Jordan never sang. She sat wrapped in a wool blanket with her knees pulled up to her chest, watching Davis across the span of the cockpit as he played, her eyes serious and assessing. But now and then as her friends sang along, a gentle smile did play on her lips. She was even more beautiful when she allowed happiness to shine through her hard exterior.
Davis finished the last chords of a love song and reached for the bottle of wine. There was just enough left for one more glass. He reached out to top Jordan off, but she covered the glass with her hand.
“One’s the limit for the captain. Even at anchor.”
“You really take this captain stuff seriously, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she said. She glanced quickly at Emily and Storm, then resolutely away from her friends. Her voice thickened with some intense emotion Davis couldn’t identify. “Sailing is my whole life.”
“I think that’s really cool,” he told her. He wasn’t turning on the charm now—not trying to win her over. He meant every word. “I mean, you’re not as old as I am, but you’ve found your thing—your path through life.”
Jordan gave a short, bitter laugh and stared down at the deck. “Yeah. I guess so.”
What had he said wrong? Davis watched Jordan’s face in the silvery starlight, but her thoughts seemed a thousand miles away. He poured the last of the wine into his own glass and sipped it, welcoming the warm tingle of alcohol along his veins.
He began to gently strum the opening chords of another song.
“Time for me to turn in,” Jordan said abruptly, rising and bundling up the blanket in her arms. “Have a good night, everybody, and my crew had better not stay up too late. We’re pulling anchor at eight a.m. sharp.”
Davis kept playing automatically, his hands moving smoothly through the chord progression. But his eyes and his thoughts followed Jordan as she disappeared below. Her absence from the cockpit—from their small, intimate gathering—felt like a huge, shocking thing. Midway through the song’s intro, he stopped—his hand froze on the fretboard, ignoring his will to continue. Instead he switched to a more melancholy tune. Somehow the tone of this new song seemed to fit his mood better, now that Jordan had gone.
But when he looked up at the sky, the lone star he’d seen before had been joined by hundreds more—thousands more. Davis’s fingers faltered again on the guitar strings. In all his tours through the world’s biggest cities, he had never seen a sky so bright with stars. Not a single point of light was lonely or isolated up in that vast, black curve of sky. And that made Davis feel just a little bit better.
.7.
The fourth day of the sailing trip dawned misty and damp—a far more typical Northwest morning than any they’d enjoyed since leaving Griffin Bay. The Coriolis glided through the pearl-gray fog into the mouth of Fisherman Bay. Jordan would have preferred clearer visibility for her entry into the bay, but getting in required the navigation of a tricky, narrow underwater channel. It was too easy to stick the boat’s keel in the mud or even damage the hull on the maze of hidden shoals. The tide was high early that morning, so that was when she had to enter the bay.
Storm stood at the prow, holding to the staysail’s rigging as he peered down into the water, on the lookout for any logs or other heavy objects which Jordan might have to steer around. Emily kept her eyes on the fathometer, calling out the water’s depth below the keel foot by foot as the Coriolis crawled under engine power toward its destination. It was delicate work. Jordan welcomed the quiet of morning as she handled the helm with an expert touch. The misty silence allowed her to concentrate on not running her boat aground.
That was when the thumping bass of Davis’s portable speakers started up belowdecks.
“Oh… my God,” Jordan whispered tensely. “Does he never stop with the loud music?”
Emily stifled a laugh. It fought its way out as an undignified snort. “He is a rock star. What do you expect?”
“Quiet! That’s what I expect! Who comes to the San Juan Islands and mopes around in the cabin the whole time, blasting music into his own face when there’s so much out here to see and experience?”
“He hasn’t been in his cabin the whole time,” Emily said.
That was true. Over the past three days, while Jordan sailed the Coriolis through some of the most stirring, spectacular maritime vistas known to man, Davis had remained mostly in his cabin, wrapped in the filthy blanket of his disturbingly loud music. But to his credit he did emerge whenever it was time to eat. Once or twice he’d even come up to check out the scenery—for no more than fifteen minutes at a time—and then, with some dismissive comment that was carefully calculated to prove how cool he was, he vanished again to pound on Jordan’s nerves with his music.
As irritating as she found Davis’s total disregard for the sailing experience, Jordan had to admit to herself that she was just a little bit glad Davis kept mostly out of sight. Her body seemed to be in total rebellion against her common sense and good judgment, because whenever Davis did appear, he was the only thing Jordan could look at.
Often she found herself staring at him in disgusted fury, wondering how any person could remain so unmoved by the beauty through which they traveled. But the moment he’d speak in that dark, velvety voice, or the moment he’d move in his loose, casually graceful style, a tight knot would form in Jordan’s stomach. She didn’t know whether it was hatred or desire.
And God help Jordan if Davis came close enough for her to catch a whiff of his smell. A couple of times he’d settled down in the cockpit for a few minutes, gazing unmoved at the islands as they passed… and the prevailing breeze had bombarded Jordan’s senses with an over-awareness of his presence. Once, while in that pathetic state, she had let a line slip right through her hands and the mainsail had flapped like the wings of a startled bird—and once she’d lost track of where she was going and steered the Coriolis entirely off course.
Worse than her Davis-induced blunders was the sneaking suspicion Jordan had that he knew exactly what he was doing to her. He would linger around Jordan for a few minutes, and as soon as she slipped up somehow—as soon as she betrayed her distraction, her temptation—he fixed her with his slow, curling smile and those piercing blue eyes. Got you, those smoldering looks seemed to say. Then he headed back down to his cabin, leaving his lingering scent behind, along with the unspoken promise that he’d be back to shake Jordan up again, and twist up her mind with fury and longing, just as soon as she settled herself and began to sail straight again.
But that damn music never seemed to stop thumping and blaring from his cabin. It was almost as if Davis had some sort of peace-induced phobia.
“I can’t stand him,” Jordan muttered to Emily. “He’s so much worse than I thought he’d be.”
Emily glanced up from the fathometer with a skeptical smirk. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah, really. Six more days and I’ll be free of him for good. I’ll never have to see or talk to or think about Davis Steen again. I can’t wait.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth she felt an uncomfortable twinge in her chest. That’s a good thing, right? To never see him again?
“He’s really not that bad,” Emily said. “In fact, I kind of like him.”
“Of course you do. You were already a huge fan of his music.”
“No, I mean I like him as a person. Eleven feet,” she added, eyes back on the fathometer. “Storm likes him, too. Ten-point-two feet.”
“You and Storm are traitors, then.”
Emily giggled.
“I accuse you both of mutiny.”
“Okay, we’ll both walk the plank as soon as we drop anchor, if it’ll make you happy.”
The song on Davis’s sound system ended. Jordan breathed deep in the momentary silence, hoping he was done for the morning. Then a new song started up, twice as annoying as the one that had played before.
“I don’t get how either one of you can find anything to appreciate in a man like Davis,�
� Jordan muttered.
“That’s because you’re only looking at what he shows on the surface.”
Jordan took her eyes off the channel markers to glance at Emily, startled. “What do you mean by that?”
“I know he’s got this ‘too cool for school’ act down to a science, but come on, Jordy. It’s obviously just his defense.”
“Defense? What does he need to defend himself against? He’s world-famous! He’s got more money than I’ll ever have!”
Emily looked up from the fathometer again, her pretty face shadowed by an irritated frown. “You know it creeps me out to talk about how much money my family has. But… take it from your friend who was raised like a princess: money doesn’t solve all your problems. In fact, I think it only makes more problems.”
Jordan shook her head, annoyed at herself, chiding herself for the insensitivity. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right,” Emily said quickly. “You know I love ya. Thirteen feet.”
Jordan peered down at the GPS readout of the Fisherman Bay chart. She turned the helm expertly, angling the Coriolis into the exact center of the channel. They went on in silence for a few moments more. Then finally Jordan said, “So… what do you think Davis is hiding from?”
Emily raised one pale-gold eyebrow.
“Not that I’m really all that interested,” Jordan added.
“Of course not. Well, I can’t say for sure. But Davis seems to be really hate silence. Haven’t you noticed it? He can’t handle quiet—if there’s not something happening to hold his attention, some big, loud, thumping noise to distract him, he shuts himself in his cabin and blasts his music. It’s been a clear pattern since the first night of our trip. Something’s going on inside his head that makes silence intolerable.”
“His own thoughts?” Jordan wondered aloud. Dark thoughts or painful memories—those were the only things she could imagine that might haunt a quiet moment.
Emily shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
“Fat chance of that ever happening. The only time he ever talks to me is to ask me if there’s a town with a bar on whatever island we’re sailing past, so he can go ashore and party. What does he thinks this is, Jay-Z’s yacht?”
“Well, he is a paying customer,” Emily said. “Kind of. I don’t have to tell you, the consummate professional, that he gets some say over what he does, since we’re the work for hire.”
“I’m still the captain, and I call the shots as long as we’re onboard.”
They navigated through the final turn of the channel and glided out into the glassy, gray expanse of Fisherman Bay. The low, grass-green profile of Lopez Island emerged from the mist, and Jordan concentrated on anchoring the boat, grateful for a reason to stop wondering about Davis, even if it was only a momentary distraction. As the anchor chain rattled loudly down from the bow and the engine hummed into reverse, she realized that she didn’t really want to know what plagued Davis’s thoughts. If she learned what lay under that cocky, contrarian exterior she was afraid she might find him… sympathetic. As likable as Emily and Storm found him to be. Jordan didn’t want to like her final client. She wanted it to be easy to fold up Sea Wolf Charters and leave this experience behind. The last thing she needed was to look back on her chartering business with any warm, fuzzy feelings.
The sound of the anchor had evidently roused Davis from his shielding cocoon of obnoxious music. He came up the ladder to the cockpit and stood stretching right in front of Jordan’s face—his lean, hard body bent in a posture of lazy display, the muscles in his arms and chest rippling. He said nothing, but gave Jordan one of those slanted, arrogant, coolly amused smiles.
Jordan’s cheeks burned, and she hated herself for blushing—for showing any discomfiture where Davis could see. Had he known she’d been checking him out the whole time he was stretching? Of course he had. He seemed to know every time Jordan looked at him, as if he could feel her gaze like a physical touch. And he seemed to know, too, that Jordan couldn’t help it—she had no choice but to stare at him. He was so gorgeous, so captivating… so totally infuriating.
Emily headed down to the galley to make the coffee and round up a few pastries for their breakfast. To Jordan’s dismay, Storm was quick to join her, and she was left alone in the cockpit with Davis.
“Where to today?” Davis asked.
She waved at the island. “Lopez.” As she spun off a few facts about the island and its unique culture, her mind drifted into a litany of Davis’s many physical attractions. Strong arms, scratchy face, bright blue eyes… She kept her gaze on the misty shoreline so she could avoid glancing down at his jeans. She didn’t want any excuse to add Intriguing package to his list of finer points.
Davis cut off her bland recitation of Lopez Island Fun Facts. “Does this place have a town? With a—”
“A bar?” Jordan guessed.
Davis grinned at her, and the whole length of her spine tingled.
“It does,” she admitted. “But you aren’t not going there.”
“What?” His voice was flat, disbelieving. “Come on, Captain. It’s not like you’re my AA sponsor.”
“Do you have one?”
He laughed. The tingle in her spine turned to a lightning jolt along her limbs.
“No,” Davis said. “I’ve never needed one. I may like to party, but I’m not problematic.”
That’s debatable, she told him silently. “You’re not going there because we won’t have time. The bar doesn’t open until after 5:00 sometime—”
“Sometime?”
“That’s the way things are out here in the islands. Schedules are more like suggestions. Or vague hints.”
“Well, why can’t we go over to the bar sometime after five?”
“Because we’ll be gone by then. The tide’s on a funky schedule today, and if we stay past three o’clock our keel will get stuck in the mud.”
“I thought you said schedules are more like suggestions.”
The comment caught her so off-guard that Jordan couldn’t help but smile. It was a real smile, open, willing to give Davis one brief chance—not one of the pinched attempts she’d made at hiding her conflicted, half-irritated happiness over the past several days of their voyage.
“That only applies to islanders,” she said with a little laugh. “Not to the gravitational pull of the moon.”
“Right. My bad.”
Davis fell silent, watching her for what felt like an eternity. Jordan glanced at him almost shyly; his blue eyes locked with her own, and Jordan found herself unable to look away. And she didn’t want to look away. In that brief moment of quiet, she thought she could finally make out what Emily saw in Davis—a certain mysterious vulnerability lurking just below his façade of unshakable cool, his mask of rock-star clichés.
He is bothered by something, Jordan realized as she held Davis’s faintly troubled gaze. But what? What could possibly get past that unflappable exterior of perfect masculinity? In the quiet moment they shared—one of the only times she ever saw Davis without any accompanying noise or activity—all her annoyance fell away. She suddenly wanted to know what made him tick—what was inside the cavalier musician’s heart.
Davis turned away with a shake of his head, barking out a coarse laugh. The gesture seemed dismissive, and the sudden brush-off flared Jordan’s annoyance instantly back to life.
Six more days, she told herself grimly as Emily and Storm brought breakfast up from the galley.
.8.
After they had all eaten, Storm prepared the little runabout power boat that rode low on the Coriolis’s tail. Jordan watched with grim satisfaction as Davis approached Storm to ask him just what he was doing.
“Emily and I are going to the village to do some laundry and pick up more food.”
Davis cut a quick glance in Jordan’s direction, then said, “Sweet. I’m coming with you.”
“No you’re not,” Jordan called from the helm, wher
e she fiddled with the GPS charts on her tablet.
She knew if Davis made landfall he’d shackle himself to the bar’s front door until it finally opened. The brief moment of silence they’d shared just before breakfast seemed unbearable to him—he was jittery and shaken up now, bouncing on the balls of his feet and absent-mindedly butting both his fists together in a way that made the well-defined muscles in his arms jump—and held Jordan’s attention in an uncomfortable way.
Davis gave her a look of open disbelief.
“Not enough room in the tender, once they get the bag of laundry in there,” Jordan said casually.
Davis eyed the little motor boat with a cynical frown. “There’s plenty of room. There would have to be, anyway. The Coriolis is huge—it can carry a lot more than just the four of us. Isn’t there some kind of law that you have to fit all your passengers into…” he made a helpless, juggling gesture as he searched for the right word. “Emergency backup boats?”
Davis had her there. The tender was certainly big enough to carry him to shore. She tried another tack. “Well, I’m the captain and that means I’m the boss of the ship. I say who stays and who goes.”
Davis tried another tack. He stepped close to Jordan, smiling. He folded his arms tight across his muscular chest as he stared down into her eyes. His grin infuriated her with its smugness. “Well, I’m the paying customer. It’s my money that’s funding this trip.”
Jordan swallowed hard, and this time she didn’t even try to hide it from Davis. He was going to notice anyway, no matter what she did. The man was hyper-attuned to the effect of his own sex appeal. And he loved the way he put Jordan off balance—she could tell that from his smile.
Why did she want him to stay? It had to be more than just the threat of the bar. Jordan told herself it was the mystery of that brief flash of vulnerability she’d seen in his eyes. She wanted a chance to figure him out—that was all. If she could piece together his puzzle, find out what made him tick, what made him such an oblivious, self-absorbed prick… then she could get through the next six days without going crazy.
But as Davis stepped closer to her, her skin began to tingle, and the tingle settled to a hot, throbbing glow in her chest. The heat of it spread downward until she was pulsing with excitement low in her stomach, and then lower still…
Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel Page 6