One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(79)

Before I can object again, he lets go of the wheel and scurries up onto the top deck.

“Parker!” I yell, watching the wheel start to spin off course.

He doesn’t respond — he’s busy putting up the sails.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself. With no other choice, I grab the wheel and attempt to straighten our course.

Head straight into the wind, Parker advised me before throwing me to the f*cking wolves. Once the sails are up, I’ll come turn off the engines.

I grit my teeth and try not to panic. A few nail-biting minutes pass before he returns.

“See?” His smile is a mile wide and his hair is adorably mussed from the wind. “You did great. I knew you would.”

“I didn’t sink us at the bottom of the Atlantic. That’s not exactly the same as doing great.”

He just shakes his head as he walks around behind me and grabs the wheel, so his chest is pressed up against my back and his arms cage me in.

“Where are we going?” I whisper as he makes an adjustment to our course, reading the compass mounted on the wheel.

His mouth scrapes my earlobe, the faint stubble of his beard ticklish against the sensitive skin there.

“Second star to the right and straight on till morning.”

I smile and lean back against him, allowing the heat of his body and the gentle sway of the boat as she cuts through the waves to calm me. Thoughts of wrecked apartments and corrupt billionaires and evil henchmen and job offers fade away until it’s just me and Parker, sailing away from the world. Leaving it all behind.

It’s the best thing I’ve experienced in a long, long time.

We chase the sunset for just over an hour, then turn east and head straight out to sea. It’s funny — a week ago, in this same situation with Parker West, I would’ve been freaking out. Asking a million questions about our destination, demanding to know his motives, wondering why on earth he would possibly want to spend time with a girl like me.

Now, all I feel is an unflappable sense of calm.

Because I trust him, I realize in a flash. He won’t hurt me.

I’m totally safe with him.

I’m… home.

And, for me, a girl who never had a home…

That means everything.

The sun has almost set by the time the lighthouse comes into view. The sole structure on a tiny outcropping of rock in the middle of the sound, the pillar of granite looks ancient and weather-beaten, its stones caked with salt and brine from the ever-constant waves that crash with the tides. Every few seconds, a bright beacon flashes in the night from the top of the tower, the beam moving rhythmically across the darkening water to warn incoming ships of the small island and guide them into the harbor.

There are no other buildings on the island. Just a narrow dock, which Parker maneuvers the sailboat toward with expertise, cutting the motors at exactly the right moment so we glide to a smooth stop along the pier.

“This can’t be where we’re going,” I murmur, eyeing the towering stone lighthouse with wide eyes. It’s a lonely gray sentinel, guarding the city from afar.

Parker grins. “Help me with the lines, will you, lazy bones? I told you — we’ve got a reservation.”

“At a lighthouse,” I say flatly.

“Yep. Unless you plan on swimming back.” He tosses me the stern line and scrambles toward the bow. “Tie us off, darling. Don’t want the Swan drifting out to sea in the middle of the night.”

“But…” I stare at the rope in my hands. “You can’t mean… We can’t be staying here! Parker?”

He doesn’t answer; he’s busy securing the front of the boat to a cleat along the pier.

Cursing under my breath, I hop over the rail onto the narrow wooden dock and try my best to replicate the knot Parker demonstrated last week. I’ve barely coiled the ropes when he appears by my side.

“Perfect,” he announces, reaching down to snug the knot. “You’re a natural.”

I meet his eyes, feeling wary. “Are we really staying here?”

His gaze is warm; his cheeks are red with cold.

“Safest place I could think of, on short notice.”

“But how?” I shake my head. “How did you possibly make this happen?”

He grabs my hand and tugs me to my feet. “They were going to knock this place down, about a year ago. Let it crumble into the ocean. Lighthouses are mostly automated nowadays — they don’t need light keepers, anymore.” He shrugs. “I didn’t want to see it fall into disrepair, dependent on some shitty state park budget to keep it up and running. So I bought it.”

My mouth gapes. “You bought a lighthouse.”

He glances over at me. “Did I mention my family has a lot of money?”

I blink. “I knew it was a lot. I just didn’t realize it was buy-a-lighthouse-with-your-trust-fund kind of money.”

“If it makes you feel better, this purchase put a rather large dent in my trust fund.” His hand tightens on mine. “Will you still come sailing with me if I’m poor?”

“You’ll never be poor,” I inform him dryly. “WestTech is valued at over two billion dollars.”

His eyes hold mine. “That wasn’t my question.”

“Yes.” I sigh deeply. “I’ll still go sailing with you if you’re poor. I don’t even know why you have to ask that question. Have I ever given you the impression that money is important to me?”