The Siren, KATHERINE JOHN [positive books to read .txt] 📗

I trailed my hand through the water, amazed by the electric glimmer it produced. “The water’s so warm, it’s like bathwater.”

“Yeah,” he said, his face darkening. “It’s a little too warm. Not a good sign for this time of year.”

“Why?”

“Hurricane conditions.”

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilted his head, amused. “You do realize you’re in the Caribbean during hurricane season.”

“But it’s June,” I protested. “Everyone assured us hurricanes never show up until August.”

“Typically. But climate change is warming the water, bringing them earlier and making them bigger.”

“Oh God.” I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, the beauty of the bay suddenly forgotten. “A hurricane would end us.”

“Not necessarily,” he said. “We’re far enough south that we don’t usually get hit as hard. We more often get the beginning stages of a hurricane—a tropical storm or category one or two, before they turn and eviscerate our neighbors to the north.”

“How do you live here, knowing everything could be destroyed?”

He laughed. “At least we don’t have earthquakes and fires.”

“Touché.”

“We build to withstand storms the same way you build to withstand earthquakes. With the exception of those over-water bungalows and—well, a lot of the older, less expensively built buildings. But I love it here. The people, the ocean…I came back for a reason.”

He seemed so at home here in his shorts and sunglasses with his perennial grin, it was hard to imagine him anywhere else. “You came back?”

“I went to college in Philadelphia, then lived in New York for a couple of years.”

I gaped at him. “The city?”

He laughed at my shock. “I was in banking,” he explained. “Wore suits every day. Never worked less than twelve hours.”

I blinked at him, picturing him in a crisp suit in the snow. “Wow. I’m trying to imagine you in that world, and I have to admit, it’s hard.”

“It was hard,” he agreed. “But I’d grown up seeing the rich bankers that kept their money in offshore accounts down here, so I figured if I wanted to be rich, I needed to go into banking.”

“How’d that work out for ya?”

“I did make a lot of money—enough that it was difficult to give up even though I was miserable. And cold. So, so cold.” He shivered.

“What made you come back here? Besides being cold.”

He swept his hand through the glowing water. “Short story? I realized I’d become someone I didn’t want to be.”

“Long story?” I asked.

“My mom got sick. I came down for her first round of chemo. My sisters were frustrated with me because I was here, but I wasn’t here—I was on my phone all the time, stressed about work. One night I was complaining to my mom that my siblings didn’t understand—I made more money than all of them combined; that meant sacrifice. She said”—he cleared his throat, raised his voice an octave, and put on an island accent far thicker than his own—“‘That is fine, Ricky. Just be sure you are not sacrificing the thing you desire most in the world.’” He laughed and shook his head. “She always knows exactly what to say to me.”

“So when did you move back?”

“About five years ago. I sold all the bullshit, gave up the friends who only cared how much money I made. Down here, I had enough cash to live off for a long time, but I wanted to be around people and do something I enjoyed, so I started running boats and planes.”

“And are you happier?”

He swung his arm out at the ocean. “What do you think?”

I thought a lot of things, not all of them G-rated, looking at this handsome man so comfortable in his own skin. “I think you’re brave,” I said. “To know what you want and give up the things society tells you you’re supposed to desire to live your best life—I wish I could do that. I give you mad props.”

He high-fived my raised palm. “Thanks. I’d love to show you my house sometime, if you want.”

I wanted very much. “What’s it like?”

“It’s old—nearly a hundred years—but it was built well, and I’ve put in a lot of upgrades. It sits on top of a hill looking over the ocean, so it gets a nice breeze, and there’s a sundeck on the roof. My sisters tease me though, because I live like a bachelor.”

I laughed, brazenly laying a hand on his arm. “Lemme guess, a big TV and a brown couch, nothing on the walls?”

“The couch is blue, and my mom paints, so I have a lot of pictures of boats and flowers. And a wall of books, though I can’t claim they’re high literature or anything.”

“What do you like to read?”

“Thrillers, mysteries.” He shrugged. “Books with men and boats in them.”

“Makes sense,” I said. We’d been moving ever closer to each other as we talked, so that now our faces were only inches apart.

“What about you?” he asked.

The wind blew my hair into my face, and he tucked it behind my ear for me, brushing my cheek with his fingertips as he did. My skin buzzed where he’d touched it. “I like…This is a secret. You promise you won’t tell?”

He locked his amber eyes on mine, and for once I didn’t force myself to look away. “Promise.”

“I like romance novels,” I whispered. “The trashier, the better.”

He tossed his head back in laughter. “I would never have guessed it.” He placed a hand on my hip and once again found my gaze. “You are a surprise, you know that?”

“You too,” I murmured.

This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t get involved with someone while I was working. I needed to stay focused. This was a distraction. I needed to…

And his lips were on mine. Soft and smooth and strong, like him. His powerful arms were around me, our bodies pressed together, the bay glowing all around us. It was magical. Terribly, horribly magical. And absolutely wonderful.

My back pocket vibrated, and the ringer cut into the stillness. I didn’t want to get it. I wanted to