The sleek black aircraft reminded her of the fancy one she’d seen on Donald Trump’s Apprentice show. But then, probably half the corporations in Manhattan had helicopters. But this one was working its way out to sea, and Willa didn’t think such helicopters had a very far range. It would either have to rendezvous with a large ship or head for land soon, she decided, as she glanced at her sails to make sure they were catching the maximum breeze. She checked her compass heading, then stood and adjusted the wheel to a more northeasterly course. She sighed, wishing she had gotten a ride in Tidewater International’s helicopter before she’d left.
But wait—she owned a good portion of Tidewater now. For the next three months, she probably had the authority to call the office and ask them to send the helicopter up to Keelstone Cove!
She could take Shelby and Jennifer and Cody for a ride in it, and they’d buzz all around town, and the kids could wave to all their friends. Ten-year-old Cody would think she was the coolest aunt in the world.
Even better, instead of having Ronald drive Jennifer and her date to the homecoming dance in the Bearcat, as she and Ronald had discussed on the way to the marina, she could let her niece use the helicopter. How extra-cool would that be?
Whew! This being rich was heady stuff.
But the way she figured it, how many people got to be stinking rich for three whole months? Abram had cursed her with this outrageous bequest, so why not take advantage of it while she tried to find a way out of it? Thus the brilliant idea of sailing the RoseWind to Maine instead of driving home.
That’s also why she’d agreed to let Peg come keep house for her. With any luck, Peg’s cooking would put another ten or fifteen pounds on her, and then she’d see if Sam Sinclair still wanted to marry her. A cook, a chauffeur, a helicopter, a sailboat, a mansion, mountains of money—what more could a girl ask for?
“Don’t get caught up in your daydreams, Willamina, or you’ll forget the price of keeping everything is a husband,” she reminded herself, only to have her words get lost in the thump-thump-thump of the fast-approaching helicopter.
Holy smokes, it was coming right at her!
Willa scrambled to catch her chart before it blew away, then lunged for the wheel, turning the RoseWind to keep the sails from slapping in the turbulence. The helicopter swung in a wide arch and flew over her again, and she frantically waved it away with one hand while adjusting the wheel with the other.
“Get away!” she shouted, despite knowing that the pilot couldn’t hear her. “If you get any closer, you’re going to shred my sails!”
The helicopter returned and settled into a hover just off her starboard side. “Break sail and pull about,” came a booming voice over its loudspeaker. “I want to come aboard.”
Willa went stone still and gaped at the helicopter. That’s when she noticed “Tidewater International” in broad gold letters on the fuselage. They had chased her down?
“Turn your radio to six-three,” the voice boomed over the thump of the spinning blades.
Willa checked the set of her sails, then went to the radio, turned the dial to six-three, and keyed the mike. “Don’t get any closer than you are. You’ll shred my sails.”
“Come about, Willa. I want to come aboard.”
“Sam?” she squeaked in surprise, only to forget to key the mike. She pushed the button. “Sam?”
“Stop the boat, Willa.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand, scowling at the helicopter keeping pace beside her. “Sam, you can’t land here. The mast is in the way.”
“Just stop, and I’ll jump in and swim to you.”
“Are you nuts? No—go away.”
“I’m coming aboard, Willa.”
“You jump, and it’s a long swim home. I am not letting you onboard this boat.”
“The RoseWind isn’t set up for solo sailing.”
“She is now. Go away, Sam. I don’t want to talk to you, your brothers, or anyone else for the next five days. When I get home, I’ll call to let you know I made it okay.”
“And if you don’t make it okay?”
“Then you and your brothers become very wealthy men. I can’t do anything about the Tidewater shares, though. Sorry, but you’ll have to blame Abram for that one.”
“Stop the boat, Willa.”
“No can do, Sinclair. And you’re going to run out of fuel before I run out of wind. So go away.”
Willa set down the mike, grabbed hold of the wheel with both hands, and stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the lunatic. Or she tried to, until the chopper got close enough to make her sails flutter again. She scrambled to the winches and tightened the mainsail down even further, then did the same to the jib.
Just as she turned, she heard a loud splash. Willa looked over to see Sam break the surface of the water with a shout and grab hold of a dry sack he’d obviously thrown down first.
“You idiot!” she screamed, rushing to the rail. “You’re going to drown!”
The helicopter pulled away, going several hundred yards east before hovering again. Willa quickly ran to the wheel and turned the RoseWind into a stall, then broke both sails to let them flutter in the breeze.
“You get right back on that helicopter!” she shouted to Sam, who was a good hundred yards away.
He simply kept swimming through the gentle swells toward her. He was having a difficult time of it, though, with his bulky life vest and having to tow his dry sack.
“You are certifiably insane!”
He kept swimming toward her.
“I mean it, Sam! I don’t allow idiots on my boat.”
He stopped about ten yards from the RoseWind and treaded water. “Goddamn, the water’s cold. Th-throw me a line, Willa.”
She pointed at the hovering helicopter. “Go back.”
Teeth chattering, he gave her an incredulous look. “How? I have no way of getting back in the helicopter. If you don’t throw me a line, I’ll drown.”
“You should have thought of that before you jumped.”
His head disappeared below the surface.
“Sam!” She ran to the stern, grabbed the throw buoy with the attached rope, and tossed it at the dry sack and the bobbing orange vest. “Sam!”
He reached out and grabbed the buoy just as his head popped up. He sputtered, sucking in large gulps of air. “P-pull me in,” he said, his voice faint as he looped his arm through the buoy ring and rolled onto his back. “I’m fading fast.”
She immediately began pulling him in, alarmed at how difficult it was. If Sam got so cold he lost the use of his muscles, there was no way she’d get him into the boat by herself. “Hang in there, Sam!” she urged. “Help me by kicking your feet.”
He made a weak attempt to move his feet.
“Oh, Sam, what have you done?” she cried, straining to pull him in. “I won’t let you drown. You’re going to be okay. Keep kicking.”
He began floundering like a hooked marlin.
“Maybe you’d better save your energy instead,” she told him. He bumped into the side of the boat, immediately turned upright, and smiled up at her like the idiot he was. “Easy, Sam. Don’t get all slap-happy on me,” she warned, worried that he was getting hypothermia. “Let go of the bag.”
“P-pull it in f-first,” he sputtered, making a weak attempt to lift it toward her.
“Let it go! I’ll get it later.”
He finally let go of the sack and grabbed the rope with both hands. “Pull me to the back of the boat. There’s a ladder there,” he said, kicking his feet to send him in that direction.
Willa hauled him to the stern, glancing at the helicopter that was still hovering about two hundred yards away. “That pilot should have his license revoked,” she growled, dragging Sam around to the ladder. “He’s as much of an idiot as you are for letting you jump.”
“You’re starting to hurt my feelings,” Sam said, grabbing the ladder and quickly climbing out of the water.
He stepped onto the d
eck and immediately pulled her into a cold, wet, and surprisingly powerful embrace. He kissed her full on her gaping mouth, then gave her a lopsided smile. “I knew you wouldn’t let me drown.”
She gave him a hard shove with every intention of pushing him back into the ocean. “You faker! You weren’t drowning!”
He spun away before she could shove him again and waved at the helicopter. “I would have been in trouble in another ten minutes,” he said, signaling the helicopter to leave.
“Enjoy your sail, boss,” the pilot’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker as he arched around the RoseWind and headed back toward land.
Sam unfastened his life vest and let it fall to the deck with a soggy plop. Then he grabbed the gaff hook clipped to the rail and snagged his dry sack. “Damn, that water was colder than I expected,” he said with a shiver. He headed down the stairway leading below. “Your sails are flapping, Captain. You might want to reset them and get us under way.”
Willa stood frozen, watching him disappear below.
What in hell had just happened?
“You were conned is what happened,” she muttered, going to the wheel, turning the RoseWind back onto her course. “Another Sinclair just pulled the wool over your eyes!” She stomped to the winch and furiously cranked until the mainsail snapped taut and the boat strained forward. “Because you have the word ‘sucker’ written across your forehead,” she continued, resetting the jib. “First Abram and now Sam. And people wonder why you don’t want to get married again!”
She stomped back to the wheel, checked her compass heading, and plopped down onto the bench. “Now what am I supposed to do? I am not spending the next five days cooped up on this boat with that…that…lunatic.” She shook her head, unable to believe he’d actually jumped.
“Here’s a jacket,” Sam said when he appeared on deck, dressed in dry clothes and with a towel covering his wet hair. “Sorry I got you wet when I hugged you, but I was just so damned glad to be alive. You’d better put this on before you catch a chill.”
“And you’d better put on a life vest, in case you accidentally fall overboard,” she shot back, taking the jacket and setting it on the bench.
He sat down beside her and began rubbing his hair dry. “This boat’s too small for us to wage war on, Willa.”
“You should have thought of that before you bullied your way onboard.” She gave him an angry glare. “You and your brothers talk big about walking away from Tidewater International, but that’s obviously a big fat lie if you’re willing to jump out of a helicopter to get those shares.”
He stopped drying and glared right back at her. “I’m not here because of Tidewater. I came to save you. You can’t get off an elevator without nearly killing yourself—I half expected to find you hanging from the rigging.”
She lifted her chin. “I am a damn good sailor.”
“So you say.” He started drying his hair again but then suddenly dropped the towel around his neck and eyed her suspiciously. “Unless it’s all been an act.” He smiled—not very nicely, either. “I’m beginning to suspect you aren’t a klutz at all. You knew exactly what Bram was hoping for when he sent you down here, so instead of hurting the old man’s feelings, you made sure the three of us wouldn’t ‘crawl to Maine on our knees’ for you. That’s why you dressed like a bag lady and got into one mess after another.”
“Bag lady? I’ll have you know that was Maureen’s best business suit, and she was nice enough to lend it to me. You and your grandfather are the duplicitous ones, not me.”
He narrowed his eyes. “When have I been anything but up front with you? From the moment you stumbled off that elevator, you’ve known exactly where I stand.”
“I certainly have—right up until Abram left all his worldly possessions to me. Then you were suddenly more than willing to kiss klutzy little me.”
He leaned in close, his face only inches from hers. “You are about to go swimming yourself, lady,” he said with lethal softness. “I kissed you before any of us knew what was in Bram’s will.”
Willa refused to lean away. “You are getting off my boat in Bristol, Mr. Sinclair.”
“You and what army are going to make me?”
“Me and the Coast Guard.”
He kissed her.
Again!
Before Willa could even gasp in surprise, he pulled her against his chest and had her in a lip lock. Man, oh, man, if he thought he was going to spend the next five days kissing her and…and…
By God, she’d show him duplicitous.
Willa kissed him back. She leaned into him with the most feminine purr of delight she could muster, kneaded her fingers into his beautifully broad chest, and parted her lips. Willa’s hormones started jumping up and down in joy, and she knew—she knew—that if she kept this up too long, she was asking for trouble. Spending five days alone at sea with Sam’s beautiful chest and her raging hormones in such close proximity might be more than she could handle.
The arms around her tightened, and the mouth exploring hers got aggressive. Drat the man, he was calling her bluff!
Now what? If she got more aggressive herself, they’d both be naked in two minutes.
She’d kiss him as if he was God’s gift to women for ninety more seconds, and if he didn’t pull away in abject surrender, then she’d…think of something else. She could endure anything for ninety seconds.
But she hadn’t counted on his equally talented hands, especially the one he slid under her sweater to cup her breast.
She moaned in pleasure.
She’d have to remember not to go braless around him, and just as soon as he stopped kissing her, she was putting one on.
What had she been doing again? Oh, yeah, she was kissing Sam until he cried uncle. So the faker had better back off pretty soon, if he knew what was good for him. And she would have told him exactly that if her mouth wasn’t so busy making him sorry he was even born.
Sam ran his thumb over her nipple. Willa arched her back, pressing her breast into his palm as she tried to remember her mission. She didn’t think sprawling out on the bench seat, with Sam’s wonderful body sprawled on top of her, was what she’d had in mind. But Lord, his weight felt wonderful. It had been so long since she’d been in this position, and it felt so right.
What was she supposed to be doing again?
Something about ninety seconds…
The cool air suddenly blowing across her breasts brought her back to her senses, but the incredibly warm mouth that covered one of her nipples sent her right back over the edge.
Yup, Sam Sinclair was going to cry uncle any moment now.
“Oh, God, please don’t stop,” Willa said as she slid her hands under his sweater. She thought she’d died and gone to heaven when her fingers found his soft, deliriously sexy chest hair.
Boy, did she love it when a plan came together.
The bow of the boat suddenly dipped, sending a rogue wave splashing over the side and drenching them both. They slid off the bench and landed on the deck with a thud. Willa thoughtfully broke their fall with her body, though Sam did make a halfhearted attempt to keep from crushing her.
The smile he gave her was not one of abject surrender.
In fact, it looked perversely triumphant.
“I’m giving you a choice,” he said, his voice guttural and his eyes sharp with desire. “Either you go below and put on a bra, or we go below together, take off all our clothes, and crawl into bed.”
If she acted affronted, he would likely smile triumphantly again, and if she showed even a hint of how disconcerted his offer made her, he would probably press his advantage and carry her below himself. But if she did what her hormones were screaming for her to do, they’d both be naked, right here on the deck, in front of God and the seagulls.
Dammit, her ex-husband hadn’t given her this much trouble.
Willa sensed the RoseWind rising on a wave and timed her move accordingly. At the exact moment the boat crested, she shoved S
am with all her might, using the boat’s downward dive to her advantage. Sam went rolling into the rail with a yelp of surprise when they hit the bottom of the trough, and Willa scrambled to her feet, ran to the steps, and simply grabbed the jamb and swung herself below.
She turned to close the doors but stopped long enough to watch Sam try to get back on his feet as the RoseWind leaped into another swell. “Hey, landlubber,” she called to him. “Why don’t you see if you can remember how to rig the spinnaker while I’m changing? We’ve reached the open ocean, so we’ll let this beautiful lady run the wind.” She paused for effect. “That is, if you’re up for some real sailing.”
She closed the doors with a laugh and went hunting for some dry clothes—including a bra.
When he wasn’t scrambling, cranking, or hoisting his butt off, Sam spent his much-needed rests gaping at Willa. He just couldn’t believe the woman he’d known for the last four days and the woman standing at the helm were one and the same. She appeared determined to push the RoseWind right to the edge of the boat’s limits, utilizing every last centimeter of sail. Sam was beginning to realize that his knowledge of sailing was just a footnote compared with hers. She hadn’t been boasting when she’d told him she was a damn fine sailor, and as soon as he got over his amazement, he would tell her so.
They were both tethered with safety lines, wearing life vests and dressed in rain gear—not because it was storming but because Willa was attacking the swells like a woman possessed.
Or a woman determined to redirect her passion?
She’d blindsided him with her response to his kiss. He’d only been trying to shut her up, and she had turned the tables on him. He hadn’t been bluffing when he’d asked her to go below and get undressed; he’d wanted to bury himself inside her so badly he’d almost taken her right there on the deck.
Sam staggered to the helm and plopped down onto the bench in utter exhaustion. “This has been a hell of a run, but can we please call it a day, Captain? I’m bruised and beat and in need of sustenance.”
She looked down her cute little nose at him, smiled in satisfaction, and nodded toward the bow. “I’ll slack off the wind, and you haul in the spinnaker. Then you can go below and start supper.”
The Man Must Marry Page 11