Forgotten Sea
““Cat’s eyes,” Captain Rick had said the first time he’d watched Justin climb the rigging at night.
He could see her now, Lara, silhouetted against the slanting light from the bathroom, the quick rise of her breasts above the knotted towel, her small hands curled into fists at her sides.
He could smell her, soap and fear, and under that her skin, her scent, female, sweet. Arousing.
“Don’t be scared,” he said hoarsely, which was a crock—she should be scared, she barely knew him. And what she could probably make out was hardly reassuring.
His head hurt. His throat burned. For seven years, his past had been a blank to him. Now his brain seethed with unfamiliar images. With questions. Something had changed within him, and the one person he trusted for answers was braced in front of him, watching him with wide, wary gray eyes as if he were about to jump her.
“I’m not going to hurt you,”
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