Stop it, she scolded herself. Act less like a teenage boy and more like an adult. A respectful adult. She couldn’t help herself, though. Emilia’s hair fell over her shoulder in a heavy ponytail, nearly trailing in the water, and a bead of sweat ran along her spine. Morgan’s hands braced her hips, and she felt the muscles in Emilia’s core work as she fought against the briny scum.

I need to keep a clear head, she thought. I need to stop falling.

Emilia gave one last scrub and straightened, turning in Morgan’s arms.

“Hey.” Emilia’s lips were chapped from the salt air, and they caught and held Morgan’s attention.

Morgan kissed her. She couldn’t help it. Her mouth needed this woman, and her body—her body was falling, dropping out from underneath her feet as she understood for the first time in her life the definition of the word swoon. Her feet didn’t waver on the deck, and the hands that held Emilia were steady, but inside she plummeted.

“Come to my place later,” Emilia said, breaking off the kiss and bringing Morgan back to earth.

“I’m on call.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay.”

Emilia had never invited her into her father’s house. She hadn’t wanted to ask why, guessing it had something to do with Emilia’s grieving process, but her heart leapt at the suggestion even as her mind urged caution. This was a step in the wrong direction—the one that led toward Morgan sobbing in her truck and binge eating cheese when she couldn’t sleep. She should keep things on her own turf, where she had control.

Her mouth had other ideas. “I’ll cook you dinner,” it said, because her mouth, like the rest of her body, was an idiot.

Emilia bit Morgan’s lower lip and released it slowly. “You’ve cooked for me several times now. It’s my turn.”

“Can we go now?” Morgan asked. Her hand had wandered dangerously close to Emilia’s bikini tie.

“Does this boat look clean to you?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.” Emilia pulled away. “Lucky for you, I have an extra brush.”

“Any reason in particular you’re spit shining this?” She tried to keep her tone casual, but if Emilia was planning on selling the boat, Morgan needed to know.

“Stress cleaning.”

“That’s a thing?”

Emilia brandished her brush like a weapon. “Stress cleaning is very much a thing.”

“I can think of better ways to blow off steam,” said her idiotic mouth.

“I bet you can. And you missed a spot over there.”

“Why are you stressed?” Morgan asked as she doubled back.

“What am I not stressed about is the better question.” Emilia spoke to the deck and kept her face downcast as she answered.