A quarter mile later he finally breaks the silence, trotting around in front of me to force me to a halt.

  “Delta.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Jonny.”

  He sighs, as if hunting for the right words. “I don’t know . . . dios mio, this is hard.” He starts again. “I don’t know how to navigate this, Delta. I’m a sailor, that’s what I do, I sail. I can circumnavigate the globe without a chart or GPS, using the old ways, but this thing, you and me? I can’t make my way through it. I’m not trying to hurt or confuse you, I just . . . I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  I laugh. “I can’t even navigate Chicago without GPS, and I’ve lived there for years. So . . . I don’t know how to navigate this either.” I shrug. “Maybe there’s nothing to navigate.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  I lift my hands palms up. “Hell if I know, Jonny. I mean, part of me wants there to be, but honestly, no, I don’t think there is.” I let out a long sigh. “I have to . . . I have to figure out where I’m going next, what I’m doing. I can’t stay out here on the beach, digging through rubble. I have a son who needs me. I have bills to pay. I have a life. I have a sister who’s about to get out of the hospital, and she has no home, nowhere to go, and her husband is missing, probably dead. So no, I don’t think there’s anything to navigate.”

  “It kinda feels like there could be, though.” Jonny steps closer to me.

  “Don’t, Jonny.” I back away. “Yeah, it does kind of feel like there could be, but feelings fade, don’t they? I’m sure you’ve had feelings for someone before, but it’s never kept you in one place, has it? This isn’t going to be any different. Like I said, I have a son who needs me, so even if I wanted to, I can’t just . . . go gallivanting across the world on a sailboat.”

  I wave a hand at the sea. “Your life is out there”—I wave behind me, at the land—“and mine is out there. It was nice spending time with you, and it was amazing getting to know you, and I’m for sure gonna regret this later because I’m crazy attracted to you, but . . . there’s nothing there, Jonny. Nothing real and lasting.”

  He sighs. “That’s not how I wanted this to go.”

  “Me either.” I shake my head and sigh. “But . . . I don’t think there’s any other way it could have gone.”

  A long beat of silence. “I’m gonna go visit Ava tomorrow. I have to give her the box from Christian.”

  “I’ll go with you. She’s really going to need me when you’re done.”

  He nods heavily. “Yes. I think you’re right.” He steps backward, away from me. “So . . . where will you sleep?”

  I gesture at the sand by the edge of the boardwalk. “Here, I guess.”

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Don’t. That’s dumb.”

  “I can sleep fine in the sand.”

  “We’ll keep our distance, if that’s what you need. But staying way over here all by yourself? It’s not safe.” He steps toward me again. “Law and order tends to break down at times like these.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I’m totally lying: the idea of sleeping in the bare sand, alone, no blankets, no one around? It’s utterly terrifying.

  He frowns at me. “What are you afraid of, Delta? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  I laugh, an amused, sarcastic bark. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, Jonny.”

  His frown deepens. “Then what?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to answer. But I do. “Myself. I’m afraid of what I’ll do.”

  Jonny takes my hand and leads me back towards his nest. “Come on, Delta. It’ll be fine. We’re both adults. Nothing will happen.” Another few steps. “I’m not letting you sleep out here alone. It’s not safe.”

  He’s not safe either, but in a totally different way.

  I go with him, knowing deep in my gut that this is going to lead to me doing something stupid. Because . . . hello, this is me. I specialize in making stupid decisions that are bound to accomplish nothing but hurt me and make my life more difficult.

  We lay down in the little nest of blankets, in the divot we’ve made in the sand. We lie close, but not too close. Spooning, but not touching in anyway. Just sleeping. Neither of us says anything as we fall asleep because, really, there’s nothing to say.

  4

  Once again, I wake up in extreme discomfort. This time, though, Delta isn’t lying on me, so I can slip out of the blankets and drain my bladder into the sand a few dozen feet away, and then slip back into the blankets. I’m careful to keep my distance from her, but it’s difficult. I want to be closer. I want to spoon up behind her, hold her close. Inhale her scent. Feel her body, touch her curves. I want to hear her moan again. The way she moaned last night when I kissed her. Shit. I almost exploded when I heard that little sound, and all we were doing was kissing.

  It’s well before dawn; the sky is still mostly dark and only beginning to be tinged with gray. I sink back toward sleep, drifting. I’m in that place where I’m not quite asleep, but not awake either, only aware enough to know I’m not asleep. Delta shifts, murmurs in her sleep, wiggles. She’s snugged up against me now. I slip toward wakefulness by a few degrees, but not enough to be in any kind of control over myself. I know, in some hazy place in the back of my mind, that we’re not supposed to be snuggling like this, but it feels good. It feels comfortable. It feels right. Her butt nestles perfectly against me, and my arm falls naturally over her waist. She wiggles again, shimmying her ass against me. Her hand flutters like a lost butterfly, finds mine, and rests on her hip, her palm against the back of my hand. Intimate, sweet, and comforting, and arousing all at the same time. I’m still not totally awake, just enough to know this isn’t a dream, but sleepy enough to convince myself it is.

  She makes a sleepy sound again, shifts again, and her hand tightens on mine. Tugs my hand so my arm is wrapped around her; the placement of my arm means my hand is cupping one of her breasts. I felt her moving around last night, as I was falling asleep, and I realize now she’d been taking her bra off. God, she’s soft. Squishy, heavy in my hand. I’m helpless to fight the drift back upward into wakefulness, awareness. I want to stay in this warm, hazy in-between place, where I can pretend I’m not aware of what I’m doing, or how I’m holding her, touching her. She said last night she was afraid of herself, of what she’d do if we were this close. I get that—I’m equally worried about myself and what I might do.

  I know she’s right. This isn’t anything real. There never was anything except a strong mutual attraction, and a strangely intense bond created by the experience of working together as we have been. She has her life, I have mine; she’s a single mother, I’m a vagabond. There’s no way to reconcile the vast differences in our lives, and no reason to even try. We could sleep together, but it would be a momentary distraction and nothing more.

  It can’t be anything more. It’s just not possible.

  But damn, she feels good pressed against me like this. Her breast in my hand, her butt against my thighs and groin. I can’t honestly say the erection I’m getting is morning wood—it’s not, it’s totally and completely sexual arousal, which I’m powerless to combat.

  I’m awake now. My eyes are closed, and I’m trying to pretend I’m asleep, but I’m not. I’m memorizing the feel of Delta spooned against me, the soft, warm weight of her breast in my hand. When she wakes up, what will I do? What will she do?

  She murmurs again, a wordless, muzzy mumble in her sleep. She shifts again, wiggles her butt, arches her back. My heart hammers as I realize she’s beginning to wake up. I should move my hand. Shift away. But I don’t want to. And she has a firm grip on my hand, keeping it where it is, and thus, in effect, pinning me in place. I’m reluctant as hell to move. I like the feel of her, and I don’t want it to end.

  Her butt shimmies again, and it does nothing to lessen the ache of my erection.

  “Mmmmmm. Jonny.” Her voice is a low murmur, just above a whisper. Sleepy, delicate, and musical.

  I just make an mmmm-hmmmm noise in my throat, not trusting myself to talk. Not wanting to break the spell.

  Her hand tightens on mine, then her fingers splay, thread between mine so our hands are tangled together. She slides our hands downward, to the hem of her shirt and up and under, so my palm is whispering over her bare flesh. Up and up, and then my hand is back where it was a moment ago, cupping her breast, except now it’s against her bare skin. Her nipple is a hard button against the center of my palm, and her flesh isn’t just warm, it’s hot. We’re beneath the blanket, covered from shoulders to feet, and the air is cool beyond the blanket, but our body heat has us warm as toast.

  Her fingers leave mine, and her hips flex, tilting her butt against me. Intentionally, this time. There’s no doubt she’s writhing against me.

  Dammit. This is exactly what I said was not going to happen, and it’s exactly what she was worried was going to happen. And now . . .

  It’s happening.

  I want it, and I’m not strong enough to stop it. Self-control has never been my strongest suit, especially when it comes to women, and I don’t think I’ve ever been as attracted to a woman as I am to Delta.

  And if she wants this just as much, then any chance of stopping this before it becomes something complicated and messy is pretty much screwed.

  “Delta,” I whisper.

  She wiggles her butt against me, and my cock throbs. “Jonny.” She sighs, a soft sound of pleasure. “You feel good.”

  “So do you,” I admit. “Too good.”

  “No such thing.”

  I groan as she begins to writhe against me rhythmically. I want to touch her. Make her feel good. I want to hear that moan again. And I absolutely fucking should not do this.

  I shouldn’t release the warm weight of her breast and slide my hand down her flat belly, tracing with my fingertips the seams and scars from childbirth. I shouldn’t flick open the fly of her shorts or lower the zipper. No way in hell should I delve my fingers under the waistband of her underwear and into the silky thatch of closely trimmed fuzz over her core. It’s a super crazy bad idea for me to trace my middle finger along the seam of her pussy and swipe that finger between the lips and into her wet channel. I shouldn’t crave the way she moans so breathlessly at my touch. I really, really shouldn’t relish, down to the fibers of my soul, the way the writhing of her hips shifts into something new, a different kind of movement, a new desperation. Fingering her wet, pulsing pussy shouldn’t feel this good. Feeling her quake under my touch, feeling her start to come apart shouldn’t be this amazing.

  It shouldn’t be the most erotic moment of my life when she grinds herself against my fingers as I circle her clit and bring her to orgasm.

  But, one hundred percent truth—it is.

  I was already hard as a damn rock, but when Delta spasms and whimpers, biting her lip to keep from screaming, gyrating against me, it’s enough to make me start to seep pre-come.

  After a few moments of quaking and whimpering, Delta lets out a long, low moan of pleasure, stilling. “God, Jonny. That was—one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had.” She shimmies, and I feel her wiggling out of her shorts and underwear, and she’s pretty much naked under the blanket. She spins in place, and her eyes meet mine. “Don’t say a word, Jonny. Don’t move, don’t speak. Just . . . go with it, okay?”

  I let out a breath as she opens my shorts. “Delta, I—”

  Her finger touches my lips, shushing me. “I’m serious.” She shifts my shorts and underwear down past my hips and I kick them off but leave them under the blanket with us. “Nothing has changed. I know that. But I also know I can’t help it . . .” She shrugs a shoulder, keeping her eyes locked on me as she grasps my erection with one hand. “I need this with you, Jonny. Damn the consequences. I just . . . I need this.”

  She strokes me until I’m growling and groaning, then she moves astride me. Tugging the blanket over her shoulders so we’re both covered, she rolls the hem of her shirt up so her breasts are bared, and she braces her weight with one hand. Grabs my cock with the other, and guides me to her entrance.

  I know what she asked of me, but I can’t stay silent. “Delta, are you sure? I don’t have protection.”

  “Are you clean?”

  I nod. “I get tested regularly, and I always use a condom. I usually keep some with me, but I lost everything when Christian’s ship went down.”

  She notches me into her slit, sucking in a gasp. “I’m clean too. Promise. And I’m on the shot.”

  “Delta—”

  “We’re safe, Jonny. There’s nothing else I care about.” She stares down at me, eyes wide, breathing hard, drawing out the moment before I fully penetrate her. “I know I should care, and I know this is stupid, but I don’t care. And I know you can’t tell me you don’t want this as much as I do.”

  I groan at the feel of her, just barely hugging the tip of my erection. Her bare breasts sway, the tips brushing my chest. Her eyes are so blue in the darkness, her skin is so pale, her curves so lush and tempting. God, how can I refuse this? I know, like she said, this is stupid, but she also pinpointed exactly how I feel: in this moment, I don’t care.

  I wrap one hand around the back of her head, and the other around her waist. I lift up and smash my mouth against hers, and in the same moment I thrust up with my hips and tug her down onto me. I feel her slide down around my aching cock, sheathing me in her tight wet heat, and I groan into the kiss, and Delta groans with me. The kiss explodes into furious fire, our tongues clashing and tangling. She gives me her weight, collapsing onto me, hands in my hair, and her hips begin to piston.

  Her lips tremble, breaking the kiss as she groans raggedly. “Jesus, Jonny. Holy shit.”

  Her forehead touches mine, and I release my grip on her hair so I can stroke her skin everywhere I can reach, neck and shoulders, arms, her sides and her hips and her ass and her thighs, caressing her flesh hungrily as we find our rhythm together. It’s never been like this before. There’s never been this kind of . . . urgency. This madness. This wild, crazed, fury. This spark blooming into flame, this flame exploding into wildfire, this wildfire coalescing into something hotter and bigger and madder than a star, than a whole host of stars. I feel alive as never before, as if before this moment I was only a zombie, trudging listlessly through life. A ship blown by only a breath of wind, but now the wind has suddenly picked up to send me scudding with dizzying speed across the waves.

  I kiss her everywhere my mouth can find to kiss. I can’t not kiss her, can’t not touch her.

  It’s never been so easy to find a synchronized rhythm with a woman. We just . . . fit. Her hips fit against mine, her ass fits against my thighs, her big lush silky tits brush perfectly against me as she moves, her face fits into my hands and her mouth fits against my mouth, and her hands feel like perfection, burying in my hair and tangling and gripping and tugging. She just fits me, so perfectly.

  “Delta, Delta—” I wish I knew what else to say. I want to give her poetry, but that’s not me, so I moan her name as I thrust into the soaked and slippery grip of her channel. “God, Delta. Dios mio, eres hermosa, Delta . . . you feel so fucking good.”

  She shudders above me, which does delicious things to her breasts, and she slams downward, taking me deep, hard. “It makes me crazy when you speak Spanish to me.” She bites the lobe of my ear then my lower lip, lifting up and crushing down with earthquaking intensity. “Say something else.”

  I let my mouth run away from me, in Spanish. “Fuck, Delta, you feel like heaven. You feel so good it makes me crazy. I’m crazy about you. This is crazy. I’m crazy for doing this, but I can’t help it. I don’t want this to end. I want to keep fucking you forever, I want to fuck you just like this until neither of us can move.”

  I feel her coming apart on top of me, shuddering, clinging to my neck with both arms, lips against my cheek, stuttering and scraping over my stubble, gasping in my ear.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” she chants. “Don’t stop, Jonny. I’m coming, holy shit oh my God oh shit, I’m coming so hard Jonny!”

  I keep talking to her in Spanish as she comes; I almost never revert to Spanish, ever, even in the most intense situations, but now I can’t help it, my lifelong command of English has just totally fled and I’m left with Spanish, and I’m unaware of what I’m saying.

  “What are you doing to me? How can you make this feel so good? This is better than anything has ever felt—I want to keep going forever. Don’t stop fucking me, Delta. God, don’t stop, don’t stop, I’m so close, Delta. I’m going to come so hard you’ll fucking taste it. You’ll be leaking my come for days, Delta.” I grind up into her, gripping the creases of her hips in both hands now, snarling into her ear as I reach my own climax, while she’s still spasming and whimpering through hers above me. “You feel it, Delta? Feel me coming? I’m coming so hard, Delta—I’m filling you with my come, you feel it? You feel me?”

  That last part was a mix of Spanish and English, I think, but it’s hard to be sure when I’m exploding so hard I can’t breathe, so hard I feel like I’m pouring a portion of my actual soul into her, though the joining of our bodies.

  She is shuddering and shrieking shrilly past clenched teeth. “Look at me, Jonny.” My eyes snap open. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but it sounds sexy as hell.”

  She slows then, and I’m so raggedly empty that it’s hard to breathe, and Delta seems the same way. She collapses on top of me, and I’m still inside her, going soft but neither of us seem to care.

  “Delta,” I start.

  She’s nestled on my chest, her entire body on top of mine, her head tucked under my jaw, her hands feathered into my hair. She shakes her head back and forth. “Don’t. Not yet. Just . . . let me enjoy this for a minute, okay?”