At the Clearest Sensation

by M. L. Buchman

  “Belle knows her boats.”

  In answer she prepped the other sheet for the next tack, then shot him a million-watt smile. Jesus, talk about a screen dazzler.

  “I love sailing,” she pointed at his chest. He glanced down at his t-shirt.

  “I’ll get you one.”

  Chapter 2

  The Duck Dodge was utter mayhem, and Isobel couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Waiting for the start, boats veered every which way around each other. Tacks came so close together than her hands were soon sore—she wasn’t in practice for this anymore.

  After a particularly fast tack and back, Devlin tossed her a pair of fingerless bicycle gloves. She yanked them on gratefully.

  His boat was so light and agile that the least breeze heeled them well over and sent them racing ahead with utterly brilliant acceleration.

  By the time the starting horn sounded, he’d apparently used magic. Of the hundred sailboats, theirs was perfectly positioned, and they were one of the first across the line.

  The entire nature of the race changed at that point. All the maneuvering and twisting for advantage fell away. With the bit in its teeth, the Dragon leapt forward with the rest of the fleet streaming behind.

  Other than minor changes to the sheet as the vagaries of the wind shifted around the surrounding hills, she could simply sit back and enjoy herself. They were third to a buoy that lay just before a low drawbridge at the northeast corner of the lake.

  Coming about hard, they turned onto a broad reach with the sails swung well out to the side to capture the wind swooping in from the aft quarter.

  In a companionable silence, they ran close by the broad lawn of the park at the north end of the lake. She could imagine ways to use it in the upcoming shoot. In the morning, the sun would catch the paved walkway that led to the top of the hill with a soft—

  Isobel pushed that out of her thoughts. Tonight was only about sailing. The sun was off the lake and, though the breeze was cool, the air remained warm. It was so fresh and alive she wished she could bathe in it.

  “Ever fly a chute, Belle?”

  “A chute?”

  “A spinnaker.”

  “I know what a chute is. I was questioning if you could fly one on this little lake.”

  “Hadn’t planned on it, but that was before I acquired such a fine crew. Let’s give it a try.”

  She shrugged her acceptance and he talked her through setting up the big spinnaker sail. In her experience, it was an awkward task of poles, lines, and a lightweight sail that wanted to twist and snarl at the least opportunity.

  Except…not on this boat.

  He’d made an utterly ingenious rig that included a small trap door at the very bow of the deck. She peeked below. The spinnaker was housed in a big cloth tube under the deck. It only took a minute or so to get everything set. They were ready by the time they hit the next turning mark.

  “Ready about?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “That’s the spirit. Helms alee.” And he took the turn. Most of the way around he shouted out, “Now! Do it up, Belle.”

  She let go the jib halyard and hauled on the spinnaker’s.

  The big sail slithered out of the hatch and gave one loud snap as it caught the wind. It filled beautifully and in moments they were racing downwind. Instead of a simple white or color-striped sail like most spinnakers she’d seen, it was sewn as an elaborate multi-colored dragon flying gloriously aloft to lead them ahead at incredible speed.

  Isobel could offer no answer to the sensation other than her laughter.

  Devlin slipped close by the committee boat.

  “Another one for your collection, my boy,” Hank reached out a pole between their boats.

  “Thanks, Hank.” Devlin plucked his prize from the gripper at the end of the pole.

  “You rafting up?” Sissy, one of Hank’s daughters had her hand out, ready to take a line.

  He usually did. The Duck Dodge traditionally ended with a whole line of boats rafted up to the committee boat. Dinner, drinks, jokes, and occasionally willing companions would drift back and forth across the tied-up boats for hours as night settled over the city.

  But then he thought of Isobel. She’d be recognized in a heartbeat. In fact, he saw Sissy’s eyes widen suddenly. She might be past fifty, Hank was in his eighties after all, but she looked to be on the verge of a complete fan-squeal meltdown.

  He usually enjoyed hanging out, but—

  He saw Isobel flinch, glance quickly at him, then slowly work to paste on a pleasant smile that looked nothing like the one she’d worn throughout the race. She was clearly all too used to what happened next.

  “Catch you next time, Hank. I’ll bring some of my homebrew.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  He waved and peeled off before Sissy recovered her ability to speak.

  “Homebrew?” Isobel…nah, screw it. She wanted to be Belle; he’d let her be. Her voice was still tight, as she grabbed onto a subject change like a person overboard lunging for a life preserver. Afraid he’d recognize her and screw up the evening by becoming a fawning idiot.

  “I brew a mean brown ale. Hank has a weak spot for it.” He kept his eyes on the other boats still charging for the finish line as if she was of no new consequence. She deserved a bit of normalcy.

  The lake was emptying slowly. Some race finishers were rafting up with Hank. Others were heading toward their slips.

  He wasn’t ready to go. Not because he had Isobel Manella aboard, but because he had Belle aboard and he just wanted to revel a bit more in how fun she was to sail with.

  “You okay with puttering around a bit?”

  “Completely,” it sounded as if she was getting her voice back. Her shoulders eased as he drifted the Dragon all the way down to the south end, spilling air from the sails to slow their progress.

  She seemed to enjoy the silence, so he gave it to her.

  When he finally had to make a lazy tack to avoid running into the old Coast Guard lightship moored at the museum, she flipped the lines as if it was second nature.

  “Damn but that’s—” Then he bit down on his tongue. He knew better than to say the rest of that thought aloud.

  “What?”

  He figured silence was his best way out of this one.

  “What?” But of course she wasn’t going to let it go.

  He shrugged in resignation, “A beautiful woman who can sail as well as you do. That’s seriously sexy.”

  Rather than lacerating him for that, she arched a single perfect eyebrow.

  “You’re joking, right? Nobody says something like that in public any more.”

  With no better answer, he shrugged again.

  “You’re a strange man, Mr. Beast.”

  He laughed. He’d forgotten his role. “Roar.”

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re putting your heart into the role.”

  “I’ll work on it.”

  She didn’t speak again as the evening wind fell off until they were ghosting along the lake at only a few knots. Her face slowly faded into the night, except for odd moments when the city lights shone just enough to show her features. Quiet, peaceful, simply gliding through the night. There’d been no scene like this in her movie, where she simply enjoyed the serenity of sailing, but he loved that she felt it. Understood it.

  The raft of boats slowly broke up, until the next time they passed that way, the lake was mostly theirs. The few craft remaining on the water were marked by their glittering red and green navigation lights to either side and a small white one to the stern. One by one, houseboat lights along the shore flickered out, though the city still shone bright beyond the south end of the lake.

  A police boat slid by.

  As much as he hated to do it, he figured it was time to send Belle back to her world.

  When he eased up to the end of her dock, she stepped lightly ashore without a word, then turned to face him. He hooked a hand o
ver the end piling to hold the boat in place.

  “I—” then her laugh trickled forth. “I was going to thank you, but I don’t know your name.”

  “I’m The Beast,” he added a growl that still sounded pretty lame.

  “You’re getting there. Keep practicing. Well, thank you, Mr. Beast, for the best evening I’ve had in a very, very long time.”

  He reached into his back pocket and, pulling out their race prize, he handed it over to her.

  “What’s this?”

  “First prize in the Duck Dodge. A golden duck sticker.”

  “My! Such glory. But it’s yours,” she went to hand it back.

  “Might already have a few in my collection. This one is yours, Belle. You absolutely deserve first prize.”

  “Why thank you, kind Beast.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Belle.” And it really had been. Completely unexpectedly, she’d been more human and normal than any woman he’d been around in a long time.

  “What’s your Dragon boat’s name? I feel that I should thank her too for the lovely sail.”

  He glanced down at the deck. She was Unicorn. Between being a Dragon-class boat, (myth liked myth after all) and having the single mast so tall and slender, it had seemed to fit. But—

  Devlin looked back up at her, a lovely silhouette backed by the houseboat lights.

  “You know, it’s funny that you should ask that.”

  “Why?”

  “Her name’s the same as yours…Belle.”

  “No way,” her bright laugh sealed the name change. The previous owner had named it for his brat of a kid, so Devlin had already changed it once ignoring the bad luck that was supposed to come with it. Maybe this time it would be a luckier change.

  “Scout’s honor.” He’d been a lousy scout. Wasn’t big on conforming to anyone’s rules but his own.

  “Well, thank you, Belle. And thank you.” Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly. The smell of her was overwhelming. Cool evening and fresh air. Jesus, anything she brought to the screen was a tenth of what she brought to real life.

  When she held the gold duck sticker to her heart with both her hands, he nodded lightly and gave himself a push off the dock. She stood and watched him go, but thankfully it was too dark for her to possibly see his boat’s name, especially on the steeply sloping stern.

  He’d planned on making it an early night, but he gave that up as the sails caught enough air to get him moving again. To sand out Unicorn, then letter and varnish Belle properly across the stern was going to take most of the night.

  Worth it.

  Chapter 3

  Last night, only Michelle had been waiting for her. Not exactly up, but in the armchair facing the entry door with a blanket tucked in about her.

  This morning everyone wanted to know where Isobel had disappeared to.

  “We thought the paparazzi must have chased you out of the city or something.” Her brother would know she could take care of herself. They’d earned their Kung Fu black belts together long before he became a Delta Force operator, and now an ex-Delta operator and key member of Shadow Force.

  “I was captured and swept away on a dragon.”

  Katie, the team’s newest addition, asked carefully, “Dragons are still mythical, aren’t they?”

  “Ever day but Tuesday,” she answered easily.

  “Okay, I just wanted to be sure.” Katie was newest to the team and the whole concept that there was such a thing as a psi talent was still throwing her. That she had one herself was still going to take her a while to adapt to.

  Of them all, only Michelle was watching her strangely, but she didn’t say a word in front of the others. Last night she’d been groggy enough that Isobel had been able to shoo her off to bed with few questions. But unlike her, Michelle was a morning person and was right on point now.

  Michelle got her out on the back deck away from the others.

  “What’s up, roomie?” They’d been roommates for four years at Texas A&M, and a horrid nine months last year. Ricardo’s final assignment for Delta Force had led to his torture and a long, long recovery in the hospital. They’d both been instrumental in saving his life. Living together through that endless waiting time as Ricardo healed had rebuilt all the bonds of college and more.

  “What do you mean what’s up?” Isobel was not going to be talking about last night. It was as if a small hole had opened in fame’s reality and given her something perfect. She wasn’t sharing that with anyone. Not even Michelle.

  Michelle rolled her eyes. “Since when does the queen of practical, Isobel Manella, speak in fanciful language about mythical dragons. Was he really handsome?”

  “Dangerously,” Isobel answered with absolute honesty. She’d never thought to ask about his arm tattoos, but she expected they were something strange and powerful, just based on the bold lines and bright colors she’d been able to see.

  And his eyes. Hidden first by sunglasses and then by the gathering darkness, she’d missed his eye color and was sorry for that. It made it harder to remember his face. The strong angles and warm coloring said at least partly Native American, but with a mix of a lot of other lines that had come together in a very pleasing form.

  Michelle threw her arms around Isobel and gave her a crushing hug.

  “What?” Isobel managed to gasp out.

  “I’m just so happy for you I could cry!”

  “What? No! No!” She tried to drag her way out of Michelle’s embrace. But Michelle was five-ten of fierce redhead who was all arms and legs. Being just five-six made it hard to fight free without causing damage. So instead she went for Michelle’s ticklish spot, third rib up on the right.

  “Hey! Wait!” Michelle squealed satisfyingly. “Stop that! No! No! Aaaaaa!”

  Even after Michelle had let go and retreated, batting frantically at Isobel’s hands, she managed to find the spot again.

  “Okay, I give. I give,” Michelle raised her palms in resignation. “You didn’t recently have fantastic sex with a dangerously handsome man.”

  “Thank you.” Isobel felt she managed to pull her dignity back together reasonably well.

  “Was it a dangerously pretty woman with a wild dragon tattoo?” Michelle whispered with one of her wild grins. Even as she spoke, she dodged back inside the houseboat.

  A dragon tattoo. It wouldn’t surprise her if that’s what he wore.

  Even thinking about it made her smile. He must really love his boat to have done that. She actually liked that about him, if that’s what it was.

  Then she turned to face the lake and there was every reminder a woman could need. The lake was glassy, and early morning traffic on the water was about workboats rather than sailboats. The whole scene was anchored by the tip of the dock sticking out just beyond where she now stood.

  Last evening was a memory she was going to cherish for a long time.

  But now it was time to get serious, and she started preparing herself mentally for the upcoming meeting.

  It was strangely difficult.

  Partly, it was that she felt as if she was returning all muddleheaded from a month-long vacation. Had it been so long since she’d taken even a few hours for herself? She seemed to have lost her balance.

  And partly, this movie project had arrived from a completely unexpected angle.

  Jennie Adams had used their old college connection to come to her for advice.

  She’d written, directed, and filmed Isobel’s first-ever movie. Eve II had been six-and-a-half minutes of Isobel sitting at a black table in a white room, having a one-sided argument with a perfect red apple set in the exact middle of the table…and losing. Jennie’s school films had always been splendidly conceptual, and Isobel had starred in many of them.

  Those days at Texas A&M were over a decade gone. Since then, Isobel’s star had climbed until big-budget features were written specifically for her.

  Her work with the Shadow Force: Psi team was real world and very engaging. But the m
ovies were still her life. Yet even though she’d been finishing her prior film—yet another rom-com—two months ago, Isobel hadn’t found any new script that piqued her interest.

  Then Jennie had called.

  She’d flown in to met Isobel on her last day of filming. The rom-com had been opposite the deliciously funny Hal Stevens, so it had been fun. But it was still just another rom-com.

  She remembered Angelina Jolie’s interview about the making of Salt. Producers came to her with a script for a Bond-girl role. She’d told them to come back when they were ready to give her the female Bond role. And they had.

  But making that transition as a tall, athletic white woman known for edgy roles was one matter. As a short, curvy Latina known for charming roles, it was proving much more difficult. She’d managed to have her character in last year’s Western take on a Jesse James-level gunman role, but…

  It felt like a cage.

  Then Jennie had asked her to look over a script to recommend some people she might approach to finance it. She’d made a name for herself in small indie films and won several major festival awards. But this one was bigger.

  In many ways, it was a classic Jennie script. She’d worked deeply thoughtful consideration of gender and race roles into an action-thriller.

  The two hours Isobel had allotted to the meeting—mostly for old times’ sake—had turned into three full days of talks. She’d even had the Shadow Force: Psi team help her do a table read. Not a one of them could act their way out of a paper bag, which had conveniently highlighted the script’s rough spots.

  Isobel could finance the whole budget for less than she’d banked on her last movie…if they were careful. Which was why her team had volunteered to come to Seattle with her.

  For aerial photography, Jesse and Anton were Army helicopter pilots who had flown the team’s Black Hawk helicopter up from San Antonio.

  Ricardo and Hannah had been Delta Force operators and could cover any logistics or security issues better than a whole team of Rent-a-cops. She liked traveling with them because they somehow were exceptional at keeping back both fans and paparazzi without seeming to do anything. Another trick of the silent warriors.