Billy & The Beast (Ever After, New York #3) - Eli Easton Page 0,43

tell me this was a mistake. The voice sounded very much like Emmanuel. But that voice didn’t have the power over me it had once had.

In some ways, the past year at Malfleur was like a dream. Especially at the beginning, my head had still been a little dazed, foggy. I’d been hurting—physically, mentally. All I wanted was to be left alone, to curl up and sleep, to have nothing expected from me, to escape the world completely. I hadn’t even realized how deep into myself I’d withdrawn until Billy arrived to pull me out.

And here I was. On a goddamn sailboat. I felt self-conscious being out in public, me and my wrecked face. It had been so long. But there was a sense of freedom in simply being outside the walls too. And no one would get close enough to the boat to see me. At least, that was the plan.

I set the sails, angling the mainsail forty-five degrees from a straight jib. The sail caught the breeze and the Hunter bounded upstream. There was a decent wind today. We sailed past the quaint little downtown, sleepy and slow. No one seemed to notice us, or care. Beyond town we headed into greenery on both sides of the river, the lushness of late August in New York. A few leaves were turning already—flecks of red and orange.

I was used to ocean sailing, and the occasional lake, but the river wasn’t much different. Its current was maybe one knot, no match for a Hunter 326. I pointed the bow upstream and let the sails out to run before the wind. It was exhilarating!

Billy watched everything. I gave him a few tips, but mostly he was content to let me sail. I had to adjust the way I did things. My hip bothered me a little, and my left hand, the one that had been burnt, wasn’t nearly as strong as the right, so I had to favor it. I was not as limber as I used to be when it came to scrambling around the boat. But I hadn’t lost any of my knowledge of sailing, for which I was grateful. The morning was quiet and peaceful, and I focused on the task—and pleasure—of guiding the boat over the dappled river.

At one point I glanced at Billy and he was holding up his phone, aimed at me. He quickly moved to the right and took a photo of the river, then stuck it back in his pocket. I felt a flare of concern and almost said, Don’t photograph me. But I’d already told him that. To repeat it would make it sound like I didn’t trust him. Being out in public for the first time in ages was making me paranoid. I shook it off and was soon focused on sailing again.

An hour in, we were still headed upstream. That morning I’d told myself we’d go out for just one hour and then return. Play it safe. But the hour was up, and I was enjoying this too much. I didn’t want it to end.

I was sailing. I was alive, and I was doing something that I loved. I was on a boat with a man I liked very much. The Hudson River wasn’t the South of France, and this little boat was no yacht. But I appreciated being here more than I’d ever appreciated any of the glamor and glitz in my old life.

“Can you, um, anchor? Or let it coast for a bit? How does that work?” Billy asked.

“I can anchor if we want to stay in one spot for a while. Why?”

He licked his lips and his hot gaze was unmistakable. “This boat has a cozy-looking cabin. Want to check it out?”

“Mmm.” My throated growl was automatic. I took a few deep breaths. “Yeah, just let me get the boat set.”

“Take your time. I’ll be below deck.”

He made his way to the cabin steps and down them, his languorous pace out of sync with the sudden pounding of my heart.

I maneuvered the boat closer to the riverbank so I could set the anchor in the sandy bottom. There were dense woods along the shore and no other boats in sight. Private. Good. When the anchor was set, I slid around the side of the boat and swung down into the cabin myself.

Billy had folded the bench seats into a bed and was already undressed, already boasting a semi. I gulped when I saw the supplies he’d lined