by Lori Wilde
“That’s great,” he said, sounding slightly wistful. “I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
He spread out the lettuce, which glistened with the water he’d rinsed the leaves in, on another paper towel. Then those long fingers were at the loaf of artisan sourdough bread, slicing through the brown crust to the soft white center. A delicious shiver skipped down her spine. Why did she find watching him make sandwiches so erotic?
“Could you get the mayo from the fridge?” he asked.
Happy to have an excuse to step away from him, she hurried to the compact refrigerator and retrieved the mayo. This was craziness. She couldn’t allow their proximity to throw her.
She cracked open the fridge. A package of double-stuffed Oreos sat on the top shelf.
“Oreos,” she exclaimed. “They’re my favorite, and you keep them in the fridge, too!” She might be in love. Any guy who kept her favorite cookie in the refrigerator was a man after her own heart.
“Where else would you keep them?”
“Exactly.” She grinned at him over the refrigerator door. “Ahmaya says I’m nuts for taking up fridge space with them, but cold Oreos are so good.”
“The best.”
“Do you break them apart, eat the filling out, then eat the cookie?”
“Is there any other way to eat Oreos?”
“I love the creamy center.”
“Why do you think I get double-stuffed? Twice the creamy goodness.”
“You know, Whitcomb, you might not be such a bad guy after all,” she said.
His eyes twinkled. “If I had known we’d bond over cold Oreos, I would have gifted you with a refrigerator full of them months ago.”
She ignored that statement and passed him the mayo. “Here you go.”
Their knuckles brushed in the handoff and her stomach did a stupid flip-flop thing. Motion of the ocean. Boats rolled. Exactly. That was part of the problem. Being at sea set up a certain rhythm, sweet lulling, a dulling of one’s internal warning system. Or at least that was what seemed to be happening in her case.
Jeb slathered mayo on the sourdough bread, topped it with the bacon, lettuce and slices of beefsteak tomatoes she’d cut up. “Simple, but elegant and delicious,” he proclaimed and handed her a sandwich on a plate, took the second one for himself and she could have sworn he added in a soft mumble, “not unlike you.”
“What?” she asked, her heart suddenly pounding.
“Up top for the view?”
She blinked. “Huh?”
“To eat,” he clarified and she felt silly for thinking he’d said that simple-but-elegant-and-delicious comment about her.
She touched her temple. “Right now I feel too much like a vampire to go into the sunshine.”
“Right. I forgot.”
They sat at the table across from each other. Haley dug into her sandwich. It was so good and she was so hungry that she had to remind herself to slow down.
“I like watching you eat,” he said.
Feeling self-conscious, she stopped chewing.
“You’re not one of those girlie girls who pick at their food. You go at it with gusto.”
“You talking about the airheads?”
“I am.”
“Does Jackie eat with gusto?”
“Actually, no. Jackie’s head is so wrapped up in her research that she doesn’t even take time to enjoy the food she eats. She is usually reading oceanography books or studying nautical charts or writing a paper and would chew shoe leather if you stuck it in front of her for breakfast. But you,” he said with admiration in his voice, “you enjoy every bite.”
“It probably comes from being a nurse and having to grab meals when and where I can. I appreciate any food I can get.”
“You’re fun to cook for.”
“It’s fun to eat what you cook.”
He grinned at her and leaned in closer. Even through the mouthwatering aroma of bacon, bread and tomatoes, his scent wafted over her, that clean sunshine smell that spelled J.E.B. She had a wayward urge to bury her nose against his neck and take a lingering whiff.
“Dessert?” he asked.
“If you’re talking Oreos, yes.” She grinned. “My one great temptation.”
“The only one?” he drawled, strolling over to the refrigerator to retrieve the Oreos.
“The only one I’m admitting to,” she said in a tone far sexier than she intended.
“Why, Haley French, are you flirting with me?” He returned to the table, opened the package of cookies.
She lowered her lashes, gave him an enigmatic smile. Hey, this was fun. No wonder Ahmaya was an outrageous flirt. She reached for a cookie, twisted it apart and scraped the filling with her teeth. From her peripheral vision, she saw Jeb do the same thing, his movements mirroring hers. “Mmm.”
“It’s odd—” his fingers twisted apart a second cookie, one hand moving clockwise, the other counterclockwise “—that we’ve worked together for almost a year but we hardly know anything personal about each other.”
“What’s the point of getting to know each other better? You’re gone from St. Michael’s and there’s the whole Jackie thing.”
He stared at her with expressive eyes, and it might have been her imagination, but he looked slightly hurt. “Didn’t mean to step on your toes. I know I do that a lot. Just thought it might be nice to know more about each other. Never can tell when you’ll need a friend.”
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I can be a little prickly sometimes. Not the best defense mechanism in the world, I agree.”
“You feel like you need a defense mechanism against me?” He sounded surprised.
“You have a way of taking over every room you walk into. It can make those of us who are less secure feel threatened.”
“You?” His mouth dropped. “Insecure? You are the most capable, competent person I’ve ever met.”
“In my job, okay, I know what I’m doing, but in social situations? Where small talk and charming repartee are de rigueur? Not so much.”
“You do better than you think you do.”
Flustered, she glanced away and mumbled, “That’s kind of you to say, but untrue.”
“So,” he said, “what should we talk about?”
That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question since they had absolutely nothing in common. “You’re the suave, debonair one here. You pick.”
“How about hobbies? What do you do in your spare time?”
“I pretty much work all the time or volunteer.”
“Do you like movies?”
She shrugged. “As much as the next person, I guess.”
“Sports?”
“Doing or watching?”
“Either.”
“Not fond of watching sports on TV, but in person on a balmy summer night, baseball isn’t bad. I’d much rather participate in a sport than watch someone else having all the fun.”
He propped his cheek in his palm and studied her as if she were the most fascinating person on earth. He had a way of making her feel special that she found unnerving. “What sports do you participate in?”
“Nothing much these days, but I used to be a marathon runner.”
“That’s impressive. Built for the long haul, huh? How’d you pick up the sport?”
“I started running to get over—” She stopped. She wasn’t going to get into that. It was too personal of a topic to discuss with him. She shook her head. “Never mind why I started. Running cleared my head.”
“Why did you stop?”
“Hurricane Sylvia.”
“The bitch,” he teased. “I run.”
“I know. I’ve seen you on the beach.”
“And you’ve never been tempted to join me?”
Tempted? Oh, yeah. That was precisely why she had not joined him. “I always had too much to do.”
“C’mere.” He motioned to her with two fingers.
“Huh?” she asked. What was he up to?
; “Lean forward.”
She reared back.
He laughed. “You always do the opposite of what I want you to do.”
“What is it?”
“You’re very suspicious.”
“Some guy drugged me last night. Don’t you think I’m justified?”
“I’m sorry about that, Haley.” His eyes darkened. “I’m so glad you were able to lock yourself in my cabin. If Armand had touched one hair on your head…”
He let the sentence stay unfinished, but the expression on his face said it all. He would have made sure Armand would have paid for his actions. Too bad Jeb hadn’t been there to watch out for her when—
Nope. She was not going to think about that.
“Seriously, lean forward.”
Nervously, she leaned in toward him and all her muscles tensed.
He extended his hand toward her face.
She jumped.
“Easy, there.” The pad of his thumb whisked against her bottom lip. “You’ve got a tiny dollop of Oreo cream. All gone now.”
She felt her face heat.
“Maybe someday you’ll tell me,” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin, then balling up the napkin and tossing it onto his empty plate.
“Tell you what?”
“Why you’re so jumpy around me.”
“Probably not,” she said. “I won’t ever see you again after Saturday.”
“You know—” his gaze locked on hers “—I can’t help but feel that’s a terrible shame.”
You and me both.
What was going on with her? She had to get this under control or she was not going to be able to survive six days—and five nights—alone with him on this sailboat.
How had she gotten herself into this fix? More importantly, how was she going to get out of it unscathed?
6
Preventer—A line or other device used to prevent the boom from accidentally moving from one side to the other
JEB SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT in the hammock. He’d insisted that Haley take his cabin and she’d only marginally argued with him about it, but no matter how he tried to block it out, he kept thinking about her down there. How she might be curled up in the middle of his bed, wearing one of his T-shirts that he’d loaned her since she didn’t have anything to sleep in.
Finally, he fell asleep around two o’clock in the morning, but even as he slumbered, Haley invaded his dreams. He kept seeing those pert high breasts of hers, dreamed of those long legs wrapped around his waist, inhaled the scent of her hair, which smelled faintly of strawberries. He’d sat up bathed in sweat. Tossed. Turned. Marinated.
He knew what this was. Haley was his last temptation, the final test to see if he could truly remain faithful to Jackie. Haley was the universe’s way of making him prove he was worthy of Jackie. Why else had fate put her right here on his boat in the middle of the deep blue ocean?
Actually, it was quite poetic when he thought about it. This last challenge to prove that the play had gone out of the boy.
This was his second chance. Time to take a stand. He was a full-grown man and his future lay ahead of him. He was excited about it. The thought of commitment didn’t scare him as it once had.
Comforted, he went back to sleep only to repeat the Haley dreams all over again.
This time, the changing wind woke him.
Jeb didn’t need a weather vane to tell him which way the wind was blowing. He’d been riding the ocean for so long that he could feel the shift before it happened, that brief, silent pause before the change occurred.
Dawn heated the water’s cool shimmer. The wind blew toward Florida at a sweet clip. Jeb grinned. Today, they would sail.
He got out his maps and charts and hurried down to the galley to make breakfast before they pulled up anchor. On his arrival, though, he found Haley standing at the stove in his T-shirt, drinking coffee while she scrambled eggs. Toast popped from the toaster.
“You’re up,” he said.
“Surprise. I thought I’d do the cooking today since you did it yesterday.”
The hem of his T-shirt hit her midthigh. He didn’t want to notice, but c’mon, how could he not? He was only human and her legs were fantastic.
“Excellent,” he said. “We can get a jump start on the morning. The wind is up and at our backs. We’re sailing today and we’ll make better time.”
“That’s thrilling.” She buttered the toast.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and spread out the charts, checking his coordinates and seeing whether he needed to alter the headings so the boat “made good.” Haley put a plate of eggs and toast in front of him and sat down across from him.
“That looks very complicated,” she said.
“Sailing is a complex endeavor.”
“But fascinating.”
“You can never learn all there is to know about the sea. I discover something new every time I’m on the water.”
“I’m fascinated by your fascination.”
“Do you know anything about sailing?”
“Not in the least.”
Jeb grinned, shook his head. “I have so much to teach you, Grasshopper.”
Haley salted her eggs. “Um…I found a pink bikini in the bottom drawer of your dresser. I wasn’t snooping, I promise. I was looking for a pair of socks. My feet get cold at night.”
Somehow, he found that completely endearing.
“The bikini is my size, and since we’re on the water, I was wondering if it might be okay to wear it.”
Okay? For Haley to wear a bikini? That was like asking if it were okay to frame the Mona Lisa.
“Sure.”
“I mean, I don’t want to offend the woman it belongs to. Does it belong to Jackie?”
“Jackie? In pink? Not hardly.” Jeb had no idea whose bikini it was, but he didn’t want to tell Haley that it could belong to any number of women, so he told a little white lie. “It belongs to one of my sisters.”
The happy smile on Haley’s face told him the white lie was the right move. “You’re sure she won’t mind if I wear it? I washed out the dress I wore on board.”
“No problem,” he said hoarsely as a shiver went straight to his cock. This talk of women’s clothing was stirring him, especially in relation to Haley. “Go ahead and change and I’ll meet you up on deck.” He finished his coffee. “It’s time to get sailing.”
Because I have to get to Jackie as fast as I can before I do something with Haley that I’ll live to regret.
*
HALEY WAS EXCITED.
She stood in the cockpit, listening to Jeb explain the parts of the sailboat and what they were called. There was a lot to absorb. There was the mast—the vertical pole that supported the sails. It rose up in the center of the sailing yacht. There was a horizontal pole called the boom. It supported the bottom of the mainsail.
“What do you like most about sailing?” she asked.
“The playing field is constantly changing. No two days are alike.”
“The playing field?”
“In other sports, the playing field is always the same—the baseball diamond, the basketball court, the football field—but in sailing the playing field is the wind and the water, Mother Nature at her finest. You can never control or predict her.” His eyes tracked over Haley’s face. “A bit like you.”
Haley’s cheeks heated at his appraisal.
“The boom swings from side to side as the boat turns,” Jeb said, going back to the lesson. “So be careful not to get in the boom’s way as it swings or you could end up in the ocean.”
“So now I know what the saying ‘lower the boom’ means.”
“This is the mainsail. You’ll also hear it referred to as the main. A sail is nothing more than a big sheet that catches the wind to help move your boat faster through the water.”
She wrung her hands. “Should I be taking notes?”
“You’ll pick it up as you use it. Second Chance has a headsail. Smaller boats ofte
n don’t.”
“What’s the headsail?”
“It’s the sail here in front of the mast. There are different types of headsails. One type is a jib.”
“Jib. Jeb. Easy to remember.”
“This headsail is a spinnaker. You use it when sailing downwind. We’ll be using it today since we’re going with the wind.”
“Got it.”
“Now, each part of a sail has a name, too.”
“Yipes. My brain is getting overloaded.”
“You know medical terminology—nautical terms are a piece of cake compared to that.”
“Easy for you to say. You cut your teeth on this lingo. But I’m ready. What are the parts of the sail?”
“The head is the top corner of the sail.” He indicated the top.
“I bet that term gets teenage boys laughing.”
“And some immature adult males, as well. The tack is the front bottom corner of the sail.”
“Head, the top, just like it sounds. Tack, the front bottom. Got it.”
“The clew is the back bottom corner of a sail. The foot—”
“Let me guess,’ she interrupted. “It’s the bottom of the sail.”
He grinned at her. “I knew you were bright. The leech is the back edge of the sail and the luff is the front edge.”
“I thought you said the luff was like a brake.”
“Luff has multiple meanings. When used as a noun, luff refers to the forward edge of a sail. When luff is used as a verb, it refers to the flapping motion a sailcloth makes when it’s undertrimmed. Luff can also be used as an adjective. As in luffing sails can’t generate any power.
“And these are the battens.” He showed her the solid slats that were inserted into pockets along a sail’s leech in order to help the sail maintain its shape.
“I think I’ve got it.”
“Don’t forget the lines.”
“Lines?”
“Ropes with a specific purpose.”
“This is starting to sound like a bondage film,” she teased.
His grin turned wicked. “And what would you know about that?”
“Just because I work all the time doesn’t mean I don’t know what goes on in the world.”