Making Her Nights

Mike turned the wheel of his boat and rounded the final bend before Dutch Row Sandbar. He sighed. God only knew what he might find there. Drunks doing drunk things. Drunk things never turned out well.

The shimmering silvery blue of the river gleamed from the early summer sun on the surface and had him pushing his sunglasses farther up his nose. It’d been a peaceful day so far. A few fishermen here and there. A couple of skiers and a few inner tubes. Aside from Dutch Row Sandbar, he really didn’t mind taking a rotation patrolling the waters. Enjoyed it even.

The bend narrowed as he pulled out of the turn and he edged back to the center of the river. The sandbar was just ahead on the right and, as expected, covered in people. Drunken idiot people by the hooting he was already hearing over the whine of his outboard motor. But at least they were on land and not joyriding the river and doing stupid shit like unofficial boat races.

Instead they likely had their asses in the sand while filling their empty beer cans with water before tossing them out in the river to sink and disappear. He shifted forward in his seat, droplets of sweat slithered down his spine as he pulled back on the throttle and slowed the boat. Just a slow cruise by was all that was necessary and then he was done for the day. Well, done on the river. There was still work to be checked at the offices. He glanced ahead for oncoming traffic and his belly dropped to the seat of his pants.

A flash of neon pink cut through the still water surface. With knots twisting his belly, he urged the boat a little faster to the dumb idiot trying to swim the width of the river. He’d been close to getting out of there with no complications. As if attempting the swim wasn’t dangerous enough with the current and trash floating down stream, plus just the sheer length of the swim—no less than 200 yards—this one didn’t even have a life vest on. And dollars to donuts, this swimmer was likely half drunk. Because it was always the drunks attempting this sort of thing. Anyone else in their right mind would know better.

Just as he was nearly to the white female, she sat up and treaded water. A smirk took her full lips and Mike nearly ripped the leather from the steering wheel.

Tiffany McBride.

“Tiffany!” he yelled a warning for her to wait. The sweat on his body was now a blanket of cold dread. His blood fired through his veins in a mix of worry and plain old pissed off. Anybody but her. Why couldn’t it have been anyone but her? He’d rather deal with a mean-ass fighting drunk than what he knew would be a completely sober Tiffany.

She dropped under water and continued her strokes. Of course. Of course that’s what she would do. Because damn Tiffany McBride always knew what was best. …best to get herself in trouble, that he wouldn’t argue with.

Fuck. He slowly powered the boat forward until he was alongside her. She continued to swim and he reached over the side and tapped her on her smooth, warm back, startling her into sitting up and treading water. A brow rose on her wet oval face. Water dripped from the tip of her perfect little nose. Her breasts rose with her deep breaths, cresting and bobbing out of the dark water. A teasing temptation of showing just enough, but never enough.

“Do you mind?” Her voice was breathless and the gasping sound ripped through him. Not that he needed her out of breath for her voice to wrap all the way down his spine. She, like always, didn’t seem to notice. “Trying to go for a swim here.”

He held out his hand, one part knowing it was a mistake to touch, another thirsting for just a gentle swipe of her hand. He ignored the thickening in the back of his throat and every other thing she put his body through with simple looks. It shouldn’t be possible for one woman to turn his tail in knots, but she did it. All the damn time. He’d spent years hiding and tucking away how she pushed him to the edge of his control while she, never once seemed bothered by his presence. Or at least, bothered to a state of distraction like him. She did make it clear often enough she wished he’d go away.

He gestured with his fingers for her to take his hand. “Get in the damn boat.”

This wouldn’t be easy. It never was easy with Tiffany. Not with anything. By the smirk on her lips, this was going to be no different. “Since when is it illegal to take a swim, Chief?”

She pulled in a deep breath and dropped back under water. He reached, but only caught the cool river flowing through his fingers. He groaned and crossed to the other side of the boat and waited, already knowing this was her destination. Right on cue, she crested the dark depths, a tempting, frustrating laugh rang out with her heaving breath.

He shook his head and hooked his hands under her arms. Her chuckles died as he hefted her in the boat.