Cam caught sight of it, and she expected him to grin right back at her. Instead he went quite serious, reaching out to touch her jaw, his thumb rasping over her bottom lip. “Making you smile like that is the highlight of my day. Hell, my year.”

Her stomach clenched. Or maybe that was her heart. “Same,” she said, so softly she was certain he couldn’t have heard it over the roar of the engine or the wind.

But he smiled as if he’d read her lips, and it made her forget herself for a moment. The wind was in his hair too, and he wore mirrored sunglasses that were sexy as hell. So was his stubble, as was the way the gusts had his clothes plastered to him, showing off that leanly muscled physique to mouthwatering perfection.

When he caught her staring, his smile turned a little hot and a whole lot wicked.

A few minutes later, he turned into a deserted cove on the unpopulated north shore and slowed way down.

“I love it here,” she said. “I don’t often walk this far out to see it, though.” She looked at him. “Thanks for doing this, for taking me out of my own head. I had no idea what I needed. How do you always just know?”

He laughed. “I don’t. When it comes to you, I’m always off balance and guessing, hedging my bets.” Coming close, he ducked his head to see right into her eyes. “But I like doing things for you. You always get this sort of surprised expression, like you never expect anyone to go out of their way for you, or make you feel special.”

She’d never let her thoughts go down that path, but that he had was incredibly . . . well, incredible.

By the time he shut the engine down and moored them, she was ready to jump him. When he took her hand, she stepped eagerly into him. Had she said she wasn’t in the mood? She’d been wrong. “Yes.”

He smiled. He knew. “Hold that thought.” He led her to the front of the boat, but instead of jumping down to the beach, he settled them on the top deck, lying back to stare up at a serene blue sky that stretched as far as the eye could see.

“What do you think that cloud looks like?” he asked, with a jut of his chin toward the sky, hands cradling his head, his long legs stretched out, boots crossed. “I think it looks like a pizza.”

When she didn’t answer, he turned his head and looked at her. “You okay? Do you need to get off the boat?”

“No, I’m okay.” A surprise all on its own. “I’m just”—she had to let out a low laugh—“still processing the fact that I was going to make a move on you and you shut me down.”