He had travelled the world and enjoyed his freedom knowing that one day he’d probably go quickly into that good night, like his father. Although he’d known that very expensive, private facilities like the Princeton Longevity Center existed, he’d never settled down long enough to look into a comprehensive plan to stay on top of his heart.

In order to show up at Princeton for a battery of tests every month, he’d need to settle down nearby—in New Jersey or Philly—and change his entire lifestyle. He kissed the back of Skye’s neck. For the first time in his entire life, “settling down” not only felt possible, but he longed for it. Holding this sweet woman in his arms, his heart throbbing with love for her, it even felt vital. And maybe, just maybe, if he was as proactive as possible, he might stay safe. He might deserve the love of a woman like Skye.  He might even find a way to let himself love her.

But then, out of nowhere, his brain conjured an image of his father—smiling with a cigar in his mouth one moment, then clutching his chest and collapsing the next. Brooks winced, the heaviness which had always plagued him returning quickly after a short burst of hope.