Romancing the Seas

by Cait O'Sullivan

  Pippa’s voice broke into his memories. “Penny for them.” Her voice was gentle. His eyes lit on hers, and a warm feeling made its way up from his belly to emerge as a smile.

  “Just thinking about the house.” His voice came out gruff, and he cleared it. “We moved from a fifth storey flat into a semi-detached house, and I painted the outside pale yellow. It was Mum’s favourite colour. She loved it, and never stopped telling me so. I guess it was my first proper home.” He glanced sideways at her, seeing her in the soft light, her face smooth in relaxation with a quirky lift to one side of her mouth.

  She tilted her head to the side, and looked upwards at him, her eyes turquoise in the firelight. “Well done. You’ll be buying her a primrose private jet soon.”

  “No way. I love hiking, climbing even, but hey, don’t get me in the air in only a tin can. I can’t do it.”

  “What do you mean?” she watched his lips as he spoke and he had to look away from her bright gaze.

  “I can’t fly.” He laughed, a bright sound that took him by surprise. “Well obviously I can, otherwise I wouldn’t be on the other side of the world to where I grew up. I hardly sailed here. No, I mean I hate flying. Brings me out in a cold sweat every time. Long-haul flights are the easiest to cope with, being as there’s a stretch of time between take-off and landing, so I can attempt to relax. But short flights? Hell no. You wouldn’t catch me dead on one.”

  Pippa bent her head to look at him lopsided. “I guess we all have stuff to deal with.”

  The words sounded dreamily husky to him and he caught her clear, honest gaze in her upturned face, glowing in the light of the fire. She smiled at him, and he could see her genuine interest in him and what he was saying.

  He cleared his throat, trying to clear the salacious thoughts that were coming hot and fast.

  “Are there more blankets?” He had to get away before he did something silly. He walked around the corner, smiling to see a dark blue blanket folded neatly on the kitchen table for him. His jacket had withstood most of the wet, so his t-shirt was dry enough to leave on. But so much for waterproof trousers — they still had a way to come before they were as efficient as the jackets.

  As he came around the corner, having stripped off from the waist down and wrapped a blanket around him, Jonathon paused to watch Pippa. A faint blush from the fire graced her cheeks, and her rosebud mouth shone red. Perfectly formed ringlets corkscrewed around her face, with curls alternating between a burnished bronze colour and a glowing amber. He couldn’t drag his eyes away, just wanted this moment to last forever. Something outside the window warranted her undivided attention, as her white teeth were busy chewing on her lower lip, and even from her profile, he saw she wore a small frown.

  He gave a little cough, afraid that if he looked at her unawares for much longer, there would be no hiding his reaction to her. The fire crackled like a machine gun as his less than noble thoughts started charging the atmosphere.

  Pippa jumped, and turned to look at him fully. She was flushed and couldn’t quite bring her eyes up to meet his — they lingered instead on the blanket wrapped around his waist. “What, did your top not get wet?”

  Jonathon almost laughed as he took in the accusatory look on her face. “No, sorry about that.” His voice was as dry as his t-shirt. “I guess my rain jacket provides better coverage than yours, Little Miss Independent, I love hiking on my own!” He crouched down to attend to the fire, and settled in a chair beside it.

  Pippa smiled a crooked smile. “I guess I asked for that. I have no excuse for being caught out in a storm with poor clothes and no backup plan. Sin sin.” Jonathon raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s Irish, don’t ask me to explain, I can’t. It means that’s that, like, c’est la vie, or … or … oh, I don’t know and stop looking at me like that!” She pulled her blanket closer around her, blowing a curl away from her face.

  “I didn’t know you had Irish blood in you.” Jonathon felt his heart grow bigger as he looked her. She clearly felt the need to talk when she was nervous. A bit like an Energizer bunny, just give her something to talk about, an edgy situation, and she was off.

  Her words kept coming, and he switched off from them, not because he wasn’t interested, but because shifting emotions changed her face when she talked, which fascinated him. There was a melodic lilt to her voice that he hadn’t noticed before and he very nearly started swaying in time to it.

  A note of flat sarcasm entered the melody, and he blinked. Pippa stood and if the blanket would have allowed it, he felt sure her hands would be on her hips. What would happen to the blanket then? He gave an inward groan at the path his thoughts had taken, and hauled them back. “What was that?”

  “I said my granny was a mud wrestler, and you smiled and said how nice.”

  Jonathon felt his face start trembling in an effort to keep it straight. “I’m sorry, I was listening.”

  “Sure.” If her voice had sounded musical before, it now sounded like a b-flat. “What time is it? I think it’s time we left; the clothes must be nearly dry.” She shuffled over to the fire to take down her still wet clothes.

  “Pippa.” Jonathon tried to intervene. “Even if the clothes were dry, the weather isn’t going to let us out of here anytime soon.”

  “I’m sure it’s manageable.” She shook her trousers out firmly, and winced as a loud slap came from the sodden legs snapping against each other. Her blanket started slipping from the knot she had tied over one shoulder, and she grabbed it back up impatiently. Eschewing her knickers, she tried to force one long leg into the wet trousers.

  Watching her and her attempts to keep her modesty intact, Jonathon felt like a heel. “Pippa,” he tried again, and going over to her, put a hand out to help her balance.

  “I’m fine.” Indignation came off her in waves. “I just want to get out of here, sooner rather than later. I don’t want to be making a bigger fool of myself, twittering on about stuff!” Her pronunciation was crisp and clear. How could he tell her he hadn’t quite listened, preferring rather to watch the light play on her lovely face?

  “Right, great, I’ll even help if I can. I’m just asking you to come with me to the door to look outside. Please.” He stretched a hand out to her. Pippa gave a final, useless yank on her trousers, then dropped them. The gesture allowed her blanket to swing open, and Jonathon caught a glimpse of her waist, which curved out into her hip and down into her upper thigh. Her skin looked so soft, smooth, and peachy. Jonathon felt a long awaited throb of desire shoot through him as images of him running his hands over her body besieged him.

  She pulled the blanket closely around her and, squaring her chin, stood tall and ignored his hand. “I’ll come and have a look, dry my clothes, and get out of here.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jonathon murmured, hoping to quell his desire.

  Pippa’s shoulders slumped as she gazed out at the rain that was coming down in sheets.

  “Maybe it will clear up soon.” She muttered the words through a cross mouth.

  “Why don’t I call down to the office and let them know we’re here. I’ll ask for the forecast too.” Jonathon didn’t know what to think as he unlocked his phone. They should go back down as soon as possible. His hopes weren’t quite on that wavelength, though, for the time he was spending here with Pippa made him happy. She made him happy, with all her strops and gabbling and reactions — and, let’s face it, she was damn sexy, even in that blanket. Jonathon took a deep breath. It was thoughts like these that were going to get him into trouble one of these fine, or indeed miserable, days.

  “Sure, yes, I understand.” He disconnected the call and turned to face Pippa. “Bad news, I’m afraid. The storm is set to last until the early hours of the morning, so the recommendation is to stay here for the night. They did tell me to root around in the cupboards, where we should find some store food and drink, s
o at least we’ll be fed and watered.”

  Pippa hopped from one leg to another. “Oh well, that’s just marvellous.” There was a pause. “First things first, I need the loo. Where’s the long drop, do you know?”

  “Oh, the joys at being out in the wilderness!” Jonathon stopped short as Pippa’s scowl deepened at his jocular tone. “Just around the corner. Here, put on my jacket, it’ll keep you drier than yours will. There are plenty of blankets so you can just swap when you get back.”

  He held his jacket up for her to slip her arms into. “I can put it on myself, thanks.” Pippa took his jacket and managed to wriggle into it without exposing any more bare skin, and slid her bare feet into her sopping boots. “Urgh! If there’s one thing I don’t like about the rain, it’s putting on wet boots. It puts me in a thoroughly bad mood.” She looked at him with one eyebrow raised and it was clear she thought she was issuing a warning.

  “In the meantime, I’ll have a look and see what stores we’ve got.”

  Pippa turned and clumped off, his jacket nearly overwhelming her, but, at the same time, provided her with enough coverage for her to move more freely.

  Jonathon started whistling as he looked around the hut with greater interest now that they would be staying the night. Not wanting to question too deeply the cause for his good mood, he distracted himself by finding the store cupboard.

  The Kiwis certainly knew how to do things. He found dried pasta, sun-dried tomatoes, and tins of tuna, along with cans of peas and carrots. To top it all off, there was a nearly full bottle of Milford Whisky, New Zealand’s finest. This was fantastic. There was just no way this would be found on the hiking trails in the UK.

  He decided to leave the cooking to the professional, and instead found two glasses and poured each of them a generous measure. They needed warming up internally, as well as externally. Since he was assiduously banishing thoughts of how he and Pippa could warm up together, the whisky would just have to do.

  • • •

  Pippa stood on the porch of the hut, shivering despite the comfort of Jonathon’s coat, looking into the sky for any sign of relief from the driving rain. She turned the collar up and buried her face into the soft inner fleece. Jonathon’s smell contrived to warm too, the smell of sea pines, needles being crunched underfoot to release their sweet but spicy smell. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and allowed herself just one thought of how wonderful it would be if it were Jonathon’s arms wrapped around her.

  And here she was, about to spend the night in a confined space with him. How was she going to manage to keep her hands to herself? She had a secret smile to herself, for she had seen him look when her blanket had opened, and knew exactly what was on his mind when he’d tried to help her into his jacket: her blanket would have gaped open for him. There was no doubt he was interested in her as a woman, but would he be interested in any woman he was bound to spend the night with? What was she thinking?

  He’s your boss. Forgeddaboudit. You made that mistake once, which took up four years of your life. Do not do it again!

  Her resolve stiffened, she opened the door and tried not to let the wind take it off the hinges. She finally managed to get it closed and hurried over to the fire to sit and take her wet boots off. She held her cold toes up to the fire and Jonathon came up behind her, putting a glass with amber liquid under her nose. She took a sniff. Turning around to him, she smiled. “I don’t believe it! Whisky?”

  “I know, the Kiwis know how to do things. There’s nearly an entire bottle, I assume it’s here for medicinal purposes. Here.” He handed her the glass. “This is yours, drink up. There’s also plenty of food for when we get hungry.” He grinned at her, his blue eyes mirroring his smile, and held his own glass up to clink hers.

  Unable to resist smiling back, she clinked his. “Cheers.”

  Pippa was silent, savouring the taste of whisky in her mouth. She wasn’t much of a whisky drinker, preferring a less obvious taste, and if she did drink shorts, it would normally be gin or vodka. However, neither gin nor vodka provided the same warming glow as the whisky slid down the back of her throat and trailed fire as it made its way into her stomach. Her face started to heat up, but pleasantly.

  “Much as I like seeing you in my jacket, you’re looking a bit warm.”

  Yeah, mister, warm I can deal with, but not you checking me out dressed just in a blanket. The warmth of the whisky continued down to her lower belly and pooled there, causing a lot of delicious sensations. Her toes wiggled all by themselves.

  “I’m fine, thanks for your concern.” She knew she should move away from the fire, away from the heat of Jonathon’s gaze, away from this crazy situation. “I should check out the food, I’m starting to get hungry. What do you fancy, what is there to cook? I hope we can manage something nice. That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

  Pippa walked backwards from him to escape around the corner. She put her hands up to her face and cupped it, running her palms into her eye sockets.

  Nerves suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks.

  A premature night was closing in.

  Here she was, in the wilds of New Zealand.

  Nobody was around for miles.

  Except her CEO. The one man who, she was finding out fast, could evoke intense desire in her with just a raised eyebrow. And all she had to wear was a blanket.

  Oh. My. Word.

  Chapter Eight

  Pippa looked through the food Jonathon had left out on the wooden table. The sun-dried tomatoes would need soaking for a while, but with them she could manage to put something not half bad together. The concentration needed helped her to ignore their situation. Draining the cans of vegetables, she found a knife and started to chop, hoping that she wouldn’t chop off her fingers because her hands shook so much.

  “So what do you think?” Jonathon called from beside the fire.

  “Not bad, I think we can eat fairly well. Give me an hour and we’ll see what it all tastes like.”

  An hour. She had an hour to calm down, and cooking always helped her peace of mind. Humming slightly hysterically to herself, she flew around the makeshift kitchen. There was olive oil too, great. She was going to be proud of this meal.

  “Now, if I could have a newspaper to read,” said Jonathon, “that would really be the icing on the cake.”

  “Don’t push your luck!” she retorted back, but smiled at the domestic scene. Domestic? What was she thinking? This was wild! She was getting hot in the outdoors jacket. “How’re the clothes drying? I need to take your jacket off but would prefer to put on my clothes rather than be encumbered with this blanket.” She was standing at the gas camping stove. There was a pause, then she heard him get up and his shirt appeared in front of her.

  “But what are — ” She swung around to him and stopped, eyes widening. Jonathon stood there without his shirt, just a blanket wrapped around his waist. She stared at his broad shoulders, his clavicles sharply outlined, and his firm chest, pectorals clearly defined. His arms were to die for — there wasn’t a pick on them that shouldn’t be there. His shoulders tapered down to a slim waist, and his six-pack in between just begged out for her hands to run over it.

  She swallowed. What could she say now? She couldn’t meet his eyes for he would see desire stark on her face. Desire to press a kiss in the hollow of his neck, to step into his arms and to let her hands roam over his torso. A flush was starting to work its way up from the curling of her toes.

  “Put it on, I don’t mind.” His voice came from a distance. “That smells really good, Pippa. I have to say if you’re going to get stuck out in the wilderness, preferably do it with an accomplished chef.”

  Pippa stared up at him, only hearing do it.

  He smiled. “I didn’t quite mean it like that, or maybe it was a Freudian slip. You go and change, and I’ll plate it up.”
>
  Pippa mutely nodded, and escaped to the relative coolness of the fire. Shrugging off the jacket, she put his top on to discover it came down to her knees. And bonus, her knickers were dry. What the hell, she was sick of dragging the blanket around with her anyway. Stepping out of it, she felt fresh and cool for the first time tonight, and yes, okay, sexy.

  Jonathon came around the corner. “Here you go.” Handing her plate over, he stopped and whistled, the look on his face one of frank admiration. Her rationale told her she was wearing something but she still had to glance down to check.

  “My shirt has never looked that good on me.”

  Pippa nodded again, wanting to say, “Oh, but it has.” This time she managed to bring her gaze up to his. “Dinner. Whilst it’s still hot. Let’s eat.” Great, she went from a nodding pony to a stilted parrot.

  “Have another shot of whisky, keep you nice and warm.”

  Closing her mind to the thought that he may be trying to get her tipsy, she nodded and threw her shot straight back.

  This time she wasn’t arguing — she needed all the Dutch courage she could get.

  • • •

  “It was a great supper, thank you.” Jonathon raised his glass to her.

  “Would you like anymore? There should be some in the pan keeping hot, I hope it did. Keep hot, I mean. Would you like some? I’ve had plenty. Or we could pack it up for tomorrow or leave it here for the next hikers, mind you, it may go off and start smelling before someone else is here. So perhaps it’s best to eat it now, would you like some? I won’t be offended if you don’t want any more, honest.” Could she ramble anymore?

  “I’d love some, you must be a mind reader.” Jonathon handed up his plate to her, the look in his eyes warming her face. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to know exactly what was going on behind that dark amber gaze. The colour turned molten as she looked down at him, or was it liquid bronze? It was fascinating the way his eyes kept changing shades from dark whisky to amber and other times, the gold flecks dominating his pupil. She stood, biting her bottom lip in concentration. So what colour were they really?