Once on deck, she stopped to catch her breath. She’d been on a floating gin palace in Cannes once with Jeremy—a corporate bash to celebrate the launch of their latest GPS system. This bore no comparison. Jeremy had been drunk on the free champagne by nine o’clock and she’d spent the rest of the evening boosting the egos of braying executives.
This was not as glamorous, but somehow more real and far more beautiful. As they glided away from the shore, the light breeze on shore translated into a stiff wind, setting the sails flapping and the halyards clattering against the mast. On the deck a small table was laid out for dinner between the bench seats.
Charles handed her a glass of Pimms, as the yacht tilted alarmingly first to port and then to starboard. As they sailed across the lake, she clutched her drink in one hand and the rail in the other. One moment, the water was inches from her back; the next, she was soaring through the air, the waves skipping by six feet below. Will, lounging on the cushions on the other side of the boat, looked like he’d seen it all before.
‘You’ve chosen a nice night for it,’ commented Charles. ‘For once, it’s dry and we’ve got plenty of wind. Otherwise it would have been the iron sail for us and that’s hardly romantic, is it?’
Hardly romantic? Even if they had had to resort to the engine, Emma couldn’t think of anything more romantic. If she’d been trying to get herself into bed, she’d have chosen this method too. It was obviously Will’s banker seduction technique. The sinking feeling in her stomach was impossible to ignore. She glared at him as he admired the scenery, his hair tousled in the wind.
He knew she was eyeing him and he knew it wasn’t a friendly look. He sighed as he gazed out over the lake.
He’d really thought he was getting somewhere on the quayside. She’d allowed him to guide her towards the jetty and—he couldn’t believe it—take off her shoes. It had certainly been no hardship, kneeling down in front of her, having no choice but to touch her skin.
He watched her as she pretended to take an interest in a passing yacht, his eyes drawn again to those slender ankles and calves and higher to where her thighs were pressed tightly together. She wriggled her toes against the deck and even that slight gesture turned him on.
He noticed the shawl was still bound protectively around her. He should be wrapped around her instead. He should be huddled up close to her, keeping her warm with his body…
Emma swung round and darted a wary glance at him, opening her mouth as if she was about to say something.
‘Sorry to disturb you, but would one of you like to choose some wine?’ Jane Stanton had popped her head out of the saloon gangway. The aromas of cooking wafted out from the door and Emma wished she could summon up an appetite.
‘Thanks, Jane,’ said Will, then turned to Emma. ‘Do you want to choose?’ he asked.
‘It’s OK,’ she muttered to him. ‘You do it.’
Emma realized she needed a few moments away from his far-too direct appraisal. As he ducked his head beneath the cabin door, she took a sip of her Pimms and tried to imagine that she was in the south of France on a sultry August night. She wasn’t alone for long. Charles Stanton appeared, bearing a tray of canapés. ‘Lovely evening,’ he said, offering the tray. ‘Will’s been lucky—it poured down the last time we saw him.’
She decided to ask a question she already knew the answer to. ‘Does he do this often, then, hire Artemis, that is?’
‘Oh yes! He’s been on here—let me see—it must be four times since last summer.’
‘Oh.’ So it was his favorite seduction method, and what woman could resist it?
‘He’s one of our best customers,’ continued Charles. ‘He’s always bringing clients on our corporate sailing days, but’—he lowered his voice—‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but this is the first time he’s ever brought a young lady on board.’
Her stomach flipped as the wind tore another strand from her hair-do. Her mind focused on those three words: the first time. She knew her delight at hearing them was way out proportion to what it should have been. It didn’t mean he hadn’t taken a woman out to dinner before. But not here—like this. For one night, at least, she was special.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said, as Will emerged from the cabin.
The hesitant smile that greeted him was such a contrast to her previous scowl that he had to swallow hard.
‘So. What have you chosen for us?’ he heard her asking.
Us. The breath caught in his throat. He waited for the lurch of panic that would tell him to run away from the intimacy of the word but it didn’t arrive. All he felt was a sense of warmth, pleasure, and togetherness which was all much more scary.
‘White, I think… yeah. Something French anyway. To tell you the truth, it’s just slipped my mind. I hope it’s OK.’
She shuffled along the seat, leaving a space next to her. ‘I’m sure it will be fine. Look, why don’t you join me here? It’s silly shouting at each other across the boat like this, don’t you think?’
‘Oh absolutely,’ he replied, treating her to a glance so sexy she almost melted. He sat down tentatively, keeping a discreet distance from her. She knew he was trying to give her space. If only he knew she wanted the opposite from him: closeness, warmth, affection.
The ensuing silence was punctuated by the cries of gulls and the rush of the water as they made for a small bay on the opposite shore. ‘Do you know about the name of the yacht?’ she ventured. ‘Artemis—interesting choice.’
He looked at her quizzically but his tone was amused. ‘Why do I feel I’m about to be taught a lesson?’
‘Artemis—virgin goddess of the wilderness,’ she declared. And fertility, she could have added, but she decided to keep that one to herself. ‘She hunted down a man called Actaeon who watched her bathing naked…’
‘Bathing naked?’ he echoed.
‘Oh yes. She turned him into a stag and set his own hounds on him.’
He cleared his throat. ‘Sounds like a real charmer. Still, that’s something else I didn’t know about you. You’re an expert on mythology.’
‘Classics MA,’ she nodded sagely.
‘Wow. I’m impressed.’
Teasing him was fun and sexy, but she couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. ‘Actually, I read it in one of my niece’s “Horrible History” books. I did English at university.’
Will was too warm. He wanted to undo his bow tie and the top button of his shirt. And to take his jacket off. But it would have looked odd when a fresh breeze was whipping up whitecaps on the lake and pricking Emma’s flesh with goose bumps.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Over into that little bay,’ he replied, glad of a subject that didn’t involve wet and naked goddesses. ‘We’ll have dinner there where the water’s calm.’
Ten minutes later, the yacht was almost motionless, riding gently at anchor in the bay. Dinner was served on the deck, the food giving them both a relatively safe topic of conversation. Emma didn’t know how she managed her starter and main course, the butterflies in her stomach left no room for anything else. A gentle fluttering stirred every time Will looked directly at her or refilled her wine glass, or just breathed in and out…
Lust must affect men and women in different ways, Emma concluded, seeing him devour his own meal and half of hers. All that walking and climbing, she thought, and he was so terribly big. Tall, that is, tall and strong… oh for goodness’ sake, she had to try and calm down. Dessert arrived, and with it the chance for Will to point out the fell tops they could see silhouetted against the setting sun.
The evocative names—Harrison Stickle, Pike o’ Blisco, Crinkle Crag—rolled off his tongue and set off the butterflies as she heard a tiny, incredibly sexy trace of his Cumbrian accent. She saw the pride in his eyes as he told her about the climbs he’d enjoyed, the rescues he’d helped with—some ending happily, humorously even. Many not.
She found herself warming to his unashamed passion
for the place he lived in, the people and landscape. There was no cynicism now, no glib remarks or sarcastic comments. It seemed natural to take her chance. ‘Will…’ she ventured, as he slotted the bottle in the ice bucket, ‘this afternoon you asked me why I was here in Bannerdale. I told you the truth. Now it’s your turn—why are you here?’
‘Always have been—apart from university,’ he answered, placing his glass on the little table.
‘Where did you go?’
‘Scotland.’
‘Why?’
He grinned. ‘Big mountains.’
‘Ah—Silly me. Should have known.’ There was silence. ‘You’re not helping me out here…’
He smiled and put down his napkin on the table. ‘I did Geography—I was all set to be the archetypal bearded teacher in tweeds and brogues.’
The image brought a giggle to her lips. ‘Somehow I can’t quite imagine that… but then again, you do have the making of a beard sometimes… all that designer stubble…’
Laughing, he rubbed his chin. ‘Life’s too short for male grooming, but I do make an effort for special occasions.’ The look he gave her was so knowing that she felt her stomach clench with desire.
‘And?’ The word came out as a squeak. ‘Let’s have your life history. You can’t get away from me here, on this boat.’
‘If you really insist, but I warn you, it’s very boring. Born and brought up here. Bannerdale Primary School, local comp, university, and a PGCE. Then the geography teacher bit. That lasted six months. Told you I was boring.’
She wagged a finger at him. ‘You’re not getting away with that. I want to know more. Much more.’
‘Ask away then.’
‘Anything?’
‘You can ask anything you want.’ He smiled. She was well aware he hadn’t actually promised to answer.
‘Don’t worry, I will—but don’t forget it was your idea.’ She made a show of considering her first question. ‘OK, then. Number one, what made you start your own business?’
‘I was a useless teacher…’ His eyes were twinkling. ‘Seriously, I really like kids, but it wasn’t for me, the chalk face and all the admin. I’d always wanted to start my own business, stay as close as I could to the great outdoors. I suppose I would have launched Outside Edge one day but Dad dying made it happen sooner than I’d expected.’
‘Oh. I’m so sorry…’ Her voice tailed off as her enthusiasm for the game drained away.
‘It’s all right, Emma. You haven’t upset me,’ he reassured. ‘It was a long time ago. I don’t mind talking about it now. He had a heart attack while he was out walking the fells on his day off.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘He never smoked or drank much, always kept in shape—I suppose that’s just the way it goes.’
‘When was this?’ she murmured. ‘You couldn’t have been that old.’
‘I was twenty-four and Dad was barely fifty. The rescue squad went to help. Bob Jeavons was there, in fact, but there was nothing they could do. That’s that, I’m afraid.’
‘Life’s so unfair,’ she said limply. ‘I mean he was young, your dad, far too young. It must have been a terrible shock for you and your mum. I’ve been lucky…’
As he let her closer to him, her heart started to beat a little faster. ‘He made sure he looked after us, though. He’d worked so hard, saved all his life, so there was a decent amount of money and some insurance. Not loads, but Mum insisted on me having every spare penny. It got me started in the business and things just grew from there.’
He got up from the table on the deck and motioned to her to sit back on the bench with him. Still, he didn’t crowd her or offer to put his arm around her, but she could feel the heat from his body and smell his sharp citrusy aftershave.
She knew he was being deliberately vague about his success. He must have worked incredibly hard to go from one store to a big network in ten years… and he was harboring ambitions in property too, if the hotel was anything to go by. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about it but it seemed trivial after what he’d just told her. Trivial and churlish. He had a right to do whatever he wanted with his money. It wasn’t as if he’d inherited a fortune or a stately home or anything. Still, it would be nice to see him doing something positive, rather than just expanding his empire even further.
‘Where does your mum live?’ she asked tentatively.
‘A cottage in Bannerdale. She moved out of our family home when Dad died and made me have the profits to start the business. The cottage is what the tourists call “quaint,” which means no double glazing, steep stairs, and an open fire. Mum refuses to move even though I’ve offered to buy her something more practical. She just won’t have it.’
‘I’m sure she likes her independence,’ commented Emma, smiling inwardly at his well-meaning interference. Didn’t she try and do the same herself, with her own parents?
She paused, held her breath for a tiny moment, then dared some more: ‘Is that why you joined the rescue team? Because they tried to help your dad that day?’
She saw the tiny smile curve his lips. ‘I was grateful to them—when I’d stopped being angry they didn’t reach him in time. Of course, it wasn’t their fault but for a while I needed to blame somebody. I was on my probationary year with the squad at the time. Everyone has to do it, to prove they can cut it with the team. I joined because—well, I just wanted to use my skills to help other people. Corny but true. I’d been climbing since I was a lad and I know these hills like the back of my hand.’
He took a sip from his glass and then set it down, leaving her waiting for more. He looked her full in the face.
‘Believe it or not, I like helping people, Emma.’
He paused, leaving Emma unsure if he was referring to his reluctance to support the calendar or his behavior in her office—or neither. She tried not to react and took a sip of wine. Will carried on.
‘You see, sometimes people get hurt, even when you don’t mean them to—when it’s ultimately for their own good. It’s like on the hillside when someone’s in pain and we have to move them or treat them. Sometimes we know it’s going to hurt before we can make things better for them. It’s the part I hate, but I’m afraid that’s the way it is.’
Emma was puzzled and a little disturbed by his words. She was wondering what he meant. Was he trying to justify the way he’d behaved towards her? No, she reasoned, she was reading way too much into things. She knew that the team often had to make some difficult decisions when they were on rescues and it must be upsetting, no matter how much of a brave face they tried to put on it.
As if reading her mind, Will reached for the bottle. ‘Now. This isn’t a very nice subject,’ he said, smiling. ‘Let’s talk about something else. Do you want some more wine?’
She put her hand over her half-full glass.
‘No thanks. And Will, even if it hurts I—I’d rather know the absolute truth.’
‘The absolute truth?’ he echoed. ‘I’m not sure anyone wants to hear the absolute truth. An approximation maybe, a sanitized version…’
‘I always want to know everything. However unpalatable.’ She was amazed at her daring.
‘What makes you think you don’t know everything? What else is there to know?’ He paused, waiting for his nose to grow or to be struck down by a thunderbolt. Nothing worse happened than a gust of wind flapping the sails. He looked up at the darkening sky. ‘So go ahead. Ask me another one. I think I can guess your specialist subject by now.’
Not really, she thought. Not if I asked what I really want to. Why did you jilt your fiancée on your wedding day? Why don’t you want a real relationship? And what do you want from me other than a night in bed?
‘I’m waiting,’ he teased.
‘The calendar,’ she blurted out, then caught his exasperated look. ‘I know you don’t agree with it—even though you did offer to sponsor it. Though I’m not convinced that was entirely altruistic…’
He suddenly seemed to be studying a bar
of clouds over the darkening mountains.
‘It’s not because you’re worried about people seeing you naked, is it?’
He threw back his head and laughed at that. ‘We’ve already been through all the reasons why I didn’t—still don’t—agree with it… But I’ll tell you this much. Being seen in the nude is definitely not one of them. On the other hand,’ he added, moving a little closer to her in the gathering twilight, ‘are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Bothered about me being seen naked by the women of Bannerdale?’
Her laugh of derision sounded hollow even to her own ears. Oh God, she hadn’t thought of that. He was right; she couldn’t bear the thought of it.
‘Or do you think most of them have seen me already? That’s what you think, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she exclaimed, her cheeks flaming. ‘As if I care whether they have or haven’t.’
‘How would you like it, then?’ he persisted, ignoring her fierce blush.
‘Like what?’
‘Like to have all the men in Bannerdale admiring your breasts?’
Her mouth dropped open. ‘That’s different.’
‘I don’t see how.’
‘Because a woman… she’d be viewed as a sex object. With you, it’s more… well, a bit of a joke.’
‘Thanks. You sure know how to boost a man’s confidence.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that—I didn’t mean you personally…’
‘So you would view me as a sex object, huh?’
‘Stop it!’ she cried, but she was trying to stifle her laughter. ‘Stop trying to twist everything I say. I know you hate—hated—the idea and I’m… um… very grateful to you for taking part against your better judgment. It is going to be a success and it is going to raise a lot of money for the base. Even you can’t argue with that.’
‘You’re right, and I don’t want to argue with you. You don’t honestly think I want you to fail, do you? Because if you do, we may as well go home right now.’
He took her hands in his and rubbed his thumbs gently over the palms, caressing the skin where she’d grazed it after her fall. ‘I only wish good things for you. I would never want you to be hurt.’
Dating Mr. December Page 15
