by Anna Lowe
Kyle’s lips were pursed in a tight line, but he nodded slowly. “Sure.”
“It’s a forty-two-foot Moody. A good, solid boat,” she said, thumping the deckhouse and leading the way down the stairs, hoping momentum would carry them to a new subject. “There’s the galley.” She pointed to the tiny kitchen. “And Robert’s cabin is back here.” She led the way down a tight hallway and opened the door a crack, pointedly casual. A twinge went through her ribs as Kyle brushed past her to see. God, the man smelled good. Like the seashore, fresh and clean. She had a sudden image of mermen with broad chests and tritons in their hands and Kyle among them, broad and glistening.
She gulped and yanked a curtain over the image.
“My cabin is at the bow — at the opposite end of the boat,” she emphasized, showing him the way past the living area in the central part of the cabin. “I even get my own bathroom,” she said, giving it a quick check before making space for him to see. Not that he’d be spotting any lacy bras among her belongings, but still.
“Wow,” he said, taking it all in, from the brass oil lamp and barometer to the bookshelf and portholes. “This is like a Winnebago, without the headroom.”
She laughed. “Yep, it has pretty much everything you need. Not as big as Imagine, of course, but pretty good.”
“A nice boat,” he agreed.
He proceeded to grill her on ocean sailing as they moved back out to the cockpit and ate lunch — paté and cheese on baguette with coleslaw on the side. “To fight scurvy,” Hannah joked.
“Mmm, it’s good,” he mumbled between mouthfuls.
She chuckled at him. “You gotta slow down. Eat Polynesian style.”
“And what exactly is that?”
“Slowly.” She held up a slice of bread with paté to demonstrate. “Let it sit on your tongue for a second. Let the flavors come to you.”
With a skeptical look, Kyle followed her lead. He sat still, cheeks puffed, munching as quickly as before. “It’s too good to go slow!”
Hannah gulped down her bread just as fast, trying not to choke on her laugh. “So,” she said, steering the topic around to him. “You work in New York.”
“Yep.”
“In a family company.”
“Yep,” he said, chewing.
She was sure he was hiding behind the food. The man was not exactly forthcoming. Why was that? “And who in your family do you work with?”
“My uncle, he’s the CEO,” he started, and Hannah couldn’t keep her eyebrows from jumping up. She had in mind some kind of small, family company, but those didn’t exactly have CEOs, did they? “My brother and sister work there, too,” Kyle continued. “Except my sister decided to take a leave to spend more time with her kids while they’re so young.”
“Nice to have an understanding employer.”
“Doesn’t hurt.” Kyle smiled, and it was like the clouds opening after a storm.
Finally, the guy was easing up again after that attack of big-brother nerves when she’d mentioned Robert. Kyle was only the third person — and the first man — to question her sailing arrangement, not including the hour-long telephone interrogation by her mother, in which Hannah had painted Robert as a near-saint. She caught herself thinking it would be nice to have an older brother. Better yet, a boyfriend.
Too bad she was Hannah of the Alone Hannahs, and he was Kyle of the Just-Passing-Through Kyles. Otherwise, who knew where they might go?
“And your job is what?” She yanked herself to back to the topic.
Kyle took a long sip of his water. Buying time? “I work with clients, looking at how their companies run things and suggesting how they could streamline things.”
Hannah prodded a bit more and managed to wheedle a few more tidbits out of him. Even if his answers were a little vague, a few things about Kyle were immediately obvious. He loved his family, he worked way too much, and he got out way too little. “Did you ever think of taking a break?”
“You mean, like a little two-year break?”
Hannah shrugged. “Even just a little two-month break.”
He laughed out loud. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who’d call two months little.”
Hannah tried not to lecture, she really did. But it was hard to resist. “Life is for living, not working.”
At that, Kyle looked over the other boats in the lagoon, momentarily drifting away in some thought. Probably about how crazy she was.
“Not everyone is as free as you, Hannah.”
Was that sorrow in his voice? She eyed him. What was holding him back? Family? Job? Debt, maybe? Or was he just like everyone else who’d bought in to the unwritten rules of society that said a person had to keep vacations to one or two weeks a year?
The rest of lunch went by in swallowed thoughts washed down by amiable silence. Soon — too soon for Hannah’s taste — the meal was over. The good news was that Kyle didn’t seem in much of a hurry to leave, and Hannah wasn’t in any hurry to see him go. She felt relaxed, atypically at peace. For all that she assured her friends and relatives she’d done the right thing in signing on with Robert, doubts nagged her day and night. For now, though, she could let that go and just relax. It had been a long morning of boat work, with a lot more to go. Surely she deserved a little break.
She stretched out on her back on one of the long cockpit benches while Kyle sat back on the other, scanning the view as if a curtain might drop over it any second. He looked so eager, so amazed, she just had to smile.
“You’re not in a rush to get anywhere, are you?” she murmured.
“No. Why?”
“Siesta time,” she said, folding an arm over her eyes to dampen the bright sunlight. “Okay with you?
“Okay with me,” he answered, his voice quiet and low, like a lullaby.
“Good,” she murmured, letting her mind drift away.
Chapter Twelve
Kyle mimicked Hannah, leaning back on his side of the cockpit and shading his eyes. The boat barely moved under him — just a gentle nod from time to time, as if to assure him he was in the right place. The thing was, lying down within an arm’s reach of a beguiling woman didn’t prove to be an effective means of easing him to sleep. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He stood quietly and walked to the bow before any body parts could show their enthusiasm for siesta time. He tried to lose himself in the view. Aquamarine water, like a set of blue oil paints all melted together. The sandy whisper of waves lapping against an islet at the edge of the lagoon, where the white foam of surf hissed over the reef. Kyle sat, leaned back against the mast, and did something he hadn’t managed to do in a very long time: imagine. Imagining something other than a solution to a business problem, that is.
He imagined what it would be like to live a sailing lifestyle, running with the wind from island to island in a vast blue sea. He was wrong about sailors being people who ran away from responsibility, because now he knew differently. They were running toward their dreams: always a new horizon, a new adventure. Always toward uncertainty.
Man, that took guts.
Kyle wondered if he had that kind of courage. Hannah sure did. There she was, a woman, throwing herself into a new world, alone. No boat, no fortune, just a dream and the stubborn willpower to see it through. Even in steering the dinghy, she looked firm and resolute.
The smile faded with a new image, one of her weighing anchor and heading out to sea, waving a cheery good-bye to him where he stood rooted to the ground. A few days from now, she’d be off, and he’d never see her again.
Never.
He hated never. Hated the idea of saying good-bye.
He turned his gaze from the vastness of the view to the small scoop of air in his hands. His fingers flexed and straightened around it, grasping at something he couldn’t quite define. What was it with him today?
Something splashed in the water, and Kyle’s head whipped around to find nothing but ripples. He wanted to reach down and splash his face. He
was getting all worked up about nothing. It was testosterone, working its natural course. That’s all it was. In the absence of business, his mind needed another focal point, and somehow, that had become Hannah.
Must be the legs.
Those legs and the tropical climate were stirring all kinds of steamy thoughts. This was French Polynesia, after all, the place where all those sailors lost their heads. Like the Bounty mutineers, who put everything on the line for what? Women. There must be something magical in that blended fragrance of coconuts and the sea that worked up a man’s hormones.
That was it. That had to be it.
That better be it, a voice inside him warned.
He scratched an itch on his ankle, trying to make sense of things. Okay, so he was attracted to Hannah. That was perfectly natural. The question was, what should he do about it?
Back home, he’d know exactly what to do. He’d find an opening in his calendar, make a date, and book a nice restaurant with a quiet booth at the back. Then a cab ride and a casual offer to see the woman to her door. She’d invite him in, and if everything went smoothly, they’d rock and roll. Easy, right?
The question was, how the hell did that translate to the tropics — and more confounding still, to this woman? Hannah wasn’t the fancy restaurant and evening gown type. She wasn’t even the city type. Kyle had the funny feeling the equivalent here was going spearfishing and coming home with something big and juicy, or maybe going out to hack coconuts out of two-story trees.
He snorted at the image. Kyle Stanton, Tarzan of the Pacific.
And Hannah was not easily impressed, not by caveman antics, anyway. He sighed and looked back at the cockpit. One of her legs waved lazily into view, and her anklet formed a rainbow of color against her bronze skin. His eyes traced the line of her leg upward until it was hidden from view, and something in him tightened. Not just his dick, but his heart, too.
His heart. He knew it was ticking, but that it was capable of feeling, too… Well, that was kind of a relief, after all this time. But it was dangerous, too, because the last time it had registered anything, he’d gotten burned, big-time.
He took a deep breath and decided to start by getting her a drink — of water, not alcohol, because she’d had a hot day in the tropics — and see where things went from there. And if things went nowhere, then, oh well. He’d have to chalk up rejection like a man.
He slipped past her in the cockpit, grabbing their glasses as he went, and went below to fill them from the bottle he’d seen Hannah use before. When he popped back up, she was blinking sleep from her eyes and slowly sitting up.
“Water?” he offered.
“Thanks.” She smiled, a genuine, drowsy smile he would love to freeze in time. But he only had a couple of days at best, and then she’d be off. With Robert, the jerk.
“You are way too trusting, you know that?” he started, standing over her from the top stair. Ridiculously big brother of him, but he couldn’t help it.
She was still blinking, a kitten opening its eyes to the world.
He laid out the dangers for her, counting on his fingers. “First, you sign up as crew with a perfect stranger, some guy who could have who knows what for bad intentions…”
She sighed and reached for the glass. “You sound like my mother.”
“Second, you let me, another stranger, come on board.”
“I didn’t realize you’re such a criminal,” she retorted, nudging him out of the way as she ducked below and came back up with a purple bottle marked Zip! “Sirop for you?” She offered him the drink mix.
“No thank you,” he murmured, then raised his voice. “I could have rifled through the valuables on the boat while you were asleep—”
“What, are you broke?” she demanded, laughter in her eyes.
He shook his head vehemently. “Robbed you, or…or worse!”
She arched an eyebrow at him, a little suggestively, and his shorts suddenly felt tight. “Worse?”
He fixed her with his most serious big-brother look.
“What, like, tickle my feet?”
Damn. That look always worked with his sister. But Hannah, she just didn’t get it. Didn’t want to get it, from the looks of it.
“No, like hurt you. Like rape you.” Just saying it out loud made him realize what an ugly word that was, what an ugly deed.
She was still making a joke of it, though. “What are you, desperate?”
For you, possibly.
“Don’t be silly,” was all he could manage, crossing his legs against the sudden impatience in his groin. “You really ought to be more careful.”
“You’ve been in New York too long.” She raised her glass in a silent toast and drank.
Kyle sucked in a deep breath and downed his drink in one long gulp, wondering if she was right. This was a place where fruit was sold on the side of the road with a money jar. A place where everyone knew everyone and looked out for each other. But when she got out on the high seas, who would look out for her?
Saying that would most likely earn him the evil eye again, though, and he sure didn’t want that. “What are you doing after lunch?” he asked, grumbling a little.
Hannah heaved a heavy sigh, then rattled off a list of jobs.
Kyle had no idea what most of them were, but it sounded like quite a list. Too bad he couldn’t offer to help. That would just piss her off. But damn, he sure could use some work to fill his time and distract him from all the suggestions Bad Boy was tossing into his mind.
Like, Strip and go skinny-dipping in that tantalizing water.
Right. He’d never been skinny-dipping in his life.
Like, Rent a kayak and invite her out to one of those picture-perfect islets in the lagoon…
He snorted the idea away. A woman who’d sailed all this way across the Pacific didn’t need another island. She probably didn’t even notice them any more.
Just kiss her already and find out if the sparks in her eyes mean she wants the same thing.
But all he got out was a feeble, “Um, mind if I hang around? It’s nice out here on the water.”
“Sure,” she chirped.
Bad Boy rolled his eyes.
Kyle gave himself a point. At least she didn’t seem in any great rush to be rid of him.
“Am I allowed to give you moral support?”
She looked up and down the height of the mast, then broke into a smile. “You can do better than that. You can help.” Kyle just about tipped over backward. “But no funny business, mister,” she warned with a definite twinkle in her eye.
Kyle threw up his hands in defense, careful to hide his smile. So that was the way around her defenses. If he just waited quietly, she’d eventually let down her guard and let him help. Not exactly the most gentlemanly strategy, but hell, it worked.
Within minutes, Hannah went from just-woke-up to all action. First, she had him belay her safety line as she scampered up a series of footholds to scale the mast, where she checked the rigging. For what, he wasn’t sure, but it sounded important. Then she rooted around in what she called the bilge, or the cellar of the boat, reattaching some kind of loose connection. A task that required a lot of contortions and heavy cursing. Kyle quickly found out that Hannah could curse like — well, a sailor, given something to curse over, though that seemed rare enough. That’s what he liked about her. Sunny. Optimistic.
And too damn trusting.
His job was handing tools to her like a nurse to the surgeon. Trying to concentrate on the task at hand but mostly just enjoying her proximity. Enjoying it a little too much. Kyle leaned away, only to find himself leaning right back in a moment later. In fact, he was still leaning over her prone figure when Hannah came up for air and moved within a hairbreadth of knocking into his jaw — or even his lips.
They both froze there for an instant, a thousand zinging ions bouncing between their bodies.
Hannah jerked clear and forced out a cough. “Time for a water break.”
Was it just the light down here in the cabin, or was she a little flushed?
Kyle unfolded himself from the floor and followed her into the cockpit, blinking in the bright sunlight. The cabin was a bit of a den, but the cockpit was an airy sun porch.
Hannah did a little circle, scanning the lagoon. “Every time I come up, it hits me.” She gestured toward the view.
She didn’t have to elaborate. The space, the colors. Kyle was starting to think that sailors might not be so crazy, after all. What they gave up in space below deck they made up for in open views.
There was a splash astern, and Kyle looked just in time to spot a greenish-brown splotch that ducked and disappeared.
“Sea turtle!” Hannah cried.
Before he knew it, she was pushing snorkel gear at him — Robert’s, he presumed — and stripping off her shirt to reveal the bikini he’d been fantasizing about, then slipping over the stern.
“Hurry!” she said. “But keep quiet in the water!”
Good thing he’d worn his surf shorts that morning. He followed her away from the boat in hot pursuit of her rear — er, the turtle — adjusting the angle of his snorkel as he went, sucking in breaths of air.
Over there. Hannah pointed.
The sea turtle was a good three feet across, with oblong flippers that barely flicked as it grazed on wisps of sea grass on the sandy bottom fifteen feet below. Kyle floated silently beside Hannah, watching it slip through the water. Turtles might not win any beauty prizes, but there was something graceful about them all the same. And something magical about watching one in its own element, unrushed and untamed.
Rays of sunlight wobbled through the water, dancing this way and that. They warmed his back while the water cooled his front and buoyed him up. Water filled his ears, encapsulating him in a bubble of silence. His whole world was the five-inch diameter of his snorkel, filled with one reptile and one almost-mermaid. He made little scooping motions with his hands, gliding along on the surface to follow the turtle.