by Jill Shalvis
Andy glanced at Dorie, clearly torn, which was incredibly sweet. Sweet was on her list. She liked her list. “We’ll be okay,” she assured him.
“I’ll be right back.” He slipped an arm around Brandy and steered her toward her room.
“I don’t like storms.” Cadence said this very quietly to Dorie. “Especially when I’m on a boat in the middle of the ocean.”
Dorie thought of the men above deck. Particularly Christian, putting his life on the line. “Me either.”
They could hear the shouts of the crew. “Bobby, wrestle down the reefed mainsail!” This from Denny, clearly taut and angry. “Jesus, get the number three jib! Speed it up!”
More drumming rain, even louder if that was possible.
“Shorten sail, shorten the fucking sail, Bobby!” Denny yelled, and then Ethan’s voice joined his. “Come on, man, get with it!”
Dorie swallowed hard. “Sounds . . . intense.”
“And not very encouraging,” Cadence whispered.
“Oh, you know sailors.” Dorie smiled, trying to be brave. “They make everything sound so dangerous.”
The boat rolled. They crashed into each other, where they remained together, hugging tightly. “So you don’t think . . .” Cadence started.
“No. Absolutely not.” But in spite of herself, Dorie’s cheerful tone faded just a little bit as around them the wind howled and screeched, the rain continuing to come down at deafening decibels. She thought about the boat sitting on the churning, swirling, massive waves, being flung about like a bath toy, and wasn’t comforted.
Every few seconds it seemed they’d hear something crack or crash, and would wince in tandem.
Was the sailboat falling apart?
She didn’t want to think about what would happen if it did just that, because it would mean getting onto a ten-man raft out on that sea.
If the eighty-two-foot Sun Song couldn’t survive the seas, how could a raft?
That, in a crux, was the source of panic balled in her throat. “Stay calm.”
“Calm,” Cadence repeated. “Right. I’m calm.”
“Actually, I was talking to myself.” They held on to each other like orphaned baby monkeys as they pitched up and down and every which way.
“We’re going to capsize,” Cadence whispered.
“No. No, we’re going to be fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I didn’t finish living yet.” Truth be told, she hadn’t really even started. “Just stay positive. That’s the trick. Stay positive.”
That’s when the lights went out.
SEVEN
Forget the cabana boys,
send out the Coast Guard.
And chocolate . . .
Are you still thinking positively?” Cadence whispered.
“Yes.” Or trying anyway, Dorie thought.
“I really don’t want to be a statistic.”
“We are not going to become a statistic.” Not as certain as she’d needed to sound, Dorie’s voice wobbled just a little bit on the last syllable. “The key is the whole positive thinking thing.”
“Not my strong suit. The positive part, that is. Not the thinking.”
Dorie felt a smile at that. “Okay, humor is good. More of that, please.”
“I’m fresh out.”
It was up to her. Great. Positive thinking . . . well, there was the food. The food had been good. And—
The boat swayed. Hard. Cadence whimpered in terror, and so did Dorie at the sensation of floating on choppy water while not being able to see a damn thing. With the electricity out, there was utter and complete darkness such as she’d never known; no city lights, no glow from a computer screen or cell phone.
Nothing.
Cadence let out a small sob as panic gripped her, and Dorie felt her heart squeeze. “I know!” Fumbling through her purse in the dark, her fingers finally closed over what she’d been looking for.
Her penlight.
She clicked it on, and a small beam of light cut through the dark.
Cadence threw her arms around her. “I love you!”
Dorie laughed and hugged her back. “It’s the bag. This baby has everything we need.” She flicked the light down the narrow hallway just as the boat tipped and listed hard to the right. With no warning, they both went flying against the wall, as did Dorie’s purse, which flew out of her hands, slid down the floor, and emptied out everywhere.
Dorie went crawling after it on all fours, and Cadence went after her. But then the boat rocked to the left, and to the left they all went; Dorie, Cadence, and brush, dental floss, sketch pad, charcoal, sugar packets, box of condoms . . .
They landed in a tangled heap at the end of the hallway, and slowly, a little dazed, used the light to stuff the things back into the purse.
“Good thinking,” Cadence said, holding up the condoms.
“More like wishful thinking.” Dorie put the box in the bag. “They were on sale.”
“You bought a box of condoms because they were on sale?”
“Yes. You can see why I needed this cruise.” Dorie slung the strap of the purse over her neck and shoulder, tucking it against her back. “You okay?”
“As long as you have that light.”
“Want to know something pretty pathetic?”
The boat swayed and dipped again, and they grabbed each other, huddled there on the floor in the hallway. “Yes,” Cadence said, sounding desperate for a diversion.
“I even have a spare flashlight.”
“That’s not pathetic, that’s just smart. Oh, God.”
“What?”
“My motion sickness patch isn’t working.”
The boat did some more of that horrible shimmying, and Dorie gulped hard. “It’s going to be okay.” God, please let it be okay.
“I wanted a kick in the ass,” Cadence said. “But I wanted a change in my life, not death. I don’t even have a will.”
Dorie let out a weak laugh. “Me either. But I hereby will all my worldly possessions to you. How’s that?”
“Oh, Dorie,” she said, sounding unbearably touched.
“Don’t get too excited, all I have is a portfolio of designs.”
“If I die, you can have my stuff, too. It’s just my art, and my fish Sparky, who sleeps upside down, but he doesn’t eat much.”
Dorie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Better idea. Let’s not die.”
“Yeah, that’s my first choice, too.”
“Hey, you guys okay?”
Dorie lifted the light and revealed Brandy and Andy, both crawling back out of Brandy’s room. Brandy was pale, still green, and yet somehow managed to look like a gorgeous actress playing the part of the distressed victim. “I think fear has overridden my sleeping pill. I needed to see if you’re okay.”
Andy’s face was taut with all sorts of emotions one didn’t usually experience on a dream vacation. But he looked big and strong and capable, which Dorie had to admit was a comfort. “We’re okay.”
“Sure?” He peered into their faces with sweet concern.
They both nodded, and he pulled them in close, giving them a warm hug. “Hold on,” he said, tightening his grip on them. “Another wave.”
Once again the boat tipped, accompanied by a horrendous sound of something tearing, breaking. They all gasped, and as before, slid down the hallway, hitting the wall in unison.
Dorie braced herself, terrified that Christian and the others on deck wouldn’t have the same luxury.
“Hard to believe I was safer at my damn job,” Brandy said with a groan as she sat up and untangled herself.
Then Cadence asked the question they were no doubt all thinking. “Do you think the ship’s okay?”
“Don’t know,” Andy said quietly. “But I’m going to find out. Stay here.”
“No. Andy—”
But he was gone, making his way through the dark and up to the deck above, leaving Dorie sick with worry.
> Brandy pulled a flask out of her pocket. She took a deep pull. Her eyes watered and she coughed, then passed the flask to Cadence.
Cadence shrugged and drank, choked, then passed it to Dorie, who took a swig and then nearly died as flames burst down her esophagus. She dug into her purse for gum. “Always prepared for the worst, you know.”
“Hopefully this is the worst,” Cadence said.
They all looked at each other as that somber thought sank in.
“Hey, it’s better than a lot of things,” Brandy decided.
“Like?” Cadence asked.
“Prison, for instance.”
Cadence gaped at her. “Have you been to prison?”
“Oh, just the once.”
Cadence blinked. So did Dorie.
“I blame my wild youth,” Brandy said.
Cadence looked at Dorie, then closed her eyes, looking like she was concentrating on not getting sick.
“What are you all doing down here like this?” Everyone turned at the French accent coming down the stairs.
Dr. Christian Montague, of course, and Dorie nearly leapt toward him to throw her arms around him for still being alive. He was drenched, frowning, and intense, and far more edgy than she could have even imagined, but he was breathing, and breathing was good.
Just behind him came Andy and Bobby, who looked as overjoyed as always. “You should be hunkered down in your bunks,” Christian said, shining his flashlight over them. “Trying to sleep through the storm.”
“As if we could.” In contrast to Christian, Andy sounded extremely Texan as he looked at the women. “We’re blowing out sails left and right. There’s only one left.”
“Andy,” Christian said in a warning voice. “That’s not really—”
“You were yelling at the captain.” Andy turned to Bobby. “I heard you.”
“Not yelling,” Bobby corrected. “More like . . . talking loud. We do that when things are going bad.”
Everyone looked at him in horror.
“Bobby,” Christian said softly.
“Hey, things go bad at sea. It’s the nature of the beast.”
“Not exactly helping, Bobby.” Christian turned to Andy. “And what you heard was a private conversation.”
“The outcome of which affects us.” Andy looked at the women. “There’s a problem with the storm sails, specifically something called a gale sail.”
“Problem?” Cadence asked weakly.
“Yeah. As in we don’t have one.”
“Oh, God.”
Dorie’s stomach dropped like a two-ton weight. “Maybe we don’t need it.”
“We don’t,” Christian said, his gaze running over her with what she wanted to think was warm approval. “Not when there’s a hanked-on storm jib.”
“And we have that?” Cadence asked.
Christian hesitated.
“Do we?” Cadence’s voice shook.
“We did.”
“Did?”
“We lost it twenty minutes ago,” Bobby informed them. “But—”
Whatever he might have said was lost under everyone talking at once, until Christian stepped in the middle of them and let out a sharp whistle. “Listen up,” he said when everyone looked at him. “Under the right circumstances, the force of the wind on the hull and rigging can generate enough force to propel the craft with or without a sail.”
Brandy let out a laugh that held no real amusement. “But do we have the right circumstances?”
“No,” Bobby said.
“Goddamnit,” Christian murmured, and sent him a sharp look. “Fermez l’enfer.”
Bobby’s mouth tightened.
“What did he say?” Cadence whispered.
“He told me to shut the hell up,” Bobby said.
Christian drew in a long breath.
“So it’s true. We’re all going to die.” Cadence staggered back until she bumped into the wall, as if desperately needing the support.
Andy moved closer to her. “Breathe,” he said quietly, because she wasn’t, and appeared perilously close to passing out.
“Why don’t we have a gale sail?” Dorie dared to ask.
“Actually, we did.” Christian sent Bobby a scathing look. “But it didn’t get inspected as it should have, and has been abused by the elements. It was no good.”
“Ohmigod.” Dorie pushed down her rising panic.
Brandy covered her mouth. “I didn’t drink enough for this.”
“All you need to do,” Christian said, “is stay belowdecks until this blows over.”
“I need an escort.” Brandy sounded incredibly subdued. “I think my pill worked after all ...”
She weaved and Christian grabbed her arm, pulling her over to Bobby. “Take her to her room, get a life vest on her now. There’re life vests under each of your beds,” he said to everyone else. “If the captain rings the emergency bell, you need to put them on. Immediately.”
Bobby gestured for Brandy to walk ahead of him, but she slid her arm in his. “Dizzy,” she said, and set her head on his shoulder.
His Adam’s apple bounced hard. “Okay, then.” After a hesitation, he put his arm around her and led her to her door. “Here you go.”
“Need more help than that.” And she tugged him in after her.
The door slammed shut.
Christian turned to Dorie. “Now you. Andy, get Cadence.”
Andy was looking at Dorie, too, making her feel . . . was it wrong to say . . . elated? Never in her life had she had two men looking at her. And now here were these two, these gorgeous sexy men, definitely looking right at her—God.
“Andy,” Christian repeated. “Cadence.”
Andy looked as if maybe he wanted to argue with this. His brows slammed together, his mouth tightened. He was eyeing Dorie with a hint of possessive intent that she could admit gave her a sort of thrill, if not a definite twitch to her tongue. “I’ll be right back.”
He’d be right back. She glanced at Cadence, who gave her a “you go girl” look.
Christian did not look amused.
And the keep-the-peace woman in her reared her head. “I’ll be okay.”
“I want to make sure you get to your room okay.”
“I’ll get her there.”
This, of course, from Christian, who reached for her. It was unbelievable, it was like a dream, one of those really great ones, where she got to be the popular girl.
A definite first.
Andy opened Cadence’s door and nudged her inside.
Christian reached for Dorie. He took her light, then slid an arm around her waist. A warm, strong arm.
She looked up at him, torn between her body’s undeniable reaction to him and horror. But before she could say a word, Christian silently pulled her toward her room.
While she couldn’t help but wonder what they’d do when they got there.
EIGHT
The boat pitched and rolled as Dorie stepped into her room, but before she could go flying face-first into her bed, a hard arm hauled her back against an even harder chest.
“Careful,” Christian murmured in her ear. “You don’t have your summer fling here to protect you.”
She had to repeat the words to herself because the feel of his long, sinewy body so close to hers kept them from penetrating into her brain. “Summer fling?”
“Andy.”
His arm still held her tightly to his chest, and although the sensation was the furthest thing from amusing she’d ever felt, even bordering on shockingly erotic, she laughed.
He dipped his head slightly, his jaw grazing hers.
The oddest thing happened.
Her knees actually buckled. Good thing he hadn’t let go of her. “Um.”
Again his jaw brushed against hers.
In happy reaction, her nipples hardened. Her thighs tightened. And most baffling yet given that she was apparently getting turned on . . . her tongue still didn’t swell.
What did that mean? She
turned to face him. “I’m not having a fling.”
“No? It’s what he’s looking for. It’s what you’re looking for. Man-made orgasms.”
“I didn’t say that,” she said, ears flaming. “Brandy said that.”
He laughed softly, and the sound scraped low in her belly. Bad body. “Really? So you didn’t divide up the men on this cruise, thinking we could give you those man-made orgasms?”
No. Okay, yes. But she wouldn’t ask if he knew how to give her one, not when the answer was all over his face. It always was, all damn day long as he moved with an ease and confidence that baffled her because she’d never had either. “You’re not exactly in a position to make fun of summer flings.”
His brow arched in silent question as the boat lurched.
“Brandy?” She clutched at him for balance, not too busy in conversation to notice how good his hands felt on her hips or how hard his chest felt beneath her fingers. “I saw you kissing her yesterday.”
“Did you?”
“Yes, in your office . . .” She trailed off when he just looked at her. “Okay, I didn’t actually see a kiss. Not exactly.”
“If you want to know what you did see, why don’t you ask me?”
She opened her mouth to do just that, while he waited with a smug expression that made her shake her head. “Never mind.”
That little smile still curving his lips, he shrugged. Fine with him.
Good. Great. Fine by him. God, he smelled amazing. Why was she still holding on to him? And why did she not want to let go? She closed her eyes but that just made the sensations stronger, and the situation even more intimate. “How about me? Do you want to know anything about me?”
“None of my business. I’m going to leave now.”
“Right.”
But neither of them moved. Christian let out a slow exhale near her ear and her entire body shuddered. In response, a sound escaped him, a low, rough one that seemed to awaken every single erogenous zone she owned.
Get it together, Dorie. Let go of him.
Instead, her body seemed to disconnect from her brain without permission, allowing her hands to slide up his chest. Beneath her fingers, he was corded with muscle, muscle that quivered at her touch. “You should know,” she said a little shakily. “I’m not looking to be anyone’s fling.”
