Masquerade by the Sea

by Traci Hall

  MASQUERADE

  by the Sea

  TRACI HALL

  Copyright © 2015 Traci Hall

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design ©Christopher Hawke - CommunityAuthors.com

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  A Note From the Author

  About the Author

  By the Sea

  AMBROSIA by the Sea

  KARMA by the Sea

  PUPPY LOVE by the Sea

  MASQUERADE by the Sea

  HOLIDAY by the Sea

  FESTIVAL by the Sea

  DANCING by the Sea

  FOREVER by the Sea

  BLUE CHRISTMAS by the Sea

  RETURNING HOME by the Sea

  BLOSSOMS by the Sea

  BILLIONAIRE by the Sea

  SANTA BABY by the Sea

  Chapter One

  Jolie Gordon grasped the edge of the captain’s chair as her forty-foot pleasure cruiser rocked against a wave. Looking out from the cockpit, she searched the lightning-laced night sky for signs the storm was letting up. She braced for the next roll and patted her First Mate on the back. “Think they’ll notice?” She looked behind her at the wedding party dancing below deck.

  “Nope.” Rajah Dubashi granted her a devilish grin. Midnight black eyes, coal-colored hair, her First Mate wore a hint of danger that was a hit with the ladies. “Just enough toasts to the bride and groom for the dip of the ocean to seem natural. They’ve all got their sea legs, or in this case, their champagne legs.” He laughed, cracking himself up.

  She leaned across Rajah and flipped on the high beams. Rain glinted in the shadows like an oil lamp against black velvet. Dark sea-green waves with white crests smashed over one another. They were in open water, with no other boats in sight. “We should keep close to the shoreline.”

  “What’s the matter?” Rajah craned his neck to look at her. “The Masquerade’s sturdy.” He patted the beige chair. “She’s seen her share of summer storms.”

  South Florida in June was hot, wet and tropical. Jolie rubbed her bare arms. “The skeleton I trust. It’s the engine that’s giving me hives. You know how damaging salt water can be to the filter. The seals are loose—” She balanced against the back of his chair, suddenly too hot as the list of things that needed fixing ran through her head.

  “Before you have a melt-down, Captain, let me remind you that I checked it all out before we left.” Rajah turned around and dimmed the lights. “Don’t worry.”

  “It’s my job.” Jolie had inherited the thirty-year-old party charter from her grandfather, who would come back to haunt her if he knew she’d ripped out the paneling and installed hot pink faux fur and a disco ball.

  She reached over Rajah’s shoulder and tapped the screen on the digital satellite camera. “This storm cell came out of nowhere and doesn’t look like it’s dissipating anytime soon.” Jolie checked the time on the brass clock next to the wheel. “Another hour until we dock. Hopefully our guests will have so much fun they’ll never even know it rained.”

  “Tell Benedict to offer another round. This swell can pass as fast as it came in.” Rajah drummed his hand against his leg. “They sound like they’re having a good time.”

  High-pitched laughter bounded up the stairs during the breaks in music. Her bartender, Benedict Vonnigan, could make any mixed drink known to man while monitoring the party guests, adjusting music levels or sending the servers around with more drinks. “Let’s keep them dancing,” she said. What will I do without Benedict?

  Rajah shimmied in his chair, tapping his feet to the beat.

  Giving his moves a soft laugh, Jolie scanned the barely visible white caps of water from behind the enclosed plexi-glass. If it would just stop raining. “You all right?” She squeezed his upper arm.

  “Go be the captain, Captain.” Rajah flexed his grip on the wheel. “I’ll try to keep the rolling to a minimum.”

  Jolie snagged the white hat from the hook by the threshold, adjusting the gold brim over her dark brown curls. “Thanks. If we dock too soon, they might feel cheated, and that is not what we’re about.” She left him in charge of navigation, and went down the stairs to the dance floor. “Happy, happy, happy.”

  She spied the bride, a cute blonde—Kendra— dancing with her bridesmaids while the darker-haired groom, Cody, finished his beer, setting the empty bottle on the bar and grinning as if he’d won the marital lottery.

  Jolie excused herself through the crowd of dancers, bumping elbows and avoiding drinks, until she at last reached the oak bar and the magician behind it. Blond, dressed in black on black, and with a work visa that expired tomorrow.

  “How’s it going, Benedict?” She joined him, catching her three-inch heel on the tear in the rubber mat. Nobody else seemed to notice when the boat dipped.

  “Good, Captain.” Benedict poured white wine for two flushed and giggling women. He winked as they tipped him a five, making them giggle even more as they toddled off to join the other dancers. He bent his blond head toward her dark one and whispered, “Is it my imagination, or are we in the middle of some weather?”

  Rajah and Benedict had been with her since she’d moved to this small town marina from Key West last year. The three of them made a great team but Benedict had to return home, to some city she couldn’t pronounce, for the summer and she didn’t have a replacement bartender. In denial, she’d been dragging her feet.

  “You guessed it.”

  “Thought so.” He handed the perspiring groom two chilled and uncapped beers before the man even asked.

  “Thanks,” Cody said, drinking deeply and swiping his brow with his forearm. Kendra tugged him close, stealing the other beer and resting her head against his shoulder.

  Sweet. Jolie scanned the room, not seeing the groom’s brother. Where was he?

  The yacht pitched and Jolie quickly sprang into action as a few of the dancers stumbled. “How about another round of champagne? I can pour.” She gestured to the two young women she’d hired to serve. One had auburn hair, the other firecracker red.

  “Sure.” Benedict reached behind him and took out six chilled bottles which he set down at her end of the counter. “I’ve got trays of flutes all ready to go.”

  “You’re amazing.” Her eyes welled. What would she do without him? The three of them covered all the bases in running the party charter. Rajah and Benedict both cooked, Rajah had mechanic experience and Benedict made her life easier with his efficient ways, ordering the fish and the booze.

  Benedict wiped his hands on a bar towel. “I will be back before the holidays pick up and season starts.”

  They’d had this same conversation a dozen times. Fine. “I’ll call a temp place tomorrow.” Decision made, she uncorked the champagne and poured fizzy liquid into the flutes. The waitresses took trays as Benedict blew the sea horn and lowered the music.

  “A word, from Captain Jolie Gordon!” Benedict introduced Jolie with a flourish.

  She raised a flute toward the beaming couple and the servers quickly handed out the rest of the
glasses. “To the newlyweds! Cody and Kendra Hamilton. May you live in peace, harmony and passion!”

  Cody—a fireman—average in height but broad of shoulder, grinned and kissed his new wife on the lips. “Passion, you hear that, honey?”

  Kendra grabbed him for another kiss and the room exploded with catcalls.

  Benedict started the music again and the dancing erupted as almost forty people bounced around like human pogo sticks. Hardly a chance they’d notice the waves now. Jolie took another sip of the dry champagne, then settled back against the counter looking for Cody’s brother.

  Heath Hamilton was the taller of the two men, but slighter of build. Muscular without being pumped. Cody seemed easy-going despite the chaos of the wedding party, while Heath had a restrained demeanor, as if fun was a four letter word. She recognized in his solemn expression a man struggling with some inner demons.

  Her chosen profession as hostess on the seas required keeping her guests happy. The fact that she found Heath’s reticence a challenge prodded her to go in search of him.

  She exchanged her champagne for a tumbler of ginger ale with a slice of lime. “Keep them dancing, Benedict. Ring the bell in forty-five minutes?” She liked a fifteen minute warning before they docked.

  “Aye, aye Captain.”

  First she checked the galley one floor under, then the heads, none occupied by Heath, and, really curious now, Jolie made her way through the dancers to the small, partially enclosed upper deck.

  The wind off the ocean was brisk and she wished she’d grabbed a pashmina to cover her bare arms as she stepped onto the deck. She wore a neutral sheath that hit her knee, pearl accessories and nude heels. Inheriting her Jamaican Granny’s preference for bright colors, Jolie played her personal style to fit the occasion aboard the charter.

  A gust of wind made her hair fly around her face, and she about lost her hat. So much for style.

  “Are you all right?”

  Jolie whirled toward the masculine voice, pulse racing. “I thought I was alone!” She peered into the shadows at the deck chairs covered by a canopy. “Heath? I was looking for you.”

  “Why?” The question held suspicious undertones.

  It’s my job. But it wasn’t just that, she admitted to herself. Jolie moved through the chairs to where he was stretched out on a lounger, tie loose but still around his neck, beer in hand, brown hair tousled over his brow. “I wondered if you’d give a toast to the bride and groom?”

  She sat on the edge of the lounge chair next to his, figuring he had to be over six feet. No slouch in the height department at 5’9”, Jolie was usually spot-on with her calculations.

  “I gave one already.”

  “When?” She sipped her ginger ale, crinkling her nose as a bubble tickled the roof of her mouth. He didn’t say much and she imagined how short and sweet his toast would have been. Cheers. Bravo. Cool.

  “Earlier.” He paused. “At the chapel.”

  “Oh.” Jolie could tell he didn’t want company, but she didn’t want to leave him alone. “Can I get you another beer?”

  He reached down beneath his suit coat, revealing two more frosty bottles, still capped. “I’m good for a while.”

  She laughed. He didn’t.

  Awkward. “So, what are you doing hiding away from the fun up here?”

  He shot her a look, his eyes narrowed and glistening like polished amber. White lines bracketed his mouth. “I’m not a party kind of guy.”

  No kidding. “You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to.” There’d been a time in her own life where just seeing other people happy added to her misery. What was his deal? Maybe he didn’t like his new sister-in-law?

  “Can’t dance.”

  “The guys who say that are usually the best dancers,” she teased.

  “I can’t dance.” He pointed to his left leg. “Skiing accident.”

  Jolie eyed his legs. One was straight out, the other knee brought up. His injuries were hidden behind black slacks. “Water skiing?”

  “Snow skiing in Utah. Nine months ago. I just finished physical therapy.”

  Three whole sentences, she thought. He had the lean muscle of an athlete. “Better in time for next year’s ski season?”

  “I won’t ski again.” His jaw clenched.

  Well, hell. That hit a hot button. “It must have been a bad accident.”

  “I was a ski instructor. Ruined my damn life. Now, if you don’t mind, Captain Jolie, I’d like to go back to my painkiller and beer buzz. The choppy waves aren’t making my night any smoother.”

  Of course he’d noticed the storm. He couldn’t miss it out here on the upper deck. The rain had slowed but lightning zapped its way between the stars like a pinball machine. “You don’t feel it so much inside,” she suggested.

  “I need the fresh air.” He swallowed and Jolie followed the movement of his Adam’s apple.

  “Seasick?” On top of injured, poor guy. No wonder he wasn’t the life of the party. “I have some Dramamine downstairs.”

  “My beer is doing the trick.”

  The yacht swayed and his grip on the bottle tightened. Jolie had been raised on boats, so the roll of water was comforting, even during a storm. She waited in silence for a few minutes, wondering if Heath was always so angry or if it was the accident. He couldn’t be a ski instructor without skiing. Where did that leave him?

  She’d broken her arm once, falling off a dock, but at thirteen she’d been more worried about how the cast looked than any discomfort. Her mind skipped over a deeper pain that she’d learned to live with. She knew about starting over and redefining herself—it wasn’t easy. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault.” Heath settled against the lounge chair and closed his eyes.

  The rain stopped completely and the wind died down as if taking a break from its rage. She stepped to the railing and leaned back to study Heath. She’d never been drawn like this to a man, pulled by the heart strings. I don’t even know him. Music sounded from below deck, drowning the chug of the yacht’s engine.

  “When do you go back to…Utah?” She sipped from her glass. He seemed like the kind of guy to face the elements and win.

  Heath’s eyes opened, dark honey in the starlight as he held her gaze. His gruff voice made her insides tingle. “Tomorrow.”

  Good. She’d save herself from making a mistake by going downstairs and doing her job. No flirting with the customers. He was leaving and she didn’t do one-night stands. “I’ll return you to your solitude,” she said with forced brightness. “How long have you been here in South Florida?”

  “A week. Kendra is from here.” He drank, shifting on the lounger. “They’re going to buy a place.”

  Jolie heard the sorrow in his voice and lingered. “You might have to learn how to water ski after all.”

  He grimaced. “Doubtful. Doctors tell me to be glad I can walk. Assholes.”

  Doctors had told her to try again, as if what she’d lost had little import. “They can be,” she agreed. “Maybe you should stay on a week or so. My cousin does aquatic physical therapy, which is a lot less stressful on your body. It might help your leg, if you’re still in pain.”

  “I’m not staying. I belong in the mountains.” He emptied his beer and switched it out for a full one. “Or I did.” He stared down at the bottle. “Damn if I know where I’m supposed to be at the moment.”

  Jolie cradled her glass of ginger ale to her chest so that she didn’t reach out and smooth Heath’s hair back from his forehead. She’d been where he was sitting, at a crossroads. “What will you do when you get back home?”

  He scooted back and sat up, stretching out both legs with a wince. “Find a new physical therapist, since my brother just married mine.” His mouth twisted wryly.

  Balancing with the roll of the yacht, Jolie finished her ginger ale and swirled the ice in the glass. “Woops. What will you do for work?” It seemed a shame for an outdoors guy like Heath to be stuck with an office
job. But it might be best for his leg.

  “Got something lined up. Doesn’t start ‘til October, though.”

  “What?” Computer stuff, maybe?

  “Virtual skiing. Since I can’t do the real thing.” He shrugged, his tone bitter. “I’ve been on skis since I could walk. The smell of fresh snow, the bite of the wind against your face as you’re flying down the slope, there’s nothing like it.”

  “I’ve never snow skied, but you sound like you love it. I bet you were a great teacher.” Heath’s strong features and cocoa brown hair had probably garnered him his share of snow bunnies.

  “Instructor. Yeah.” He tugged at his loose tie, as if uncomfortable at her praise. “Tell me about the Masquerade, Captain Jolie. I don’t hear an accent. You from the Caribbean?”

  She guessed he didn’t like the attention being on him, which made him practically chatty. Jolie lifted a strand of shoulder-length kinked hair. “Jamaica.”

  “Born there?” Heath drank, absently massaging his left leg.

  “Yes, but then we moved to the Keys when I was three.” Her family had traded one tropical port for another. “My grandfather built boats.”

  “This one?” He reached down to give the deck a pat.

  “Yes.” Memories of Gramps with his smiling brown eyes and warm calloused hands washed over her and she had to clear her throat. “The Masquerade was his pride and joy,” she managed.

  He nodded. Thumping bass and laughter from below deck complemented the flutter of wind against the canopy and the slap of waves on the hull. Her grandfather had preferred fishing charters and Styrofoam coolers full of bait to gourmet appetizers. Beer over champagne.

  “He must be gone, then?” Heath asked.

  Jolie was surprised when her eyes watered. She shifted from one foot to the other, then decided to just slip off her heels. Her bare feet connected to the deck, giving her instant peace. “Two years ago.”

  “Did he know what you were going to do to his boat?”

  She glanced at Heath, stunned by the gentleness in his teasing smile. As if he understood her pain, too, and shared it. It transformed him from angsty and rugged to downright sexy.