Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Deanna

D eanna stood on the deck of The Reverie as it cut smoothly through the waters of the Mediterranean, the salty breeze whipping through her hair. The sun was starting its slow descent toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the sea, but the beauty of the moment was lost on her. Her thoughts were consumed by the man at the helm.

Nash Maddox.

She gripped the railing, trying to steady herself—not because of the gentle sway of the boat, but because of the storm of emotions brewing inside her. Frustration, curiosity, and something else she didn't want to name just yet. Every interaction with Nash since they'd set out from the marina had elicited a tug-of-war between her simmering irritation and a relentless intrigue she couldn't shake. He seemed closed off, keeping his words clipped and professional, his eyes dark with restraint.

It was infuriating.

"Still quiet, I see," Deanna muttered under her breath as she watched him at the helm, his strong hands gripping the wheel with that same easy confidence she remembered. She didn't mean to speak aloud, but the words slipped out, borne of her frustration. She had tried to engage him in conversation several times during their journey, only to be met with his frustratingly stoic responses.

Nash's eyes flicked over to her briefly, catching the soft edge of her complaint. He didn't reply immediately, his focus remaining on the open water ahead, but there was a tension in the set of his jaw, a flicker in his gaze that told her he had heard every word.

Deanna exhaled, pushing herself away from the railing and moving closer to him. The distance between them was unbearable, not just physically but emotionally. She had spent a night with this man—a night that had been unforgettable for reasons she didn't fully understand even now—and now it felt like they were strangers. Worse, he seemed determined to keep it that way.

"This whole brooding silence thing," she started, her voice teasing but edged with exasperation, "it's not exactly working for me, you know."

Nash shot her a sideways glance, his lips curving into a brief, humorless smile. "I'm not here to entertain you, Deanna."

She crossed her arms, standing her ground. "I'm not asking for entertainment. But we're stuck on this boat together, and I'd rather not spend the whole time talking to myself."

For a moment, Nash said nothing, his gaze locked on the horizon. She could feel the frustration building inside her, the way he held himself back, keeping everything inside. It was like he was deliberately putting a wall between them.

Deanna sighed. "Look, I get that you're here in some official Cerberus capacity, and that we're not exactly… friends, but?—"

"Deanna," Nash interrupted, his voice low but firm. His eyes darkened as he turned to face her fully, and for a moment, she felt the full intensity of the man she had known only once, the man who had captivated her so completely. But this time, it wasn't desire that shone in his gaze—it was warning. "We need to be clear about something."

The way he said it made her breath catch, and she frowned, her curiosity sharpening. "What do you mean?"

Nash stepped away from the wheel, moving closer to her, his tall frame casting a shadow in the softening light of the evening. His presence was magnetic, and Deanna felt her pulse quicken as he closed the distance between them. She hadn't realized until this moment just how much tension had built between them—an electric current that hummed in the air, crackling with unspoken words and unresolved history.

"My role here is simple," Nash said, his voice steady, controlled. "I'm your bodyguard. That's it. I'm not here to revisit what happened in London or to blur any lines. This isn't London."

Deanna's heart pounded in her chest at his words. She didn't know what she had expected from him when they met again, but the sudden coldness of his declaration hit her like a wave. She'd thought there might still be something between them, some echo of that night. Instead, he was shutting her down before anything could begin.

She lifted her chin, trying to keep her own emotions in check. "So that's it? You're just going to pretend like nothing happened between us?"

Nash's expression remained hard, his eyes unreadable. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

"You don't think we can be professional and acknowledge what happened in London?" Deanna pressed, unwilling to back down. "Or are you so afraid of what might happen if you let yourself feel something?"

Nash's eyes flashed at her challenge, but he didn't rise to it. Instead, he took a step back, his tone even but laced with finality. "This isn't about feelings, Deanna. It's about doing my job and keeping you safe. That's it."

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her wind-tossed hair. "You're impossible."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension between them thick, almost suffocating. Deanna wanted to push him, to break through that infuriatingly cool exterior and find the man she had connected with months ago. But he had made it clear—he wasn't interested in revisiting any of that. He was here on business, and he had no intention of letting things get personal.

It stung, more than she cared to admit.

"So this is who you are now?" she asked quietly, her voice soft but edged with disappointment. "The man who hides behind his job, who doesn't let anyone in?"

Nash's jaw clenched, his eyes hardening. "You don't know me, Deanna. I'm not hiding from anything."

"Maybe not," she admitted, her voice tinged with sadness. "But that night in London, it felt like I did."

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Nash standing alone at the helm, his gaze following her as she disappeared below deck. The ache in her chest grew heavier with each step she took. Whatever she had hoped to find in Nash when she saw him standing on that deck—whatever connection she thought still existed—it was clear now that he wasn't going to let her in. Not this time.

But even as she retreated, Deanna couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his coldness than just professional boundaries. There was a story there, hidden behind the walls he had so carefully built. A past he wasn't ready to share. And despite the frustration, despite the hurt, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever get a glimpse of the man beneath the mask, or at this point, if she even wanted to.

Deanna felt the first jolt beneath her feet as the boat dipped suddenly, a warning tremor that rippled through the deck of The Reverie . She gripped the railing instinctively, her eyes widening as the once placid Mediterranean waters darkened around them, rolling with a newfound intensity.

The sky, which had been clear just minutes before, now shifted ominously, thick clouds gathering on the horizon like a storm brewing just out of sight. Deanna's pulse quickened, a sense of unease creeping into her chest.

She glanced over at Nash, who was at the helm, his face a mask of calm concentration, though his eyes flickered with the sharp awareness she had come to expect from him. The wind picked up, tugging at his hair, the edges of his shirt flapping in the rising breeze. Even in this tension-filled moment, he looked every bit in control—like the storm, no matter how fierce, wouldn't dare cross him.

"We're hitting some rough water," Nash called out, his voice steady despite the boat's increasing movement. He adjusted the throttle, eyes scanning the sky and the horizon, reading them like the seasoned captain he was. "This wasn't on the radar when we left."

Deanna moved closer to him, her grip tightening on the railing as the boat pitched again. "How bad is it?"

Nash shot her a quick glance, his expression unreadable. "Could get worse. I need you to put on one of the life jackets." He pointed at the storage bin where they were kept. "We need to find shelter before it does."

The wind howled louder now, whipping the sea into frothy waves that battered the hull of The Reverie with more force than Deanna was comfortable with. The sailboat was built to handle rough waters, but even she could feel the difference. They were heading into something big.

"Life jacket, now," he ordered, and she jumped to obey. Nash pulled up a digital map on the dashboard, his fingers moving deftly across the screen. "There's a small island about ten nautical miles from here. We can take shelter there until the storm passes."

Deanna's heart pounded as the wind picked up even more, the sky darkening with an eerie quickness. She had been excited about the research expedition, but she hadn't anticipated starting it by seeking refuge from a storm. Still, she trusted Nash—his steady demeanor, his instincts. She had been assured that he was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and it showed now as he maneuvered the boat through the rising swells with precise, practiced hands.

"Hold on," Nash warned, his voice sharper now as a particularly large wave slammed against the side of the sailboat, causing it to tilt precariously.

Deanna grabbed the edge of the console, her knuckles white, her breath coming quicker as the boat fought to stay steady. The wind whipped through her hair, and she could feel the chill of the saltwater spray as the storm finally overtook them.

For what felt like an eternity, The Reverie battled the rough seas. The once peaceful, sunlit waters had become a swirling, chaotic expanse of crashing waves and howling wind. Nash kept his focus, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed against the elements as he expertly guided them toward the island.

Deanna's heart raced, adrenaline pumping through her as she braced against the shifting boat. Every tilt and lurch sent a surge of anxiety through her, but she forced herself to stay calm. She trusted Nash—trusted his ability to keep them safe.

After what seemed like hours, the shadow of an island appeared in the distance, its rocky cliffs standing tall against the violent sea. Relief surged through Deanna as they approached it, the promise of solid ground close enough to see, but the waves weren't done with them yet.

A final, brutal swell rose up behind them, towering above The Reverie like a dark wall of water. Nash's hands tightened on the wheel as the boat rode up the wave, tilting dangerously before crashing down the other side. Deanna let out an involuntary gasp as her stomach lurched, her body thrown against the console.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, the storm seemed to ease. The island's cliffs provided a natural shield from the worst of the wind and waves, and Nash guided them into a narrow, protected cove. The water inside was calmer, though the remnants of the storm still whipped through the air with gusts of wind and spray.

They were safe—for now.

Nash cut the engine, and the sudden silence felt jarring after the roar of the storm. He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before turning to Deanna, his eyes meeting hers. For the first time since they set out, his expression softened, just a fraction, as if the tension between them had been momentarily washed away by the chaos of the storm.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Deanna nodded, her breath still coming in quick bursts as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from her body. "Yeah… just wasn't expecting that."

Nash gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Storms can come out of nowhere in these waters. We'll wait it out here until it passes."

Deanna finally let herself relax, her body sinking into the seat behind her. The island loomed around them, rugged and wild, its rocky shore offering shelter but also a sense of isolation. She could see a thin stretch of beach in the distance, framed by jagged cliffs and lush greenery.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice sounding small in the sudden stillness.

"One of the smaller islands off the main route. Mostly uninhabited," Nash replied, his eyes scanning the cliffs. "It's remote. Quiet. We should be safe here."

Deanna swallowed, feeling the weight of their situation settle in. Remote. Quiet. Alone with Nash on an uninhabited island wasn't exactly how she'd imagined the start of her research expedition. And yet, despite everything—the storm, the danger—there was something about this moment that felt strangely… right.

She could feel Nash's presence next to her, solid and unyielding. The tension between them, which had been simmering for hours, was still there—but it had shifted.