Sloane wasn’t buying what he was selling. She unzipped her jacket and slid it off with an undercurrent of mumbling. After she laid it down on the captain’s chair, she inspected the back of her pants.

They were wet.

And form-fitting.

Sloane caught his eye. She wagged her index finger at him.

“Don’t you stand there and lie to me, Brady Knox. And stop looking at me like that!”

Brady put down the water hose but kept his eyes trained on a reddening Sloane.

“Look at you like what?”

He started to walk toward her, eating up the short distance within a few beats. Sloane stood her ground, but he didn’t miss the small gulp she took.

Nervous Sloane was another shade that looked good on the woman.

“Like now I’m the guy on the boat in Jaws and—and you’re the shark about to get him.”

Her lips quirked up at the corners as Brady couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, are you saying that you’re Robert Shaw in this scenario?”

Sloane tilted her head to the side. “Who?”

That only made Brady laugh more. He reached down and grabbed a strand of her wild hair and tried to tuck it behind her ear, but it refused to fall into place that easily.

“The actor who plays Quint,” he explained, focus changing tracks to how he could smell her shampoo. It was citrusy and sweet.

Intriguing.

Sloane’s blush kept its place across her cheeks.

“Who’s Quint?” Her question was barely above a whisper. He could see that the rising and falling of her chest had quickened.

If Brady had to guess, the desire for a different kind of close proximity was starting to move through her as well. Chores be damned.

Brady leaned over, hand curving around her ear, tracing her jaw, and then tilting her chin up. Now her lips were close enough to kiss, but Brady wasn’t going to give anything to her yet.

Not unless she wanted it.

So he answered her question but not without a deeper voice, filled with a grit that Sloane pulled out of him on reflex.

“He’s the guy the shark gets after it attacks the boat.” Brady smirked. “You know, the man in your analogy.”

Sloane said “oh” and nodded, but Brady knew she was a goner. Her eyes swung down to his lips, and then it was all hands on deck.

Hopefully soon to be all hands on dick.

A bad pun, but the moment Sloane slammed her lips against his, Brady was ready to chart a more exciting course on Roger Norman’s boat and had no shame if that included turning every cheesy nautical term into something sexual.

The way Sloane parted his lips with her tongue and immediately pushed her body against his?

Shiver Brady’s goddamn timbers.