Master of the Deep Read Free

a sip of the smoothie and found it a perfect balance of tart and sweet.
    Koenraad switched off the radio. “That was an update of an earlier news story. Three tourists drowned this morning.”  
    Her throat tightened as she remembered struggling for air, the burning in her lungs… She’d almost drowned. If not for Koenraad—  
    “Monroe?” He was watching her, concerned.  
    She tried to school her face into a neutral expression, but she felt a frown pulling at her lips. “That’s awful. Did their boat capsize?”
    “No. I thought the same thing when I first turned on the radio because I’d caught it mid-story. But they weren’t on a boat. They weren’t together at all.”
    Her frown deepened. “What do you mean?”
    “Three separate drowning incidents.”  
    The hammering of her heartbeat thundered in her ears. “That’s not normal. Is it? I mean, accidents happen, but…”
    “It’s highly unusual when the weather is calm, but it sounds like a coincidence.” He spoke slowly, giving her the impression that he didn’t quite believe it himself.
    “I… want to thank you again for saving my life, for taking the risk. And for trusting me.”
    A dark look fell across his face. “There was no risk. A panicking swimmer can’t accidentally drown me. So stop thanking me. I brought you out there and promised to keep you safe. I’ll protect you every time. Without hesitation.” Despite the certainty of his words and his tone, she sensed he was upset about something.
    Perhaps he was angry with her. All he’d asked her to do was hold her breath for thirty seconds. Surely he realized that it wasn’t like she’d wanted to freak out when the fish scraped against her calf, feeling like it planned to take off her leg at the knee. She’d been startled.
    “There was nothing to think about, Monroe. I will never let anything happen to you.”
    She felt her face coloring. “What I mean is—”  
    “You think it’s your fault.” An anguished look transformed his refined features. Without the mask of confidence he wore, he looked lost and far younger than his thirty years.
    “It’s hardly your fault,” she pointed out.
    He grabbed his smoothie and tapped the glass against hers. “Don’t you like it?” he asked, then drank deeply.
    It’d be easier to drink if I didn’t have whiplash from the sudden change of conversation. But she took a long, hearty draught, all the while watching him over the top of the glass. Koenraad was unfairly good-looking. She’d been struck by how handsome he was the first time she set eyes on him, when he’d been her prince on a shining white yacht. The other thing she’d noticed was how confident he was, how in control, and she was learning that he kept a tight grip on himself at all times.  
    She wished she knew him well enough to guess what he was thinking now. Or, better yet, for him to trust her enough to share whatever weight seemed to burden him when she least expected it.  
    He seemed on the verge of adding something, but then he stopped. It was a habit of his, she was starting to realize. He was a great conversationalist, but he didn’t reveal much. At dinner, he’d effortlessly steered the discussion so that by the end of the night, it seemed he knew everything about her.
    All she’d learned in return was that they shared the only child thing but that he, unlike her, had always wanted a younger sibling.  
    “I don’t keep the refrigerators stocked,” he was saying now, “but we can drive into town—”
    A ringing phone cut him off. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to get that.” And he was gone.
    She’d been downgraded from breakfast in bed, to eating in the kitchen, to eating alone. It’d have been funny if it weren’t so sad.  
    She turned the radio back on and sat at the table with her breakfast. The radio was now playing what she assumed were ads. She smiled. Apparently, commercials the world over were delivered in mile-a-minute speech with manic