Smooth Sailing

by Lori Wilde

  Her attitude was a relief. She didn’t hold the kiss against him. Of course, he couldn’t let himself off the hook so easily, but her acceptance took some of the tension out of the air.

  “I made tacos. C’mon, if you’re coming.” She turned and went back belowdecks.

  Jeb took off after her.

  A moment of awkwardness settled over them, as it always seemed to do when they sat down to eat together. Down here, the confines were close and there were no other distractions. They had only each other for company.

  “Your cheeks are a little red,” he said. “Sunburn and windburn can leave you feeling sore. There’s some aloe-vera gel in the medicine cabinet.”

  “Thanks, I’ll put some on before I go to bed.” Her long, slender fingers picked up a taco and she tilted her head to eat it.

  Another awkward pause.

  Think of something neutral to say.

  “So,” he said, “how long are you planning on staying in St. Michael’s?”

  She swallowed her bite of taco, patted her mouth—that sweet pink mouth—with a napkin. “I’m not sure.”

  “Where will you go after that?”

  “I’m thinking about becoming a traveling nurse. My time on St. Michael’s has stirred up a wanderlust I never knew I had.”

  “Funny.” He lifted his eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “Just when I’m itching to settle down, you’re looking to roam.”

  “Ironic, I suppose. The stickin-the-mud turns adventurer and the adventurer is looking to get stuck in the mud.”

  “Well, I’ve got to say, you’re one heck of a sailor.”

  “You can say that with a straight face after I got hit by the boom? And after you warned me about it, too.”

  “You haven’t gotten seasick. The majority of people get seasick.”

  “I’ve never had motion sickness in my life. Cast-iron stomach.” Haley patted her belly.

  Helplessly, Jeb found his gaze drawn to her flat midriff. She had such a narrow waist and such nice curvy hips. He could see the outline of the pink bikini beneath his white T-shirt.

  It was official. She was killing him. Resolutely, he turned his attention to the tacos.

  Sexy, gorgeous and a good cook, too? “Why hasn’t some guy already snapped you up?”

  “Pardon?”

  Uh. Had he said that out loud? “There’s no ring on your finger and you’ve never said anything about a boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “No boyfriend.”

  “Why not?”

  “My reason for coming to St. Michael’s was to help people. How effective could I be if I was off dating when I should be working?”

  “Everyone needs a break now and then.”

  ‘I’m beginning to see that,” she said. “Today with the dolphins, well, it was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.”

  Thinking about the dolphins led to thinking about what happened afterward and they both lapsed into silence.

  “Plus,” she said, “I didn’t want to start anything I couldn’t finish.”

  “So there’s someone on St. Michael’s you have your eye on?” he asked, feeling an irrational surge of jealousy.

  She looked him in the eyes. “It was a passing fantasy.”

  “Do you always finish everything that you start?”

  “I’m guessing you don’t?”

  “Not everything needs to be finished. Some things are meant to be temporary.”

  “Like a meal.”

  “Or a spontaneous riff.”

  “What’s a spontaneous riff?”

  “I’ll do one with your name.”

  “Do what?”

  “Riff.”

  “Okay, go.”

  “First, do you have any nicknames?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not a nickname kind of girl.”

  “Someone in your life has called you by a nickname. Mother, grandmother, best friend, siblings.”

  “My friends call me Hale, sometimes. And my grandmother called me Pole Bean because I grew faster than the cousins. My dad occasionally calls me Haystack.”

  “Haley. H as in home and hearth. Only one y, not two. Tidy. Efficient. Hayley Mills, Halley’s Comet. Haley. So dubbed by Mr. and Mrs. French. Hay. Haystack. Pole Bean. Grew tall and fast. Fresh. Clean-scrubbed. Dependable. Haley. Five letters. Two vowels tucked between three consonants. Evenly spaced. Steady, but with that surprising curly y at the end,” he spit out in rapid-fire succession. “Haley. Beach beauty. Golden skin. Slightly sad smile. Knowing eyes. Dimpled chin. Legs like a Thoroughbred. Dolphin lover. Crusader. Stiff upper lip. Scrupulous. Noble. Makes the best kick-ass tacos in the world.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, this name riffing thing is a line, right? That you use on your dates?”

  Honestly, no, he did not. He’d never used it. In fact, he had no idea where it had come from. The riff had just spun glibly off his tongue, but he was suddenly terrified to admit that to her. Then he realized he’d subconsciously been riffing her name for days, maybe even weeks.

  “You can stop trying to charm me. I know it’s second nature to you, but there’s no point. So just relax.”

  She was right, there was no point, but in the back of his mind, a quiet voice kept on riffing—Haley. Nourishing as wheat. Hospital tent. Slept on my sheets. Hard worker. Rubber-soled shoes. She’s no shirker.

  Strawberry-scented hair that should never be pulled into a bun. Eyelashes like paintbrushes. Scared now and wants to run. Heart of gold. Puts me in my place like no one ever has. Turns Mr. Slick into Mr. Lacking Confidence. Haley. Came along for an accidental ride. Righteous lips. What do you want that I can’t provide?

  “There’s no charming you, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  Another awkward silence.

  “With the wind at our backs, we made really good time today,” he said, rushing to fill the silence. “At this rate, we’ll be in Key West on Friday.”

  She looked relieved. “That’s good, and then we can both get back to our lives.”

  “Yes.” But it didn’t feel good.

  Not good at all.

  *

  JEB RIFFING HER NAME had gotten to her.

  Haley didn’t want to admit it, but there it was. When Jeb had said all those nice things about her, she’d found a place for him in her heart. It was corny and she just knew he trotted it out for any woman caught in his orbit, but it was endearing. Goofy, but endearing.

  Dinner was over. The dishes were washed—by them, together, and that had been wonderful and awkward as they’d bumped elbows. Now Jeb had gone up to his hammock on the bridge and Haley was standing in the bathroom brushing her teeth with one of the new toothbrushes Jeb kept stocked. But of course. He was the consummate host. Accustomed to having women spending the night on his yacht.

  She stared at herself in the mirror, toothbrush poking out of one side of her mouth as she vigorously scrubbed her gums.

  You’re falling for him.

  Haley shook her head, spat and rinsed. No. She wasn’t falling for him. She was just, well, she liked him.

  Uh-huh, tell yourself another lie.

  Okay, so what if she was falling for him? Nothing could come of it for so many reasons, primary of which was the fact that he was sailing to Key West to break up an ex-girlfriend’s impending marriage.

  Her heart settled south of her stomach.

  How she wished she could get off this boat and go back to St. Michael’s. Back to her sane, normal life filled with patients to take care of and away from beguiling ocean waves, captivating dolphins and Jeb Whitcomb’s super-sexy grin.

  An overwhelming sadness washed over her. She’d never felt so cut off. It was just her and Jeb. She couldn’t even call her friends or family for advice. How was she going to survive the next few days with him? Wanting him, yearning for him, but unable to have him because he wanted someone else.

  A tight band of misery constricted her heart. Wh
at was wrong with her? Why did she feel so wounded when she had no right to feel this way? None whatsoever.

  She fingered her lips.

  He might want another woman, but he’d kissed her.

  Only because you were convenient. Don’t think it’s anything more than that.

  She was well aware of that, but there was this stupid red flag of hope jutting up in the back of her mind. Anything was possible. Right?

  Well, not this. A match between her and Jeb was impossible for more reasons than his desire for Jackie Birchard. He was wealthy and she was middle-class. He loved to play and she was dedicated to work. He was gorgeous and had women falling at his feet, while she was of middling good looks at best. She could not compete with the models and starlets and socialites who regularly vied for his attention, nor did she want to.

  Just get through the next few days. That was all she had to do.

  Yeah, as if that was going to be easy. Unless she wanted to stay in the cabin for the remainder of the trip, there was no getting away from him.

  Melancholia twined around Haley’s stomach, insidious as seaweed. Was she going to stand here whining and feeling sorry for herself or was she going to do something about it?

  Her pulse quickened at the idea of doing something about it. Don’t think. Just act. Thinking was what had held her back for so long.

  Barefoot, she leaped over the bed, grabbed for the cabin door, wrenched it open and sprinted the length of the lower deck to the stairs. Her hand touched the cool rail, stopping her instantly.

  Her feet froze on the bottom step.

  What was she doing?

  What did she think was going to happen when she got up there on the bridge? That they would make wild, passionate love in the hammock? And what if they did? What then? He’d sail off into the sunset with Jackie and she’d be left feeling all hurt and sorry for herself because she’d followed an urge that led nowhere.

  Why did it have to lead anywhere? Why couldn’t she just have a good time? Was there anything wrong with that? What was it that Jeb had said at dinner? Not everything needs to be finished. Some things are meant to be temporary.

  No. She would not be the razor Jeb used to cut himself. He was trying to prove he was no longer a glib playboy. He was trying to settle down. She could not be the temptation that crumbled him.

  Slowly, she backed away from the stairs.

  Go to bed. Start fresh tomorrow. Think about it tomorrow.

  Yeah, Scarlett O’Hara, tomorrow is another day.

  But for now, the night stretched out long and endless, and dawn seemed a hundred light-years away.

  *

  MIDNIGHT AND JEB was wide-awake.

  Again.

  Normally, he had absolutely no trouble sleeping. Especially when he was at sea; the gentle ocean rocking always calmed him. But tonight, things were even worse than they’d been last night because he’d kissed Haley.

  Since he couldn’t sleep, maybe he should get up and sail. Sailing through the night would put them that much closer to Key West. That much closer to getting Haley off his boat and on her way. But the accommodating winds that had swept them ahead of schedule today had also rolled in a batch of thick clouds. Tonight, the moon was obscured, peeping out only occasionally, and the air smelled of rain. Did he really want to risk getting caught sailing in a storm?

  Better not push his luck. With today’s progress, even if they experienced unexpected delays, he would easily make it to Key West before Jackie’s 4:00 p.m. wedding on Saturday.

  To get his mind off everything, he started going over the coordinates. He loved mental math. Longitude, latitude, changes in altitude. Hell, suddenly he was humming Jimmy Buffett.

  Better than thinking about Haley.

  Except now there she was again, lodged in his brain.

  Argh!

  He tossed off the lap blanket he’d been using, jumped to his feet, the hammock swinging wildly in his wake. He paced the deck, listening to the noises of his boat—the creak of the rigging, the whisper of water lapping at the hull, the hammer of his pulse in his ears.

  Jeb walked toward the lower deck, climbed down the stairs. Stopped. Cursed himself. Climbed the stairs again.

  Wait a minute. Was that a light he’d seen underneath the door of his cabin? Was Haley awake? He turned again, went back down.

  Yep. A light.

  Was she still up? Or did she sleep with a light on? Was she scared of the dark?

  The urge to comfort her eclipsed him. Compelled by a force he couldn’t seem to resist, Jeb crept closer.

  He reached the cabin. Raised a fist to knock on the door, his breathing coming hot and fast.

  Lowering his fist, he rested his ear against the door, imagined he could hear her breathing on the other side.

  Haley.

  His hand slid to the door handle. His entire body strummed and throbbed, each nerve cell tingling with an immediate energy that left his head reeling.

  Haley.

  What if she had her head against her side of the door? What if her heart was thudding as crazily as his?

  And what if it wasn’t?

  He pressed his lips to the door, silently whispered her name.

  Haley.

  What the hell was he doing? He ground his teeth, spun around, raced on the balls of his feet—so he’d be quieter and she’d be less likely to hear him and come out—back to the haven of his hammock.

  He swung the hammock madly, placed a palm to his forehead, gulped in air, remembered kissing Haley, hardened. Jerk. What the hell was the matter with him? He wasn’t that guy. Not anymore. He was done with living in the moment at the sacrifice of the future. There were benefits to controlling yourself, to self-denial, to foregoing self-indulgence for the bigger picture, greater good, yada fricking yada.

  Keep your fantasies to yourself, Whitcomb. Hands to yourself.

  A year was such a damn long time to go without the feel of a woman’s body beneath his.

  Remember why you decided to stay celibate.

  Haley.

  What the hell? No, not Haley. Scratch that. Messed up on the name. Jackie.

  Jackie, Jackie, Jackie. She was the one he wanted.

  Ahem, Jackie is the one who is on the verge of marrying another man. She ain’t busy pining for you. Yeah, well, that was why he had to get to Key West ASAP to correct his past mistakes.

  Redemption. That was his goal.

  Well, he wasn’t going to get it by chasing after Haley.

  Right. Yes. He knew that. He was on lockdown. Don’t dare get out of this hammock until dawn. No matter what. Got it?

  Overhead, yellow lightning flashed. Thunder rumbled. Even the weather was warning him.

  Got it. He saluted the sky. He was all wet.

  A few minutes later, soft sprinkles hit the deck, dropped lightly onto his face. He pulled the lap blanket up over his head.

  The wind gusted, sent the hammock swaying. Goose bumps raised on his arms. He burrowed his butt in the hammock. If only the blanket were thick and woolen.

  Lightning, now vivid blue, forked from the clouds, a jagged, electric snake tongue of illumination. Thunder clashed as loudly as a car crash.

  Jeb jumped.

  The rain sped up, pelting him.

  This was not the safest place in a storm, but he’d checked the forecast. The storm should be short-lived and pass quickly with the blowing wind.

  Except the wind seemed to have stalled, leaving the black clouds directly overhead, drenching him. Jeb flopped over onto his stomach, not a particularly easy maneuver in a hammock, and huddled beneath the soaked blanket.

  This was not working.

  He tossed aside the blanket and stumbled to the cockpit, found a tarp and brought it back to the hammock. He unwrapped the tarp and crawled under it.

  Better. At least it would keep him dry.

  Rain pummeled the tarp, made a mind-numbing tapping noise.

  Jeb grunted. Ridiculous. Go belowdecks. Tempted, he turned
the idea over. Nice and warm and dry. Safe from potential lightning strikes.

  No can do, Stew.

  If he went down there, with Haley so close, he knew he would knock at her door and the way she’d been looking at him over dinner—the way she’d kissed him back when he’d kissed her—told him that if he knocked, she would open that damn door and invite him inside with eager arms.

  Haley. Of the strawberry-scented hair and sweet lips. Haley wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him against her breasts. Haley—

  No!

  He chuffed out a breath, coughed. His throat felt scratchy. Even through the tarp, he could see the next flash of lightning, felt thunder shake the sailboat. Seriously, dude, you could get struck by lightning. No kidding.

  Okay, fine. He crawled out of the hammock and went to the cockpit, wadded up into a tarp-covered ball. Not really much of an improvement, but at least the overhang protected him from the main force of the onslaught.

  It would pass. It had to pass. Storms always passed.

  Rain dripped off the tarp onto his face, rolled down his nose like copious tears. If he went to the lower deck he could just stretch out on the floor. He didn’t need a cabin. Haley need never know he was inside.

  But he would know.

  C’mon, you’re not that weak. You can be on the same deck as the woman without feeling compelled to seduce her.

  That was the thing—whenever he was around her, he couldn’t think straight. He wasn’t himself. All he wanted to do was touch her.

  No, that was a bald-faced lie. He wanted to do a whole helluva lot more than touch her. Which was what had him so twisted in knots.

  Things would change when he saw Jackie again. It had just been too long since he’d seen her. Once he looked in Jackie’s eyes, he’d forget all about Haley and he wouldn’t regret having kept his hands to himself.

  He just had to make it through the night.

  More lightning. More thunder. More rain.

  Jeb sneezed, shivered. His lungs weighed heavy in his chest. He’d be drier if he took a header into the ocean. He peeked over at the stairs leading to the lower deck. Ten steps away. Twelve, max.

  No. He drew the tarp tighter around him. He wasn’t going to go down there. The rain would pass.

  Eventually. Had to. It hadn’t rained for forty days and forty nights since Noah and his ark.