Page 5 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

My inner groan of lust turns to a groan of despair. “It just does.”

I don’t really have to stand over her while she ties and reties the figure eights, but I also don’t want to leave. Whatever messages are waiting for me in the office—and there are always messages—they can wait.

And does Quincy really need to do it twenty times? Well, every time I screwed up, I had Captain Mack chewing my ass and making me redo things fifty times, so I figure I’m going easy on her. And I’m a little bit of an asshole because I like the way her pink tongue pokes out when she’s concentrating, squatting flat-footed on the planks with her knees pointing skyward and her rounded butt hovering inches from the wood.

Not going to think about how limber she is. That would be wrong.

Sweat drips down my forehead in a steady stream as I watch her work, and I swipe it away with the hem of my shirt.

“That’s twenty. What now, boss?”

Quincy is staring right at my stomach as she squats below me on the dock.

She clears her throat and adds, “Well, my goodness.”

I hold her gaze for a moment, trying to determine why she was remarking on how sweaty I am. I take a big swig from my water bottle, maintaining eye contact. She licks her lips. As I swallow, I offer the bottle to her.

“Thanks,” she says, rising to full height and taking the bottle from me. Her plump lips wrap around the spout, and I go rock hard as she angles her head back and drinks. Quincy’s throat bobs. And glistens. I stare at the long, graceful lines along her neck, wishing she still had on that tank top she wore at thecoffee shop earlier today. No matter. I remember what the hollows of her collarbones look like.

She hands the bottle back to me.

A wave splashes violently against the wood piling next to me as Foster’s new speedboat whizzes by.

“When he circles back this way, I’ll show you what to do,” I say to Quincy.

“I think I got it,” she says with a wink. “I don’t think I told you, but I grew up going fishing with my grandpa all the time. He never made me do proper figure eights though. I’ll be good, I promise.”

I’m not convinced. Not because I don’t believe her about her grandpa, but because I’ve seen this a dozen times with other employees. They think they know what they’re doing, and the next thing I know, I’m replacing a cleat, or worse, writing a check for boat repairs. I lean against the railing, my arms folded across my chest as I watch Quincy wait for the boat to come in, her long legs bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation. Either she’s had too much caffeine, or she really thinks this job is a party.

Quincy leans forward as the bow approaches, and Foster cuts the engine.

“Wait,” I say quietly, gritting my teeth, holding back the urge to jump in and grab the line from her.

At the same time, I’m blinded by those white shorts, and distracted by the way they hug her curves, and the way her ass bounces.

Fuck me.

She grabs hold of the piling and leans over toward the bow.

I let out a curse as Quincy misjudges the gap between the boat and the dock. The water is choppy from all the activity, and the bow heaves upward. She stumbles back, then overcorrectsand pitches forward, trying to grab onto the hull. Just then, the wake of another passing boat sends the bow upward again.

Quincy is all over the place, and she’s about to get dragged into the water.

Instinct takes over, and I lunge for her, hooking an arm firmly around her waist and jerking her back onto the solid planks. Grabbing the boat hook, I push the vessel away from the pilings until the waves have calmed down.

With my hand still on Quincy’s waist, I drag her five feet back, far away from the vessel, and take the line from her. “You trying to die on me?”

I don’t have time to wait for an answer, busying myself with tying the port side to the dock once the vessel has stopped rocking so violently.

Foster and his three passengers hop out and head down the walkway, chatting and laughing about their morning haul on the lake. They’re all oblivious to what almost happened as they head to the fish cleaning station with their pails of fish, coolers, and poles.

I turn my attention to Quincy.

Her eyes are wide and curious. “Um…no?”

“What?”

She smiles. “No, I’m not trying to die on you.”