Can't Love You {Sequel to "Not Sherlock Holmes"}

Chapter Two

Veronica's POV

Both boats crank up, and we are moving across the water, steadily gaining speed. I turn to Ian and Martin, who are both hanging onto the railing next to me. The wind whips at my face.

"I'm going below deck!" I call over the noise of the wind. They both squint and nod to me.

I carefully make my way along the deck, making sure I do not fall. I make it to the door and quickly slip inside.

The hallway is crowded, but I notice a ladder going lower, and I take to it in my attempt to get away from everyone.

At the bottom of the ladder, I hop off and scan the large room. It's the living quarters for the crew and now, us. There are only a few people here, now, sinking into the stiff bunks and laying down to rest. I save one for myself, a top bunk, and I climb up to sit in the bed.

I lay down gingerly, my head resting on the hard pillow. I'm filthy. Not only does my body ache, but my heart does, as well.

Ben.

I wince at the slight pain in my heart at the thought of him.

What was it he told me earlier today? Not to dwell on things that won't matter anyway? Especially now, when our lives depend on it.

Yet the memory of his hands on my face and his lips on mine... it makes my heart both dance and hurt.

I shake my head. No. He's just fond of me. He said so. He was probably just caught up in the moment. He wouldn't like me. Not like that. After all, didn't we already say? I was so young, and he was so much older.

I force myself to think of happier notions.

Somehow, though, I still fall asleep with thoughts of detectives and Baker Street and warm, lovely kisses.

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I wake hours later only to the sound of Ian and Martin's voices.

"She's already asleep," Martin whispers. I don't open my eyes. If I just keep my eyes closed, I will be able to fall back asleep in just a moment.

"Do you think she's alright?" I hear steps on the ladder, and I try not to react to the feel of Ian's hand on my forehead, like he's checking for a fever.

"I think she's fine. Just overwhelmed. Let her sleep. We should probably do the same." Martin's footsteps recede, but Ian's hand remains on my face.

"Nica," he whispers, and my heart jolts. The way he utters my name, the way he now caresses my face. Lips barely brush across my forehead, and Ian is gone again, and so am I.