Trusting Again

by Peggy Bird

  “No? Well, we were busy with other things.” The wicked smile was back.

  She ignored it. “Are you planning a trip? It looks like you’re going to the San Juans.”

  “I am. I’m going sailing for ten days, starting next Friday.”

  “I’m green with envy. Is this your annual vacation or something?”

  “More like ‘or something.’ I leave soon after the sailing trip for six weeks in Central America. I always try to have some time to myself before I go on one of these big business trips.”

  “Where’re you going in the islands?”

  “Haven’t completely decided yet. Definitely a couple days on San Juan Island. I have a friend in Friday Harbor, a coffee roaster who has a special roast for me, and I like Roche Harbor too. You said you liked the San Juans. What’re your favorite places?”

  “Haven’t been in awhile, so I don’t know if things have changed, but I’ve always liked Orcas Island for the art galleries, And we used to bicycle on Lopez. Oh, and I like Jones Island.”

  “Jones? Really? I’ve never done more than sail past. What’s there?”

  “The whole island’s a state park. It has nice camping sites and a quiet cove or two.”

  He had the coffee dripping by now and was looking at her with a thoughtful expression. “Why don’t you come with me and show me?”

  “Come with you? I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s … we haven’t … I mean … ”

  “I promise not to chain you to an oar and force you to row across the Pacific on water and hardtack. And I’ll throw in having the master cabin all to yourself if that makes the offer more appealing.”

  “Hardtack? Do they still make that?” She laughed. “Fear of being shanghaied isn’t the problem. I just can’t.”

  “You have other commitments. I understand.”

  “No, not that.”

  “Then what?” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m putting you on the spot. Why don’t you think about it for a couple days? I’m leaving tomorrow for a quick trip to visit some of our clients in California before I go to Central America. I’ll call in a couple days and you can let me know what you decide. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have sail with me, but if you don’t want to, I understand.” He checked his coffeemaker. “But now, coffee’s ready. And my bed is calling. Want to join me?” The look in his eyes was definitely not one that said he was going back to sleep.

  Chapter 6

  Cynthia spent the next few days playing “should I/shouldn’t I” with herself as she tried to decide whether she’d go sailing with Marius. Ten days on a boat with him sounded glorious. And scary. Romantic. And threatening. A welcome vacation when she hadn’t had one in years. A definite challenge to her determination to resist falling for the most attractive, sexiest man she’d ever met.

  Why was she even considering it? She’d told herself she wouldn’t get involved with someone like him again. A man who could break her heart in an instant by leaving her because she wasn’t the woman he needed with him. Just like Josh had.

  But Marius wasn’t like Josh. He was sweet and funny. Successful and financially well-off like Josh, yes, but he’d pursued her, even after he thought she’d ignored the note he’d left for her at the Heathman. God knows he was an amazing lover. But outside of bed, what did they have in common? They lived in different worlds.

  The whole time he was in California, she went back and forth about going or not going. She couldn’t make up her mind. Finally, she decided she’d just say the first thing that came to her mind when he asked again. But on Tuesday night, when he called from L.A., before he could even ask she said, “What time will you pick me up on Friday?”

  • • •

  Surprisingly, instead of the designer jeans and Ralph Lauren polo shirt she’d imagined he’d wear, when he showed up at six A.M. on Friday, he was in cut-offs and deck shoes with an unbuttoned blue work shirt, the shirttails of which were tied around his middle. After she stopped staring at the muscles in his chest, she saw he was sipping — maybe gulping would be a better word — from the biggest personal coffee cup she’d ever seen.

  “Tired from your trip?” She gestured toward the cup.

  “Not a morning person, remember? It takes this much caffeine to get me going if I have to function at this hour.”

  “I don’t understand how you can dislike mornings. It’s my favorite time of the day. Everything seems possible when I first get up. Nothing has gone wrong yet.”

  “Except having to leave the comfort of my bed.” With one raised eyebrow and a half-smile, he handed her the coffee cup and picked up two bags of groceries and her large duffle bag. “If you can take that little duffle, my cup and whatever’s in those plastic bags, we can get this out in one trip.”

  The Olympic Mountains to the west and Mt. Rainier to the east presided over a Northwest summer morning that would have stolen the heart of even the most determined advocate for some other part of the country. The sun was out; the sky was clear. Morning light bounced off the windows of the upper floors of downtown skyscrapers that, in the winter, were often above the city’s ubiquitous low-hanging clouds. Today the buildings stood proudly visible over a city just beginning to awaken.

  The top was down on the car; traffic hadn’t gotten to gridlock yet. Once they were out of Seattle proper, Marius hit the gas pedal and they seemed to fly. He drove with the same relaxed skill with which he seemed to do everything and Cynthia got caught up in the enjoyment of the ride. She didn’t dare look at the speedometer, but then he was the one risking the speeding ticket.

  However, even the Washington State Patrol seemed under Marius Hernandez’s spell this morning. They were nowhere in sight. No cops. Beautiful weather. A fast car. A handsome man. And her Death Cab for Cutie CDs. She didn’t know how the day could get much better.

  They made good time getting to Anacortes where the boat was docked. That’s where the day got complicated, where the consequences of her decision hit. He suggested she stow her duffle bag and some of the groceries while he went to the marina locker to get the gear stored there. As soon as she went below, she saw what she should have thought about before making a decision — the quarters in the boat were tight. Standing in the middle of the living space, a seat on either side that she knew became beds at night, she wondered if she’d made a big mistake.

  Within five minutes, the whole place would smell like him. She’d be squeezing past him dozens of times a day going from the deck to the kitchen and God knows what they were going to do about sleeping arrangements. He’d said she could have the master cabin to herself but …

  “The master cabin is behind you,” he said, coming down from the deck. “Throw your stuff in there. It’ll give you some privacy. I’m used to sleeping out here anyway.”

  “Oh, you’ve rented this boat before?”

  His smile was almost shy. “I didn’t rent it. My friend Enrique and I own it. It’s our way to run away from work. We each have it two weeks a month.”

  “Then it’s even more appropriate that you sleep in the master cabin. I’ll sleep out here.”

  He picked up her duffle bag and threw it onto the bed in the cabin. “There. Done. You’re in there. The captain says so.”

  The rest of their preparation for leaving, loading supplies and gear, went better and they were ready to motor out of the marina only a couple hours after they got there. They weren’t alone on the water, by any means, but as it was a weekday, they weren’t part of an armada either.

  When they got to open water, they hoisted the sails. Skirting around smaller islands, looking at the homes nestled in the woods along the shore or up on a hill, hoping for an eagle or two to swoop overhead, they began to make their way in a circuitous course toward Orcas Island.

  She’d somehow forgotten how free it felt to skim over the water, the sea air in her face, the boat heeling with the wind. It brought back some of her best memories of growing up. In
the first two hours, she laughed more from sheer joy than she had in years. It took her less than that to decide, given her choice, she’d spend the rest of the summer sailing if she could, it didn’t matter where. From watching Marius, she was pretty sure he was enjoying it as much as she was. Not to mention seeing him handle the lines, sheets, and tiller answered the question she’d had about how he got those calluses on his hands.

  About halfway to their destination, as if the natural world around them wasn’t providing her with enough amazing scenery, Marius made the view considerably better by taking off his blue work shirt. She didn’t know if he’d worked up a sweat but she was sure she broke out in one looking at him. Those gorgeous shoulders came out in all their glory, as well as the chest she loved to nestle against, the six-pack she’d run her fingers over when they were in bed, the dark hair on his chest tapering to a thin line leading down his flat belly to …

  Madness. It led to madness. If she had any chance of doing something other than lust after him all day, she had to stop thinking about what was under those cut-offs. It was bad enough worrying about whether he expected her to make the first move tonight and invite him into her cabin or if she should wait for him to ask. But obsessing about it all day would only interfere with her enjoyment of the trip. She had to focus on something other than his body and what they might be doing when the sun went down and they were tucked into the coziness of the boat.

  She looked around for something, anything, to take her mind off him. There. That line. She could coil it up so neither of them would trip on it. And police up the life jackets that had slid off the seats when they’d been heeled over. That should do it.

  • • •

  What was going on? Up ’til two minutes ago, she’d looked so happy. Marius had been trying to come up with ways to keep that look on her face every day for the rest of the trip. She was relaxed, at ease with herself and with him. After only an hour or so, she was handling the lines and sheets with the confidence of an experienced sailor, even though she’d said she hadn’t been sailing in years. She was stronger than he expected, quick on her feet, graceful at everything she did and beautiful doing it. But now she looked pensive, disturbed by something. What?

  Then, just as suddenly, her expression changed back. She was engaged again, coiling a line, a happy expression on her face. He liked watching her. It took a luffing sail to remind him he’d better watch what he was doing and not her.

  It was difficult. The wind had loosened some of the hair from her braid and the strands curled around her face and neck. He wanted to smooth them back into the braid, tuck the loose ends behind her ears after he’d rubbed their silky texture through his fingers. But he’d sworn to himself that he’d keep his hands, and every other part of his anatomy, to himself until she indicated she wanted him to do otherwise.

  Not that she made it easy with what she was wearing. Those cute little white shorts were bad enough, showing off the long, lissome legs he had last seen wrapped around him in his bed. But almost as soon as they were on board, she’d taken off the prim blue and white striped shirt she had on and tied it around her waist, leaving only a black bikini top that barely contained her breasts. He remembered only too well what those breasts tasted like, how her pink nipples beaded up when he touched them, how her breasts fit perfectly in his hands as he caressed them …

  Mother of God, he had to stop this. When he offered her the master cabin, he’d hoped she’d suggest they share it but she hadn’t. The look of fear he’d seen on her face when he’d gone below for the first time at the marina had sobered him. He didn’t think she was afraid of him, but he’d apparently underestimated her uneasiness about coming on this trip. He had to make her comfortable. Once she got comfortable, it was more likely he’d get to be that way, too. Otherwise, he was going to walk around with an aching groin for ten days.

  The privacy he’d promised, she’d get, even if it meant he had to sleep in the main cabin and stare at the damn door to the master cabin all night. Which is what he imagined he’d be doing tonight. Not what he’d planned, but then half of what he’d planned with this woman hadn’t gone his way so why was he surprised this trip was headed in that direction?

  • • •

  Mid-day they moored at East Sound on Orcas Island for lunch. Cynthia had volunteered to provide all the lunches as her contribution to the trip. Today, she served up cold chicken, a pasta salad, nectarines, and brownies. He offered a light white wine or sparkling water to accompany lunch. She picked the latter. She was not about to add alcohol to the mix of sun, wind, and Marius Hernandez’s half-naked body and was relieved when he chose the same.

  When they’d packed up the remains of their meal, Cynthia poked around in her small duffle bag and came up with a tube of sunscreen. “I need to put more on. Want some?”

  He held out his latte-colored arm. “With this skin?”

  “With any skin. You mean you don’t have any sunblock on? Don’t you know about the epidemic of skin cancer? Here, let me.” Without thinking it through, she went behind him and began to rub lotion onto his shoulders.

  It was a mistake, a very big mistake. The heat of his skin zinged through her fingers, up her arm, into her chest, taking up so much space in her lungs it was hard to breathe. She tried to get more oxygen in by taking deep, deep breaths, but that just meant she replaced the little air in her lungs with the exotic smell she associated with him, a scent even the sunscreen couldn’t mask.

  And if touching his skin wasn’t bad enough, there was the feel of the muscles underneath. Oh, dear God, the muscles. Trying to distract her mind from what she was doing, she racked her brain for something to think about that wasn’t related to his body. Touching his body. Massaging those muscles. Which if she didn’t stop thinking about would lead to licking all the way up his spine to his neck. Where she’d nibble, until she moved to sucking on his earlobe. Or maybe sliding her hands around his waist, insinuating her fingers under the waistband of his cutoffs to follow that line of dark hair.

  No! She had to do something to stop the train wreck she could see coming if she kept on thinking this way. But she couldn’t help herself. She loved touching him. Loved the feel of his skin and the strength of his muscles. Remembered what it felt like to have him hold her, touch her. To feel the hardness of his body against her softness. To have all that male heat against her. Inside her.

  This was getting worse by the minute. There had to be something she could do. But what? What? Wait. She’d read someplace about what men did to divert themselves from thinking about sex. What was it? Oh, right. They thought about baseball. That wasn’t workable. She didn’t know enough about the sport to form a coherent diversionary sentence.

  Okay. What was it Liz said she’d done when she wanted to stop smoking? Oh, yeah, she’d used the idea of a mental stop sign when she got the urge to light up. Cynthia closed her eyes for a minute, pictured a huge, red stop sign on Marius’s back and proceeded to blow right through it to touch the next muscle.

  Then she remembered her life drawing class in college, naked bodies as art project. She’d learned all the major muscles in that class and now ran through what she could remember. Trying to think of the correct names for what she was massaging worked at first. Deltoids. Triceps. Biceps. Brachioradialis.

  Arms and shoulders finished.

  Then on to his back. Latissimus dorsi. Trapezius. Obliques. She was on a roll. Gluteus max … oh, shit. Don’t go there. Do not go anywhere near that thought. Or that muscle.

  One by one, his muscles tensed and twitched as her fingers worked the lotion into his skin as if she’d said its name out loud. Maybe she had. Or was that Marius she heard? She could have sworn she heard a soft groan as she spread the sunblock down his back to the waistband of his cutoffs. She felt like moaning herself. If she didn’t finish this soon, she’d be lost.

  • • •

  He had about twenty seconds of control left before he’d strip her naked and thrust himself deep in
side her right here on the deck in front of all the angels in heaven, a half dozen boats and whoever was watching from shore. There was only one thing to do to save her — save himself — from that.

  “I think you got it all,” he said. His voice, he knew, was thick, hoarse. “Let me do your back.”

  He grabbed the sunblock from her with a grip so tight, enough lotion squirted out to save a significant portion of the population of the state of Washington from malignant melanoma. After taking a second or two to compose himself, he began to slowly, carefully, rub the cream along her arms.

  Her skin was so soft, her muscles so pliant. She pressed her arm into his hand and rotated her shoulder back towards him as he smoothed the sunscreen across her back, up her neck, under a complicated set of woven strings holding her bikini top on. Ties he would love to un-complicate, un-weave, rip through, bite off.

  And she made little noises, tiny moans in the back of her throat, like the sounds she made when she was about to come. He didn’t think she knew what she was doing, what it was doing to him, but he didn’t stop her — didn’t want to stop her. Any more than he could stop himself from thinking what it would be like to ease his fingers under the front of the top, feel her breasts, touch the nipples he was sure were in hard peaks by now.

  Jesus, this wasn’t any better than having her put the lotion on him. Fortunately, she turned around. “I think my back’s done now.”

  He still had a handful of sunscreen in the palm of one hand. “How about your face?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before gently massaging the lotion into her forehead, along her nose, down her cheeks to her jaw, then her neck and her chest.

  His fingers were now on the rise of her breasts; all he had to do was slide down the slope to her nipple. He could see them peaked against the thin fabric of her bikini top, knew she was aroused, too. Her breathing was rapid; her face was flushed. Just another inch or two …