“What?” Two spots of bright pink appeared on her cheeks.
“I said ‘naked’.” He took off his ball cap and jacket and pulled off his T-shirt. “You can avert your eyes if you want,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans.
****
Eve stood still as Sam took everything off.
Everything.
She tried not to look. But on the sunny deck of the Bravado, buck naked and shameless, Sam had the body of a Greek god.
He was big and scruffy and aggressively masculine. His heavy jaw was covered in shadow and he wore his dark, wavy hair a little long. This theme carried down to his chest and torso, but not even a healthy coat of dark hair could hide the sharply defined muscles of his pecs and abs. His nipples, one shade darker than his tanned skin, were tiny. A thin trail of hair led down his torso, dividing the muscles of his six- pack before widening and gathering past his shallow belly button.
She didn’t dare look lower.
“The next part is kind of gross,” he said.
He took a bottle of hair conditioner and squirted some in his hand. He rubbed it all over his body like lotion until his skin glistened in the sunlight and the air filled with the ladylike scent of fresh herbs and strawberries.
“What’s that for?” she asked, pretending to look at the instrument panel. Her skin tingled as if his hands were on her body instead.
“It helps me get my suit on easier.” He grabbed his wetsuit and pulled it on up to his waist. The black neoprene clung to his rock-hard thighs and round ass. When he turned around, Eve caught the outline of his enormous package before she could look away again.
“Hand me my mask, will you?” he asked.
It hung inside the wheelhouse. As Eve handed it to him, he made eye contact with her. His unusual mismatched eyes seemed to burn into hers, and in an instant, she sensed he was trying to get a rise out of her.
Jackass. She dropped her eyes and squinted at the tattoo that covered the bicep of his right arm.
“What’s that?” she asked, touching the tattoo with her fingertip. At the contact of his warm skin against hers, he looked at her and smiled, making her already- unsteady stomach turn a pirouette. He turned sideways, flexed, and showed her the rest of the tattoo — a round badge with the picture of an open hand.
“My last name, Lamont. This is our clan badge. From Scotland.”
“Are you from Scotland?”
“No,” he said. “But my grandfather was. It’s the name of my company, too. Lamont Seafood.” He pulled the rest of his suit on. The fabric was snug against his broad chest and strained around his big arms.
“How about you, Eve?” He looked at her for a moment longer than he should have, his unusual eyes making her breath quicken. “Got any tattoos you can show me?”
“No,” she said. “In Japan, only criminals have tattoos.”
She crossed her arms casually, trying to mask the loopy way he was making her feel. “I know you’re the captain of this boat, but maybe we should stop yakking and get to the sea urchin.”
“Sounds good, matey,” he said in a pirate accent.
After Sam showed her how to start up the air compressor, he sat on the edge of the boat, placed the breathing regulator in his mouth, and fell into the water. Eve tossed him an urchin bag and fed the bright yellow dive hose off the stern, as he had taught her. He gave her a thumbs-up and descended into the kelp.
The sun blazed overhead. Eve took off Sam’s jacket and sat on the rising and falling deck, staring at the horizon and struggling to master her anxiety. But every time a set of waves washed over Bee Rock, Eve flinched.
Sam was underwater for fifteen minutes. Then the first full basket surfaced, buoyed by a bright orange inflatable floater. Sam surfaced next. Eve tossed him a line for the bag. When it was secure, she used the hydraulic lift to load the enormous haul of spiky red urchin onto the deck of the boat. She unhooked the line and turned back to Sam in the water.
“Did I do it right?” she asked, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
He nodded. “Yup.”
“Want another one?”
“Hit me.”
She tossed another empty bag to him. He grabbed it, put the regulator in his mouth, and disappeared once again.
****
Sam filled up his last bag, sent it up, and followed it to the surface. He’d been diving for three hours—he needed to come up to allow his body to rid itself of nitrogen. The haul was decent for a single diver. He estimated it at nine hundred pounds.
He swam up to the boat and uncoupled his dive hose, took off his weight belt, and handed it to her to put on deck. She leaned over to grab it. She’d removed his jacket hours ago, but now she’d taken off her hoodie, too.
His eyes raked over her.
Her lucky-ass boyfriend.
She was wearing a low-cut white tank top. When she leaned forward, she inadvertently treated Sam to a view of her deep cleavage and the tops of her petal-pink bra cups. Her skin was milky white, like alabaster—so different from the beach bunnies and spray-tan party girls who usually found their way into his bed.
He let go of the weight belt.
“Shit!” she said as it slipped out of her hand and splashed into the water. Sam tried to grab it, but it sank like a stone into the dark.
“Hey, be careful with my gear,” he said, pulling himself on deck. He took off his mask. “Things like that add up.”
“Be careful with your own gear,” she said, frowning.
“Excuse me?”
“I almost had the weight belt, but you let go too soon. It’s not my fault.”
He didn’t like the indignant tone of her voice. “There’s no reason to get defensive.
“I’m not getting defensive,” she said. “I’m just telling you what happened.”
“That’s your version of what happened. My version is that you dropped the weight belt.” He watched her face but her expression was inscrutable. “It’s nothing personal, Eve. On this boat, if I tell you that you did something wrong, you did it wrong. Next time, you need to do it right. That’s all. Do you understand?”
She bit her pretty bottom lip. The gesture would have been sexy and wildly disarming had she not fixed her stone-cold glare on his face.
****
Annoyance roiled in Eve’s gut along with all the fear and anxiety she’d pushed deep down inside her. Sam was sexy as hell, but inside he was just another hard-ass like her father. Just another dictator.
Well, at least she knew how to act around someone like that. “Sure thing,” she said softly.
He stared at her for a second, frowning. “That’s
it?”
She was genuinely confused. “What do you mean,
‘That’s it’?”
“You’re not going to say anything else?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Make a case or something.”
“Do you want me to?” Sam shrugged.
“Did your other tender like to argue with you?” “Kyle? Sure. He had his opinions on things.” “But…I thought you were cracking a whip. It being my first day, I thought…you wanted me to just…just say, ‘Sure thing.’ Assure you you’re the boss.”
“Wait a second,” he said. “What whip? I just want you to understand. As diver and tender, we have to communicate well. The channels have to be wide open.” He took off the top of his wetsuit and wiped his arms and chest off with a towel.
She concentrated on keeping her gaze above his neck. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“What I mean is, when I give you feedback, just…be cool. Don’t go on the defensive, but don’t shut down either.” His voice was steady and even, not the least bit angry. “You’re smart and you’re quick. I’m aware you can think for yourself. But when I tell you something, I’m not trying to be a jerk. I just want you to know something that’ll help us work together better in the future. Okay?”
When he put it that way, there was nothing to argue about. Her anger untwisted slowly in her chest. “Okay.” His bare arm brushed hers as he grabbed the line attached to the last urchin bag. Her nerves tingled at the contact.
“And by the way,” he said, lowering his voice as his extraordinary eyes latched onto hers, “You don’t have to assure me of anything. I know I’m the boss.”