Pen Pal(82)

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Talk about a disappointing segue. I thought you were about to make love to me again.”

He chuckles. “I was, but then I got the genius idea of taking the boat out so there would be fireworks exploding overhead the next time I make you come.”

“Ah. Yes, that would be a memorable way to ring in the new year.”

We grin at each other. He says, “I bought chocolate and champagne. Just in case you were up for it.”

“In what universe would I not be up for you feeding me champagne and chocolate under a fireworks-filled sky after giving me a mind-blowing orgasm?”

“Oh, so I’m feeding you now, too?” He rolls his eyes in mock dismay. “I have to do all the work around here.”

I press a kiss to his lips and whisper, “Poor baby.”

He tosses me onto my back and growls, “Careful. Warthogs eat bunnies for dinner.” Then he nips at my neck and tickles me, making me scream.

Laughing, he rises. I watch, smiling, as he goes into the closet. He emerges clothed soon thereafter.

“Get that sweet behind moving,” he says, shooting me a wicked grin as he leaves the room. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I pop up from bed and dress as quickly as I can, pulling on jeans and a thick sweater over a long-sleeved shirt. It’s not raining tonight, but with the temperature in the low fifties, it will be cold on the water. I shove my feet into a pair of boots and head downstairs, grinning.

It’s strange how light joy makes your body feel. If I concentrated, I bet I could float right off the ground.

I find Aidan in the kitchen loading the champagne, chocolates, and a pair of champagne glasses into a picnic basket. I tease, “Look at you, so domestic.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is romantic.”

I go up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. Resting my cheek against his broad back, I murmur, “Actually, the word I’m looking for is amazing. No, wonderful. No, that’s not it either. Hmm…”

“Glorious,” he supplies, turning to embrace me. “I’ll take spectacular, too.”

“Yeah, I bet you would.”

He kisses me, cradling my face in his hands. It’s a sweet kiss, but it quickly turns heated. I pull out of his arms, laughing.

“Okay, Fight Club, let’s get this show on the road or we’ll never make it out of the kitchen.”

“So bossy,” he says, shaking his head. He’s trying to frown but not quite managing it.

“I’ll get a couple blankets. Meet you at the back door.”

I leave him in the kitchen and go hunting through the linen closet in the guest bedroom for the throws kept folded in a stack. Choosing two that are thick and soft, I wrap one around my shoulders and carry the other to where Aidan stands waiting at the door with the wicker basket in hand.

When I drape the blanket across his shoulders, he makes a face. “You realize warthogs don’t get cold, right? We’re way too tough for that.”

I wave him aside. “Be quiet, macho man. You’ll thank me when we’re on the water.”

We head across the lawn and down to the rocky beach toward the Eurydice tied at the end of the dock. The air is fresh and cold. It smells strongly of pine sap, wet bark, and moss. Above us, the sky is a bowl of deep sapphire sprinkled with stars. It’s still and quiet except for the crickets serenading us with their evening song. Aidan grasps my hand and squeezes it, glancing down to smile at me.

If there is a heaven, I hope it’s exactly like this.

Aidan helps me onto the stern of the boat, then hands me the picnic basket. He hops over the edge of the hull and unties the ropes from the cleats on the side while I climb the narrow stairs up to the bridge. Elevated above the main and lower decks, it offers an unrestricted view of the water.

Moonlight shines off the dark, undulating waves. The Sound is calm tonight and the skies are clear, which will make for spectacular fireworks viewing.

I run the blower for a minute to clear fumes from the engine compartment, then turn the batteries on and fire up the engines. After checking the gauges to make sure we’re good to go, I call down to Aidan, “You ready?”

He doesn’t answer.

Walking over to the stairs, I call more loudly, “Aidan?”

Still no response. He must not be able to hear me over the engines.

Because the stairs are so steep, going down the steps is slightly more awkward than going up. I have to climb down carefully, facing inward and grasping the metal railings on either side. When my feet finally touch the deck, I turn around, expecting to see Aidan in the seating area on the stern.

He’s not there. The picnic basket sits alone on the table.

Frowning, I glance inside the main cabin…and freeze in horror.

Aidan stands stiffly on one side of the cabin, staring at the man standing across from him, about six feet away.

It’s Michael.

Wearing the same gray trench coat and hat I’ve seen him in several times over the past few months when I’ve caught glimpses of him following me, he’s thin and unkempt, with hollowed cheeks and dark shadows under his wild eyes.

His arms hang by his sides.

In one trembling hand, he grips a silver pistol.

I suck in a breath. My heartbeat slams into overdrive. A cold tremor runs through me, chilling me all the way down to my bones.