Smooth Sailing

by Lori Wilde

  Fifteen minutes later and there was no letup. He couldn’t tell if his nose was running or it was just rain, but he felt as lousy as hell. He was not going down there. He was determined to prove he could control himself.

  In the meantime, his fingers pruned and his head throbbed, but he would gut it out. Not a wimp. Not he. A true sailor could weather the elements, right?

  His teeth chattered and he shivered so hard that he couldn’t stop. His eyes burned hot, his bones ached and his skin felt waterlogged and tight. He’d never before been accused of being stubborn, but tonight, he stuck to his guns.

  An hour later, he couldn’t take it anymore. He was too damned exhausted to try anything with Haley anyway. He’d proven his point. Grunting, he heaved himself to his feet, but as he staggered up, his head spun and his knees gave out. The deck rose up to greet him.

  Congratulations, Captain, you’re officially screwed.

  8

  Ease—To let out (a sail or a rope)

  ON WEDNESDAY MORNING, Haley was determined to put the previous day behind her. Fresh start. Yesterday, she’d washed out the dress she’d worn to the party and she put it on again. Even with a T-shirt over the pink bikini, the bathing suit was simply too provocative and she wasn’t taking any more chances. Too bad she didn’t have a parka and ski pants.

  She made two cups of coffee and took them out on the bridge. The sun was up, and in places, water pooled on the deck. Had it rained last night? She thought she’d heard thunder, but she hadn’t gotten up to investigate.

  Haley reached the top step and from there could see into the cockpit.

  Jeb lay facedown on the deck, partially covered by a tarp beaded with water droplets.

  Haley gasped, and her fingers loosened. The thick earthenware coffee mugs clattered to the deck. One thumped and rolled, breaking off the handle. The other cracked into two clean pieces. Hot coffee splashed up onto her bare legs, but she scarcely noticed. Her heart vaulted into her throat.

  She ran toward him. “Jeb!”

  He did not respond.

  She yanked the tarp off him, sank onto her knees beside him, her chest tightening, constricting her lungs. Grabbing him by the shoulders, she shook him gently, yet firmly. “Jeb!”

  He let out a soft groan.

  Dear God, he was burning up!

  “Jeb.” She patted his cheeks. “Open your eyes.”

  Slowly, he pried one eye open. “Pretty,” he mumbled.

  “Pretty what?”

  He reached out a finger to touch her lips, but his hand flopped back to his side. “You’re pretty,” he whispered.

  “You’ve got a fever. Did you sleep outside in the rain?” She narrowed her eyes, put two fingers to the carotid artery at his neck to count his pulse. It was pounding way too fast. “Why did you sleep outside in the rain?”

  “Shh.” He squeezed his eyes tightly closed. “Headache.”

  “C’mon.” She slipped her hand underneath his armpit. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  A dreamy grin slipped across his face. “Mmm. You, me, bed. Thought you’d never ask.”

  She managed to lever him into a sitting position. “Not me. Just you. All alone with aspirin and a cool cloth.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t. Gotta sail.”

  “There will be no sailing today, Captain Whitcomb.”

  “Gotta get to Key West.”

  “You said yourself we were ahead of schedule.”

  “Gotta stop Jackie from marrying that guy.”

  Her heart pinched. She set her jaw. Seriously, she had to stop being jealous of this Jackie woman. So what if he’d sail with a fever in order to get to her? It was none of Haley’s business. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

  “I can sail,” he insisted.

  “You can’t even stand up.”

  “Can, too.”

  “Prove it. Do it.”

  He struggled to his feet. Held out his hands. “Ta-da.”

  “You’re swaying.”

  “Motion of the ocean, baby.”

  “Didn’t we have a talk about this baby thing?”

  “Oops.” He plastered a palm over his mouth. “Sorry.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again.”

  He gave her a little salute and almost toppled over.

  “You’re drunk with fever.”

  “You might be right,” he admitted.

  “Finally,” she said, “you’re listening to your nurse.”

  “My nurse.” He patted her shoulder.

  “I’m not a lapdog.”

  “Nothing about you is like a lapdog,” he agreed. Dark circles smudged his eyes.

  She took his elbow and guided him toward the steps, steering him around the spilled coffee and damaged cups.

  “Aw, you dropped the coffee.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up later.”

  It was slow going. Jeb couldn’t seem to pick his legs up. Instead, he shuffled along like a prisoner in shackles.

  “Lean on me,” she scolded.

  “Don’t want to.”

  “Why not? You’re not going to overload me. I’m sturdy. I do this kind of thing all the time.”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?” Getting him to speak in complete sentences was like pulling teeth. Don’t get irritated. The man’s got a fever of at least a hundred and two.

  “I like touching you too much.”

  Haley sucked in her breath. “Think of me as a nurse, not a woman.”

  “Kinda hard to do when you’re built so nicely,” he murmured, but he leaned into her.

  She took his weight, wrapped an arm around his muscular waist. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, but his shirt was soaked. And his body? Have mercy, it was incredible. “We’ve got to get you out of these wet clothes.”

  “Betcha say that to all the guys.”

  “Stop trying to be charming for two seconds, will you? You’re sick.”

  “Ba—” He cut himself off from saying baby. “That’s like telling the sun not to shine.”

  “Hopeless, I know. Here we are at the stairs. Hold on to the rail and we’ll take them one step at a time.”

  “I feel like an idiot.”

  “You should. Spending the night on the bridge in a thunderstorm.” She clicked her tongue, shook her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you live it down.”

  “That’s what I love about you.”

  Love? Haley’s heart somersaulted. Chill out, it’s a figure of speech.

  “You don’t ever let up on anyone.”

  “That sounds terrible.”

  “Not terrible at all. You hold people accountable to a higher standard.”

  Holy Oreos, was she blushing?

  “Whoa.” Jeb stopped, clung to the rail.

  She stopped, too. “Dizzy?”

  “Yep.”

  “Here. Sit.” She guided him down to the step.

  They sat together, side by side, Jeb breathing fast and shallow. So was she. What the heck was this?

  “Deep breath,” she instructed herself as much as Jeb.

  He took a few deep breaths and so did she. Nodding, he said, “Let’s try this again.”

  It took a full ten minutes, but step by step, they made it to his cabin. Haley directed him to a chair and squatted beside him to slip off his shoes. As a nurse she dressed and undressed patients daily, but this was different. Jeb wasn’t her patient and she wasn’t his nurse. And even when he was sick, the man turned her on in nine hundred ways.

  Today you are his nurse. Be professional.

  Easy to say, much harder to do. His skin was thick and healthy. His muscles sublime. Even when he was sick, he was sexy.

  She put his shoes aside, stood up. “Arms up.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve got to get that shirt off you.”

  “I can do it.”

  Whew, that was a relief. “Okay.” She crossed her arms o
ver her chest, waited for him.

  He sat in the chair, managing to look both pale and flushed at the same time. “Give me a minute. I need to rest up.”

  “Just let me help.”

  He shook his head. “Okay.”

  “Can you raise your arms?”

  He nodded. “No.”

  She took the edge of his wet shirt in her hands and slowly rolled it upward. He lifted his arms as she peeled the shirt over taut, tanned abs so delicious they just begged to be licked. She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from letting out an appreciative moan.

  Finally, she tugged the shirt over his head. His hair stood up in a mussed mess. How endearing he looked. What? You like your men helpless?

  No, not at all, but illness was the great equalizer. It hit the wealthy and the poor alike.

  He slumped against the back of the chair.

  She eyed his shorts. Hmm, how to get those off? She could just leave him in them, but they were damp, too. Being wet didn’t cause illness—bacteria and viruses did that—but it sure could weaken the immune system, especially since he’d languished outside in the rain all night, while she’d been peacefully curled up in his bed. Feeling guilty now, huh?

  “Can you take off your pants by yourself?”

  “Got it,” he said, stood up briefly and then toppled face-first onto the bed.

  Right.

  “Roll over.”

  He grunted.

  She grabbed his belt loops and tugged him over onto his back. His eyes were closed and he had a slight smile on his face. If he weren’t so out of it, she would swear he was enjoying this.

  Her fingers went to the snap of his shorts. Instantly, she felt him harden beneath her touch. He didn’t move or say a word. His eyes were still closed. What was she going to do now? Undress him or let him sleep in damp shorts?

  “Jeb.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She poked him with a finger. “Jeb.”

  He mumbled something barely audible.

  Okay, he was out of it. The erection was just a natural response to a woman plucking at his pants. She shouldn’t be either pleased or offended by it. Determined to act professionally, she quickly slid his zipper down.

  His erection grew.

  Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. She gritted her teeth and pointedly looked away. Moving to the foot of the bed, she grasped the bottom of his shorts with a hand at each leg and tugged them down his hips.

  Oops! His underwear came along for the ride and now he was totally naked. Haley hadn’t meant to stare. She had no intention of staring. She’d seen any number of naked men in her career as a nurse but she’d never seen anyone like him. Jeb’s ego wasn’t the only thing that was oversize about the man. Underwear model, hell—he could be a porn star.

  Haley curled her fingernails into her palms until it stung. Put his underwear back on him.

  She hesitated, considered that, then dismissed the idea. Leaving him naked was easier than trying to wrestle him into boxer briefs. The very image brought out goose bumps on her skin. Especially when his erection was jutting up there, proud and tall.

  But he was also shivering, his teeth chattering so loudly she could have danced the flamenco to them. His temperature must be on the rise. She covered him with a blanket. He looked miserable, poor guy.

  She picked up his wet clothes and hung them up to dry on the towel rack in the bathroom, located aspirin in the medicine cabinets. She roused him enough to make him down two aspirin and forced him to drink a full glass of water before she allowed him to sink back into the covers.

  Afterward, she fled to the bridge to clean up the spilled coffee.

  When she finished, she straightened and looked out at the wide expanse of deep blue sea. As far as the eye could, see there was nothing but water and seagulls.

  It hit her then. How isolated she was. On the ocean with an incapacitated skipper. What if he were desperately ill? She had no medical equipment with her and knew nothing about boats.

  Holy Oreos, she was in serious trouble here.

  *

  AN ANGEL HAD TAKEN his clothes off.

  No, not an angel.

  Haley.

  Okay, she was something of an angel. He’d admit that. Angel of mercy. As in have mercy, she’s tearing me up!

  Her fingers were cool on his skin, and her hair! So beautiful, the way it fell over her shoulders. She wore it up in that tight bun too much. Her hair should never be restrained. He wanted to touch those beautiful honey-blond strands but his fingers were too shaky.

  She leaned over him, smelling of strawberries. He loved strawberries—strawberry shortcake, strawberry jelly, chocolate-covered strawberries, strawberry cake, strawberry Life Savers.

  That was Haley. His strawberry lifesaver.

  Yum.

  Jeb licked his lips. Or at least he tried. His mouth was dry and his lips stuck together. Lip balm. He needed lip balm.

  Hey? What was this? A smooth feminine finger was applying slick balm to his lips. What a soft finger. Ah, that felt much better. All he had to do was think about something and it happened. Neat trick.

  Test it.

  He grinned. He needed an angel in his bed, curled up right next to him, her sweet little fanny pressed up against his pelvis. He needed to run his hands over her curvy hips, trace over the dip of her waist, find the sweet swell of her breasts.

  She ran a hand along his spine and he shuddered. Cold. He was so very cold. And hot. Hot and cold all at the same time. Blankets were mounded up on him and he was still so cold, but at the same time he wanted to kick all those covers off and feel the air cool his heated skin.

  The covers lifted. There it was. Fresh air.

  And the angel!

  Sliding underneath the covers with him, curling against him. The push of her firm breasts tight against his shoulder blades.

  Was this real? Was she in bed with him?

  Or was it, as part of him suspected, nothing more than a very vivid sex dream?

  Whatever it was, bring it on. Fantasy, reality, either one, he craved both, more.

  She pressed her lips to the nape of his neck.

  Jeb growled low in his throat. He was within inches of pounding his chest with his fists and letting out a Tarzan yell of triumph to find himself in bed with her. He turned toward her, dragged her into his arms, kissed her, hard and hot and frantic.

  She laughed.

  Red-hot electricity straight to his cock.

  Heedlessly, he yanked the thin spaghetti straps off her dress, ripped the garment from her body.

  The angel gasped, a soft, delighted sound. “Ooh, a caveman. I like that.”

  “Just wait,” he panted.

  She wriggled in his arms, the lace of her strapless bra scratching across his chest. The strip of her matching thong panties stretching against her pale skin. He clawed at the fastener on her bra, managed to get it off.

  The pulse in his throat throbbed and his cock jumped.

  In a feverish daze, Jeb took a deep, steadying breath and placed his hand over her heart. He wanted her. Damn, how he wanted her.

  He shouldn’t be doing this.

  No? Why not?

  Because, because…

  His head was a mess and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he should not be doing this. Need consumed him. He had to have her.

  Now!

  The way she was kissing him, the angel wanted him right back with a fire and passion that surprised him. She’d had him fooled. He’d thought she was pretty darn regimented, but woo-hoo, he was wrong about that.

  She threw her head back, exposed her smooth, creamy neck to him, her honeyed hair trailing down his forearm. She was just as he’d dreamed she’d be—her body was both firm and soft and totally womanly. Her bare breasts rested against his biceps as he gently cupped her in the crook of his arm.

  Unless he was dreaming now. It did feel pretty damn surreal.

  But how could he be dreaming? She felt
so genuine. Smelled so good. Sounded so earthy.

  He pulled back, drank her in. Man, he loved the way she looked at him, with wide, knowing eyes.

  She lowered her eyelids halfway and gave him a naughty expression. One come-hither glance and he was a goner.

  If only he could capture this special moment, lock it in a vault, seal it in a time capsule. He smiled, then laughed and then squeezed her tight. His flesh, from his head to his toes, quivered.

  She propped herself up on her elbow and ran a hand through her hair, tousling the long, loose curls. One strand fell saucily across her eye, adding to her sexual mystique. A hazy veil of white light seemed to encompass her.

  Was something wrong with his eyes? Or was her halo simply that bright?

  Mesmerized, he blinked.

  She tucked the wayward tendril behind one ear and batted her lush eyelashes at him. Her blue-eyed gaze snagged his, bright as the Mediterranean. “I’m here to ease your fever.”

  “If I’m the one with the fever, how come you’re so hot?”

  Her gaze misted with lust. She flicked out her tongue to lick her full pink lips and Jeb forgot about everything except his driving need to sink deeply into her amazing body.

  “Are you just going to stare at me all night?”

  “No, ma’am.” He crawled on his hands and knees toward her.

  She reached up with the flat of her bare foot and pressed it against his chest, halting his progress. The sight of her sweet pink toes shot his desire into overload.

  “I’m going to wear you out, Skipper. The way no woman has ever worn you out. Are you prepared for total surrender?” Her sultry laugh skipped across his eardrums.

  “Are you prepared for everything I’m going to give you?” He narrowed his eyes.

  She curled her toes into his chest. “This is a one-shot deal. Let’s make it a night to remember.”

  “Ha! One taste of me and you won’t be able to walk away after only one night,” he teased, his gaze hooking onto hers.

  “Where’d I put my shoes?” she teased right back.

  She dropped her foot, curled up to a sitting position and reached for his shoulders.

  Jeb groaned.

  “Hmm.” She reached down to wrap her fingers around his burgeoning shaft. “What have we here?”

  His face was level with her breasts. They were gorgeous. Perfect. Full and round and real, but not too big. Just right. The size of navel oranges. He loved navel oranges. He couldn’t help reaching out to cup her breasts in his hands.