Free One Lucky Bastard by Abby Wood Page A

refused to leave until he heard her out, he’d have to listen to what she had to say.
    Before she lost her nerve, she left her vehicle and ran through the rain to the front door. She pushed the doorbell, shook the drops from her hair, and took a deep breath. The chime of the bell sounded inside.
    Debbie shifted back and forth on her feet. “Come on. Come on. Answer the door.”
    She mentally counted to thirty and rang the bell again. What if he looked out one of the windows, spied her car, and refused to come to the door? No, he wouldn’t. Would he?
    She rifled through her purse in search of the key chain with a gold heart that Mick gave her the night she moved in. She’d forgotten to return the house key when she left. Her hands shook, and she struggled to fit the key in the lock.
    “Mick?” She peeked inside the house. “Mick?” she yelled a little louder, pushing the door open and stepping into the foyer.
    Not a sound filled the house. Running up the steps, she headed toward the bathroom, thinking she might have caught him in the shower. If that was the case, she’d go back out to her car and wait.
    Not finding Mick in the bathroom, she left the bedroom. She forced her feet to carry her back downstairs and out to her car. He’d never gone to the office on a weekend when she lived with him.
    “Think, Deb.” She sat down behind the steering wheel. “Where would he go?” She snorted. “God! Listen to me. I’ve gone insane, talking to myself, and my love for him has turned me into a stalker.”
    Debbie started the car, shifted the gear into drive and stopped. Returning the lever to the park position, she knew exactly how to find him. “Yes!”
    She grabbed her cell phone and pushed the button for Mick’s office. She inhaled deeply and hoped this was one of the weekends his secretary was working.
    “Hello?” She sat up straighter. “Yes. Hello, may I speak with Mick Reed, please? It’s urgent that I get to speak with him today.” She forced herself to listen to the woman’s answer, thanked her, and threw the phone onto the passenger seat. Dammit.
    Mick planned to depart up the coast to his business meeting today. With no idea if he’d left or not, she pulled the shifter back into drive, floored the gas pedal, and headed for the marina. Please, please be there, Mick.
    * * *
    The waves crashed against the side of the yacht, and Mick’s body rolled back and forth on the bed. He grabbed the bedspread to stop the nauseating motion, but even moving that much killed his head. How much had he drunk, anyway?
    He lifted his head and squinted around the room in search of the whiskey bottle. Spying it on the chair, he groaned. Not a drop remained.
    The blast from an air horn sent him hurtling to his feet. He pressed his body against the cabinet and willed the bottom of his stomach to settle down. He’d slept too long. The fishing boats were already sailing out to sea.
    Working his way across the room, he braced himself against the counter and set about 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.