“I know.” CeCe rolled her eyes. “It’s what you do to all the girls.”
He shrugged, twisted the key again, and this time the diesel engines caught. They slowly moved past the laughing, sunscreen-oiled yachties enjoying the hot sun.
Some yelled in triumph, while others, mostly the crew, shook their heads.
CeCe knew what they were thinking. They wouldn’t get out of Secret Harbour, and if they did, God help them as they traveled into deeper waters. For some reason, CeCe wasn’t worried, not about the Tourbillon or about René. So far, he hadn’t been exactly easy to work with, but he was doing his best to get them under way. And he’d carefully patched and tested the old, inflatable dinghy.
Soon they pushed past the channel markers and out into the open ocean. The green of Grenada’s jungle disappeared and only the blue of the ocean remained. White foam flew into the air from the bow knifing through the waters.
A pod of dolphins raced next to them, flinging themselves into the air, and then splashing back into the waves. CeCe smiled. The dolphins played in their wake like happy children, and CeCe longed for such days, when she had been equally carefree.
She’d had fun at the University of Florida while it lasted, but when her money dried up, she’d had to leave and find work. A friend had made a good living as a masseuse, had a bunch of contacts, and CeCe fell into the lifestyle. Wasn’t long until she met Carrothers and fell into that drama, which lasted far too long. A rich, powerful, older man focusing his attention and wealth on her had been exciting, intoxicating, illicit. However, an affair like that came with too high a price tag.
René cut the engines suddenly, and CeCe clung to the railing so she wouldn’t be sent sprawling.
“Is there a problem?” she asked.
“With this ship? Oui, a million and three problems.”
CeCe thought for a minute. “Isn’t the phrase a million and one?”
“I was trying to be funny,” René said.
“Try harder.” CeCe laughed. “Maybe not. All your jokes are nasty, so just stick to murdering English.”
“Hey!” René seemed hurt. “My English is good.” He took in a deep breath. “Since the wind is coming from the south, I thought I would rest the engines. God knows, they need all the rest they can get. We can unfurl the canvas and actually sail. I know, crazy, crazy, to actually sail on a sailboat.”
CeCe leapt to her feet while René hauled up the main halyard and the huge sail snapped to the top of the mast. She pulled up the mizzen and head sails and released the canvas. When the breeze took hold, the Tourbillon burst off on a run, streaking up the Caribbean Sea, riding the wind. She gauged the lift of the sails, thought the boat felt good, cleated off the lines, and then stood back.
“Well?” She gestured to the trim of the sail and the way she’d secured the lines.
René clapped. “Very good. And I thought I brought you aboard only to soothe my aching muscles and cook. But now I see you can sail, so you will do the sailing, and I will do the cooking. Chicken, pork, or beef? I have many sauces.”
“I’ll bet.” She frowned. “A special sauce?” she raised an eyebrow.
René lowered his Cartier shades and gave her an innocent look. “I’m French. We cook. It’s in our denim.”
“Genes.”
René smiled. “As you say, since your English is much better than mine.”
“We’ll both sail and cook,” CeCe said. “You keep us on course, and I’ll make my chili. Can you handle spice?”
Endless comebacks flashed through René’s mind. Finally, he merely nodded. “Oui, I like spicy food.”
“I’ll bet.” CeCe laughed and went down to chop, chop some more, and cook over the gas stove. The stove, thank God, worked perfectly. The Tourbillon would keep them fed, if nothing else.
In some ways, it was fun cooking again. She started a large pot of rice to boil, since leftovers would be great if the weather turned nasty. She found the spice rack, a bit disheveled and dirty. But there was a huge container of cumin.
CeCe blinked her eyes as they teared up. René had said he liked spicy, Wouldn’t it be funny if she could eat the chili and he couldn’t? She would tease him without mercy.
The boat rocked under feet, but she had grown up on the sea, always sailing with her mother and her brothers, so she barely noticed.
By sunset, her feast was ready. The wind was steady and strong from the south, but not too strong. It was a perfect wind, almost as if their voyage was blessed. The ship wasn’t perfect but felt right beneath CeCe’s feet.
She lugged trays up to the deck as the sun painted the entire world in soft reds, pinks, oranges. The sunset glowed so brightly, they didn’t need candles. She set a bowl of tortilla chips next to the fresh salsa verde she’d made with peppers, tomatoes, and mangoes. And onions, of course. How could anyone cook without onions?
She found some quaint wooden bowls and filled them with the veggie chili. Slightly scorched corn tortillas would complement the chili. She also brought colorful ceramic bowls, one filled with rice, and another filled with black beans. A subtle white wine completed the meal. She poured the wine into chipped crystal glasses. They might have been someone’s wedding present once.
As she set up their meal, the warm air caressed her skin and the salty smell of the ocean filled the air. She remembered the dolphins. For a minute, she felt as carefree and playful.
“Come, René. Dinner is ready.”
René set the autopilot, took a last glance at their compass, and then sat next to her on a cushion on the mid-deck. He tucked the Cartiers into his shirt.
His dark brown eyes stared. “I think even Alton Maura would be impressed with your presentation. After all, the eyes eat first.”
CeCe found herself oddly moved by his praise. “Yes, but taste it. The chili first.”
He picked up a tarnished silver spoon, wiped it on his pants, and then dipped into his bowl. He sipped it cautiously from the spoon.
His eyes went wide. He fumbled for the wine.
CeCe laughed, took her own spoon, and took a huge mouthful. It was spicy, but not too bad. “It’s better to cool your mouth with either the tortillas or the chips. Wine or water isn’t as effective.”
René coughed and fanned his mouth. “When I said spicy, I didn’t mean we should eat a volcano!”
“It’s not so hot, you big baby.”
René shoved a tortilla chip into the salsa, and he took a bite. He closed his eyes. “Oh, that salsa, it is the best I’ve ever had!”
CeCe basked in his praise but inwardly shrugged off such feelings. “It’s a recipe I learned in Cozumel from a Mexican chef.”
“He must have been a master.”
“She was.” CeCe emphasized the first word.
René raised his glass in a toast. “Well, I toast her and you, CeCe. It’s divine.” He raved over her black beans, and he even liked the rice. Though he ate a little of the chili, she knew he did it only out of pride. It was too hot for him after all.
“Do you miss meat?” she asked.
René gave her a long look. “Always.”
She playfully slapped his arm. “You see, you can’t stop joking about sex!”
“What?” René raised his hands, pretending innocence. “I prefer meat. But this is very good, CeCe. Very good. You can sail. You can cook. I am very lucky.”
“So am I,” CeCe said before she could stop herself.
“How so?” René asked, surprise in his voice.
CeCe forced the blush off her face. Maybe he wouldn’t see it, since the sunset made everything blush softly. “I love the sea. I love the Tourbillon, imperfections and all. And I feel lucky to be out here, on such an adventure. I watched you at the wheel, and I’ve seen you work on the ship. You’re very skilled. I know we’ll be fine.”
We. That word. It seemed to hang in the air. When she looked into his eyes, he looked back. A deep ache stirred within her, and she found herself lost in him, this man, who was
trying hard to be someone else. Like she was. Did he feel a connection too?
René was the first to glance away. He cleared his throat. “I’ll turn on the running lights. We should probably clean up from dinner and reef the sails for the night. No need to second-guess the winds in the dark when only one of us is on watch.”
They both loaded the trays with dishes. René flipped the switches for the outside running lights and companionway cabin lights, but nothing happened.
René glanced at her, worry lining his face.
“Don’t tell me …” CeCe didn’t finish the sentence.
René sighed. “Not only is the Tourbillon imperfect, I’m beginning to suspect we’re sailing une femme de diable.”
“She is not a devil woman,” CeCe said. “Take those words back before you hurt her feelings.”
René lowered his head and trudged back toward the ship’s bank of batteries.
Chapter Five
12.5000ºN, 61.7599ºW
Days Three & Four
Aboard Tourbillon
René closed his eyes. He might as well keep them closed, since it was dark either way in his bunk. The Tourbillon’s entire electrical system was fried. Not a single bulb glimmered. He had checked the systems, and yes, they had been glitchy back at Secret Harbor, but he had gotten them to work reliably.
Now, nothing.
They had left the dishes on the deck, while they reefed the sails. Then he’d gone below to diagnose the problem with the lights while CeCe took the helm.
He cursed himself. He shouldn’t have relaxed with a meal, not when he was working on a ship plagued with problems. He should’ve got the running lights going first and focused on the work of sailing.
But no, he’d let CeCe and her wickedly hot chili distract him.
And that moment they shared. What was wrong with him? Here he was, trying to be the good guy for once, and there she was, the most beautiful woman he shouldn’t want—troublesome, a vegetarian, and off limits.
Okay, maybe not off limits. In the end, if she wanted him, he would kiss, touch her, make love to her as no other man had, or could.
Yet, something about that look unsettled him. Never, ever, had he felt such power in a single glance. It was as if in those seconds, they’d crossed a wide, danger-fraught gulf.
René shook his head and opened his eyes anyway. In the pitch black, he found the electric torch. No, that wasn’t the right word. The Brits called them electric torches. Americans called them flashlights. Yes, a flashlight.
He clicked the button and nothing happened.
Light flashed down from down the companionway. “René, are you there?” CeCe asked.
“Oui, but my flashlight is dead.”
“Are we in the Bermuda Quadrangle?” CeCe asked.
René cocked his head. “No, is it circle? The Bermuda circle? And what is a quadrangle?”
“Bermuda octagon?”
Both laughed.
“All right, my English isn’t perfect either. But how come everything is falling apart now?” she asked.
René growled himself into a sigh. “It’s an old boat, CeCe. Never-ending things are bound to go wrong. I can’t find the spare flashlight batteries on this old ship in the dark.”
“Bermuda triangle!” CeCe called out happily. “That’s it!”
She made her way to him and shined her light in his face. He covered his eyes with his hands.
“Sorry,” she said, and handed him the torch, dark end first. “Use mine.”
Together, they checked the ship’s two battery banks and located the flashlight batteries. The battery bank on which the diesel relied worked fine, but the second, DC battery, which fed the internal systems, was toast.
“I’m going to have to lash your light to the stern, so other ships can see us,” René said with an apologetic tone.
René couldn’t see any obvious problem, but it was hard with only a little ambient light. When they tried the backup generator, it barked and snapped at them and oozed oil, but wouldn’t light up a single eight-watt bulb. They’d have to wait until morning, when there’d be enough light to troubleshoot and fix the electrical problems.
Until then, they’d just have to make do.
Back up top, the wind had flattened down to about seven knots, which left them sailing slowly northwest with the gentle ocean waves.
After attaching one of their working flashlights to the stern, René moved to the bow and kicked his legs over the side, leaning on the rail. CeCe stood next to him. Stars splashed their milk across the night. The ocean reflected the light, until it felt like stars surrounded them, above, below, all around.
“I don’t see any ships approaching, so I’ll take first watch at the helm,” René said. “I”ll wake you in four hours.”
CeCe reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, René. But this does add to the adventure.”
René shook his head. “Oui, adventure. All my life I’ve wanted adventure, and I have had my share. Now, it seems, I’m growing tired of all the excitement. Really, I wanted to get to Martinique, sans aventure.”
CeCe let out a long breath. “My father used to say, ‘a life without adventure might be unsatisfying, but a life with too much adventure could be short.’ It was meant to be a warning. I took it as a challenge.”
René turned toward CeCe. Her face reflected the starlight but hid her emotions.
She answered his unasked question. “I didn’t want my life to be short, but I did want to pack it full of excitement. You are similar, I think.”
“Maybe,” René said. He hadn’t sought excitement so much as the party. He loved the party, the women, and, yeah, sex play, if he were being completely honest.
He couldn’t tell her that. It would only reinforce her low opinion of him. Though he longed to explain himself, he instead stayed quiet.
“I’ll get my hammock ready,” CeCe said, and padded away. Over her shoulder she added, “And that is not an invitation.”
“Then get my bunk ready as well,” René said. And laughed.
“You wish!” CeCe said, and settled into her swinging bed attached beneath the boom.
“I do,” René murmured.
The waves lapped at the hull. At least the leaks had slowed down. He took in a deep breath and counted off his needs checklist. He required at the very least a solid generator to power the lights aboard. At best, he needed a new ship.
Then he could take CeCe up the Atlantic to Portugal in style.
He hoped the Martinique riggers and carpenters would pull Tourbillon off the sea for good.
But if he lost the old ship, he was afraid he’d also lose his chance to spend time with CeCe. He smiled at her father’s old proverb. A life without adventure. Or a life with too much adventure? Which did he want?
He wasn’t sure.
* * *
CeCe slapped at the hand jostling her. She was nestled in the hammock, swinging easy with the waves and wrapped in her sleeping bag. All under a sky revealing the infinite universe, a universe that didn’t feel cold. Not at all. All those stars showed how blazing hot the cosmos could be.
The Southern Cross sparkled like a small, perfect pendant just above the horizon, but much tinier than she’d imagined before she’d ventured into warmer latitudes.
“CeCe, it’s time you took watch. Your adventure requires you to stay awake for long periods of time, bored out of your brain.”
CeCe squinted up at René. He was far less handsome, waking her up. “I think the phrase is bored out of your skull.”
“But we are lost in the Bermuda rectangle, and I am bored out of my brain.”
CeCe sat up and swung her feet to the deck. “Triangle. I got it, eventually. Quadrangle is an architecture term. I thought at first it might be a square, but then I remembered. I dated an architecture student in college.”
“Of course you did,” René said, and paused. “Do you think Alton and Lindsay are still in Carriacou?”
; CeCe nodded. “I think so. They were in no hurry. And Alton promised to help that little cafe.”
“We’re going to have to pay them a visit. I need Lindsay. In the worst way.”
CeCe stood up, hands on her hips. Jealousy raked its claws through her heart. “What do you mean, ‘in the worst way’? Lindsay is with Alton now. I heard how you tried to break them up.”
René laughed. “I did. I really did. And you’ll just have to see what I mean, CeCe. It’ll give you something to think about. At least you won’t be bored.”
CeCe huffed away. She didn’t even care when René crawled into her empty hammock and pulled her sleeping bag over him. That man. Of course he didn’t want to sleep below.
She marched back to the wheel, sat down, and clipped onto the compass binnacle with the safety harness attached to her life jacket. She was staring off into the slowly fading stars when the compass globe snapped to life and glowed with what was the only illumination left on the old ship. Thank God. The compass was the one place you really had to have light to see where the hell you were going.
After settling in for her watch, she returned to her thoughts of René’s latest hormone driven craziness. If he thought he could wrestle Lindsay away from Alton, he was sorely mistaken.
But then, why should CeCe care?
She shouldn’t.
Let René do whatever. She was determined to be as bored as possible until the sun rose in the sky.
She struggled, but finally, blissfully, she let the night take her away.
She never got bored.
The stars, the sea, even the old, wet wood smell of the Tourbillon kept her senses busy until dawn turned the eastern sky rosy.
CeCe loved sunsets, but she liked sunrises even more.
And she’d be damned if she’d let some man ruin something so beautiful.
* * *
CeCe had seen little on her watch overlapping the dawn, except a huge cruise ship that blasted its horns, obviously angry at how hard their ship had been to see with nothing but the white flashlight rigged at poor Tourbillon’s stern.
Fortunately, her hand-held radio had sufficient battery power left so that she’d been able to relay their situation and bearing to the bridge of the cruise ship. The male deck officer, of course, had given her a hard time about the lack of lights, what might have happened, blah, blah, blah.
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