Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  The competing yachts approached the anchored boat of the racing committee in tight formation, their skippers glancing nervously upward to read the wind on their sails. Alain and Marque watched the competition, as they plotted to position Pure Joy. The minutes ticked off toward the start and the skipper’s orders on the yachts took on a new urgency. Their sharp commands rang out above the wind, deliberate in their quests to jockey for position, timing their runs with the common objective of placing their vessels on the perfect tack when the gun sounded. In the chaos before the gun, the yachts were running in tight, crisscross patterns, narrowly missing each other, the noise of the wind rushing over their sails urgent and fearsome.

  Rachel watched Marque, anticipating his next order, his calm and deliberate actions that of someone in complete control. His eyes constantly scanned the sails above them, trusting Alain to judge the speed and distance of the fast-approaching vessels on their leeward side.

  Marque took them on a long tack high upwind, leaving the chaos of other yachts behind. The urgent shouts of crewmembers, followed by the wrenching crash when two yachts collided, sounded behind them.

  Rachel glanced back and inhaled sharply at the sight of the fatally entangled yachts, the crew desperately working to restore order. One crewmember had been flung into the churning waters, and a bright orange lifebuoy flew in a slow arch toward him through the air.

  “Ready to tack!” Marque’s booming warning came, and Rachel readied herself for the sudden change in wind and direction that would come when Marque spun the wheel. The tack was completed cleanly and sharply. She glanced up, looking for the racing committee’s boat on their starboard side. With some irritation, Rachel noted how far they had traveled on their last run.

  Too far. We’ve gone too far.

  The run back to the starting line seemed too long a distance to cover before the gun would sound the start. Marque’s gaze danced on the digital readouts of the instrument panel before a small smile rose to his lips.

  Rachel glanced toward Alain who stood proudly at the mast, one hand loosely on the stay, his head thrown back as he stared toward the tip of the mast, reading the power over the sail with an expert’s eye.

  “More on the main!” Alain ordered from his position, and Rachel worked the winch to take in a couple of turns. She glanced up at the white carbon sheet, pulled flat and tight as a wing, and waited for Alain’s response.

  “One more!” his sharp request came to her. Rachel swore softly and leaned her whole body into the winch to take in one more turn against the force of the wind on the sail. The sound of the wind rushing over the tight sail whistled madly in her ears.

  They picked up a knot. Then one more.

  She glanced ahead and smiled in silent admiration at the distance they had covered. Pure Joy thundered down toward the starting line, her brilliant white sails taut as steel, the aerodynamic bow slashing through the water, throwing white spray high into the air. Rachel glanced frantically at the clock, but at the instant the gun boomed, Pure Joy crossed the line in full flight. Marque had timed it to perfection.

  Alain turned and watched Rachel as she tightened the main line at his instruction, her body crouched low and balanced over the winch. Wet spray glistened on her bare legs, but she seemed oblivious to that, focusing all her efforts on the task of tightening the mainsail. She paused and stared up at the mast, her eyes burning with concentration, judging the effect on the sail.

  Intrigued, Alain watched the beating pulse of her racing heart throbbing in her neck, visible just below her jaw line. A tiny line of perspiration ran slowly down from behind her ear, down the curve of her neckline and over the hollow of her collarbone, plastering a few strands of hair against the wetness of her skin.

  He blurred as the impulse tore at his loins — the impulse to run his tongue up the saltiness in her neck toward her ear and to bite her softly on the earlobe. He imagined her pinned on her back, his hands on her wrists, and she looked up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes, teasing him.

  He leaned into her, ran his warm lips down her neckline, and she jolted with pleasure as he touched his lips to her neck. His tongue teased her soft skin, sensing the flutter of her rushed heartbeat. He noticed his own slow arousal and she moaned when he traced his tongue down her chest, deeply inhaling her sweet aroma.

  “Prepare spinnaker!” Marque’s brusque warning shocked Alain back to reality. He shot Marque’s smiling face a daggered look and turned his attention to the horizon, seeking out all the telltale signs of currents or shifting winds.

  Marque had taken them on a long, downwind tack, away from the fleet. They were running with the stronger wind, but had a longer leg to sail, and some of the other lighter yachts had gained on them.

  Alain made a quick study of the wind speed and hooked the lanyard onto one of the three spinnakers they had selected for the race. When they turned downwind, he was ready, and with Christophe’s assistance, they raised the spinnaker in a smooth, well-drilled move. In one slow, controlled balloon of bright red, the massive sail majestically filled with wind, surging the vessel downwind on the next leg.

  • • •

  Rachel watched as Alain heaved with his full strength on the spinnaker line, the sinewy muscles in his roped forearms rippling in the sun. His dark hair, wet from the sea spray, was plastered to his high forehead. His powerful body moved with catlike agility as he reached up high, and then pulled hard on the line, the shadow of the massive red sail momentarily blocking out the sun when it ran up the mast in one smooth, silent motion.

  With quick, strong fingers, Alain secured the line onto a cleat and took a small step backward to study the wind on the sail. His deep chest heaved rhythmical from the exertion where he stood, head tilted back, his strong back arched. His skin glistened from the wet spray on his arms, biceps rippling as he held onto the mast for balance.

  A deep urge stirred in her at the thought of Alain’s hands stroking down her back, pulling her closer. She shuddered involuntary at the memory of his skillful tongue, teasing her to the point where she would cry out with anticipation and a need for more. She swallowed hard and glanced at Marque, guilty. If he had noticed anything, she was none the wiser, as Marque was staring out ahead, his eyes on the horizon with a shrewd smirk playing on his lips.

  Six hours later, after they tacked for the final run on the homeward leg, Pure Joy had pulled out a ten-boat lead on the small group of chasing frontrunners. With the stronger wind blowing on her starboard side, no one could catch them. Rachel glowed in the euphoria and excitement of winning when they sailed back into the marina and headed for their berth.

  • • •

  Alain remained on the yacht long after they had moored Pure Joy and stowed her sails, and long after the last of the crewmembers disappeared to enjoy a deserved hot shower. He stood at the bow, in deep thought, arms crossed on his chest, absorbing the gentle sway of the vessel. His dark eyes were restless, flicking across the horizon, tinged with an angry red as the sun finally settled below the skyline.

  Then he raised his hands and crossed them behind his head and sighed, relieved. He had changed his mind — Rachel would be his. Not just for one night, but for as long as they lived. She was everything he desired, and he was prepared to face the consequences. He would face her husband, openly stating his intentions. It would not be done by a written note — not like his mother did it. But first, he must convince Rachel of his love, and given how he had treated her that might be an uphill battle.

  With an easy motion, Alain stepped from the yacht onto the jetty to join the others in the clubhouse.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Boisterous laughter and lively music filled the lounge at the St. Tropez yacht club. The room was packed with groups of people, their animated discussions drowning the sound of the background music. The mood was festive, while anxious servers ran around in their ef
forts to fill the glasses of the thirsty crowd. A journalist and her photographer prowled amongst the throng, eager to interview the class winners and shoot a photo of them brandishing their trophies.

  Rachel tried her cocktail, and, finding it to her taste, sat back in her chair, crossing her legs. After the excitement and the demands of the day competing in the strong winds, she’d happily returned to her hotel room where she enjoyed a long, hot bath. She returned to the festivities at the yacht club refreshed, and was now enjoying the jovial camaraderie of the people with whom she had shared today’s tough racing.

  Her eyes drifted to where Alain stood, one shoulder leaning against a pillar on the far side of the room, deep in casual conversation with the skipper of the yacht that had chased them hard all day long. His arms crossed lightly over his chest, he was relaxed and confident.

  She had noticed Alain surreptitiously watching her every move on the yacht today. Was he judging her? Testing her, to see if she passed the grade? Did he doubt her ability as a crewmember? She hated the idea of him judging her capabilities, and remembered with satisfaction the words of congratulations from Marque and the other crew when they finally docked in the harbor after the race.

  At that moment, the female journalist interrupted Alain’s discussion with the skipper, and Rachel’s mouth tightened when the reporter placed her hand possessively on Alain’s forearm and started interviewing him.

  Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned her back on Alain to participate in the discussion at their table. Marque had the group in stitches with his dry recounting of the story about the club’s commodore and his secret mistress. Apparently, his yacht Tres Bonne was frequently used for adventures other than the ocean-going type.

  • • •

  Alain cut the interview with the journalist short and returned to their table. He was delighted and secretly a little relieved to see Rachel had joined them for the rest of the evening.

  He took a seat at their table and studied her across the short distance. She looked remarkably invigorated, her skin glowing, sun-kissed from the day on the open ocean. The silk strapless dress she wore complemented the sensual lines of her body. A single, brilliant cut, white diamond pendant hung on a delicate chain from her neck, the glittering brilliance of the stone inviting his attention to the slight cleavage of her breasts. She reached for her drink, took a small sip from the glass, and turned her gaze to meet Alain’s burning eyes on her.

  A light jolt passed through him as they locked eyes across the table. He tried to read her emotions, but she held his gaze without giving away anything. He resisted the sudden urge to reach for her hand on the table.

  “You did well today.”

  She accepted his compliment with a nod and raised her glass to him. “Ditto,” she replied and sat back.

  “Can we go for a walk?”

  Rachel held his gaze for a long moment, and then, without a word, they both stood. They left the warm, merry atmosphere of laughter, music, and clinking glasses, and stepped out into the fresh night air, the strong smell of the sea blown in from the Mediterranean by a light wind.

  In a comfortable silence, they started walking, heading toward the pier. Rachel turned her face to the ocean and the soft, cool wind briefly lifted her hair before it fell back onto her shoulders again. Alain paused and cleared his throat.

  “Rachel, I want us to start over.” His was voice low and sure.

  Rachel looked up, but he struggled to read her emotions. His eyes searched her face, waiting for her response. The wind ruffled his hair, and a loose twist fell over his forehead. He brushed it away with his right hand and stepped closer.

  “Why?” she asked, the simple question causing him to pause, his jaw clenched. He was facing a crucial juncture with that question and thought about all the ways to answer it. His mind raced in search of the right answer. He briefly imagined what it would be like to leave her tonight and never see her again, and a crushing feeling suffocated him.

  Running his hand through his hair, Alain continued, “I’m tired of trying to stay away from you Rachel, and … ” he said with sudden realization, the sincerity thick in his voice. He paused, a little surprised by the frankness of his response.

  “And I miss you when I’m not with you,” he continued, staring down into the pools of her eyes, the urge to put his arms around her and hug her tight to his chest suddenly overwhelming.

  “That evening in Monaco,” he continued, haltingly, “I overreacted — have some issues from my past … ”

  “I know. Let’s forget about it. Eugene told me about your mother.”

  Alain narrowed his eyes at her words. She had apparently earned Eugene’s trust. How can I win her trust? Rachel turned to continue their walk.

  Alain gently touched her elbow, urging her to stay. “There’s more.”

  “I never wanted this to happen — but I’ve fallen in love with a married woman. I just want to be with you. I’ve felt this way ever since we met, and I don’t — ”

  “Was married.”

  “I don’t want … ” Alain stopped mid-sentence at the shock of the words she had just whispered.

  “Was married? But you told me — ”

  “I was married at the time. But you stormed from my room like a mad man. No buts, ifs, or ands, remember?” She smiled, but he noticed the hurt of the memory in her eyes.

  Alain’s arms dropped heavy and lifeless to his side. He exhaled long and slowly.

  “When we met in Monaco, I had been separated for almost three years. My divorce was finalized shortly after I returned to London,” she explained. “He disappeared into Africa, so it took a while to get divorced,” she added, shrugging matter-of-factly.

  Alain watched her in stunned silence. He gathered himself and with a slight edge in his voice implored, “Why, in all this time, haven’t you told me?”

  Rachel inhaled deeply. “At first I was angry — you were arrogant and judgmental.”

  Alain searched her face, and then asked, “And then, after that, when you figured out the reason for my behavior — why did you not tell me then?”

  She turned to face the harbor, and replied, her eyes searching the far horizon, “I tried, Alain … after Cassis. But you were not interested … so cold. I couldn’t deal with your rejection.”

  “I had to — I had to find a way to control my emotions,” he replied.

  “I wanted to tell you … tell you about my divorce, and that Stuart has not been part of my life for so long — ” she added softly.

  “Stuart is the father of the twins?” Alain asked gently.

  “Yes, but fatherhood didn’t suit him. He left us when they were six weeks old.”

  “Why?” This time the simple question came from Alain, and she didn’t back away from his hand gently touching her shoulder.

  “When we were young, love was easy. We had a carefree life. Then injury put an end to his tennis career. At the time the twins were born he was trying a new career. I guess he panicked — maybe the responsibilities brought on by the twins — I don’t know … ”

  Alain watched while Rachel recounted the painful memories of her short marriage, strangely relieved at the absence of sadness or bitterness in her voice. She had put it behind her.

  “And you’ve been raising the twins on your own since then?” he asked in a gentle voice.

  “Yes, and I would not want to change that for anything.”

  “Never?”

  “No,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair from her face. “What I meant was that raising them on my own has been a good thing. I think they have been better off without Stuart. I don’t want them hurt.”

  “And Stuart, does he not want to know them?”

  “He made that decision long ago. He never bonded with Iain and Mia, and I was a fool for not und
erstanding. To him, the twins were just a burden.” Then, in a low voice, her eyes burning fiercely, she continued, “To me, they are everything.”

  Alain nodded. “I understand, but would you allow me to show you how I feel … trust me to be part of your life?”

  Rachel studied his face in silence, a serious little frown on her forehead.

  “Alain, is that really what you want? I’m the mother of two kids who mean the world to me. Our relationship thus far has been an emotional rollercoaster. I don’t want to be hurt again.” She dropped her gaze. “You’re a carefree, attractive, single man. There are many other women you could pick that would suit your lifestyle much better.” In a matter-of-fact voice she continued, “I don’t think we should take this further.”

  Her words stung like hell. He wanted to correct her, but she turned and started walking down the pier toward her hotel.

  “I will not give up — she’s mine,” he muttered softly, and with a few long strides, he fell in next to Rachel. They were silent until they reached her hotel.

  “You’re cold?” he asked, but she just shook her head. Alain removed his jacket and draped it gently over her shoulders.

  The streets were quiet at that late hour in the sleepy part of the town. Rachel stood on the first step to the stairs leading up to the hotel entrance, her head level with Alain. He looked up to the building, shook his head, and smiled knowingly.

  “Probably not a good thing if I walk you to your room. Remember what happened last time?” Embarrassment flushed briefly to her cheeks, but she said nothing.

  “Rachel, you don’t understand.” Alain stepped closer. “I’ve made up my mind. I want you in my life — I need you in my life.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “And that includes Iain and Mia — give me an opportunity to show you.”

  • • •

  A light charge rippled through her at his touch. She inhaled the sensual, manly smell of his warm body. Alain’s burning eyes scanned her face for any signs of her emotions, but Rachel dropped her gaze to shield the deep, hidden need slowly awakening in her. She was betrayed by the slight shudder of her hands resting lightly on Alain’s biceps.