by Lori Wilde
She had to get off this boat. Coming to the lower deck had been a mistake. He could corner her down here.
Alarmed by that thought, she moved to climb the steps but she wasn’t accustomed to stilettos. It took more skill than one might suppose. She tripped and nose-dived forward, wine splashing out of her glass. She would have hit the deck if a masculine hand hadn’t reached out to catch her.
“Are you okay?”
She glanced up to see Rick Armand, a respiratory therapist who worked at St. Michael’s General Hospital. He’d asked her out several times, but she’d put him off. She considered him a bit smarmy with his oversize porn-star moustache and the way he clicked his tongue and used his fingers like pistols, pretending he was shooting her. Still, she let him rescue her from Jeb. “I’m fine.”
“You lost your drink,” Rick said. “Let’s get you another.”
She was about to say no, when she glanced back to see Jeb giving her the eye. “Yes, that sounds good. Make it a salty dog, please,” she said extra loudly so Jeb would hear.
Rick took her empty wineglass and gave it to a passing waiter. “Would you like to come with me?”
Yes…yes, she would.
She accepted Rick’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the bar. It took everything she had in her not to look back to see the reaction on Jeb’s face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared what he was thinking about her going off with Rick.
As they stepped up to the bar, Rick placed a hand to the small of her back. Haley moved sideways and Rick dropped his hand. “Salty dog for the lady,” he told the bartender. “And I’ll have a beer.”
“Thank you,” she told him.
“I’ve never seen you looking like this,” Rick said, raking a lascivious gaze over her. “I like it.”
“Moment of temporary insanity,” Haley mumbled and tugged at the hem. A bandanna had more material in it. How did Ahmaya wear these skimpy dresses without feeling overexposed?
“I like it.”
The bartender placed their drinks on the bar. Rick reached over, plucked a pink flamingo stir stick from the holder, dropped it into Haley’s drink and stirred the salty dog before handing it over to her.
“The alcohol tends to settle to the bottom. You have to stir it to make sure it’s completely mixed. Don’t want that last swallow to be pure alcohol. Might go straight to your head.” Rick leered as if that was exactly what he was hoping would happen.
See, this sort of thing was precisely why she didn’t like wearing short skirts and stilettos. It had guys dripping all over her.
“Thanks for watching out for me,” she said sarcastically and stirred her drink vigorously.
“My pleasure.” Rick showed a row of small, crowded teeth. Shark.
What was she doing here with this dweeb? Oh, yeah, avoiding Jeb. She looked around for him, didn’t see him. Thank heavens.
They stepped away from the bar, walking to the back of the boat. Aft, she thought it was called. She touched the straw to her lips, took a swallow of the salty dog. Not bad. Tangy. Salty. Tart. She took another sip. Hmm, on second thought, it had a weird aftertaste she didn’t really like. Maybe she could dump the drink overboard.
“Your eyes sparkle in this lighting,” Rick said. “And with the full moon behind you, the night is picture-perfect.”
“Um.”
Rick started telling her about the souped-up Camaro he’d ordered and was having shipped in from the States, expounding at length on exactly how much he’d paid for it. Like, really, who cared if he’d blown a year’s salary on a car?
He pitched forward. “You’re not drinking your drink.”
“It tastes a little weird.”
“Do you want me to get you something else?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Rick held up his beer mug. “A toast?”
“To what?”
“To seeing people in a different light.”
Why not? “To seeing people in a different light,” she repeated.
They clinked glasses. Feeling obligated, Haley took another swallow. What was that weird aftertaste? It was just supposed to be grapefruit juice, vodka and salt.
“And to a beautiful night.” Rick raised his mug again.
“To a beautiful night.” This time, she barely sipped the drink. Okay, she was definitely going to have to pour it overboard when Rick wasn’t looking.
She meandered toward the edge, but before she could get there, a woozy sensation hit her and she wobbled on her heels. Whoa, those salty dogs sneaked up on you.
“Are you all right?” Rick loomed over her.
Back off, dude. “I’m fine.” She didn’t want him to know she was feeling tipsy. “I just need to, um…go powder my nose.” And get away from you.
It occurred to her that she was spending the night running away from men. She knew that most women would love to have two guys vying over them, but Haley found it annoying more than anything else.
“Could you excuse me?” she asked, pushing her drink at him.
He curled his hand around the glass. “Sure, I’ll be waiting right here.”
Making sure to take careful steps, she maneuvered through the crowd. She longed to go home, but she couldn’t drive like this. Not with her head swirling. She’d go to the restroom, splash some cool water on her face and then go find Ahmaya and see if she was in any shape to drive them home.
Seriously, she was such a lightweight. A few sips of wine and a quarter of a salty dog and her knees were buckling.
Carefully, she made her way from the bridge to the main deck. The party was in full swing. People were dancing all over the place to The Red Hot Chili Peppers singing “Under the Bridge.” How appropriate. She realized that Jeb must have handpicked songs for the evening. Slick. What else would she expect from him?
“Bathroom?” she asked a woman she knew from the hospital.
“The one on this level is occupied, but I heard there’s an en suite in Jeb’s cabin on the lower deck.”
“Thanks,” Haley said. Wow, was she actually slurring her words? This was why she didn’t drink. She could not hold her liquor.
As she clung to the stair railing that led to the lowest deck, her head spun so wildly that she had to stop several times and take a deep breath. Finally, after what felt like a hundred years, she stumbled into the bedroom.
Jeb’s bedroom.
A strange feeling passed through her as she stared at the bed and vividly imagined herself in it with Jeb. Oh, knock it off. She had to get into that bathroom and put some cold water on her face.
She sank against the door, clicked it locked in case anyone else wandered this way. She needed privacy until the dizziness passed. After a minute, she lurched toward the bathroom door. Heat swamped her body. Her mouth was like a desert. And those damn stilettos were anchors on her feet.
This didn’t feel right. Sure, she was a lightweight drinker, but this…this was more than being tipsy. This felt wrong.
Her vision blurred. She couldn’t think. Help!
She heard a knock on the door.
“Haley?” It was Rick.
He was the last person she wanted to see.
The door handle rattled. “Haley, are you in there?”
She might not want to see him, but she was feeling very weird and maybe he could help her. She opened her mouth to answer, but belatedly, it occurred to her that Rick might have put something in her drink. The salty dog had a funky aftertaste and he’d stirred it before he’d passed it to her.
Had she been drugged? How naive was she to have trusted him?
Her heart thundered in her chest as the truth of it hit her. Rick was a predator prowling outside, waiting to pounce. Thankfully, she’d had the presence of mind to lock the bedroom door.
The bathroom was so close and yet seemed a hundred miles away. Screw it. She was going to lie right down here on Jeb’s bed for a couple of minutes, just until the dizziness passed and Rick went away, and th
en she’d go find Jeb and tell him what she suspected had happened to her.
Jeb would know how to handle that lowlife Rick. A charming playboy Jeb might be, but oddly enough she trusted him. Beneath that party-hearty attitude, he was a good guy. She had to admit that.
Satisfied with her plan, Haley flopped headfirst onto the mattress and that was the last thing she remembered.
*
THE LAST GUEST LEFT at 3:00 a.m., as the cleaning crew Jeb had hired swept down the deck. By the time he paid the cleaners, the caterers and the parking-lot attendants, he was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. The party had been a resounding success, but even in the midst of that knowledge, he was disappointed, because at some point during the night, Haley had slipped away without saying goodbye.
He’d been on the lookout for her, but hadn’t managed to see her again after she’d gone off with Mustache Rick. He’d found Rick, who was frantically searching for Haley, so he figured she’d given the smarmy respiratory therapist the slip, not him. Still, he would have liked one last conversation with her.
Never mind. He had other things to think about. Like getting home to Miami to see Jackie. He couldn’t believe it had been a year since they’d spoken, and he was eager to see her again and show her how much he’d changed.
He thought about his last conversation with Jackie, when she’d broken up with him. It had come as a shocker—because no woman had ever broken up with him. Jackie had been on her father’s research ship, the Sea Anemone, and he’d sailed up and tried to get her to blow off work and go sailing with him.
“Some of us work for a living, Jeb,” Jackie had said, clearly irritated with him.
“I work for a living,” he’d protested, giving her his biggest smile and an endearing wink.
“When was the last time you built something?”
Hmm, well, it had been over a year since he’d completed the Miami Beach condos, but everyone knew the Florida real-estate market was in the toilet. His strategy was simply to wait it out and have a good time while doing it. “I’ll be ready when the market turns around.”
“You have the luxury of waiting. Most people don’t, Jeb. You squander your time.”
“I don’t see things that way.”
“I do and I just don’t think this relationship is working. We’re too different.”
That comment had smacked him upside the head. “I can change.”
“Seriously? You come from money. It’s all you’ve ever known. You don’t really have to work. You’re a playboy at heart. I mean, c’mon, just look at the name of your yacht. Feelin’ Nauti. You summed yourself up quite neatly.”
“But don’t we have a lot of fun together?” he’d wheedled.
“Yes, that’s precisely the problem. All we do is have fun together.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he’d asked, puzzled.
“Nothing as long as it’s in small doses. But my life is ninety percent work, ten percent play. You, on the other hand, are completely the reverse. Ten percent work, ninety percent play. It’s not a lifestyle I desire.”
That had thrown him for a loop. All his life he’d been complimented on his ability to light up any room he walked into and now here was Jackie telling him that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. “So let me get this straight. You’re breaking up with me because I’m too much fun to be around?”
“Precisely.”
“I’ll work.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Go do something useful.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Find someone to help. Find something bigger than yourself to be a part of. Figure it out.”
“If I do that, will you give me a second chance?”
“Jeb—”
“Please,” he said, “don’t cut off all hope.”
She sighed. “All right. I’ll give you a year. If you can get involved with something meaningful and prove to me you’ve changed, we’ll see.”
“You won’t regret it,” he said, but she’d already turned back to her research materials.
The first thing he’d done was change the name of his boat to Second Chance, even though it was supposedly bad luck to change the name of a boat. The very next day, Hurricane Sylvia had churned up the Atlantic and a few days later slammed into St. Michael’s. Bad luck for St. Michael’s, but Jeb had taken it as a sign and he’d headed out to help rebuild the devastated island.
Jeb smiled smugly. Jackie had given him a much-needed wakeup call, and she was going to be so impressed at how he’d changed.
He shut off the lights, blew out the candles and stood on the deck in the moonlight. He was damned proud of what he’d done. He’d gone from thinking only of himself to putting others first, and he was so grateful to Jackie for setting him on this path. He couldn’t wait to tell her about it.
Bed. It was time to go to bed, but he didn’t have the energy to head down to his bunk on the lower deck.
He stretched, yawned, completely exhausted. His eyelids were heavy. He walked to the blue-and-white-striped bridge hammock, stretched out, cupped his head in his palms and stared up at the stars.
“I’m coming home a changed man, Jackie,” he murmured and instantly fell into a deep sleep.
4
Crab—To compensate for current or leeway by correcting the heading to one side of the actual course
THE SOUND OF HIS CELL PHONE announcing a text message woke Jeb at dawn. Bleary-eyed, he pulled a palm down his face, blinked at the pink rays of sun pushing up over the crystal-blue water.
Ding.
The cell phone in his back pocket reminded him about the text.
He blew out his breath, dropped his feet over one side of the hammock and fished in his back pocket for his phone. The text was from Jackie. His pulse leaped and he grinned widely.
Until he read the message.
To our closest friends and family. You are invited to the Fourth of July wedding of Coast Guard Lieutenant Commander Scott Marcus Everly and Jacqueline Michele Birchard at 4:00 p.m. aboard the Sea Anemone docked at Wharf 16, Key West, Florida.
We know our union is quick and unexpected, but when you’ve found your soul mate, there’s nothing to do but take the plunge. We would love to have the pleasure of your company. RSVP to Jackie @ [email protected].
Jeb’s smile vanished. A muscle at his right eye jerked repeatedly. He had to read the text four times before the words finally sank in. Jackie was getting married on the Fourth of July. Six days from now. The precise number of days it would take Second Chance to sail from St. Michael’s to Key West in calm waters.
And she’d invited him to the wedding via text message!
“A bit cowardly, Jackie,” he murmured. “You could have had the decency to pick up the phone and call me.”
He got to his feet, shoved his hands through his hair, paced and cussed a blue streak. How could she do this to him? She’d promised she would give him a year to prove he could change, and now she’d gone and gotten herself engaged to some guy in the Coast Guard? What the hell?
Jeb had to admit his feelings were hurt.
To top it off, she’d used the words soul mate. Jackie did not talk like that. She didn’t believe in stuff like that. What had happened to her? She could not be thinking clearly. She must be caught up in some kind of lust-fueled haze, like the one he’d gotten ensnared in when he almost had sex with Haley on the beach. It happened. He understood. He could forgive her. What he couldn’t do was let her make the biggest mistake of her life.
Distressed, he punched Jackie’s number into the keypad.
She answered on the second ring with a cheery, “Hey, Jeb, long time no hear.”
How could she sound so casual?
“I just got your text message,” he said tersely.
“Will you be coming to the wedding? I know it’s short notice, but it would mean a lot to me to have you there.”
“Jackie, you c
an’t marry this guy.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
“Who else said it to you?”
“Boone, for one.” Boone was Jackie’s half brother. “He was a bit of a jerk about it, too,” Jackie continued. “At least I know you’re not going to be a jerk. You’re never a jerk about anything.”
“Well, I’m with Boone on this one. You can’t marry this guy.”
“I can and I will. I’m in love, Jeb. For the first time in my life. Truly, madly, deeply, forever and ever in love.”
“Okay, who are you and what have you done with Jackie Birchard?”
“I’ve changed, Jeb.”
“I’ve changed, too, Jackie. I’ve changed so much and I miss you. You can’t marry this Scott guy because I’m the man for you and I can show you if you just give me a chance.”
“Jeb.” She laughed. “You don’t love me.”
Laughed! She was laughing at him.
“But I do, Jackie, I really do.”
“You think you love me because I’m the only woman who has ever turned you down. The only woman who’s ever challenged you and called you on your crazy lifestyle.”
Not the only woman. Immediately, Jeb thought of Haley.
“How long have you known this guy?” he demanded.
“Only a month, but the time doesn’t matter. Not when it’s the real deal.”
“Listen to yourself. Do you really hear what you’re saying? You’re marrying a guy you’ve only know for four short weeks.”
“It’s all the time I need.”
“Jackie, you’ve got to believe me—”
“Are you coming to the wedding?”
“I’m coming to Key West. Right now. I’m on my way. It’ll take me six days to get there, winds willing. I’m on St. Michael’s.”
“You on the Feelin’ Nauti?”
“I changed her name.”
“Bad luck.” Jackie hissed in a breath. She was a smart, educated woman working on her Ph.D. in oceanography, and yet, she had a sailor’s innate superstition. It came naturally to those who spent their lives on the sea and understood that there were certain things beyond your control. Not breaking certain rules could make a sailor feel safer. It was psychological. They both knew it, but ingrained patterns of behavior were hard to break.