Read The Preacher's Son #3: Unbroken (Erotic Romance) for Free Online Page B
Authors: Jasinda Wilder
the next day and looked at boats, which he'd obviously been researching for some time. He had his options narrowed down to three good-sized vessels, one of them already completely outfitted for a charter being sold by a man ready to retire from twenty years of deep sea fishing. He bought that one, a sleek, attractive ship named The Sea Dancer.
I think Tre had already come to an agreement with the seller, actually, since we were able to take possession immediately. I wrote a check, handed it to the man, who in turn handed Tre the keys and title, and simply walked away down the dock, whistling a merry tune.
Tre backed The Sea Dancer out of the slip and guided it skillfully out of the bustling sunset-lit bay. We headed out to open sea, Tre standing shirtless at the wheel, a Bulldogs baseball cap backwards on his head, cutoff shorts hanging low on his hips. I stood behind him, running my hands on his smooth chest, lips pressed to his shoulder, watching the muscles in his arms ripple gently as he guided the ship into the orange ball of the setting sun.
Once again I was struck by a heart-aching burst of pure happiness. I think people aren't meant to be truly happy all the time. It's simply too potent a feeling to tolerate in large quanties.
About half an hour out, Tre brought the boat to a stop and let it drift, low waves clapping against the sides of the boat and sending it rocking and swaying.
Tre led me down to the bow, sat me down, and returned to the cabin. He came back with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, a vase of red roses, and a spread of food.
"This wasn't a sudden decision, was it?" I asked.
Tre shook his head, biting into a strawberry. "Nope. Been planning this for a while now. Old Ben, there, the guy we bought this boat from, he was one of the first fishermen I made friends with. When he said he was callin' it quits, I asked him to sell it to me. So, here we are. Only, I arranged all this before time, so we could have this little date."
I laughed and kissed him. "What if I'd not wanted you to be a fisherman forever?"
It was his turn to laugh. "But you don't mind, and I knew you wouldn't."
We ate in silence for a few minutes more, and then, when the sun had finally lowered beneath the horizon and all was golden light, Tre set aside the plates of food and turned to face me. We were both sitting cross legged on the bow, wind in our hair and waves chucking against the boat.
Tre reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. My throat swelled up, thick and hot.
"I ain't much for makin' pretty speeches, Shea. You know that. I love you, more than anything. More than life itself." He took my hands in one of his, emotion in his eyes and in the sudden drawl of his words. "You and I have an amazing life together already. I don't need nothin' to change. But I'm an old fashioned kinda guy, I guess. Some things you just cain't get rid of, even if you move to the U.S. Virgin Islands. I want to be your husband."
He held up the ring. "Be my wife, Shea Harley?"
I choked. "Tre, I love you. So much, but—"
He interrupted me. "There's one thing I ain't told you. I set up a post office box over on St. Thomas, in a different name. Had a guy help me with it. Well, I also paid a lawyer I took fishin' a few months back to do some work for me." Tre trotted into the cabin and came back with a manila envelope and handed it to me.
I opened it. Signed and completed divorce papers. With Dan's signature. All it needed was mine. I stared at the papers, something I'd not dared to hope I'd ever see, my eyes wavering, burning. A pen appeared in my line of sight and I took it, glanced up at Tre, and then signed. He stuffed the papers back in the envelope and sealed it, took it back to the cabin. When he came back, my eyes were dry, but still burning with yet-unshed tears.
"So, let me ask again." He knelt on the bow of our boat, ring held out to me. "Marry me, Shea?"
I sniffed, struggled to hold back my tears, and failed. All I
I think Tre had already come to an agreement with the seller, actually, since we were able to take possession immediately. I wrote a check, handed it to the man, who in turn handed Tre the keys and title, and simply walked away down the dock, whistling a merry tune.
Tre backed The Sea Dancer out of the slip and guided it skillfully out of the bustling sunset-lit bay. We headed out to open sea, Tre standing shirtless at the wheel, a Bulldogs baseball cap backwards on his head, cutoff shorts hanging low on his hips. I stood behind him, running my hands on his smooth chest, lips pressed to his shoulder, watching the muscles in his arms ripple gently as he guided the ship into the orange ball of the setting sun.
Once again I was struck by a heart-aching burst of pure happiness. I think people aren't meant to be truly happy all the time. It's simply too potent a feeling to tolerate in large quanties.
About half an hour out, Tre brought the boat to a stop and let it drift, low waves clapping against the sides of the boat and sending it rocking and swaying.
Tre led me down to the bow, sat me down, and returned to the cabin. He came back with a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, a vase of red roses, and a spread of food.
"This wasn't a sudden decision, was it?" I asked.
Tre shook his head, biting into a strawberry. "Nope. Been planning this for a while now. Old Ben, there, the guy we bought this boat from, he was one of the first fishermen I made friends with. When he said he was callin' it quits, I asked him to sell it to me. So, here we are. Only, I arranged all this before time, so we could have this little date."
I laughed and kissed him. "What if I'd not wanted you to be a fisherman forever?"
It was his turn to laugh. "But you don't mind, and I knew you wouldn't."
We ate in silence for a few minutes more, and then, when the sun had finally lowered beneath the horizon and all was golden light, Tre set aside the plates of food and turned to face me. We were both sitting cross legged on the bow, wind in our hair and waves chucking against the boat.
Tre reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. My throat swelled up, thick and hot.
"I ain't much for makin' pretty speeches, Shea. You know that. I love you, more than anything. More than life itself." He took my hands in one of his, emotion in his eyes and in the sudden drawl of his words. "You and I have an amazing life together already. I don't need nothin' to change. But I'm an old fashioned kinda guy, I guess. Some things you just cain't get rid of, even if you move to the U.S. Virgin Islands. I want to be your husband."
He held up the ring. "Be my wife, Shea Harley?"
I choked. "Tre, I love you. So much, but—"
He interrupted me. "There's one thing I ain't told you. I set up a post office box over on St. Thomas, in a different name. Had a guy help me with it. Well, I also paid a lawyer I took fishin' a few months back to do some work for me." Tre trotted into the cabin and came back with a manila envelope and handed it to me.
I opened it. Signed and completed divorce papers. With Dan's signature. All it needed was mine. I stared at the papers, something I'd not dared to hope I'd ever see, my eyes wavering, burning. A pen appeared in my line of sight and I took it, glanced up at Tre, and then signed. He stuffed the papers back in the envelope and sealed it, took it back to the cabin. When he came back, my eyes were dry, but still burning with yet-unshed tears.
"So, let me ask again." He knelt on the bow of our boat, ring held out to me. "Marry me, Shea?"
I sniffed, struggled to hold back my tears, and failed. All I