Free Going Deep (Coastal Heat #1) by Maggie Wells Page A

lasting four long years. It also generated an unforgettable kiss and a decade-long string of what-ifs.
    She stopped and stared at the sleek watercraft moored in slip number twenty-two. It was a flashy fantasy of a boat too flamboyant to suit the sober, brooding boy she knew. Blinking away the glare of disbelief, she squinted to read the tiny sign hanging above the slip. The boat’s name was Reefer Madness. Maybe the name explained the unexpected departure in style.
    “Hello?” She picked her way along the slip. “Brian? It’s Brooke.”
    The hollow echoes from her tip-tapping heels bounced off the water beneath the dock. Water lapped at the boat’s cherry-red hull. Rich teak accents offset the sun-bleached deck. The vessel gleamed in the bright morning light, but the door to the cabin remained shut. She gave the idea of pulling a cut and run some consideration but then remembered she had more than an interview by-line riding on this meeting.
    “You said to come by at noon,” she called out. Annoyed by the resulting silence, she planted one hand on her hip and turned in a slow circle. The decks of the surrounding boats were empty. Not one hotshot marine biologist in sight. Apparently, he hadn’t outgrown his need to jerk her chain. “Hello?”
    Waves of disappointment licked at her anger, wearing away the sharp edges like surf washing sand. She’d spent the entire trip out from Mobile refusing to think about how badly she wanted to see him again. The slow, deep kiss they’d shared behind Putnam House played on a continuous loop in her mind. Brian kissed the way she expected him to—thorough and single-mindedly. The slant of his mouth conveyed all the same urgency and possession he’d displayed on graduation day, but this one tasted like much more than a simple kiss. In those brief, heart-hammering moments she understood the truth about Brian she’d never grasped before.
    He’d made her his quest.
    How was she supposed to resist? But she had to resist. She needed him more than she wanted him. Okay, maybe not much more, but more all the same. The work she was doing was important. Not only did her career depend on it, others were depending on her to bring their story to life. The story had to be bigger than this…whatever it was between her and Brian.
    Aside from the ogling and the interview and her research, there was one important bit of information she needed from Brian Dalton. She had to know what possessed him to kiss the bejesus out of her and walk away. Determination renewed, she gripped the rail and lifted one foot, preparing to board with or without permission.
    She nearly lost her footing when a sudden rush of water startled her. Brian’s head popped up over the rear of the boat and her equilibrium went overboard. Water cascaded off his body as he hauled himself up the ladder, steady streams of riveting rivulets trailed over his chest and abs. A pair of virulent green board shorts hung low on his hips. Teetering on one spiked heel, she pinwheeled her arms when the dock shifted.
    “Grab the rail,” he barked.
    She responded instinctively to the gruff command, snagging the rail and hanging on tight as he swung a leg over the edge of the boat. With both feet planted under her once again, she took the opportunity to gawk. He’d always been tall, but he was nowhere near as powerful as he was now. His shoulders were wide and heavily muscled. The cuts in his biceps and triceps shone, sharply defined and mouthwatering.
    When her editor shoved the interview assignment down her throat, she immediately went back to her desk to look for an angle to spin a question and answer session into the leverage she needed. She clicked on a link leading to a photo of Brian with a neoprene wetsuit peeled down to his narrow hips and all research came to a screeching halt. Their copy editor quickly dubbed him Hots Cousteau, though it galled Brooke to admit the geek she’d known had grown up well, Brian had both the looks and