Riding the Storm

by Joanne Rock

  Assuming he could maneuver around that damn Nonsuch butting into his space.

  Cursing the big shot Wall Street broker who’d attended the family engagement party, Keith climbed onto Jack’s trim, highly functional sailboat. Sizewise, it wasn’t that much smaller than Chase Freeman’s ride. But everything about the Vesta seemed sleeker. Keith would figure out how to get her under way without any help from the owner of the boat next door. Last he’d seen Freeman at the party, the guy had been feeling no pain on the dance floor. He didn’t look as if he intended to head back to his boat for the night anytime soon.

  Keith loosened his tie, then thought better of it and whipped the silk right off his neck. He tossed it aside, not caring where the thing fell. His responsibilities were done as of now.

  For a moment, he debated scouting around below deck for some boat shoes or a pair of jeans. But considering his haste to get out of Dodge before his brother realized what he’d done, he settled for bare feet and rolling up his trousers. He switched on the motor for close maneuvering—sails and rigging could wait until he had more room to work. Already Keith could feel anticipation firing through him. Much as he enjoyed the perks of the corporate power cat, and all the bells and whistles of GPS position locking and docking, he had grown up on Cape Cod and he loved to sail. It was in the Murphy blood.

  Two hours later, he had the Vesta out in the open water.

  The night air was cool and crisp. He’d ditched his dinner jacket long ago, after sprinting forward and aft a few times to make adjustments on the sails. Even though he had ideal conditions—the weather showed he could sail on a reach for at least the next day or two if he could stay ahead of an oncoming storm system—he’d bungled the jib and had a close call with the boom in his haste to get to sea. Now, he had a beauty of a draft going as the boat cut through the water with ease. His navigation lights cast warring patterns of green and red on the deck, while all around him the sea grew darker as he left Cape Cod in the distance. Traffic heading north, toward Boston, would be heavy in the morning. But right now, he had the water to himself. He avoided the shipping lanes, steering clear of bigger vessels.

  Tempted to pound his chest and roar with the sense of accomplishment, Keith did exactly that. He let out a howl for good measure. His ex-navy brother had been talking trash to say Keith had forgotten how to sail. Just because his work had kept him busy the last couple of years didn’t mean he’d gone soft.

  He took advantage of the favorable wind for another hour before he called it a night, tucking into quiet waters off Nantucket to anchor. By now, he’d left Chatham far enough behind that his brother couldn’t call off their deal to exchange boats. Besides, exhaustion was kicking in, and Keith still had to secure the sheets and rigging for the night.

  It was going on 4:00 a.m. by the time he stumbled down the steps in the companionway.

  And damn near had a heart attack.

  He could see the shadowed outline of a figure—a woman, slumped over the table in the middle of the main salon. She had her head cradled on her arms atop a huge, open book. Through a veil of dark hair, he could just make out the pale skin of her cheek.

  “Miss?” he called stupidly. But his heart raced with the fear that she was injured, or worse.

  If she was alive and breathing, how could she have slept through three hours at sea?

  Shoving past some built-in storage bins, he knelt beside her to feel for a pulse, already wondering how in the hell he would explain to the police why he’d left without checking over the boat. But—thank you, God—her heartbeat thrummed softly against his thumb where he gripped her wrist. A wave of relief flooded through his veins, so hard and fast that he sank onto the seat beside her. Too soon, other worries crowded his brain. Did she have a medical condition, or need some kind of emergency attention?

  And what the hell was she doing on Jack’s boat in the middle of the night?

  He tugged his cell phone out of his pants pocket, only to discover he had no service. No surprise, really, this far off the coast of Nantucket. He’d dropped anchor in shallow waters but hadn’t sailed too far in, so that he’d be able to get under way faster after sunrise.

  Calling to mind some half-forgotten CPR class he’d taken during a summer of lifeguarding on a Cape Cod beach, Keith tried to take a reasonable inventory of the woman’s vital signs. She breathed evenly. Wasn’t feverish. Heart rate normal for an adult female at rest. And hello, was she ever female. While widening her collar for better access to the pulse at her neck, he got an eyeful of black lace bra cups beneath her soft blouse.

  If he’d still feared for her health, he might not have noticed. Well, he certainly wouldn’t have noticed in such detail. But with the worst of his fears assuaged by a quick check, his normal male instincts kicked back in with a vengeance. This woman—lying on a book of fabric swatches, he discovered—was a looker.

  Shoulder-length dark hair framed delicate features in a heart-shaped face. Her slender nose tilted gently upward above lips that were deep pink, even without makeup. Long, beaded earrings tangled in her hair, and he realized her whole outfit was vaguely artsy. She wore faux snakeskin shoes and baggy jeans rolled up slightly to show off her ankles. Her dark peasant blouse was densely embroidered, underneath a more austere black jacket. A series of silver necklaces dipped into the generous cleavage he continued to admire. For a petite woman—under five and a half feet, for sure—she carried just the right amount of curves.

  Shifting on the bench seat beside her, he touched her cheek. Not just because he wanted to, but because he really needed to wake her up. Had she been a guest who’d imbibed too much at his brother’s engagement party?

  She wasn’t really dressed for a semiformal shindig, and he had the feeling he would have noticed her if she’d been in attendance. Women hadn’t been on his radar lately, but this one? She made the grade with her eyes closed. Literally.

  He was surprised when she answered his touch with a throaty hum.

  In fact, the low, feminine vibration seemed to electrify his whole hand, the pulse surging pleasantly through his skin.

  “Miss?” He brushed his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. “Are you all right?”

  She turned sleepily toward him, another incoherent murmur on her lips. Her shoulders rolled with the movement, as if she had an ache in her neck. Her shifting clothes released a hint of perfume, something vanilla laden and sexy that made him want to lean in and inhale deeply.

  He told himself to ease his hand away. The dim salon of the gently rocking boat suddenly felt too intimate. He didn’t want to frighten her when she awoke. But forcing his fingers from that warm, silky skin was another matter altogether. It had been many months since he’d last held a woman. And even that—a passing encounter with an ex—had been a brief release in a work-intensive year.

  “Who are you?” he asked, the feel of her still warming his palm even after he moved his hand to the table.

  He peered past her to the stack of heavy books on the other side of the bench they shared.

  “You’ve got to be a designer of some kind, right?”

  But despite the evidence of her career calling, he could hardly picture his brother hiring anyone to redecorate the Vesta. Jack had no style—or if he did, Keith would call it Spartan, at best. So what would this woman be doing on his boat in the middle of the night?

  “There’s no way Jack is involved with someone,” he mused aloud, hoping the sound of his voice would wake her up.

  Keith knew his brother was still hung up on Alicia. He definitely wouldn’t be hooking up with a stranger at midnight after a family party. Besides, the woman next to Keith hadn’t come to the Vesta for a tryst or she wouldn’t have brought her decorating books.

  “Which means you’re fair game.” He double-checked her left hand for a ring even as he made the pronouncement. “There’s no reason I can’t flirt with you. I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

  No reasonable person could hold the glance at her bre
asts against him, right? He’d been scared for her life; that was his story and he was sticking to it. Because this woman—whoever she was—had him gaping as if he’d never seen a female before.

  Sighing in her sleep, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, her fingers ending up near the pale column of her throat, exactly where he’d like to touch her. His awareness shifted into overdrive, his body responding instantly.

  “Maybe too much of a gentleman,” he continued, his own fingers itching for the slightest excuse to return to her skin. “You’re passed out on my boat—well, my boat for the next week, anyway. Who would blame me if I woke you up by whispering something suggestive in your ear?”

  Maybe he could plant in her sleeping brain a few torrid notions she’d be anxious to act on when she opened her eyes. He knew a thing or two about the power of suggestion. He’d studied some business psychology, after all.

  Another throaty hum vibrated through her as if she agreed. His body heated in response, feeling a definite sexual connection to this woman who hadn’t even opened her eyes. Could she be starting to wake up? Liking what he had to say?

  The possibility was tantalizing.

  “You’re going to be wildly attracted to me when you come to,” he told her. “Wait a minute. You’re not hypnotized. You’re just sleeping.” He didn’t have any power over her subconscious and he didn’t want to tick her off by coming on too strong. “How about this—I’m damn attracted to you.”

  He let that sink in, half hoping she’d throw herself into his arms. Hey, it could happen.

  “I’m seriously restraining myself from touching you right now.” Still no reply. No flutter of her lashes or sexy shifting in her sleep. “I’d like nothing better than to peel your clothes off inch by inch with my teeth.”

  A slow, sexy smile curved her lips. He could hardly believe his eyes. But then she moaned softly in her sleep, moving her palm down her throat and under the fabric of her collar, cupping her breast as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.

  Holy. Hell.

  Heat shot to his groin in a rush so forceful it was damn near painful.

  Whatever he was doing, it was working.

  2

  JOSIE COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d had such a nice dream.

  Usually, she woke up instantly to her alarm clock, bouncing out of bed with no memory of her nighttime imaginings. But right now she reveled in the groggy half sleep that left her body relaxed and her mind free to wander. It was a delicious, self-indulgent feeling to simply lie there. Josie felt better than peaceful. She felt…warm all over. Her skin hummed, vibrant and alive. Awareness sparked along her nerve endings, tingling sweetly in all the best places.

  From somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, a man’s voice resonated.

  “I can’t wait to taste you.” The low, confident tone did wicked things to her already simmering libido.

  Her breasts beaded at the thought of the dream man’s mouth on her. She arched toward the sound, a wordless plea for him to make good on the sensual threat.

  When he didn’t comply immediately, she knew a moment’s frustration. She wanted to draw him closer, to feel his tongue on her breast, licking away the hungry tension in skin that felt too tight. Too needy. But her limbs were heavy and lethargic.

  “Please,” she murmured, her fingers sliding over her taut nipple. “Please.”

  She could almost feel the warm breath of her fantasy man on her skin there, right where she wanted him. His scent, clean and salty like an ocean breeze, teased her nose.

  Needing him, she drew her hand from her blouse and flung her arm forward. The movement jarred her, causing an ache in her neck. Her head fell off her pillow onto a cold, hard surface that wasn’t her bed.

  Confused, Josie struggled to return to a comfortable spot. To the sweet lure of her fantasy man and a dream that felt incredibly real.

  “Are you okay?” the deep bass voice asked.

  Damn it. Why wasn’t he asking her to unbutton her blouse? To slide beneath silk sheets with him and tear off all their clothes?

  She waited for her consciousness to return to that sexy, dreamy place. Instead, the ache in her neck increased.

  “Wake up, beautiful,” the man in her dreams said.

  But oddly, his voice seemed clearer now. Closer, somehow.

  Wrenching her heavy eyelids open, Josie forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. To figure out why her pillow was so hard. To see why her alarm hadn’t gone off and why she was lazing around in the dark….

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  A real, live, hot-looking man sat beside her in a room lit by a green, wavering night-light. He wore a light-colored dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing strong, well-defined pecs beneath. A silver saint’s medallion hung around his neck.

  She didn’t recognize him. Could never have met him before this moment or she would have remembered. His chiseled jaw was covered with a shadow of late-night bristles. Full, sculpted lips; a straight Roman nose. Eyes an uncommon color, though it was too dark to tell the shade for sure. Green, maybe? Dark eyelashes framed them and heavy eyebrows topped them. An old scar ran across his forehead.

  Details that were way too real for a dream.

  “What are you doing here?” She straightened quickly, making herself dizzy. A spike of adrenaline pierced the sensual awareness that had held her captive a moment ago. “Where am I?”

  Her pulse raced as she tried to absorb her surroundings. The stranger with her. Just because he was absurdly handsome didn’t exclude the possibility that he meant her harm.

  “You’re on my brother’s boat. The Vesta.” He spoke slowly and calmly, his tone soothing her where it had once stoked a fire inside her. “You must have boarded it last night when it was still docked in Chatham.”

  “Chatham?” Her heart rate slowed a little at his reasonable tone of voice. His presence wasn’t threatening even though he sat close beside her inside… “A boat?”

  Realization hit her like a cartoon anvil to the head.

  “The boat!” she exclaimed, remembering her trip to Chatham. She latched on to the swatch book on the table in front of her. “I boarded the boat to discuss some new designs for my cousin Chase…” The horror of the moment began to dawn on her. “Oh, God. You’re not Chase Freeman.”

  “No.” The sexy stranger shook his head as he took a document out of his wallet and passed it to her. “I’m Keith Murphy, and my boat was docked beside his.” The document proved to be his driver’s license, which confirmed his claim and his residence in Chatham. “Maybe you wandered onto the wrong vessel?”

  She’d completely missed her appointment with Chase the night before.

  “Oh no.” Her stomach sank as full alertness returned. She remembered being exhausted and worried about getting seasick. “The numbering on the slips was so confusing. I thought this was the right boat because the lights were on. Then I took some motion sickness medicine and it must have knocked me out. What time is it?”

  Maybe she could still meet Chase. Rising to her feet, she tried to pull herself together until the man—Keith—gently grasped her wrist.

  “It’s four in the morning and we’re not in Chatham anymore. I didn’t know you were on board and I set sail about one o’clock.”

  She found it tough to focus on his words when he squeezed, then released her. How could a total stranger’s touch feel so familiar? So incredibly good?

  Snippets of her sexy dream returned to her and she wondered…

  “Did anything else happen while I was sleeping?” Sinking back onto the seat beside him, she tried to process the situation. Her skin buzzed with a palpable, electric hum. “That is, did we…”

  She had no idea where she was going with that question. But her nerve endings vibrated with keen awareness. He had said things to her, sexy things, hadn’t he? Her heartbeat quickened at the blur of steamy memories.

  Mr. Fantasy smiled a thousand-
watt grin that was sexy and shameless. “You were out of it when I got down here, but you didn’t talk in your sleep or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Not really. I…” How could she explain that she felt as turned on as if he’d touched her? That she was kind of worried she’d thrown herself at him in her half-dreaming state?

  She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to restore some order and some self control. This wasn’t like her at all.

  “Look, Miss…” He seemed to be waiting for her to fill in the blank.

  “Oh. Josie Passano.” She extended her hand. “I apologize for boarding the wrong boat. If we could just turn around, I could try to salvage my meeting. I really needed that account.”

  “Josie.” He tested the name and seemed to like it, if his slow nod was any indication. “Can I get you something to drink first?”

  Rising, he flicked on a low light over the galley cook-top, making her realize they’d been sitting in the green glow of a night-light all that time. Good heavens, she was out of it. The medicine must have done a number on her.

  “That would be great. Cold water, if you have any.”

  As he moved toward the small icebox, she noticed his shirttails were untucked and his feet were bare. He’d rolled up his trousers like a man who’d just waded in the ocean. She liked that he’d kept some distance as she woke up, his smooth, deep voice and relaxed body language all putting her at ease when she had every right to be scared to death to find herself on a stranger’s boat in the middle of the night.

  He turned and caught her staring.

  “Here you go.” Offering her a clear plastic cup, he filled a second for himself and sat across from her at the small table. “Josie, I doubt that Chase Freeman made it back to his boat last night, so I wouldn’t worry about him remembering a missed appointment until afternoon at the earliest. I saw him on the dance floor at my brother’s engagement party and he looked like he’d had a few too many. I’d be willing to bet he either crashed at my parents’ place or at a, uh, friend’s house.”