Shipped(34)

A wave knocks into me and I’m thrown off balance. Seawater rushes over my head and down my snorkel and I struggle to my feet, coughing and spluttering, heart jackhammering against my ribs.

Graeme’s beside me in a heartbeat, mask pushed up on his forehead and his hand anchored firmly against the middle of my back. Water slicks his hair while droplets glitter on his cheeks.

Another wave slaps against my thighs, and I grab onto him to steady myself. My fingers curl around the cool flesh of his forearm. That buzzing energy surges to life between us. I snatch my hand back with a scowl.

Setting my jaw, I stuff my snorkel into my mouth and bite down hard. I taste salt.

“Wait a second,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. His grip is gentle but firm.

I rip off my mask and give him a yeah, what do you want expression with an extra helping of venom.

“You can’t force it.”

I can force anything. I haven’t met a problem yet that I couldn’t solve with single-minded determination and a whole hell of a lot of effort.

“Come with me,” says Graeme.





12




Against my better judgment, I follow Graeme to shore. I watch as he jogs over to talk to one of the naturalists. Several seconds later he returns, holding what looks like a bright yellow belt made of thick, padded foam.

“Come on,” he says.

“Where are we going?”

“To find our own patch of ocean.” Without a backward glance, he takes off down the beach at a brisk pace, fins tucked under one arm, belt hooked around his forearm.

Should I follow? He might not be the credit-stealing scoundrel I thought he was, but I’m still not sure I can trust him—we are competing for the same promotion, after all.

Then again, I do need to learn how to snorkel, and Graeme seems to have things figured out. If he has some idea how to get over this mental roadblock, it’s worth the risk, right?

“You know, if you try to drown me, there will be witnesses,” I shout as he jogs off.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he calls over his shoulder.

Peeling off my fins, I scurry to catch up. Once I reach him, he slows down and we walk along the waterline in silence, wet sand squishing between our toes. Once we’re a decent way from the other guests, visible but out of earshot, we stop. The water is clearer here and more blue than turquoise.

Dropping his fins on the sand, Graeme unbuckles the yellow belt. “This will help you float. Give you confidence.”

I peer into his face, and his eyes twinkle like sunlight reflecting off waves. He swallows as he steps closer and his Adam’s apple bobs above the neckline of his wet suit. When he extends the belt toward me, his knuckles brush my waist. My heart beats an erratic staccato. With scrabbling fingers, I snatch the belt from him. “Give me that.”

He nods and takes half a step back as I put on the flotation device, making sure the thick, padded part is nestled at my lower back before securing the buckle in the front. He examines my handiwork with knit eyebrows. Reaching for the tail of the belt, he gives it a good tug and it cinches tighter. My breath leaves me in a whoosh.

“Good,” he says with a nod, his smooth black snorkel wagging next to his stubbled jaw. “Ready?”

I position my mask over my eyes. “Like a rock star.”

His lips twitch. Tugging my fins on, I wade into the ocean and he leads me farther from shore. We stop when the waves lap at my chest, sprinkling saltwater on my lips. The belt definitely adds buoyancy; I could lift my feet right now and bob in a sitting position with my head above water. The old panic rattles the bars of its cage but doesn’t get out.

“The trick to snorkeling, I’ve found, is relaxing and breathing,” says Graeme. “Don’t think about anything else, okay?”

I can do that. I nod.

“Okay, now first, I want you to close your eyes and let any tension go.”

Scrunching my nose, I squeeze my eyes shut, but promptly open them again. “Is this really necessary?”

“How were you doing on your own back there?”

“Point taken.”

“Close your eyes. I promise I won’t look at you or do anything weird.” He waggles his fingers and pulls a face like a horror movie villain, and a honk of laughter escapes me before I can suppress it. His shy smile grows wider.

Clamping my lips together, I force my eyelids closed. I sway gently as the surf goes in and out. In and out. Like lungs. Like a heartbeat. I feel my own slowing and my muscles unfurling.

“Good, now put your snorkel in your mouth and breathe.”

I arrange my snorkel and my lips close around rubber. My breaths bluster like wind through a tunnel, but I’m breathing. Deep in, deep out. Bob in the gentle waves. Sun warming my face.

“I’m going to help you float now, okay?”

I hesitate before nodding. This is working. I should keep going.

Graeme’s hand closes on my right thigh. Even through my wet suit, his touch is electric. I tense but force my breathing to remain even as he pushes just enough so I tip forward. His other hand is firmly planted on my shoulder, guiding me.

I gasp the moment my face submerges. My muscles bunch.

“Keep breathing, easy and slow.” His words are muffled and distant.

I suck in a deep, rattling breath and exhale through the snorkel. The belt around my middle keeps me suspended at the surface without any effort at all.