He reached behind his neck and pulled his shirt over his head. I laid my palms against his broad shoulders and ran them down his pecs to his abdomen. I traced the ridges of muscle there, loving how they contracted under my touch. His hands dropped to my butt, grabbed my thighs, and lifted me, his hands running down my legs to bring them around his waist as he pressed me against the doorframe.
We both gasped at the sudden intimate contact. I shifted my hips, trying to get even closer. Kissing me once more, he turned us away from the door, his hands holding the backs of my thighs. Then he pulled away with a muffled curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s nowhere to go,” he said gruffly. I looked around the small cabin at the lower bunks in various stages of made and unmade. “I can’t have my way with you on someone else’s bunk, and if we used mine, one of us would end up with a concussion.” Tristan’s top bunk was as neat as I would expect the captain’s son’s to be, but like mine, had those evil cross beams that could cause major injury if one wasn’t careful.
Imagining the potential disaster of that, I giggled. It was just too absurd. He started laughing as well. The two of us were laughing so hard, he had to put me down so he wouldn’t drop me.
“The Meg is a pretty effective chaperone,” I said when I could breathe again.
“Aye, the old bitch,” he muttered. His watch alarm beeped. “Just as well, I guess,” he sighed. “I have to go do a boat check. Will you wait for me?”
“I’ll grab some snacks and meet you up on deck.” There was no point in hanging out in his cabin.
He handed me my tank top and pulled on his own shirt, then kissed me again. “One for the road,” he said with a grin, then left the cabin.
I put my shirt back on and braided my hair, the task giving me a moment to collect my thoughts. I’d almost had sex with Tristan. If he’d had a lower bunk, it may not have been ‘almost’ at all. Did I want to take that step? I certainly had in the heat of the moment, but now, with time to think about it, did I really want to take our relationship to that level, knowing in a few weeks, we’d have to say good-bye?
I closed my eyes, reliving the taste of his lips, the feel of his hands on my body, the desire in his eyes as he gazed at me, the throb of him against me. The vast depths of emotion within him: passion, humor, loneliness, grief, longing.
I opened my eyes. The answer was yes. It was worth everything to be with him for as long as I could.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Nearly two weeks after our departure from Puerto Rico, and after spending a month and a half meandering around the Caribbean Sea, the Megaptera Novaengliae approached Nassau, on New Providence Island in the Bahamas. It was our final foreign port-of-call before we’d make our way up the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.
And it brought Tristan and me that much closer to saying good-bye.
The northwest voyage from San Juan had been a long one. We’d seen spotted dolphins—smaller cousins to the bottlenose—bow riding on two consecutive afternoons, followed by the sighting of a solitary sperm whale one morning. Sully estimated the length of the whale at sixty feet. We’d all watched in awe when the animal sounded, its flukes arching high in the air for several seconds before it vanished beneath the surface on a deep dive that had lasted over thirty minutes and taken it far away from the ship.
We’d hit another storm that had shaken things up a bit, and we’d ended up making an unplanned stop in Grand Turk, in the Turks and Caicos Islands, to do some repairs.
My nighttime shifts at the helm were no longer spent in silent companionship with Tristan. Instead, we’d chat quietly, sometimes about random things, but also about his father, and his fears that their relationship would never recover from the loss of his mother.
It was so hard for him. He’d been so close to his parents, given his nontraditional upbringing, and even though he was an adult and well able to be on his own, he needed his father. And his father needed him. If only he would see that.
…
We made port in Nassau in the early evening. Tristan and I sat together against the starboard rail, eating dinner and quietly debating what to do with tomorrow’s free day. We had managed to catch a few private moments throughout the northwest voyage, and had dinner together in Grand Turk, but we hadn’t come close to the intimacy we’d had in San Juan. And time was running out for us.
“We could go to the beach and then have dinner someplace quiet and romantic,” he suggested.
“What about your dad?”
“He’s not invited,” Tristan said, leering at me suggestively.
“You know what I mean, dumbass,” I retorted, elbowing him in the side.
He laughed. “Aye, I know what you mean, Red. We can go in a group to the beach, and when it’s time for dinner, you and I will just find some out of the way place, like we did in Grand Turk. He won’t find out.”
“Well, I’m down for the romantic dinner,” I said. “But instead of the beach, maybe we could go diving? This is our last chance, and it would be great to get in just one drama-free dive, don’t you think?”
He looked uncertain. “I’m always up for some diving, but are you really sure you want to? It hasn’t been our most enjoyable way of spending time together thus far.”
“What, you’re not a fan of panic attacks, near-drownings, and potential decompression sickness?”
“Not especially.”
“Look, I know I screwed up royally on the last dive, but for the first time in so long, I was doing the thing I love best and I wasn’t afraid.”
“That’s the thing you love best?” He leaned in close, the look in his eyes hot and full of promise. “Wait ’til we’re alone together tomorrow. I bet we can find something to do that you’ll love more,” he murmured into my ear.
My face burned as a rush of desire raced through me. “Tristan!” I hissed, looking around to see if anyone had overheard.
He sat back, a smug smile on his face. “Fine. We’ll go diving, then, just the two of us. We can rent a small boat and gear. With my Divemaster certification, it won’t be a problem going by ourselves.”
I squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Tristan.” I lowered my voice. “And maybe we can find an empty patch of beach somewhere for a picnic…”
“I’m counting on it.” He pressed his lips to the top of my hand, his eyes never leaving mine. Tomorrow. We’ll finally be alone tomorrow.
“Listen up, guys,” said Captain MacDougall, as he stepped up onto the locker at midships. As everyone gathered around, Tristan dropped my hand, but didn’t move away. “It occurs to me that we haven’t had any music, dancing, or other festivities since our first night together. It seems like we should remedy that tonight.”
“What are we celebrating?” asked Maria.
“Like our cousins the Irish, we Scots never need an excuse to have a ceilidh, or party, as you Yanks would say,” said the captain. “But if you like, we can say we’re celebrating the fine sailors you’ve become and the exciting things you’ve seen and done, as well as the end of our time in the tropics. If none of those things is reason enough for you to celebrate, then you’re on the wrong ship. So finish up and let’s get those dishes washed and stowed!”
The captain seemed cheerful, for the first time in a long time. Maybe he was finally emerging from his shell.
The sun was down and the lanterns were on by the time we were all cleaned up from dinner and ready for our impromptu celebration, followed by an evening ashore in Nassau. I was in a long skirt and tank top, and Tristan wore khaki shorts and an untucked white button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He and the captain had their fiddles tucked under their chins. Davey had his bodhran drum and Peggy held a tambourine.
Once again, I found myself transfixed by the effortless way Tristan played. His eyes were closed, his right foot tapped in time with the beat, and his left hand flew up and down the neck of the fiddle, his fingers a blur of movement on the strings. Withi
n minutes we were all stomping, bouncing, and clapping along to a series of reels and jigs.
Then Tristan and the captain faced each other and began playing even faster. Everyone stopped dancing to watch (also, no one could possibly keep up with them). It was such a joy to watch them play, and it gave me hope that perhaps their relationship was on the mend. As they reached the end of the song, their faces broke into identical grins, and they bowed as we all clapped and cheered.
There was barely a moment of silence before Davey raised the bodhran and began hitting it in a steady beat—thump-thump, thump, thump-thump, thump. Tristan raised the fiddle to his chin and brought the bow slowly across the strings. He played the first part of the song alone, and then the captain joined him, playing higher notes.
I knew this one. It was the music that plays in the movie The Last of the Mohicans, when long-haired, buckskin-clad, gorgeous Daniel Day-Lewis kisses Madeleine Stowe at the fort. It’s my mom’s favorite movie, and she and I had watched it dozens of times. After some heated gazes and eighteenth-century flirtatious banter, he grabs her hand, drags her into a dark corner, and lays one on her. It might be the sexiest movie kiss ever. There’s no talking—just that amazing fiddle playing in the background—and they just kiss and kiss, and the embrace gets hotter and hotter.
I felt Tristan’s eyes on me and looked up. Judging by the intensity of his stare, it was a pretty safe bet that he’d seen the movie and knew exactly what I was thinking about. He never wavered in his playing, just kept staring at me. As I watched his hands work their magic on the fiddle, I thought about what he’d said earlier and imagined them running over my body.
It was torture to see my own yearning and desire mirrored in his eyes, but not to be able to act upon it. I tore myself away and went down to the galley. I pumped water into a glass and chugged it down, but it didn’t cool the heat raging inside me. And I couldn’t go back up there and watch him play without everyone knowing what I was thinking. I needed to cool off.
I grabbed my purse and got out of there, heading out of the marina to the nearby beach. I walked down to the water and dropped my shoes and purse in the soft white sand out of range of the surf, then slipped off my skirt and tank top.
I looked around. No one was in sight—the main part of the beach was farther down by the hotels. I quickly slipped out of my bra and panties, tossed them on the pile of clothes, and walked into the sea.
The water was just cool enough to soothe my overheated skin (but not cold enough for me to shriek). When the water lapped around my knees, I paused. Nassau was known for its shark diving. Did I really want to swim alone at night? But the water was so inviting, so calm, so glorious. No more fear. I walked out until I was hip deep and dove in.
When I came up, I slicked the water from my eyes and looked toward the beach. He stood there, next to my pile of clothes. I wasn’t surprised—we were kindred souls, he and I, seeking solace from the sea. I knew he’d find me, just as I’d found him at the beach on the night of his mother’s birthday. But I didn’t want solace now.
He unbuttoned his shirt just enough so he could pull it off over his head. He turned to throw it on top of my stuff—and froze. He’d obviously just noticed my bra and panties on top of that pile.
“Why are you still standing there, MacDougall?” I called.
He stripped off his shorts and stood there in his boxer briefs. His hands went to the waistband, and then he hesitated for a moment. I knew how he felt. It was one thing to get naked when no one was around; quite another to do so in front of an audience. On a beach. I dove under the water, giving him privacy.
When I came up this time, close enough in that I could stand, he was right before me. I lunged into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist and pressing my lips to his with all the desire that had been building inside me all evening.
He kissed me back with equal fervor, our wet bodies sliding against each other as the water lapped around us.
I tore my mouth from his to kiss his neck, my tongue tasting the salt water on his skin. His hands tightened on my waist. Drawing back slightly, I slowly skimmed my hands over his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen…and lower.
“Ah, Red,” he gasped, his hips rocking against mine. He drew my hands away from him, placing my left hand at his waist and holding my right hand, as if we were dancing. Holding my gaze, he dipped me backward, slowly enough that I could stop him if I wanted to. I didn’t.
The back of my head touched the surface of the water, the night air raised goose bumps on my exposed breasts.
He held me with one hand under my back, while the other traced wet circles around my breasts. My body trembled with need as the combination of his caresses and the cool air on my wet skin drove me crazy.
His hand slid down my body, then hovered just over where I needed him the most. My eyes locked on his, I let go of his shoulder and took his hand, bringing it the rest of the way to me. His fingers skimmed over and inside me, again and again. “Tristan,” I gasped, tightening my legs around his waist as I arched into him.
His mouth swooped down on mine as with one last caress, he took me over the edge.
I opened my eyes to see him grinning at me, his eyes shining. “If I had known how much that song was going to turn you on,” he said, “I would have played it for you weeks ago.”
“If you’d played it for me in San Juan, I guarantee that night would have ended differently.”
He touched my cheek. “I never imagined that I’d find you skinny-dipping in the dark, Red. I’m proud of you.”
“For which part? The skinny-dipping, or going in the water alone at night?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Both.”
“Me, too.”
He kissed me again, more tenderly this time. When he pulled back, he gazed down at me, the look in his eyes making me feel like a goddess. “You’re like a mermaid with your hair swirling all around you and the moonlight kissing your skin.”
“I’d rather have you kissing my skin,” I whispered, trailing my hand down his belly.
He caught my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “I would rather that as well, but it’s time to go.”
Go? Now? My legs were still locked around his waist and I could feel him against me. “But you haven’t…don’t you want to—” I stammered, feeling my face grow hot.
“Oh, trust me, I want to. But we’ve been here too long. This is a quiet section of the beach, but not private. And close enough to the ship that others may wander down here.”
I knew he was right. “I think I got the better end of this deal,” I said.
“My part wasn’t so bad,” he said, grinning. “Besides, you’ll just have to make it up to me, aye? In the meantime, let’s go get some overpriced, touristy drinks at one of the beach bars.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
We moved closer to shore and he let me down in shoulder-deep water. I hesitated. Despite the intimate moment we’d just shared, and the wanton, daring side of me that he’d awakened, I wasn’t sure if I could walk naked out of that water with him watching.
“Go, Red. I need a quick swim anyway.” And just as I had done for him, he dove under the water to give me time to get to my clothes.
My back to the water, I shimmied into my panties and bra, then turned—just in time to see him walk out of the water. He froze, the water cascading down his body. He looked like a freaking Greek god.
I should have quickly turned around, returned the courtesy he’d shown me. But I couldn’t look away. My mouth watered, my fingers curled into the palms of my hands as my hungry eyes devoured him from head to toe.
After a moment’s pause, he strode from the water and pulled me into his arms, kissing me hard.
Too soon, he tore his mouth from mine, staring at me with need burning in his eyes. “Sorry I looked,” I quipped, needing to lighten the tension.
After a long moment, he grinned. “No, you’re not.”
�
��No, I’m really not.”
I scooped up my skirt and tank top and held out his clothes. He shook his head. “I need another swim,” he said, doing an about-face and walking back into the water.
I got dressed and sat down in the sand, tucking my skirt around my legs. I combed my fingers through my wet hair and began braiding it, my attention carefully focused on that when he emerged from the water.
I heard him get dressed, and then with a laugh, he said, “You can look now.”
I reached up and he pulled me to my feet. “I think it’s time for that drink.”
“You have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I awoke slowly, curled on my side in my pallet on deck. I wasn’t alone.
Tristan lay behind me, his body molded around mine, his chin resting on my shoulder. His breath was soft and warm against my hair, his hard chest was against my back, his thighs were snugged up behind mine, my feet rested atop his. His outside arm was around me, our fingers entwined.
The sky was fading from midnight blue to blue-gray as dawn approached.
Dawn…oh no! I twisted in his arms. “Tristan, wake up,” I hissed.
“Hmmm?” He stirred, too slowly.
“Wake up!”
His eyes shot open, and he disentangled himself from around me. “Shit, what happened?”
The last thing I remembered was us returning from having a few girlie drinks at a beach bar. I’d tipsily gotten ready for bed and set up my sleeping bag in my favorite spot in the bow. Tristan had gotten ready for bed as well and joined me. He was only going to stay for a little while and then find his own place to sleep. But obviously, that hadn’t happened.
“I guess we fell asleep. Hurry, you can’t be here—someone will see!”
I gasped as a dark figure loomed before us.
“It’s too late for that, Ms. Goodman,” said Captain MacDougall.
A Star to Steer Her By Page 21