by Julie Cannon
“No telling how far you drifted before we found you. The currents are pretty strong out here.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, resigned. “That’s what insurance is for.”
“Why were you out alone?” Bert asked tentatively. The last time she asked I took her head off.
“I needed to get away.”
“Tough week?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Tell me.”
*
Bert
Alissa stiffened. I’d gone too far. She was rested and relaxed, and I figured this was a good time to find out more about what had happened on her boat. It was also a way to keep my mind off the fact that I had my arms around a beautiful woman in my bed. Obviously I was wrong on one count. I changed the subject.
“Is advertising as cutthroat as it looks on TV?”
“Like Mad Men?”
I chuckled. “I can’t quite picture you in heels and pearls,” I said. Actually, I could, and my pulse started racing.
“I happen to look fabulous in heels and pearls,” she said.
“I bet you do.” I remembered how good she looked the day she rescued me in the store. “So is it?”
“Not really. Well, in the big firms, yes, but not in mine.”
“Tell me about yours.” I hoped that question didn’t shut down the conversation. Talking like this, in this position, was almost as intimate as making love. Silly, I admit, but I am a card-carrying romantic. I’d never let anyone know that, especially my crew, but that’s the way it is.
I listened as Alissa gave me the shorthand version of Alissa Cooper Advertising. The words she chose and her melodious and soothing voice telegraphed class and sophistication.
“And you love it.”
“Absolutely. I don’t think there’s anything else I’d rather do, except maybe sail around the world.”
“But you don’t have a boat.” I restated the obvious.
“I’ll get one.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep, just like that.”
“Do you always get what you want?”
“If I did I wouldn’t be here. No offense,” she added.
“None taken.”
“When will we reach the fishing spot?” Alissa asked, her turn to change the subject.
“If we keep our heading and speed throughout the night we should be at our coordinates in another few days.”
“Then what?”
“Then we start looking for fish.”
“Just like that?” She echoed my previous question.
“Yep, just like that.”
“I guess that’s why you’re so good at it.”
“How do you know I’m good at it?”
“Look at this boat,” she said, waving her hand. “It’s fabulous and well taken care of, at least what little I’ve seen. I don’t know anything about commercial fishing, but I do know boats, and this one didn’t come cheap.”
“My grandfather used to say a fisherman’s boat is his lifeline and one you take care of before you take care of yourself.”
“I never thought about it like that. I definitely see his point.”
We lay there in silence for several minutes, and then Alissa sat up. Her hair was a mess, but that just slept-in-my-bed bed-head was definitely sexy. She tucked some of it behind one ear.
“I’ve got to use the head,” she said, a light flush of red drifting up her neck.
“You know the way,” I said, not moving. She looked at me as if expecting me to get up so she could get out. I much more preferred the thought of her climbing over me.
As Alissa moved, my weight shifted, so I was now leaning into her. She stretched one leg over mine, straddling my hips. I placed my hands on her hips to steady her, and when her arm followed she was directly over me. I sucked in my breath as the reality surpassed anything I could have imagined.
Her hair framed her face, her breasts almost touching mine, and I could feel the heat of her body above me. Our eyes met, and when hers went to my lips I swore I stopped breathing. My body instantly reacted, and the flash in Alissa’s eyes let me know she realized it. I didn’t move, couldn’t move as I waited for Alissa to decide what she was going to do. I wanted her to kiss me. Hell, I wanted her to do more than kiss me, but I’d told her she was safe here, and damn if that didn’t mean with me too. A knock on the door broke the spell, and Alissa jumped off me and headed toward the head. From over her shoulder she said, “It’s for you.”
Knowing the moment had passed and I had work to do, I said, “Yes, what is it?” after Alissa closed the door. The lock I had never used clicked loudly into place.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alissa
OMG! I almost kissed her! Kissed her? Hell, I wanted my hands and mouth all over her and hers all over me. If somebody hadn’t knocked on the door when they had, I wouldn’t be in here with a locked door separating us. There wouldn’t be anything between us, and I mean nothing except a fine layer of sweat.
“Jesus, Alissa, get ahold of yourself,” I said quietly to my reflection in the small mirror. God, I had that just-fucked look, and I’d only fantasized about it for probably less than a minute.
What was happening to me? I’d heard about people who’d been in life-or-death situations becoming hyper-aware of their surroundings, including an exaggerated sex drive. Sex is pro-creative, life-giving, a matter of survival, and survivors often couple at the oddest times. Was that what this was? I’d almost died and my senses were in overdrive. My common sense had certainly drowned with my boat. Holy crap, I needed to get it together. I wasn’t a hormone-driven eighteen-year-old.
I refused to make an ass of myself or make another mistake because of my near-death experience. I have more control than that, I kept telling myself as I washed my face. I don’t even like her. No, that wasn’t fair. I did like her when we had coffee, but circumstances were different now. I was angry and trapped, and I hated it.
I stalled as long as I could, not wanting to go out and face Bert. I didn’t know if I was more embarrassed or appalled by my actions. It was more than obvious what had gone on in those brief seconds. I’d probably had thoughts similar to the ones I’d read on Bert’s face written all over my own. No doubt about it. If that knock hadn’t come, it might have been Bert’s turn for her boat to go up in flames. I gave myself one last look in the mirror, took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and opened the door.
Bert was sitting in the chair at the desk slipping on her boots. Her jeans were so faded I couldn’t be sure what their original color was, and her T-shirt was short-sleeved and dark green. She’d pulled a fitted ball cap so low on her head that when she turned to look at me I could barely see her eyes. I didn’t know what to say. I’m not normally tongue-tied or shy after an intimate encounter, and what had just happened was definitely an intimate encounter. But for some reason I didn’t know what to say. I was completely out of my element, especially after I’d been so mean and hateful toward her. So instead, what came out of my mouth was incredibly stupid. “Bathroom’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” Bert replied as she stood up.
The cabin was so small she had to pass by me to reach the bathroom, and to my complete humiliation I quickly stepped back as she approached. Something dark passed over her face before she said, “I told you that you were safe here, Alissa. And I mean it. That includes me.”
“I can take care of myself. I don’t need your protection,” I snapped.
Bert only said, “I left some clothes on the bed. You probably don’t want to run around in that all day.” She waved her hand toward me, indicating her T-shirt and what little else I was wearing. Then she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
I didn’t have any idea how long she’d be in there and tried to decide if I’d have enough time to change clothes or wait until she left the cabin altogether. Before I could make my decision the door opened and Bert stepped out, her hair wet, drying her hand
s on a towel.
“Breakfast is at six. There’s plenty.”
I nodded, said something that I think resembled thanks, and watched her close the door behind her.
“Jesus Johnson, Alissa, what the fuck!” I said, waving my arms up and down like a bird trying to catch flight. What the hell was going on? This should have been a perfectly normal conversation. Well, as normal as it could be after I’d floated in the ocean for God knows how long and been rescued by a stunningly butch fisherman and her crew of rough and rowdy deckhands.
I quickly made the bed, pulled the T-shirt over my head, and folded it neatly under one of the pillows. I stepped back, my mind flashing on what it felt like to be in that small space in Bert’s bed. Butterflies started competing for my attention with the throbbing sensation between my legs. I told myself to ignore them both, pulled on the clothes, laced up the boots Bert had left for me, and exited the cabin.
I wandered up and down a few corridors before the smell of bacon and fresh coffee led me in the right direction. As I approached the galley the sound of deep male laughter drifted down the hall. My earlier nervousness returned. I was on their boat, their turf, plucked from the ocean like a mackerel that a seagull swoops down and nabs out of the water. We hadn’t talked much last night. What would they say to me? What would I say to them? They probably thought I was a stupid female for being out on the ocean alone. They probably thought all kinds of things about me. But something told me that none of them would come right out and say anything. They would keep their absurd, lewd, and lascivious thoughts to themselves, and that suited me just fine. My stomach growled, and suddenly I was ravenous. I walked the last few steps and entered the galley, my head high.
All the sound in the room stopped with the exception of the bacon sizzling on the gas-stove burner. Six pairs of eyes turned my way, one of them belonging to the woman with whom I had just spent the night. By the looks on all of their faces they knew it too.
The four men around the table continued their conversation, I assumed where they’d left off when I walked in. I caught snippets of Hook talking about his son’s driving lesson and Lefty complaining about how he was going to afford the fairy-tale wedding his daughter was planning. Bert was leaning back in her chair, her breakfast plate containing only crumbs of her meal, holding her cup of coffee in both hands in her lap. She was looking at me intently, and I wasn’t sure if she was concerned about my physical health, mental health, or my level of sexual frustration. The first two were on the mend, and the third, not so much. Her questioning gaze did nothing to erase or even mitigate that issue. I noticed a bruise forming over her right eye. Where had that come from?
The food was delicious, albeit more than a little overwhelming. I managed to get down a little less than half of what was on my plate and two cups of very strong, delicious coffee. When each of the men got up from the table he pushed in his chair, rinsed his plate in the left sink, and stacked it in the right. This group of swarthy deckhands was more than a little tame and refined, and I wondered if that was Bert’s doing. Admittedly I had no idea what to expect when being on a boat like this. I’d seen movies, but that was just theater. I’d read books, most of them fiction. Shows like Deadliest Catch and Tuna Wars probably held some grain of truth and a whole pile of show biz.
These men were clean and some had beards, but for the most part they were the kind of men you’d see in the local shopping mall. And judging by their conversation around the breakfast table, that’s where some of them went on their free time with their wives and kids. Actually they looked like they were more fun at a party than some of the people I’d met at gatherings I was obligated to attend.
Bert remained behind as everyone left. God, I wish she’d stop looking at me like that. It made me nervous.
“How are you feeling?” she asked after her eyes did a not-so-quick once-over of the parts of my body she could see above the table.
“Fine.” My standard I’ll-take-care-of-myself reply.
“You need to rest today, push the fluids and get your strength back.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“You’re on my boat, therefore my responsibility.”
“I’m nobody’s responsibility,” I said quickly.
Bert looked at me carefully, her eyes drifting over my face, then back up to meet mine as if determining if I was telling her the truth.
“Make yourself at home,” she said, standing. “There’s plenty of everything.”
“But only a five-minute shower,” I said, trying to ease a little of the tension.
“Six minutes.” She corrected me before giving me another medicinal look from head to toe.
I sat alone in the galley and helped myself to another cup of coffee. I still felt a little chilled. I didn’t know if it was actually a physical condition or a mental one. I looked around the room, and, like everything else I’d been able to see on the boat, everything was neat, tidy, and well kept. It would never appear in Architectural Digest and certainly not American Yachtsman, but this was a working boat. Everything had a place and everything had a function. This was their office. People on this boat didn’t entertain friends, colleagues, or clients. These were hardworking men and a woman doing what they did best, doing their job with what I could tell, so far, a sense of extreme pride. What a relatively uncomplicated way to live. What you saw was what you got. However, in everyone’s job and life are the good and the bad, the joy and the drama, and I’m sure this group wasn’t any different.
I found Bert on the bridge. She wasn’t expecting me and obviously didn’t hear me approach, so I had the luxury of watching her unobserved for several minutes. She was on her feet, focused on what was going on out the front window and the one to her right. Her fingers were resting lightly on three large knobs jutting out from the top of the console in front of her. From what I could see, they appeared to be controlling some type of crane moving slowly across the bow, storm clouds building in the distance.
I watched her fingers control the levers as if she were playing a fine piano or strumming the strings on a priceless harp. My body heated when I envisioned what it would be like if those same fingers were playing me. A voice crackled over the speaker just above her head.
“Roger that,” Bert said, calmly repeating the request and ensuring there was no confusion. She repeated the maneuver several more times before I stepped a little farther into the bridge.
“You make that look so easy.”
Judging by the way Bert reacted, or more appropriately didn’t react, she must have known I’d been watching her.
“Well, you know, what they say, practice, practice, practice.”
“May I?” I indicated the seat to Bert’s left.
“Sure.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Mind what?” Bert asked, eyeing me quickly before turning her attention back out the window.
“Me watching you?”
She chuckled once. “And I thought all this time you were watching my crew,” she said, confirming that she had in fact known I was observing her before I said anything.
“Well, them too,” I said. This time her eyes stayed on me a little longer.
“Your crew is…” I searched for the words to describe them without making me sound like a snob.
“They’re what?” she prompted me.
“Surprising.”
“Surprising? How so?”
“Well, they…um…seem to be very good at what they do.”
“And you find that surprising?”
“No…never mind,” I said, trying to stop this conversation from derailing.
“Spit it out, Alissa.”
“They’re just not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. A bunch of stinky guys that belch and fart and scratch.” So much for not derailing.
Obviously Bert thought that description was pretty funny because she laughed out loud for several moments. My heart skipp
ed a few beats.
When she finally stopped she said, “Yeah, well, you should have seen them on their first day. I told them I didn’t think their mother had raised them like that and she’d be ashamed if she saw them doing those things. She’d probably slap their hand or smack them on the side of the head. Just because we’re hundreds of miles from land they don’t have a license to be uncivilized. This is my boat, my home, their home, and I expect everyone to treat it with respect. I don’t want to go into a room every day and have the room stink. That’s why we have a shower.”
“Do most ships?”
“What? Have showers?”
I nodded.
“Ones this size do. Anything smaller, probably not. Can you imagine—”
“I’d rather not.” I didn’t want to even begin to, and my nose began to twitch. “Have you ever had any women?” Bert stared at me, an odd expression on her face. Suddenly I realized that my question hadn’t come out right. The heat of embarrassment crept up my neck.
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Her voice was sultry and held more than a little confidence.
“I meant as crew members,” I clarified with still more than a little heat in my cheeks.
“Of course you did. Did you mean something else?” she asked with fake innocence.
“No.” But it was an interesting question. Did I have other motives?
“I have one woman on my crew, Sandra. She’s on maternity leave right now.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Maternity leave?”
“Yes, maternity leave. She and her partner Margaret adopted a little girl from India. She’s sitting out this trip. I’ve had a few others, but they didn’t pan out. The work was too hard, wasn’t what they expected, pressure from home to find something else, that sort of thing. I’ll hire anyone who’s willing to work hard, do as they’re told, and keep their nose clean.”
“Just that simple?”
“Just that simple.”
“What do you do in the off season?”
“You’re looking at it,” she said, spreading her arms wide. “Repairs, upgrades, stuff like that.”