3. Sinclair

I stand there,still dripping seawater and probably looking like a drowned rat, as the gorgeous girl who just stole my heart while saving my life dashes off down the beach. Her golden-brown hair flips in the wind like some sort of movie scene. Before my blown circuits start firing enough for me to stop her, she's gone.

With a groan, I turn to the lifeguard and watch as he rushes over with sand spraying up in little explosions around his tree-trunk legs. This motherfucker is basically a human bulldozer with bulging muscles and a permanent ‘serious mode' face.

"You okay, bud?" His voice is as gravelly as a road.

Knowing I need to get rid of this fucker so I can find my girl, I attempt to brush him off. "Yeah, thanks. Just swallowed a little water." My pained smile probably looks more like a grimace.

His eyebrow furrows—that one big, intimidating eyebrow, because let's be honest, his face is a solid block of sternness. He crosses his arms, and I swear I hear his biceps protesting the strain.

"We need to have the resort paramedics check you out. Standard protocol." His stern expression lets me know there's no room for negotiation.

"I don't need to be checked out."

"Protocol," he repeats, and I realize this guy probably uses "protocol" as his response for everything. Offer him a drink? "Protocol." Suggest a book for him to read? "Protocol."

"Sin, are you okay?" My dumbass brother finally comes rushing to my goddamn aid.

"I'm fine." I'm getting tired of repeating it. While I dick around with these two, my little mermaid is getting away.

So, now here I am, being herded along the beach by the asshole lifeguard who's making sure I don't suddenly keel over or get tackled by another rogue wave and my dumbass brother who's taking photos of the entire embarrassing event. I'm fucking betting the pictures will be well-distributed before long.

At the lifeguard station, the paramedics—a pair of overly eager guys, Chip and Dallas according to their name tags– descend on me like I'm the beach's main attraction. They make me sit on a rock-hard bench before prodding and poking me to within an inch of my life all while asking a million questions about my health, my diet, my favorite color—okay, maybe not that last one, but close fucking enough.

"Are you experiencing shortness of breath?" Dallas asks, leaning in way too close. His breath smells like peppermint gum, and I briefly consider faking unconsciousness just to get the fuck away.

"Nope, all good," I assure him while my dipshit brother stands off to the side snapping pictures on his phone.

"Any dizziness or nausea?" Chip chimes in, jotting notes on his clipboard.

"Nope. I'm fine. Can we hurry this up so I can get back to my vacation?" And finding my little mermaid before she disappears from my life as fast as she dropped into it.

"Protocol can be a bit of a nuisance," the lifeguard cuts in, and I ignore the fucker, hoping to get this shit over with.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the paramedics pronounce me fit to continue my vacation.

As he walks me to the door, the lifeguard tells me unnecessarily, "Next time, don't swallow half the ocean, bud."

"No shit, Sherlock," I mumble under my breath as I step into the bright sunlight.

"Stop following me." I turn to my brother. "I'm fine."

"But…" he sputters, "I thought we were going to hang out."

"I don't have time to hang out with you." I step into the elevator and slap my hand against the door to keep it open. "While your dumb ass slept on the beach like a baby, I almost drowned and then I met my soulmate." His eyes almost bug out of his head. "Now, I'm going to figure out a way to find her, and you're going to stay the fuck out of my way until I do."

I release the elevator door and watch his mouth open and close silently as the doors swoosh shut.

Making my way back to my room, the luxury of the resort around me suddenly feels like a distraction. I reach my door and fumble with the key, my hands still shaky—not from any lingering injury, but from fear at the thought of my soulmate escaping. As soon as I get inside, I sit at the large glass-top table and open my laptop.

Her name is a whisper on my lips as I type it into the search bar. Amelia Thorne Reynolds. Anticipation overwhelms me as I hit "enter", the page filling with results almost instantly. Images, articles, and social media profiles, all pointing to a life far removed from my own as a small-town sheriff.

The first hit is an article, featuring a family photo. There is Amelia, unmistakable with her wavy chestnut hair and those sparkling green eyes. Next to her stands her mother, Kennedy Thorne Reynolds, a name synonymous with a billion-dollar empire. Her petite, angelic-appearing mother looks more like a teenager than a multi-billionaire.

Then there's her dad, Asher Reynolds. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing intricate tattoos that wind down his arms. His reputation precedes him, renowned in the tattoo world for his artistry and vision.

I sit back for a moment, processing the dichotomy of Amelia's lineage. She's born between two worlds—one of refined luxury, the other of raw, creative expression. My fingers hover over the laptop, and I scroll through more of the search results, looking for anything that could help me find her.

After pacing my room for what feels like hours, I know I can't do this alone. As much as I despise it, I need help. Hacking the resort's site to find out her room number is above my computer abilities, but I know someone who might be able to pull it off. Giant Carmichael, an old friend who happens to be one of the best security experts in the country, has a knack for getting information quickly and discreetly. Grabbing my phone, I dial his number before I'm able to talk myself out of it.

The tension in my chest multiplies as I wait for him to pick up.

"Sinclair, what's up?" He answers on the second ring.

"I need a favor. I need to find someone staying at the same resort I'm staying at. The Paradise Palms Resort in Barbados. Her name is Amelia Thorne Reynolds. Can you see if you can get me her room number?"

There's a brief silence on the other end, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. "If this was anyone else, I'd tell them hell fucking no." I already know asking him to do this is illegal, but I don't fucking care. Finding my soulmate is more important than anything else. "But I trust you have a good reason to ask me to use my power for nefarious purposes. Give me a few minutes."

I hang up and slump into the chair by the desk, my fingers tapping restlessly on the cool glass surface. Waiting has never been my forte, but knowing Giant will come through gives me a shred of patience.

Just under ten minutes later, my phone buzzes with a text from Giant.

Giant

She's in bungalow 14. Be careful. Wealthy family, high profile.

The breath I've been holding rushes out of me.

Me

Thanks. I owe you one.

Giant

You owe me more than one. I want the full story when you get back from your vacation.

After taking a quick shower,I pull on my khaki shorts and light blue polo shirt and walk out into the living room to find my asshole brother sprawled on the sofa. He glances over at me and sighs. "Heading out?"

"I'll explain everything later," I tell him as I step into the hallway, ignoring his pout. I don't have time to soothe my younger brother's ruffled feathers right now.

The resort's grounds are alive with evening activities, guests milling about, heading to dinner or other entertainment. I navigate my way through, heading toward bungalow fourteen, each step amplifying my anticipation and anxiety.

When I finally stand in front of her door, I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I reach out and knock, my pulse pounding in my ears. It's a delicate balance—knowing this could go either incredibly well or disastrously wrong.

Moments later, the door opens slightly, revealing Amelia. Her eyes narrow in curiosity, then widen slightly in recognition. Fuck, she's even more stunning with her hair dried and pulled up in a messy bun. From the look of things, she also showered. Her delicate floral scent teases my nose, causing my cock to turn to stone.

"Hi, Amelia. I wanted to clear the air and thank you properly for saving my life." I step close to the door, ready to beg if needed.

She hesitates, glancing over her shoulder into the room. There's a flicker of something in her eyes. It could be caution or curiosity, I'm not sure.

Finally, she opens the door wider and steps aside to let me in. "Alright, Mr. Midnight. Come in. Let's talk."

Once inside, the warm, cozy atmosphere of her bungalow feels almost ironic given the tension hanging in the air.

"So?" she asks and crosses her arms across her lush tits. She leans against the small dining table, studying me intently.

"I wanted to thank you properly for pulling me out of the water earlier today," I start, calling on all my law enforcement training to keep my voice calm when the only thing I want to do right now is throw her gorgeous ass over my shoulder and head for the nearest bedroom to show her exactly how I feel. "And clear up a misconception you have about my intentions."

"You already thanked me," she cuts in, her tone sharp. "And the second you found out who I am, or rather who my parents are, you suddenly went all caveman, trying to convince me you fell hard and fast for me."

I blink, taken aback. What the fuck? My heart clenches at the hurt shining in her bright green eyes. "You have it all wrong."

"Really?" she challenges, a fire replacing the pain in her eyes. "Because I've seen it before. People recognize the name Reynolds and suddenly think they can get a piece of the pie."

I shake my head, frustration bubbling up. "Amelia, it's not about your money. I didn't even?—"

"Didn't even what?" she snaps. "Go back to your room and Google me? Find out my mother is a billionaire, and my father is famous in his own right?"

I take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. That's exactly what I fucking did, but she has this all wrong. Frustration cuts through my soul as I search my mind for a way to make her understand. "I did look you up, yes. But it wasn't about your family's wealth or status. I needed to understand who you were, the little mermaid who saved my life and stole my goddamn heart all in one fell swoop. After your disappearing act, I needed to research you to figure out how to find you."

Her posture softens slightly, but skepticism lingers in her widening eyes. "Why? Why go through all that trouble?"

"Because I felt a connection," I say, stepping closer but stopping short of invading her space. "A connection unlike anything I've ever felt before."

She looks at me, the silence stretching for what feels like an eternity. "And what do you expect to happen now?" she asks, softer this time, but still wary.

"Honestly? I don't know," I admit. "I just know I don't care about your money or your status. Those things don't define who you are to me. I was drawn to the person who selflessly risked her life for a stranger."

A faint blush colors her cheeks, but she tries to hide it by looking away. "It's hard to believe, you know. To trust that someone isn't just seeing dollar signs when they find out who I am."

I nod, understanding a bit more of the world she must live in. "I get it. You have every reason to be guarded. But I need you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that this isn't about what you can give me. I just want to get to know you—Amelia, the person, the gorgeous little mermaid, not the heiress."

Her eyes meet mine, searching for sincerity. "And what if I don't believe you?"

"Then I'll keep trying to prove it." There's no way I'm letting her get away now that I've found her. "I won't push or rush you. I just want the chance to show you that my intentions are genuine."

She studies me for a few more heartbeats before her stance relaxes a touch more. "Alright, Sinclair. You've got a lot to prove. But I'm willing to give you a chance."

My heart lifts at her words. "That's all I'm asking for."

She motions to the couch. "Okay, let's start with something simple. How about you tell me something about yourself? Something that's not in an online search."

I smile, relieved and eager to get this conversation over with so we can move on to other things. You know, like marriage and kids and all the things I plan to do with my little mermaid. "What do you want to know?"

She laughs, the sound light and genuine, easing the last of the tension from the room. "First off, I need to know the story behind your very interesting tattoo."

Fuck me. I should've known my drunken frat boy mistake would come back to bite me in the ass at the most inopportune moment of my life. "Well, sit down and prepare yourself."

She walks over to the overstuffed white sofa and sits on the far edge. "I'm ready."

I sit across from her and chuckle, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "The infamous tattoo is a bit of a story."

She leans in, eyes sparkling with interest. "I love a good story."

"Alright," I begin, settling into my seat. "So, this was back when I was in college. You know how it goes—young, reckless, and overly confident." I glance at her, seeing the amused anticipation on her face. "One Saturday night, I drank my weight in beer with my frat brothers, and long story short, I ended up losing a bet."

She raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "What was the bet?" How did I know she was going to ask that?

I sigh, shaking my head at the memory. "I let one of my frat brothers gloat me into an ax-throwing contest."

Thinking back, I realize it's a miracle I still have all my limbs after that insane stunt. "Of course, I was too drunk to hit the broadside of a barn, and my friend easily beat me. It was fucking stupid, and I would never have been so impulsive without all the alcohol pickling my brains. My frat brothers, ever the creative types, decided that my punishment would be to get a tattoo of their choosing."

Her laughter is immediate, ringing through the room. "They definitely chose a unique design for you." She grimaces and scrunches up her nose adorably. "What in the world made them choose that?"

Shaking my head in mock despair, I explain, "My family owns Midnight Industries." Her eyes widen, and I realize she recognizes the name. "We have the largest chain of haunted houses, ghost tours, and costume companies in the United States. My friends knew how much I wanted to get away from the family business, and they thought it would be hilarious to ink a permanent reminder of one of our most popular rides on my back."

Amelia's eyes widen with realization, her laughter turning to a soft, understanding chuckle. "Oh, that's cruel."

"Yeah, it was a rough morning when I woke up and saw it in the mirror," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "At first, I was furious, but then I realized… it's actually kind of fitting. My whole life has been about trying to escape the shadow of Midnight Industries. That tattoo, in a weird way, became a reminder of where I came from and how different I am from my two brothers. Sterling, my younger brother, is CEO and managing partner in the company, and our youngest brother, Sullivan, is the head designer."

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a silent partner." Only family members know that I still own a third of the company since I don't want my family's connections to affect my position as sheriff.

"What does a silent partner do?" She frowns. "Sit at home and play video games while the money rolls in?" My little mermaid definitely has strong opinions about wealth.

"No. I actually let the money accumulate in a bank account. I donate quite a bit and let the rest earn interest while I live off my income from my actual job—Sheriff of the town of Midnight Falls, Texas."

"Oh." She nods, her eyes lingering on mine as she redirects the conversation. "Back to your tattoo. I have to ask—do you regret it?"

For a moment, I ponder her question, then shake my head. "Not really. Every stupid decision and ridiculous bet helped shape who I am today. Even the scary clown on my back."