One-Click Buy: September 2010 Harlequin Blaze

by Lori Wilde

  She gasped and hit his shoulder, trying to push him away.

  “I do not!” she said, even though she was well aware she’d practically been howling at the moon not five minutes ago.

  He didn’t let her go. He kept pressing kisses against the soft skin beneath her ear, his tongue darting out occasionally to taste her.

  “I like it. I like it a lot,” he whispered against her skin.

  And that quickly it was back, the irresistible, undeniable heat. She turned her mouth toward him, kissing him hungrily. Giving herself up yet again to the moment and letting everything else—her future, her father, her curiosity about Nathan—fall by the wayside.

  NATE WOKE GASPING FOR air, his body drenched in sweat. The remnants of his dream still filled his head—the blood, Olivia pleading for him to help her, the dark pressing in on him, the sensation of being trapped. His heart was pounding against his breastbone and his thoughts kept slipping and sliding out of his control as his body tried to cope with an adrenaline-fueled flight-or-fight response that had nothing to do with the reality of the here and now.

  Elizabeth stirred beside him. He rolled away from her. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with her questions right now. She murmured in her sleep, then quieted.

  He moved to the edge of the bed. At least he hadn’t woken screaming. He should be grateful for small mercies. He’d be wired all day with the aftereffects of the adrenaline overload, of course. Edgy and tense. And tonight the odds were good that when he slipped into sleep the memories would be waiting for him again. Fear was great like that—the way it fed on itself until fear of fear itself became the biggest bogeyman of all.

  He stood. He needed a shower.

  He was halfway to the door when his phone started ringing. He fumbled beside the bed, finding his cell in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans. Elizabeth’s eyes flickered open as he checked the caller ID.

  “Sam,” he said into the phone.

  Elizabeth tensed as she heard her father’s name.

  “Nate. I can’t talk long. We’re about to head out for off-coast drills. What’s up?”

  “I needed to talk to you,” Nate said.

  “Fire away.”

  Elizabeth sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts. Her eyes were anxious as she watched him and Nate felt the enormous responsibility of what he was doing—brokering the first contact between father and long-lost child.

  “Mate, there’s someone here to see you. Her name is Elizabeth Mason—”

  He broke off as Elizabeth touched his arm.

  “My mother’s name was Eleanor Whittaker. He won’t recognize Mason.”

  “Her mother was Eleanor Whittaker,” Nate said into the phone.

  He paused, giving Sam the opportunity to jump in. He had no idea whether his friend even knew he had a child or if Elizabeth’s facts were straight or—

  “How did she find me?”

  Sam didn’t sound very surprised. Which probably meant he was well aware of Elizabeth’s existence.

  And yet he’d never contacted her. Nate frowned.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe you should ask her yourself. She’s here right now.”

  “No. Don’t put her on.” Sam’s protest came so quickly it couldn’t be anything but a knee-jerk response.

  Aware of Elizabeth hanging on his every word, Nate stood and grabbed a towel off the end of the bed, wedging the phone between shoulder and ear while he wrapped the towel around his hips. He made brief eye contact with Elizabeth as he headed for the door.

  “Give me a minute,” he said, then he strode outside.

  He waited until he was in the far corner of the yard and out of earshot before speaking again.

  “What’s going on, Sam?”

  “Listen, I can’t do this right now. The race kicks off in a couple of weeks. I need to have my head in the game.” Sam sounded panicky.

  “She’s flown halfway around the world to find you.”

  “I didn’t ask her to come.”

  “Sam, she’s your daughter.”

  He’d known Sam for nearly ten years, ever since they’d crewed together on a mutual friend’s boat. They’d sailed together, gotten drunk together, and for the past four months they’d been living together. If anyone had asked, Nate would have said Sam was an honorable guy—completely obsessed with the sea, sure, but a decent guy. Nate couldn’t believe that the man he knew was prepared to simply blow his daughter off without even talking to her.

  “I don’t need the distraction right now, Nate. This is a big one. We’ve got a real chance of winning this year, which means we’ll contest the Transpac and maybe even the Fastnet.”

  “Jesus, Sam, can you hear yourself? You’re talking about a bunch of races and I’m telling you your daughter is here, wanting to meet you for the first time in her freaking life.”

  There was a short silence on the other end of the phone. Then Sam swore.

  “All right. Put her on. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Bloody generous of you.”

  “Give me a break, will you? You caught me on the hop.”

  “Right.”

  Nate stared at the open door to the studio. He was of two minds about handing the phone over. He’d seen the hope in Elizabeth’s eyes when she heard who was calling. There was no way she wasn’t going to be disappointed by her father’s lackluster response. Hell, Nate was disappointed, and he had no vested interest in their relationship whatsoever. Sam had always been a difficult bugger, a loner with precious few social skills. But Elizabeth was his daughter.

  Nate shrugged impatiently. None of this was any of his business—there was no reason whatsoever for him to feel protective and indignant on Elizabeth’s behalf. Just because he’d slept with her a few times didn’t make her his responsibility. He could barely get through the night without waking in a sweat and shaking like a baby. He had enough on his own plate without taking on someone else’s problems.

  He lifted the phone to his ear again.

  “Give me a second. I’ll go find her.”

  “How come she’s hanging around at your place at eight in the morning, anyway?” Sam asked suspiciously.

  Nate didn’t bother answering. A man who could barely muster the interest to talk to his own daughter had no right to ask those kinds of questions.

  Elizabeth was pulling on her clothes when he entered. He offered her the phone.

  “He wants to talk to you,” he said.

  She hesitated a moment, her gaze searching his face. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and reached for the phone. “Elizabeth speaking.”

  Good manners dictated that Nate make himself scarce, but he wanted to make sure Sam was behaving himself first. He watched her face carefully as she listened to Sam on the other end of the phone.

  “Nathan told me you were crewing for the big race. I’m more than happy to fly up to Sydney—”

  She frowned as Sam said something on the other end to cut her off. Nate could guess what it was. Elizabeth lifted a hand and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. “I see.”

  There was a world of disappointment in those two words. Nate watched the expectation and anticipation slowly drain out of her. They hadn’t spoken about it—he deliberately hadn’t asked, and she hadn’t offered—but he knew she’d had high hopes of her long-lost father. What person wouldn’t? She’d probably imagined getting to know him, perhaps finding out they had things in common, slowly forging a bond….

  “Of course. I understand,” she said.

  Nate headed for the door. He didn’t want to play witness to her disappointment. He didn’t want to feel for her. He didn’t want to feel anything—had spent the past few months working damned hard, in fact, to achieve a state of numb indifference.

  He went into the house and made coffee, telling himself all the while that Elizabeth was an adult. She could look after herself.

  He was dressed and pouring milk into his coffee when the bead curtain on the rear door r
attled. He turned to find Elizabeth standing there. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail low on the back of her head and her face looked very pale.

  “Thanks for that. I appreciate it.” She handed over his phone.

  “You want some coffee?” he asked. Because no way was he asking if she was okay, or what Sam had said. He wasn’t getting involved. He refused to.

  “No. I’m fine. I might head back to the hotel, actually. Thanks for dinner and…everything.”

  She turned toward the door.

  “You know your way back okay?” he asked, even though he knew she did, since she’d found him yesterday.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She offered him a small, polite smile before exiting. Nate listened to the beads rattle against one another. Then he took his coffee to the kitchen table and sat.

  She was upset. God only knew what Sam had said to her. Some bullshit about how important the race was, or some other piss-poor justification for his lack of interest.

  He pulled the morning paper toward himself and flicked to the cartoon page. He read all his favorites, then folded the page in half to tackle the crossword puzzle.

  And through it all, he couldn’t get Elizabeth out of his mind.

  She deserved better. She’d come here looking for her father, for Pete’s sake.

  Before he could think twice, Nate pushed away from the kitchen table. There was no sign of her in the street. He lengthened his stride as he reached the track to the beach. He spotted her straightaway once he hit the sand, a lone figure trudging toward town with her sandals in her hand.

  “Elizabeth,” he called.

  She paused and looked over her shoulder. He slowed to an easy lope as he crossed the final distance between them.

  “You got plans for the day?” he asked when he reached her side.

  She frowned as though she didn’t understand what he was asking. “Plans?”

  “Are you doing anything?”

  “Oh.” She blinked. “I was thinking of finding an Internet café so I could check my e-mail. But other than that…”

  She shrugged. He hated the closed-down look behind her eyes. Bloody Sam. When Nate saw him next he was going to kick his ass.

  “There’s a good northeasterly coming through. Great day to take the cat out, if you’re game.”

  “You have a cat?”

  “A catamaran, the Rubber Ducky. A Hobie 16. You ever sailed before, Lizzy?”

  “No.”

  He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Another first, then. What do you say?”

  She looked confused for a moment, then she made an embarrassed sound and tried to wriggle out from under his arm.

  “Trust you to bring that up. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “Your secrets are safe with me, Lizzy. I promise.”

  She stopped struggling. He tugged on her ponytail.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  “There’s that word again,” she said, her face downturned as she stared at something on the ground.

  He tugged on her hair again. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Are you in or what, Lizzy?”

  She thought about it for a moment. Then she lifted her face and met his eyes.

  “Yes, I’m in.”

  “DUCK!” NATE YELLED.

  Elizabeth clapped a hand onto the ridiculous floppy sun hat he’d insisted she wear and flattened herself against the trampoline as the boom swung over her head. Her safety vest shifted awkwardly, pressing underneath her armpits. She tugged it down again when she heard the hiss of ropes sliding through pulleys as Nate worked to tie the boom in its new position.

  “You can come up now, Lizzy.”

  She knew without looking that he was laughing at her. He’d been laughing at her all morning. As a sailor, she apparently made a fantastic clown. The stupid hat and cumbersome life vest and pale pink zinc cream he’d spread over her nose didn’t help much in that area, she suspected.

  She couldn’t help smiling in response, however. It was hard not to when they were racing across the water, Nate’s elegant catamaran skating across the surface of the waves, its twin hulls slapping salt spray into the air. The deep aquamarine of the ocean beneath them, the almost-painful cornflower-blue of the sky overhead, the warmth of the sun, Nate’s laughter—it was exhilarating, there was no other word for it.

  The perfect antidote to the phone call from her father.

  Instead of sitting upright again, Elizabeth rolled onto her side and edged toward the front of the boat. The black trampoline fabric was hot beneath her legs as she lay full length and peered over the front beam, staring down at the sea as it whipped past.

  To say that her father had been unenthusiastic about her appearance in his life was putting it mildly. He’d actually sounded put out when he spoke to her, as though he’d been burdened with an unwanted responsibility at the worst possible time. She was an inconvenience, apparently. Not that he’d said as much. But she could read between the lines. She’d offered to fly to Sydney to meet him, but he’d claimed he was too busy drilling before the big race. She’d agreed to wait until he could fly back to Melbourne after the race finished, but she was in two minds now about whether she would wait for him or not.

  He’d known about her. All along, he’d known he had a daughter, and yet he’d never tried to contact her. It was a body blow, there was no denying it. She’d fooled herself that she’d come without expectations, because the reality was that she’d hoped that there’d been some reason for his absence in her life. Some proof that her grandfather’s judgment that her father was “not someone they wanted involved in her life” was wrong. But apparently her father wasn’t even vaguely curious about his child born on the other side of the world.

  She stretched her arm out and trailed it in the icy water, feeling the tug against her fingers as it resisted her invasion.

  Maybe this whole trip had been a huge mistake. A gross miscalculation on her behalf. Maybe she should cut her losses and go home now, save herself from further rejection.

  “Come back up this end, Lizzy. We’re going to tack and head downwind and I need your weight back here.”

  “How flattering,” she said.

  She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and made her way to the rear of the trampoline where Nathan sat at the helm, one hand on the tiller, the other on the line that controlled the boom.

  She felt uniquely inelegant as she plopped down beside him in her borrowed board shorts and T-shirt. Fabric was bunched around her middle where she’d cinched his too-large shorts tight and the fluorescent orange safety vest made her feel ten times her normal size.

  Nate reached across to tug her hat lower on her face.

  “Careful with that complexion, Lizzy. And when we run downwind, we have to keep the bow up out of the water to avoid pitchpoling. That’s why I need you back here with me.”

  “What’s pitchpoling?”

  “It’s when the bow pushes down under the force of the wind so much that it dips under the water.”

  He made a tipping motion with his hand to illustrate.

  “Are you saying that the whole boat could flip over?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Relax. I haven’t pitchpoled the Rubber Ducky for years.”

  “Dear God,” she said under her breath, glancing around the small, sleek catamaran with new eyes. It had all seemed so innocuous up until now.

  “Here,” Nathan said, and she found herself holding the tiller as he scrambled forward to do something with the sail.

  “Isn’t this a little like asking a passenger to volunteer to fly the plane?” she asked nervously. The tiller vibrated beneath her hand with the force of their movement through the water.

  “How are you going to learn to sail if you don’t get some time at the helm?” Nate asked, his deft fingers threading rope through a cleat.

  “Learn to sail?” she squeaked. “Are you kidding?”

  She stared up at the mast tower
ing overhead with its acres and acres of taut sail. Never in a million years would she feel confident enough to captain such a delicately balanced piece of engineering.

  “What did you think this was? A leisure cruise?”

  He sat beside her. “Okay, so we’re heading downwind at the moment…”

  He explained the theory of tacking to her, pointing out the tightly bound boom—close hauled, in sailor speak—and showing her how they were keeping the wind on one side of the Ducky or the other as they worked their way across the bay. Then he took her through a tack, talking her through each stage and forcibly pushing her head down when she became so absorbed she forgot to duck as the boom swept from one side of the boat to the other.

  “I did it!” she whooped as the sail bellied out over her head and the Ducky started to move again.

  “Yes, Captain, you did,” Nate said, offering her a salute.

  After a couple more tacks they sailed back to shore. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, as Nate lifted the rudders and glided the boat straight up onto the sand.

  “And that doesn’t hurt the thingies at all?” she asked.

  “The hulls? Nope. They’re made out of superstrong fiber-glass. Of course, we probably don’t want to beach on a chunk of rock.”

  She accepted his help to scramble off the trampoline and stood upright for the first time in hours, a big, goofy smile on her face, her board shorts dripping with seawater.

  “That was wonderful. I can’t understand why I’ve never done it before,” she said.

  “Maybe because you live on a little island where it rains most of the year?”

  She wrinkled her zinc-covered nose at him. Nate stepped closer and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he reached for the clasp on her life vest and worked it loose. “Oh. Thanks.”

  The vest loosened around her waist and she shrugged out of it.

  “Thank heaven. It’s like wearing a straitjacket,” she said as she threw it on the trampoline.

  Nate shrugged out of his own vest. She couldn’t help admiring the way his wet T-shirt clung to his chest.

  “Now, the not-so-fun part—packing up,” he said.