by Sarah Morgan
“It was an American ship?”
“British. The enemy.” His eyes gleamed. “Captained by Henry Mowat, who spent the best part of a forty-year career patrolling the North American coast. It was initially used to defend against the Penobscot Expedition, but it had been downgraded to a prison ship when it sank. There are hundreds of shipwrecks on this stretch of coast.”
“So you studied—what? Maritime history?”
“Marine archaeology. Maritime history came later. I wanted to dive. A shipwreck is a time capsule full of hidden secrets. It was one big adventure for me.”
She loved his enthusiasm. “Ever find any treasure?”
“Very few ships carried treasure. The galleons sailing from the New World to Spain carried gold ingots and coins and the Indiamen traded precious metals for spices in the Far East, but generally the value of most historic shipwrecks can’t be measured in monetary terms.”
“You sound like Brittany.” She reached for her drink. “And now it’s the American Revolution. So how do you decide what to write about?”
His gaze locked on hers. “How do you decide what to paint?”
“I paint what interests me.”
“And I write about what interests me.”
“I didn’t even know there was a navy in the American Revolution.”
“Sea power played a significant role in American Independence. The thirteen colonies would have struggled without maritime support. Am I boring you?”
“No. And when we get home I want you to tell me all this again, while wearing your glasses.” She’d never particularly enjoyed history at school but somehow when Alec talked about it she could have listened forever.
The corners of his mouth flickered. “Glasses are a turn-on?”
“I think they might be.” She looked at his smile and wondered why she had ever thought him aloof and intimidating. Reserved, yes. Smart, definitely. But not aloof. “You were telling me about the navy. Carry on. Talk dirty to me.”
“The Continental Navy was officially established in 1775. Its main role was to disrupt British maritime efforts by intercepting the supply of provisions and arms. Unfortunately many of the primary sources have been lost.”
“Is that why you were in London last week?”
“Part of the reason.”
“British Library?”
“The Caird Library and the National Archives.”
Kirsti delivered their food but neither of them noticed and she slunk away, a smile on her face.
“I had so many galleries and museums on my list.” Sky felt a rush of disappointment. “I had a whole itinerary for when I was in London and I barely did any of it. Still, at least I had a trip on the London Eye, thanks to you.”
“You’ll visit again.”
She assumed it was a nonspecific comment rather than an invitation. “I wanted to visit the Tate Modern. Have you ever been?”
“Yes. I prefer the National Gallery.”
“You like art galleries?”
“That’s one of my favorites. Home to Turner’s The Fighting Temeraire.”
“You know that painting?”
“Of course. Turner is famous for his naval art. The Temeraire was a military ship. Played a distinguished role in Nelson’s victory at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Nelson was a brilliant strategist. He destroyed Napoleon’s maritime strategy and wiped out the biggest threat to British security for two hundred years.”
She stared at him. It was like discovering another person was fluent in your language. “Turner was in his sixties when he painted that and he used a wonderful light, loose brushstroke. What I love most is the lighting. Of course the sun is setting in the wrong place in the picture, but who cares.”
The food grew cold on the table between them as they talked.
“He was making a statement about the passing of an age,” he continued. “Sail to steam and steel.”
Skylar listened, fascinated as he added historical context to a painting she’d always admired on a technical basis. “He loved that painting so much he wouldn’t sell it.”
“Is that what happened with the bracelet you gave my sister? You loved it too much to sell it?”
“If you’re asking if my artistic abilities are on par with Turner then the answer is no, but if you’re asking me if I have ever loved a piece too much to part with it then yes. I have.”
Richard’s eyes had glazed over when she’d talked about art. Alec was not only interested, he had knowledge, but he wasn’t one of those men who talked simply to show off what he knew. He had a sharp, questioning mind and enjoyed filling in gaps in his knowledge. He grilled her on all aspects of art and she responded, absorbed, enthused, until time and their surroundings blended into the background and her entire focus was him.
She couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed an evening more.
She would have carried on talking, except for the growling of her stomach. “I’m starving. I wonder where—” Her eyes widened as she finally noticed the food. “Did you see Kirsti deliver that?
“No.” He was frowning. “We must have been talking.”
Sky felt a little jolt. It was the first time in her life she’d forgotten to eat her food.
She stared at the burgers and then at Alec, thrown by the uncomfortable realization that she’d lost track of time with a man who at the beginning of the summer she couldn’t stand. The realization made her uneasy.
It hadn’t occurred to her they might have anything at all in common other than a desire to strike sparks off each other.
He’d surprised her, and she’d surprised herself.
It made no sense that part of her wished she still found him exasperating.
Or maybe it did.
She’d told herself it was just sex. That they had nothing in common. But it was hard to pretend a relationship was just about sex when you both had your clothes on and you’d just had the best night of your life.
“Why aren’t you eating? Are you ill?” He pushed his bowl of extra fries toward her and she forced herself to take one because one sure way of alerting him to the fact that something was wrong was not to eat.
“I’m starving.” She reached for her burger. “While we eat tell me more about your favorite paintings.”
“I HATE TO SAY I told you so, but I told you so.” Kirsti sneaked into Ryan’s office. “I’m a genius. Not only do I make the best cappuccino on the island, but I can predict people’s relationship future. I am going to set up a dating agency.”
“There aren’t enough single people living on the island to keep you busy so if I were you I’d keep making your incredible cappuccino.” Ryan glanced up from the spreadsheet. “What were you right about?”
“Alec with Skylar. I told you back in the summer they’d be perfect together. And you dismissed me.”
Ryan put his pen down. “They’re not serious.”
“Not yet maybe, but they will be.”
“I hate to break this to you but it’s just sex, Kirsti.”
“Yeah? Because it wasn’t sex that stopped them both from noticing me when I delivered their food a moment ago. I was thinking of sounding a foghorn to get their attention and then decided the food could wait.”
Resigned to not getting any work done until the conversation was concluded to Kirsti’s satisfaction, Ryan sat back in his chair. “So they were too absorbed in each other to notice you? That doesn’t mean anything except that they need to get a room.”
“You’re missing the point. They were talking.”
“It happens.”
“Really talking, about—” she stumbled “—I don’t know, some painting or other that I’ve never heard of. Naval art. And I don’t think it had anything to do with strategic body piercing.” She nodded sagely. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing, but the two of them were so deep in conversation Napoleon himself could have walked right in here stark naked with Joséphine and neither of them would have noticed. So what’s going on, R
yan? How did they get from naught to naughty in a few weeks?”
“They bumped into each other in London and spent some time together, that’s all. I don’t know the details.”
“Then ask!”
“It’s none of my business.”
“Of course it’s your business. Alec is your friend and he was glowering around here like a bad storm warning all summer. And the summer before that come to think of it. In fact as long as I’ve known him. Unless it’s his divorce that’s finally making him smile, I’d say Sky has had a positive effect on him. He looked happy, Ryan.”
“Of course he’s happy. He’s having crazy, no-strings-attached sex with a stunning blonde. Men are simple creatures.”
“So it would seem.” She sighed. “Because for a very smart guy, you’re clueless.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALEC LIT THE woodstove while outside the wind howled and screamed around the cottage.
The National Weather Service had issued a storm warning that put the whole island on alert.
He wasn’t worried. He had everything he needed in the event of a loss of power and even the prospect of sharing his space with another person wasn’t bothering him.
Providing that person was Sky.
They’d been on the island for a week and she’d proved herself to be easy company.
She worked as hard as he did, was careful never to invade his space and didn’t disturb him if he was in his study.
The fact that he still couldn’t concentrate wasn’t her fault.
He put in working hours, but spent most of them staring out of the window trying to think about the American Revolution and not the way Sky’s face lit up when he talked or the way her slender curves fit perfectly against him.
Her favorite place was the garden room and she’d made it her own, spreading out her paints and covering the floor with her work.
Sometimes when he went in search of her he found her absorbed in a drawing, other times he found her staring out to sea from the window seat.
Creative window gazing, she’d called it, delivering that trademark smile that he was fast discovering had the melting power of summer sunshine.
He rocked back on his heels and turned as he heard her walk into the room.
“Pinot noir or sauvignon blanc?” She held two bottles of wine in front of him. She was wearing jeans tucked into slipper boots and her hair streamed over her scarlet sweater.
Red for danger, he thought. “You bought wine?”
“Of course. The idea was to exhaust you physically, not financially. And anyway, with a storm warning in place it’s important to stock up on essential items. I assumed by that they meant wine and condoms.” Her wickedly sexy smile sent his libido soaring into the stratosphere.
“You bought condoms?”
“A truckload.”
“In Harbor Stores?”
“Yes. I went there that day you picked me up from Emily’s. It was hilarious. I picked up a few extra packets just because I wanted to see Mel’s face. I wish you’d been there.” She started to laugh, unable to hold it back. “I slapped the condoms down on the counter and Mel’s eyes went the size of saucers. She asked me if I really intended to buy that many, so I thanked her and said that I should probably buy more, just in case.” She was laughing so hard it made him want to laugh, too.
“You did that?”
“Yes. I added another three packets and pointed out that they were predicting a major storm with power outages.”
“You’re shameless.” Alec shook his head. “I’m never going to be able to shop in Harbor Stores again.”
“Hey, I’m helping your reputation, Shipwreck Hunter. Thanks to me, you are now the island stud. You’re welcome.” She put the wine down on the table next to the bookshelf, still laughing.
Her smile was fast becoming one of his favorite things about her, along with the way she listened and her straightforward responses to everything.
She was the least complicated woman he’d ever met.
But that changed nothing as far as he was concerned.
It just made it easier, because she didn’t want anything more from this than he did.
As far as he was concerned it was as close to a perfect relationship as it was possible to get. The sex was incredible, they were friends and they enjoyed each other’s company, but it went no deeper than that.
She placed no demands on him, and that trapped feeling he’d had on the first day on Puffin Island had never resurfaced.
“The islanders will be talking about us. That doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me what they think?”
“You care about what your parents think.”
“That’s different. They’re my parents. We’re unattached, consenting adults finding a legitimate way of passing the time in a Maine winter storm.” She pointed to the bottles. “Pick one.”
He could barely focus on the labels.
All he wanted to do was bury his hands in her hair and take her straight back to bed. “The pinot.”
“Good choice. It will go with the soup I’m making.”
“I thought you didn’t like cooking.”
“I can make soup. My specialties are lentil and smoked bacon, leek and potato, and, of course, chicken. I also make an excellent minestrone, courtesy of a lesson I had from an Italian when I was eighteen.” Picking up the wine, she walked back to the kitchen and he followed.
“I thought Italy was on your list of places to visit.”
“I’ve never been to Florence. And I really want to.” A loud crash from outside made her jump. “What was that?”
“Snow sliding off the roof.” He took the wine from her before she could drop it and put it down on the counter. “Are you scared of storms?”
“No. I love storms. The more howling, banging and crashing the better.” Her eyes sparkled. “Especially the banging part.”
He put the white in the fridge and opened the red. “I’ll try to make sure there is plenty of banging.”
“Good. I’ll have to go back to Harbor Stores and tell Mel we’ve run out. That would be fun.”
“You have a wicked sense of humor.”
She reached up and lifted two glasses from the cabinet. “I remember staying with Brittany once in a terrible snowstorm. It took three days to dig ourselves out. Kathleen must have been worried, but to us it was an adventure.”
“I never met Brittany’s grandmother. I wish I had.”
“She was the sort of person who survived everything. A pioneer.” She put the glasses in front of him. “All summer she’d bottle fruit ready for the winter so in January we’d be eating blueberry cobbler and she made the most incredible ginger-topped apple cake. Brittany found her diaries in the summer. A New York publisher is interested in them. I hope it doesn’t bring people flocking here. I know we need a robust tourist industry, but I wouldn’t want it to change the character of the island.”
He poured the wine. “I’m surprised you don’t miss New York.”
“I love New York, but I love this place, too. At some point I will have to go back to the city and put in some studio time, but right now I’m busy thinking.” She pulled vegetables out of the fridge and put them on the counter. “I sent those early designs through to Laurel.”
“How many ideas did you send her?”
“To begin with I gave her three. Not too many. I’ll see what she thinks and we’ll take it from there.”
“At least you know that with ‘Ferrara’ in the name, they’re not going to argue about money.” He put the wine on the counter next to her.
“Yes. It’s funny.” She rinsed the vegetables and picked up a knife. “I know that in businesses these guys—both Cristiano and Nik—are ruthless negotiators, but when it comes to buying something special for the women they love they are marshmallows.”
“You’re envious of that?”
“Of the bottomless bank account? No. Of the depth of love—yes. I’m envious
of that.” Her voice softened and she stared out of the window at the falling snow. She looked down at the vegetables. “This isn’t getting the soup made.”
“How did you meet Lily?”
“Brittany introduced us. She’s a ceramics expert.” She started dicing a carrot. “My collection was inspired by Mediterranean themes and she gave me some great ideas. I spent a few weeks in Greece with her and Brittany.”
“How did you Emily and Brittany become friendly?”
The wind screamed past the cottage, whipping angrily at the snow, but inside the kitchen they were cozy and warm.
“We met on our first day in college. We bonded over our disasters. Brittany had just emerged from her disastrous relationship with Zach, Emily had no one and she was so closed off it was like trying to break into a safe. And then there was me—” she paused to take a sip of wine “—I was in the biggest battle of my life with my parents, who wanted me to go to law school, not art college. It had been a dream for me for so long.”
“Anyone can be a lawyer but not everyone can produce the quality and originality of the pieces you had in your show.” He thought that confining Skylar to law school would be like caging an exotic bird. His admiration for her grew and he lifted his glass. “To dreams.”
She put the knife down and lifted her glass. “To dreams.”
“Were you ever tempted to do what they wanted you to do and choose law?”
“Not once. I knew what I wanted. That’s what kept me going. If I’d had doubts, maybe it would have been different but I knew. You were the same. You listened to those stories your uncle Harry told you and you wanted to be part of it.” Her phone rang and she reached for it in her pocket. “It’s probably Brit.” She glanced at the screen and then saw the number. Her smile vanished like the sun behind a cloud. “It’s my mother.”
The expression on her face made his insides knot. “Leave it.”
“If I leave it, she’ll call again. I’ve been anticipating this call for the past week so I might as well get it over with.”