Jay wrapped his arms around her and caressed her back and neck. His fingers slid into her straight, dark hair. He broke the enchantment. "Do you like seals."
"Seals?" Sabrina giggled.
Jay grinned and lifted her chin. "Yeah; we've got a lot of seals in Rhode Island, you know. They come up the bay." He rubbed his thumb against her bottom lip.
"If you'd like, I'll show you. There's a group sleeping on the rocks behind my place right now. It's just a block that way," he said, pointing in the direction opposite the hotel.
"Sure," she said, "why not?" Although honestly, she knew why not.
They walked along the river towards a high wooden fence. As promised, seals lounged on a collection of flat rocks at the edge of the river. At the sound of their footsteps rustling the grass, a few wary seals lifted their heads and barked. One began to shake.
"We're too close," Jay said and drew Sabrina back a few feet.
Once the seals were appeased by the distance they reclined, keeping their bright eyes on the humans.
"Can we watch them for awhile? Do you mind?" Sabrina asked.
"Sure. Let's sit down here."
She sat cross-legged in the grass, keeping as still as possible while watching the seals. Soon, their snoozing relaxed her and she leaned back on her elbows. She looked at the dark sky, searching for constellations she could recognize. It was a futile gesture, so she gazed at Jay.
"Now you're staring," he teased.
"The grass is wet and I'm cold," she confessed.
"Let's go," he said, standing and offering a hand. He kept her fingers wrapped in his and hiked back to the fence. "Watch your step," he said, leading her up a wooden staircase.
"Where are we going?"
"My place," he said.
"This is where you murder me?"
He laughed softly. "Trust me."
"That's what they all say," Sabrina retorted.
Jay opened a door and turned on a light switch. The sparsely decorated loft apartment was trimmed in teak and brass like the inside of a sailboat. The curtains were made of old canvas sails and prints of majestic tall ships adorned the walls. An oversized couch covered in dark blue ultra suede dominated the room, partitioned by a gleaming, mahogany bar. Behind it was a small, tidy kitchenette with polished nickel appliances. Jay picked up a remote and turned on a receiver, tuning it to a radio station playing rock music.
"You really like sailboats, don't you?" Sabrina asked, turning in a full circle as she admired the space.
"No. I love sailboats," he emphasized. "Can I get you a drink?'
"Sure. I like sailboats, too. In fact, I bought one today. I can't believe I just said that. I bought a sailboat."
"Hey, that's great. Welcome to my world." He handed her a bottle of water and touched her elbow. "Let's sit down and you can tell me about it."
While he unlaced his boots and tossed them in a corner, Sabrina sat obediently and twisted the bottle cap. The water was cool and refreshing. Sitting a short distance from her, he lifted her legs and tugged off her shoes. He swung her feet into his lap, spinning her to face him. With a light touch, he massaged the soles of her feet.
Breathing was difficult, and she shivered. Uncertainty made her wary.
"So, who are you Sabrina, and what brought you here?"
Emboldened, she teased him. "Here? You mean to your lair?"
He grinned wolfishly. "I'll take very good care of you," he promised.
"No," she protested, pulling her feet from his lap. She sat straight and placed her bottle on the table. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but, umm. Okay, well, I'm sure I know what's going on. I, uh…" She looked around helplessly. The Zephyrus was the last thing on her mind.
Jay watched her struggle with anxiety and leaned back against the couch, one hand resting on his knee, the other framing his head. The effect was one of submission, opening his body and assuring her that she was in control.
It was a natural, inviting gesture and one her body recognized instinctively, whether or not she understood. She slid against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Don't make me talk anymore. Kiss me." She closed her eyes and waited.
Amused, Jay stroked her hair from her face and lifted her chin. He brushed her lips with his, gently. She grunted a protest and wiggled deeper into his arms. "Kiss me," she demanded, her eyes still closed.
His mouth was hot as it melded with hers, and oh, could he kiss. He pulled her against him, making her head swim at the contact. She sucked tenderly on his bottom lip, teasing him into aggression. He fisted his hands in her hair and pulled her head to the side, baring her neck and shoulder. With a growl, he plundered and Sabrina gasped at the bolt of desire she felt.
This animal need was new; never had she been so reckless or daring. The heat of his gaze stripped her and now she burned for his hands to do the same.
"Touch me," she whispered. "I want to feel your skin next to mine."
"Sabrina," he gasped, "I don't think …"
"Good advice," she said, cutting off his words with her wicked mouth. She traced her tongue across his lips. "Let's not think about this."
She tugged at her shirt, pulling the buttons loose. She tried to shrug out of it, but the cuffs caught at her wrists, binding her. "Help me," she pleaded, rubbing her cheek against his bearded one, her lace-covered breasts heaving against him. She lifted her arms weakly, caught behind her back in her shirtsleeves.
"Honey, we need to slow down," he said, catching her wrists and unbuttoning one cuff, then the other. She shrugged free, then slid her hands inside his T-shirt.
"I don't want to. If I do, I might change my mind." She rose on her knees and pressed him into the back of the couch, drugging him with one deep kiss after another. Helpless, Jay cupped her breasts.
While Sabrina focused on tugging off his T-shirt, Jay slipped his hands behind her and unsnapped her satin, red and black bra. As the wisp of material fell away, he marveled at the dark peaks of her breasts. Her skin was dusky and smelled faintly of cinnamon and, he inhaled again, hay?
Unable to resist, he brushed his tongue against her nipple. She reacted instantly, arching her back and thrusting her breasts forward. Jay placed a hand over one swollen nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers, while he tugged the other between his lips. His free hand slid down her waist and cupped her bottom. Sabrina straddled Jay, resting on her knees. When she felt the pressure of his hand on the back of her thigh, she lowered herself into his lap and rocked gently.
"Hold on," Jay cautioned. "Not here. You're going too fast."
"I know," she murmured, "I'm burning up." She nuzzled against his beard, rubbing it first with her cheek, then her shoulder. Moaning softly, she captured his face turning his mouth to hers. Between each intoxicating kiss, she gasped for air.
"This is so strange," she whispered, her breath teasing against his ear, "but I need you." Her voice was husky, strangled with tears. "Now!"
Pulling her to her feet, he led Sabrina into the next room, to his unmade bed with its inviting, cool sheets.
"First, let's take care of these," he said, brushing his lips against her neck. Reaching for her waistband, he tugged her against him and slid the zipper down its track. He caressed her satiny hips, pushing her jeans to the floor.
Sabrina stepped out of them, wearing only her panties and a pair of white crew socks. Undoubtedly, she was the most exquisite woman Jay had ever seen, much less touched.
She stepped into his embrace and he concentrated on kissing her, caressing her silky back. Sabrina deftly unsnapped buttons and his jeans followed hers to the floor. Her fingers slid beneath the band of his boxers. "These too," she murmured against his chest.
Within moments, they were wrapped in each other's arms and rolling on the bed. Sabrina felt charged, electricity sparking from her fingers as she caressed his body. She luxuriated in the taste of him as her silky, agile tongue danced across his skin. She whispered in his ear, words outrageously exciting and sensual.
The roughness of his worker's hands lightly teased her nipples to aching hardness. Every inch of her skin tingled as he stroked her belly, her thighs, the small of her back, the inside of her elbows.
His skin next to hers seared, and she could not touch him enough. The soft, dark hair on his chest tickled her fingers marvelously, and she thrilled at the solid, flat planes of his back. His lips touched a nipple, tenderly at first, then insatiably. He suckled with a delicate strength that made her gasp and bow her back.
With her legs wrapped around him, sliding and shifting under him, she bucked restlessly and begged for release. It was tearing her apart, this throbbing need that only he could satisfy.
When he slid his fingers between her legs, he found her swollen and damp. "Ahh, Sabrina," he groaned and kissed her again.
He trembled, his eyes closed as if in prayer, when Sabrina slipped her hand around him, holding and exploring him with audacious curiosity. She could wait no longer. She fitted him between her thighs.
Lowering his lips into to the fragrant hollow of her neck, he drove into her with measured force. He grasped her wrists and pulled them above her head. With her pinned and him sliding in and out with a steady rhythm, he noticed that he hadn't removed her panties. The friction of the lacy band drove him wild, and his control slipped.
Sabrina wanted to claw at him, yank his hair, and scream her need. With every thrust, she felt his wildness and despaired that she would find release in time. Then, as he closed his mouth on her breast, it happened. He buried himself inside her, hard and hot, thick and smooth, and she spiraled over the edge. He liberated her hands and held her close, urging her, and it was stronger and sweeter than anything she experienced before.
As she fluttered downward, her body spent and weak, he tensed. Then, with a rough cry of fulfillment, he collapsed against her. She could feel him tremble as he rolled over. She pillowed her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
* * *
It was dark and Sabrina was afraid to move. She was curled against Jay, his arm possessively tossed over her hips. His breathing was deep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She eased herself away, slowly sliding toward the edge of the bed. When she made it, she stood in the moonlight and watched him sleep.
As she shivered in the night air, doubt and remorse clouded her thoughts and she began to panic. She could blame it on alcohol, although she'd only had two beers at the most. No, it wasn't alcohol. It was the sunset sail and his carefree, lazy smile.
"Uh oh, Grandmother. Now I know what happened to you," she whispered, her eyes tender as she watched him sleep.
Sabrina gritted her teeth, and then searched the shadowy floor for her scattered clothes. She tiptoed into the living room where she hurriedly dressed, pulling her wrinkled shirt from between the couch cushions. She laced her shoes and wiggled into her coat. She knew her makeup and hair were a mess, but she had to get out of here now, before he woke and she had to look into his eyes.
Six years of Catholic school training was not wasted on her and shame flushed her cheeks. She opened the door as quietly as possible and let herself out into the night. It closed with an audible click, but Jay was sound asleep. Sabrina raced down the steps, cringing when her footsteps alerted a seal and it barked hoarsely.
She sprinted to the middle of the dark street and after looking both ways saw the illuminated hotel sign in the distance. As she walked hurriedly towards the light, she opened her purse and withdrew a brush. With wild, frantic yanks, she smoothed her hair. She tucked her shirt into her jeans and buttoned her jacket. She frantically searched her purse for the hotel key card, then, with a sigh of relief, found it in her back pocket. The last thing she wanted to do was ask the hotel clerk for another key; especially at, what time was it? She pulled out her cell phone and pushed a button. The screen lit up: 2:48 a.m.
With her head averted, she let herself into the hotel lobby and walked towards the stairs to her second-floor suite. The clerk looked up from his magazine briefly and then ignored her.
In her room at last, Sabrina leaned against the door and giggled. She stepped into the bathroom, the light and fan driving away the quiet. She turned on the shower and began to strip. She yelped softly when she saw the red marks on her breasts and belly, and licked her swollen, aching lips.
"Mmmmm!" She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and giggled again. Then, hefting her tender breasts in each hand, she examined them for small hickeys. She raised an eyebrow at her reflection. "You should see the other guy," she quipped.
Soon, the steaming shower, fragrant soap and soothing body lotion dispelled her aches, leaving her skin glowing and soft. Later, lying naked in her bed, she ran her hands over her belly and between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes and regretted leaving him, yearning again for his touch, his kiss, his powerful body against hers.
She slept fitfully, hugging her pillow.
* * *
In the morning, the town once again seemed normal. Sabrina shook her head at the memory of her late-night race through the streets. She realized that, although Jay lived somewhere close, she lost all sense of bearing in the dark. He could be anywhere of three directions. Not that she wanted to see him again. Okay, she did. But she didn't think she could face him.
He's probably glad he doesn't have to get rid of me, she thought. I've got the morals of a cat in heat. A vision of Sister Carolyn, her seventh grade health education teacher, floated before her. She cringed at the memory of sex education and the Catholic stance on reproduction and birth control. That's where she and the religion parted ways. In most other areas, the doctrine had its hooks in her and kept her on the "right path."
Even so, Sabrina had limited experience with sex. She dated during high school, but never had a serious relationship.
She'd only made love with two other men: one she almost convinced herself to marry, despite Grandmother Rose's advice, and the other a rebound from her broken engagement. She dated Jeremy Rice for three years in college. He took it for granted they would marry and she would work while he finished medical school. Finding him in bed with another woman at a fraternity party devastated her. Jeremy represented the one thing she craved: a family. She refused his contrite telephone calls and eventually they stopped. She sent him the engagement ring and returned all of his presents. She didn't want any reminders.
Michael, her second lover, was a guitar player in a Boston band. Her dorm roommate set up a blind date for both of them. They recognized from the beginning they had little in common, but the sex was healthy and helped assuage her wounded pride. Michael didn't mind. When his band moved to California, they kissed goodbye without regret.
Sabrina was up, showered and dressed by eight o'clock, and scouting the streets of Warren for a breakfast diner. She decided on the donut shop, eating three glazed donuts and downing several cups of coffee.
She asked the waitress for a telephone directory and idly stirred sugar into her coffee as she flipped through the yellow pages.
"Excuse me," she called to the waitress. "Is this close?" Sabrina pointed to the small ad for Warren Boatyard in the phone book. Its services included boat restoration and boat building, "no job too small."
The woman nodded. "Sure is. Right down the road."
"Thanks. That's all I need."
Sabrina punched the number into her cell phone. It rang several times and, just as she considered hanging up and redialing, a deep voice boomed, "Boatyard. Brett here."
"Hello, I'm looking at your ad in the phone book and it says you do boat restoration. That 'no job is too small.'"
"That's right, ma'am. What can we do for you?"
"Well, I have a boat and it's a real mess," she began apologetically. "I need to have it moved and then, I guess, do whatever magic you do."
"Is this a fiberglass boat?"
"Yes, it is."
"What's her length, overall?"
"Uh, what?"
"How big is the boat?"
&nbs
p; "I'm not sure. It's a Zephyrus; does that help?"
There was a brief pause before the man answered. "Thirty-two; those boats had a short run and only one design."
"Well, this one is special, despite roosting chickens and lily pads in living room."
"Cabin. Lily pads in the cabin," Brett said, chuckling. "Where is this boat?"
"It's at Mr. Blair's house, next to his barn." She reeled off the address. "It's been sitting for at least twenty years, so it's going to need a lot of work."
"I can go take a look at it and give you an estimate. Why don't you give me your name and telephone number."
"I don't need an estimate. I want this boat restored to her original condition," she said, proudly remembering to call it by its feminine pronoun. "I don't care what the cost is."
Brett didn't respond at first. Then, "Miss, you sound like you're new to sailboats. Let me give you some advice: When you fall in love, run like hell."
"Excuse me?" Sabrina's gut clenched.
"Run, and don't look back. This boat could end up costing you ten times what she's worth."
"That's what she's worth to me," Sabrina said. "Look; you're right. I don't know what I'm doing. That's why I'm calling you. But I do know this: I want this boat in pristine condition."
"Bristol."
"What?"
"Bristol. Boats are restored to Bristol condition, not pristine."
She giggled. "Whatever, Mr. ... What did you say your name was?"
"My name is Brett Story. I'm assistant manager of the Warren Boatyard."
"Mr. Story, I appreciate you trying to talk me out of throwing money at you. You may not hear this often, but today, money is no object. In fact, if you'll meet me at Mr. Blair's house with a truck or trailer, or however you people move boats around on the land, then I'm prepared to give you a $20,000 deposit."
"I can be there in an hour."
Not a bad businessman after all, she thought. "That's what I want to hear. Thank you, Mr. Story."
Sabrina hung up her cell phone. "I'm doing it, Grandmother."
West Wind Page 6
