Rock the Boat: A Griffin Bay Novel

by Starling, Lib

  Again she thought she detected a flicker of hurt in Davis’s blue eyes…

  But that can’t be. He doesn’t care one bit about me. I was actually beginning to like him, in spite of the blasting music and his pigheaded refusal to enjoy the islands… but I’ve meant nothing to him this whole time. Nothing but another conquest to stoke his disgusting ego.

  Davis’s grin had a hint of brittleness around the edges. “Sure. Never again. If you really think you can stay away from me for the next two days.”

  Beyond the hatch, Jordan could hear the tender’s engine cut off, the sound of her crew tying the little runabout boat up to the Coriolis’s stern. They’d be onboard again any second now, and by then Jordan was determined to shut all her feelings for Davis out of her heart forever… to finish this job as the professional skipper she was.

  And once it was over, she hoped she could convince herself to forget how good it had felt to lose herself in Davis’s arms—and how good it had felt to give in to her spontaneous side, even if just for those two blissful hours.

  Jordan shoved those feelings away with ruthless force and stomped back toward Davis. She drew close to him, ignoring the warm, musky smell of him, refusing to feel the tingle his proximity raised on her skin.

  “You think you’re irresistible? I’ve got news for you: you’re wrong. You may have been able to charm the panties off every other woman you’ve ever met, but this time you’ve met your match. I’m so in control of myself that even you—” she loaded the word with sarcasm— “won’t have any effect on me. Mark my words, Davis: I’ll never touch you again. I have no desire to—none. The only thing that’s keeping me from detailing exactly what I really think of you is the fact that I’m still on the clock. I’m still doing my job. And I’ll do it until this trip is over, because that’s what I do; I’m a professional. Now let’s just get through the next two days without killing each other, and we can both think back on this trip as a success. Or at least, we won’t have to think of it as entirely a disaster.”

  Davis gaped at her, and raised one finger as if he was about to speak, to make an important point. But Jordan wouldn’t hear it—couldn’t let herself hear it. Her heart lurched painfully over the things she had just said… because no matter how badly she wanted them to be true, needed them to be true, she knew they weren’t. She spun away from him and stormed toward the ladder. As she climbed up to the deck, she didn’t know whether it was the bright light of day that brought tears to her eyes… or the pain that sat like a rock, heavy in her chest.

  Jordan knew that Davis Steen had gotten under her skin like no one else ever had before. He was with her for good now, in a way that was irreversible and impossible to ignore. She could try to deny her feelings—for the next two days, she might even suppress them enough to focus on her sailing to the exclusion of all else. But once she left Davis on the pier at Griffin Bay, she knew her heart would break. For better or worse, he had shown Jordan a part of herself she had never known existed before. Now that she’d seen herself as a whole woman—as someone more than just the stern, rigidly controlled captain—she couldn’t shut the door on her true, complete self.

  Damn you, Davis. I was happy as I was before. Why did you have to do this to me? And why couldn’t you care enough about me to like me as much as I liked you?

  On the deck of the Coriolis, Jordan stretched nonchalantly in the sun and smiled at her crew as they climbed up from the tender.

  Emily hesitated with one hand still on the ship’s rail. She examined Jordan’s face in cautious silence while Jordan busied herself at the helm, reorganizing sailing charts that didn’t really need it.

  “What’s going on?” Emily asked patiently.

  Jordan glanced up from her charts and shrugged. “Going on? What do you mean?”

  Emily exchanged a long, knowing look with Storm.

  “Did something happen while we were gone?” Storm asked. “Is everything okay? You seem—”

  “Of course I’m okay! Why wouldn’t I be? Nothing happened; it’s business as usual. So how was the village?”

  Storm and Emily shared another doubtful stare, but Jordan refused to yield, and finally the crew seemed to settle into the afternoon routine. But as Emily chattered about their visit to the village, music began to thump and pound from within Davis’s cabin. Something about the music—the particular tunes he had chosen—seemed melancholy, broken-hearted.

  Jordan pulled her ultra-dark sunglasses from their case below the helm and slipped them onto her face quickly, before Storm and Emily could see the tears sparkling in her eyes.

  .15.

  Davis had hardly slept, tossing and turning on his wide berth while the Coriolis rocked gently at anchor. Pale morning light suffused the cabin with a soft, pearly glow, and Davis didn’t know whether to be glad or depressed at the sight of it. His restless night was over, but the sun had risen on a new day—and he was another day closer to returning to Seattle, to facing Tyler and whatever his bleak future might hold.

  He slipped quietly from his cabin and tip-toed barefoot down the length of the Coriolis. He passed the two stacked berths where Storm and Emily still slept, their bodies barely distinguishable from the shadows that blanketed them. They lay untroubled and easy, breathing steadily in the dim interior of the boat. Jordan had a small cabin to herself, and its door was shut, thank God. Davis didn’t want to see her just now, didn’t want to remember everything that had gone so right between them—and everything that had gone so wrong. He brushed past the galley without rattling any of the pans hanging on their hooks. Then he crept up the ladder and eased the hatch open so slowly and smoothly that its hinges barely whispered.

  The morning air was sharp; his breath misted with every exhalation, but the cloudless sky promised a fine, pleasant day to come. Davis was grandly alone on the boat’s deck, just him and the sunrise.

  His initial instinct was to recoil from the loneliness, the stillness—to retreat into the shelter of distraction, where he could ignore all his dark thoughts, if not drive them away completely. But there was no place to hide—not anymore. Jordan had felt like a last hope to him, the only way to cling to the life he’d enjoyed before. Her attraction to him, her inability to resist his charms, had been proof that everything could go on just as it had always done—the band, the fame, the money, the women who flocked to Davis in droves. Jordan’s desire for him had been his magic charm, a talisman against the failure that menaced him from the dark corners of his own thoughts. But Davis had screwed that up to—lost Jordan, just like he was about to lose everything else.

  Everything. The Local Youths would eventually slide out of the limelight. The money would dry up, the lifestyle would vanish. Davis pictured himself letting it all go—selling his swanky condo, trading in his car for a much more sensible model, moving out of the city to some inconsequential little town where he could live cheaply off residuals, for however long those residuals held out. And then… what? Get some sort of everyday job, maybe as a mechanic or in construction. Live out his days as a humble working man.

  To his surprise, the prospect raised no negative emotions in him—not now that he faced the future squarely and didn’t attempt to hide. There was nothing wrong with a nice, everyday job—a nice, everyday existence. Humble working men were men whom Davis admired. His parents would disagree, of course. His parents would still be disappointed in him, no matter what he did with his life. He’d blown his chance to become the bigshot professional they dreamed he would be, and nothing he did now would ever appease them.

  Screw them. I’m my own man—I’ve lived my own life, and I’ve loved the hell out of it.

  And he had loved it—all of it. There was nothing in the world that compared to being up on a stage, playing and singing in front of thousands of screaming fans. No thrill he’d ever experienced could compare with that incredible rush—the half-afraid, wildly panicked, glorious madness of performing. Nothing could compare with the view, looking out over a sea of peop
le who all loved you, who all wanted you.

  He would miss that life, but he didn’t regret the prospect of letting it go. I lived it—I was the frontman of one of the biggest bands in the world. No one can take that away from me. It’ll be a part of me for as long as I live.

  And maybe… maybe settling down into a more average existence would have benefits of its own. Davis was already in his thirties but he had never enjoyed a serious relationship with a woman—not with a good woman, anyway. Christine didn’t count. If he retired from the music business, he might finally get the chance to experience love instead of just lust. Settle down… maybe have a family of his own, someday.

  He closed his eyes, breathing in the chilly, salt-soaked morning air, trying to imagine what his future partner might be like. What kind of woman would she be? He pictured fantasy scenes of a nice, normal life—the kind of life a touring rock star didn’t get to enjoy. Waking up in bed next to the warmth of a familiar body, sitting down for morning coffee in the same old chair with the same face across from him, smiling over the rim of her mug. Comforting routines, the simple joy of predictability. He let his imagination wander farther afield. Buying a home with his future bride—a real house, not another condo in the city. Carrying her over the threshold, happy just to feel her arms around her neck and to hear her laughing in his ear. He pictured date nights at the movies, with no need to hide his identity under a ball cap and shades anymore. Honeymoons, anniversaries… he even imagined a couple of little kids tearing open presents on Christmas morning, while he and his dream-wife looked on, average… normal… happy.

  But in all his musings, the woman at his side, in his bed, in his arms had Jordan’s shape, her confidence and poise, her deep-brown eyes and long, dark hair. She had Jordan’s voice, Jordan’s laugh, Jordan’s soft sigh of surrender.

  Davis’s stomach clenched. A terrible pressure built inside his chest and raised a hard lump in his throat.

  I’m okay with losing anything—everything, he told himself. But not her.

  Too late. He had screwed it all up, destroyed his last chance with that amazing woman because he just had to seduce her, just had to use her as a crutch for his own ego.

  You really are the worst. Jordan’s voice echoed in his head, and Davis, nodding sadly, had to agree.

  He opened his eyes and stared out over the water. The realization that he had ruined any chance he’d had with Jordan left a dull ache in his head and chest. Sure, there were probably other girls out there who he could learn to appreciate, and with whom he could even fall in love… eventually. But none of them were like her—intense, focused, the go-getting boss of her world… and so touchingly, enticingly, maddeningly hot behind closed doors, when she turned over all that rigid self-control to Davis. He wasn’t prepared to say he was in love with Jordan. He barely knew her. But the knowledge that he’d never have the chance to fall in love with her—not now, thanks to his dickhead attitude—nearly choked him with regret.

  At least the scenery soothed him a little. The rising sun came warmly through the morning mist, revealing the blue-dark, rounded silhouettes of islands through low, white veils of clinging fog. The light moved in ripples of gold across the still, serene water. It really was beautiful out here. Now that Davis allowed himself the time to appreciate the scenery, it filled him with a poignant ache, half bliss, half remorse.

  He had only today left, and tomorrow. Then he’d be on a float plane back to Seattle—back to Tyler, who expected Davis to have everything figured out by now. But he didn’t have a damn thing figured out. His life was more a jumble and a mystery than it ever was before. He didn’t know where he was going. And he was okay with that. He had to be okay with it, or else he’d go crazy.

  Tyler wouldn’t like Davis’s answer. I don’t know who I am, and I have no idea what’s going to happen next. But it was an honest answer, and Davis knew it was right.

  He watched the sun climb a little higher. The great, arching backs of the islands warmed along their upper edges, glowing like polished emeralds against the silvery blue of the sky. The beauty was so intense that he held his breath, feeling his awe like a sharp pain inside him. Jordan had been right: he really had been avoiding this lovely peace for all the days of his voyage—hiding from the solitude, the bigness of the world, all its unknown depths and uncharted coves. But now here he stood, entirely alone, at peace with the quiet and the natural beauty of the world. That unknown future did still worry him… a little… if he was completely honest with himself. But now Davis understood the futility of ignoring those fears, of running from the things he must do.

  If I have to watch my life go down in flames anyway, he thought, I wish I’d taken more time to enjoy this trip. I wish I’d spent more time appreciating the beauty in the world, instead of running from it.

  Jordan—at least he’d recognized the beauty there. Recognized it all too well—with a stab of despair, Davis realized that Jordan had imprinted herself forever on his soul. There was no going back from the way he felt about her—whatever those feelings might be called. And there was certainly no forgetting her. She was the one beautiful thing he would surely remember from this trip—the one bright spot of loveliness in his life, before its impending slide into the unknown.

  Davis sat with his back against the fore mast, watching the world wake up. The mists that shrouded the islands’ edges dissipated, and he could see the intermittent flashes of white foam against dark, rocky shores where gentle waves met walls of stone. Gulls winged overhead, crying softly to one another as they flew. Far from the Coriolis, a pod of some small, dolphin-like creatures which Davis could not identify played in a sparkle of sunlight, their black backs rolling like little wheels along the surface of the water. Except for the ache in his heart where Jordan had made her mark, he felt content—as comfortable as he could with the days to come, the years to come… his life to come.

  After an hour of solitude, the hatch opened and Emily exited, yawning and stretching. Storm followed close on her heels.

  “I thought you’d still be in your cabin,” Emily said cheerily.

  “I’ve been up for a while now,” Davis said. “Just enjoying the view.”

  Emily gazed out at the morning, smiling with the fuzzy, half-attention one gives to something totally familiar.

  Davis said, “You know, you guys are lucky to live here. Really lucky.”

  “You think so?” She turned to him with a grin. “I’ve lived in the San Juans my whole life, and sure, it’s a beautiful place, but I think I’d like to live in a big city. For a couple of years, at least.”

  “It’s all just noise and traffic. It’s really losing its appeal for me, I have to admit. Now that I’ve had this down time, a little escape from it all…”

  “Now that you’re actually paying attention to the islands instead of just going nuts with your music.” Emily giggled. “Not that I’m complaining. We had some pretty good jam sessions.”

  Impulsively, Davis put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a friendly squeeze. “Yeah, we did. You and Storm ought to start a band of your own.”

  “You ought to move up to the islands, since you’ve come to like this place so much.”

  Maybe I should. Why not? Tyler would surely drop the Local Youths from Sky Records, and then the cascade of changes would snowball across Davis’s life. Bereft of his music career, he could go anywhere, be anything… even an islander, if he chose.

  And if he lived closer to Jordan, then maybe he hadn’t blown his last chance with her, after all. Maybe fate would provide a way for them to start over.

  Storm, who had been peering up at the towering foremast with one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, tapped Emily on the shoulder. “Anchor light’s out.”

  Emily squinted up the mast, too. After a moment she shook her head. “It is out. Again! That damn thing. I swear I change it at least once a month; the wiring must be screwy.”

  “Guess we’d better fix it now. Jordan has a pretty long
day planned and it might be getting dark by the time we anchor again.”

  “Okay; I’ll go get the bosun’s chair.” Emily pulled up the forward hatch and disappeared into the depths of the Coriolis like a rabbit vanishing into its burrow.

  “How are you going to get all the way up there to change a lightbulb?” Davis asked Storm. “That mast has to be sixty feet high! Don’t you need a cherry-picker to get all the way up there?”

  “It’s only fifty-six feet high,” Storm said with a crooked smile. “And you’re gonna see how we get up there.”

  Emily re-emerged with a strange contraption in her arms. Made of nylon webbing and steel rings, it resembled a cross between a child’s swing and a sky-diver’s harness. She and Storm hooked the thing to a stout line that extended down the length of the mast, then Emily slid her legs through the swing and buckled the harness around her body.

  Storm pulled a line from its deck cleat and beckoned to Davis. “Here; you’ll be the backup in case my winch fails.”

  Davis backed away nervously. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Don’t worry; it’s just a precaution. This line is rigged up on a nice, strong pulley and it’ll hold Emily’s weight just fine if anything goes wrong. You just lean on it a little if I tell you to.”

  Davis gripped the line tightly in both fists, already prepared for the worst even though Emily swung gently with her feet no more than six inches from the Coriolis’s deck.

  Meanwhile, Storm readied a winch at the base of the mast. “Ready?”

  Emily gave a thumbs-up, and Storm cranked the winch. It ratcheted loudly, raising Emily into the air. She wiggled her toes as she ascended, bouncing herself gently against the wooden mast, utterly unconcerned by the feat.

  “Holy crap,” Davis said. “She makes it look so easy.”

  “It is!” Storm cranked the winch for a few moments more, than called up to Emily, “All set?”

  Emily shouted a yes, then set to work at the top of the mast. Davis tried to imagine the view from nearly sixty feet above the water’s surface. It made him distinctly dizzy, to see Emily so small and dark against the sky, but it filled him with excitement, too.