Free Twice Her Age by Abby Wood Page B

making a pot of coffee. Deciding a shower would help the hangover, he squeezed himself into the cubbyhole of a bathroom and turned on the water.

    Mick stepped into the shower stall without waiting for the hot water to arrive. Having to settle with using contained water on the yacht to bathe with, he could only afford to get wet, lather, rinse, and jump back out before the water turned cold.

    He turned on the forced-air heater and stood naked in front of the coffeemaker to air-dry while counting the minutes for the coffee to finish dripping. Debbie always brought him a cup of coffee in the morning because she knew how he hated to wait.

    The warm air took the chill out of the room, and he leaned over to grab a mug out of the rack. When he removed the pot, several drops of coffee spilled onto the hot plate causing the liquid to sizzle. The stench of burned coffee reached his nose.

    He lifted the cup to his lips, sipped, and flinched at the way the heat stung his mouth. The liquid gold soothed his body and gave him enough oomph to get dressed. He’d have to get his ass in gear if he planned to shove off this morning.

    After donning his rain gear, he climbed up the steps to the top deck and jumped down onto the dock. In quick order, he unwound the ropes securing the yacht in place and tossed them on board. Not trusting the slick dock, he stretched his leg across the span of the churning water to climb back on board the yacht.

    “Mick! Stop!”

    He turned his head, missed getting his foot on the ladder, and tumbled backward. He waved his arms in the air, searching for something to grab, but he came up empty. The water sucked him into its cold, dark abyss.

    Weighed down in his clothes and rain gear, he fought to get his head above the surface. Gasping that first big lungful of air buoyed his spirits, and he swam the ten yards to where the yacht floated off on its own.

    Chilled to the bone, his head pounded, his legs dragged, and it took all his strength to pull himself out of the water and heave himself onto the deck. He lay flat on his back, the rain splattering his face, and wondered if he had really heard Debbie’s voice.

    “Mick!”

    He rolled over onto his hands and knees and crawled closer to the railing. Pulling himself to his feet, he peered back at the dock. What the hell is she doing down here?

    Debbie stood on the edge of the dock, holding her coat over her head. She used one hand to motion him back. His heart raced. Shit . He’d missed those long legs, the smile, her messy hair spread out on his pillow in the morning.

    Mick limped into the covered area of the engine room, cranked the key, and gave the yacht enough gas to bring it closer to the dock. After shutting the engine off, he hurried back out on deck and picked up a coil of rope.

    “Mick?” Debbie jumped up and down. “Can I talk with you? It’s important.”

    He nodded. “Catch the rope and secure it to the dock.” Once he had thrown the rope to her, he walked along the rail to the opening. Waiting until she wound a figure eight around the dockside anchor with the rope, he soaked up everything about her.

    Soaked to the skin, she stood on the dock with her clothes molded to her body. Those luscious breasts strained against her sweater. She chewed her bottom lip and frowned. He’d told her to leave. Why would she have come back?

    She straightened and hurried over to stand beneath him. “Are you okay? I saw you go under. I was about ready to jump in and help, when I saw you climbing the ladder.” Her hand covered her heart. “God, Mick, I thought the waves had dragged you under the dock.”

    “What do you want, Debbie?” He didn’t open an invitation for her to come on board. If he asked her up, he’d never be able to let her go. She wasn’t ready for a relationship. Not with him at least.

    “I need to talk with you.” She swiped the rain off her face. “Can I come up? Get out of the rain?”

    He nodded and held out his hand