by Janet Dailey
At the time, Rhyder had simply been the most compelling man she had ever met, virtually the first man she had ever been aware of in a physical sense. His latent virility had awakened her femininity as none of the attention from boys in her age group had done. Rhyder had been twenty-six that summer nine years ago. His lifestyle alone set him apart from everyone else.
Within a few days after seeing him for the first time, Gina had begun subtly trying to attract his attention. Sometimes she was conscious of what she was doing, but mostly she was guided by instinct. Fate and a misbehaving engine in his sleek sailing yacht had put him into the port where her grandfather trapped lobsters. Gina had dozens of ready-made excuses for being around at any hour of the day.
From being a nodding acquaintance, she graduated into passing the time of day and on to chatting briefly. At sixteen, Gina was attractive and unconsciously alluring. The combination of long black hair and green eyes was eye-catching to any male. Rhyder wasn't an exception.
Gina had often seen his veiled gaze running over her face and figure in silent admiration. But he was also aware of her youth and the nearly ten-year difference in their ages.
She remembered the afternoon she had gone to the beach for a swim, with the full knowledge beforehand that Rhyder was there. In her effort to establish a more personal relationship, she discovered a streak of guile within herself that she hadn't known existed.
It enabled her to feign surprise when she saw him in the water, send him a friendly wave, and swim alone as if she didn't mind sharing the secluded cove with him. Later, when she had waded ashore, he was sunning himself on the sand, his muscled chest and legs already tanned a mahogany brown.
The sandy beach area of the cove was small, so it was perfectly natural that she had to sit within a few yards of him to dry herself off. His gaze had flicked to her briefly, faint amusement in the blue depths, as she toweled the excess water from her skin.
"It's a beautiful summer day, isn't it?" she had declared artlessly.
"Mmm," had been his sound of agreement, closing his eyes.
For a while Gina had said nothing, hoping to indicate a companionable silence. Then she asked with false idleness, "Have you repaired your motor yet?"
"I'll find out tomorrow," Rhyder had answered. "We're taking it out for a test run."
"We?" Gina had repeated blankly, then nodded understanding. "You're referring to Pete."
She hadn't figured out just exactly what relationship the man was to Rhyder. At times she thought he might be an employee, a deckhand or something. Other times they seemed like the best of friends.
Yet Pete didn't strike Gina as the outdoor sailing type, so if he was a friend, she couldn't imagine him volunteering to have a sailing vacation. He was more at home with books than he was with anything to do with the yacht.
Rhyder was lying on his back, arms raised to rest his head on his hands. He shifted slightly to allow his alert gaze to sweep over her, taking in the jutting firmness of her breasts beneath the one-piece bathing suit of canary yellow.
"How old are you, Gina?" One corner of his mouth lifted in a gesture of mocking amusement.
"Seventeen. I'll be eighteen in August," she had lied, advancing her age by a year.
The lines around his mouth had deepened. "Sometimes you barely look sixteen."
"'Sweet sixteen and never been kissed?'" Gina had laughed throatily. "That's hardly true."
"You look amazingly untouched by all your experiences," Rhyder had replied with deliberate mockery.
Gina's heart had beat faster. She knew Rhyder was beyond her experience. There was an exhilarating sensation of danger in the way she was flirting with him.
"I never said anyone had taken me into the bushes." She had met his gaze levelly, her eyes as clear and as bright as the unplummeted, green ocean depths. "I was only talking about kissing," she had retorted, implying that he had referred to more worldly things of which he knew a great deal more than she did firsthand.
"You've done a lot of kissing?" He had made it a question, a dancing light moving over his face.
Gina had leaned back on her hands, a smug half smile curving her mouth as she lifted her face to the sun. "Oh, once or twice at least."
"Are you good at it?" There was suggestion of amusement in his low voice.
"I'm learning." She had darted him a laughing glance, fielding his teasing questions with lighthearted abandon.
She was enjoying this conversation with its stimulating undertones. She had never traded words like this before, not about making love. It made her feel daring and gloriously wicked.
"Why don't you come over here and show me what you've learned?" Rhyder hadn't shifted from his position—flat on his back, hands under his head, only the blue of his gaze turned to her.
Gina's breath had caught in her throat at the suggestion. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to find out what it would be like to have Rhyder kiss her. Luckily, before she submitted to his invitation, she had realized that he was only making fun of her. It had hurt, but not as much as it might have if she had childishly taken him seriously.
She had laughed, a forced sound, not quite natural, but she didn't think he had noticed. "No, thank you, Rhyder."
She had rolled gracefully to her feet, holding an end of the beach towel in her hand and letting part of it trail in the sand. She had shaken her head and smiled, her refusal very adult.
"What's the matter? Are you afraid?" The taunt had been gentle and not really argumentative.
"I'm wary." There had been a great deal of truth in that statement. "That's how I've managed to stay out of the bushes." Her hand had flicked blue black hair away from her cheek. "I'd better be getting back so I can start supper for gramps."
To get to the path leading from the beach, Gina had too walk past Rhyder. He had levered himself onto one elbow at her last remark. As she had walked past him, his hand had reached out and caught the trailing end of the towel. He had made a pretense of using it to pull himself to his feet. Once upright, though, he hadn't released the towel.
Something elemental had seemed to hover in the air, charging it with an unknown tension. Absently, Gina had been aware of the pulse beating wildly along her neck, but she hadn't been able to move.
The laughing glint had left his blue eyes as they darkened with purpose. The strong angles of his face had hardened slightly. His grip had tightened on the towel, pulling her toward him. Gina hadn't resisted, drawn by a magnetic force that somehow emanated from him.
With one hand, Rhyder had kept a hold on the towel while his other hand had settled on the naked curve of her shoulder and arm. Liquid fire had splashed from his touch, golden heat flowing through her veins. As his dark head bent toward hers, she had closed her eyes, butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
At the touch of his mouth, her lips had quivered. In seconds, the exploring expertise of his kiss had coaxed a pliant response from her. He had aroused sensations that boys in her age group had not been able to with their awkward and sometimes demanding kisses.
Again instinct had taken over, letting her return the kiss with an ability not gained from experience. Her hand had rested on the bare hardness of his trim waist, more for support from the heady sensations erupting within than from a desire to actually caress him.
When Rhyder had lifted his head, she had been dazed. Her equilibrium had been slow to return under the methodical study of his inscrutable gaze. There had been a faint grimness about his hard features, browned by the sun into vital masculinity.
"I can't make up my mind about you," Rhyder had muttered beneath his breath, seemingly unaware that he had spoken aloud. Almost immediately there had been a crooked lift of his mouth, a mask of mockery covering his expression. "You'd better run along home, woman-child, and fix that supper for your grandfather."
He had given her a playful push in the direction of the path and Gina hadn't minded letting it end there. She had wanted to savor the sensations, remember
every one in detail. Rhyder had kissed her and it had been wonderful.
Gina moaned softly at the memory. Why hadn't it ended there with just a romantic dream? If Rhyder had left the following day when his engine had tested out, she wouldn't be going through all this anguish at seeing him again. He would have been just some dark stranger who had captured a young girl's heart and faded into unreality.
But it hadn't happened that way.
The trepidation she had felt nine years ago walking down to the harbor the next day came flooding back. It increased when Gina saw Rhyder's sailing yacht, the Sea Witch II, coming in to dock. The engines weren't missing a stroke and she had known the repairs had been successful. There wasn't any reason for Rhyder to remain in this uneventful port.
Since it could have been the last time she would see him, Gina had stood at the dockside, fighting the lump in her throat as Pete clambered awkwardly from the deck to the dock to make the lines fast. Gina would rather it had been Rhyder.
"Everything sounded smooth when you came in," she had commented to Pete after he had self-consciously returned her smile. "You must have corrected the problem."
"Rhyder says so," he had agreed.
"I guess that means you'll be heading out tomorrow." She had hated saying the words.
"No, we're going to stay here and explore the Washington County area. It's too crowded farther along the coast," he had concluded, and it had sounded as if he were mouthing Rhyder's sentiments rather than his own.
But joy had leaped into Gina's heart. If they were staying in the area, that meant she had a good chance of seeing him again.
"There are a lot of dogfish there," she had agreed, hardly able to contain her excitement.
"Dogfish?" Pete had stared at her blankly. "Summer complaints."
"Summer complaints?" Her explanation hadn't helped him at all.
"You know—tourists," Gina had explained with a wide smile.
"You call tourists 'summer complaints?'" He, too, had smiled broadly.
"We don't mean anything bad by it. Actually it's big business along the coast," she had assured him.
"'Dogfish' is a term for a tourist, too?" Pete shook his head. "But that's a kind of shark. Hardly complimentary."
"But it isn't meant that way," Gina had protested with a laugh. "Handliners—fishermen—almost hate the dogfish because when the haddock should be taken, along comes the dogfish. Tourists start arriving at almost the same time. There are several terms that are used for seasonal visitors."
But Gina didn't mention "summer mahogany." That was special, reserved for Rhyder.
"Incredible!" Pete had breathed, wiping the perspiration from his brow and flipping back a wayward lock of sandy hair.
"Are you getting a lesson in Maine-iac expressions, Pete?"
With a startled, quarter-turn spin, Gina had faced Rhyder. Her heart had skipped a beat at the sight of him, his ebony hair ruffled and tangled by the salty ocean breeze. A cream-colored knit shirt had loosely molded his broad shoulders and leanly muscled chest.
Agilely he had swung from the glistening deck. His blue gaze had skimmed over her, making her aware of the way she was staring. She had looked quickly away as Pete replied, "I certainly am."
A crony of her grandfather's had walked by at that moment, his alert gaze sweeping the trio before he nodded to Gina. "How's Nate?" he inquired, referring to her grandfather.
"Nicely, thank you." She slipped her fingers into the slanted pockets of her jeans. "They crawlin' good?"
"Daow!" he had answered emphatically.
"Gramps changed water in his traps today, too," Gina had agreed, as the man continued on his way.
"Would you mind translating that conversation?" Pete had frowned bewilderedly.
A sideways glance had caught Rhyder's amused and interested look. Gina obligingly launched into an explanation of what had been said, aware that she was the sole object of Rhyder's attention and determined to acquit herself intelligently.
"Clyde Simms asked how my grandfather was and I told him he was doing nicely as opposed to poorly—or in poor health. Then I asked him if the lobster were crawling—or moving along the ocean floor and with luck into the lobster traps. His reply was 'daow'—a negative just about as definite as you can get." Gina had smiled broadly. "He would have told you that whether it was true or not."
"What did you mean about changing water in the traps?" Pete had persisted, a curious half smile beginning to curve his thin mouth.
"When a lobsterman goes out to haul and comes up with empty traps that he has to rebait and reset, it's called changing water in the pots. In other words, an unproductive task, since he didn't catch anything."
"I don't think I've ever heard such picturesque speech patterns," Pete had declared, addressing the comment to Rhyder.
"Mostly they come from nautical terms or from the logging days," Gina had acknowledged.
"Yes, but they're still in use. Of course, Maine is pretty isolated up here in the corner all by itself, practically," he had conceded. Rhyder didn't attempt to contribute to the conversation, but stood to one side, listening and watching Gina.
"It may seem as if we're isolated, but it's far from the truth. Look at all the seasonal visitors we get from all parts of the country and the world," Gina had argued. "And Mainers have always been known for their association with the sea, whether it was fishing commercially or shipping. The history of the people is very cosmopolitan. The old idioms linger because they indicate an individuality. Also—" a bright twinkle had entered her eyes "—it makes us remembered. People come from away, hear the way we talk, and go back to tell all their friends what quaint things we said. Everyone knows word of mouth is the best advertisement. What better way to encourage more tourists to come to our resorts?"
Rhyder had laughed, joined almost immediately by Pete, then Gina. It had been a magic moment, knowing she had made him laugh with her and not at her.
"Brilliantly spoken." Rhyder had smiled at her. "Surely you didn't think I was an empty-headed creature, did you?" Gina had tipped her head provocatively to one side.
"No, I didn't think that." But he had seemed to withdraw, his smile becoming indulgent instead of sharing amusement.
"Well—" she had gazed off into the distance, resenting his sudden aloofness "—I'll be going. See you around." She removed a hand from her pocket to flick a goodbye salute to the two men.
When she had moved away, Gina had felt Rhyder watching her leave. There was satisfaction in that, and in the knowledge that Rhyder wasn't leaving the area, either. She would see him again, soon. Maybe things would work out better the next time.
After all, he had kissed her once. She had lifted a finger to her lips in memory of the thrilling sensation. He would hardly be reluctant to kiss her again if the opportunity presented itself. Gina had hoped that there would be an opportunity, or that she would be able to create one. Yes, she would see him again, soon.
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Chapter Two
GINA BURIED HER FACE in her hands, but the haunting memories of the summer nine years ago wouldn't stop. Any moment now she would be missed from the clambake and someone would come looking for her. Rhyder would guess immediately that he was the reason she was hiding.
She wasn't hiding exactly, but that was what he would think. She would rejoin the others, she promised herself, in a minute. Only a minute more in the peace and quiet of the house.
Only there wasn't any peace and quiet, not in her mind. It was noisy with thoughts, especially of another day nine summers ago when she had not found peace along a serene beach.
Gina had poked a toe at the regular row of seaweed, the high-water mark of the tide. She hadn't seen Rhyder for three days, not since the day the engine had been tested. A short piece of driftwood rested above the seaweed, smoothed and whitened by the salt water and sun. Burnished gold grass grew in sturdy clumps, accented by the lavender purple blossom of the beach pea.
But Gina ha
dn't noticed these, nor the pale pink of the bindweed flower, nor the colorful shells tangled in the seaweed. Rhyder had left and hadn't come back. Foolishly she had believed that because Pete had said they would be staying in the area, it meant they would be using her small port as a base.
"See you around," she had said confidently, never believing that she had actually been saying goodbye to him.
With a dispirited sigh she had turned away from the beach, toward the headland cliffs and the jumble of rocks, some smooth and some jagged, but all spectacular. Gulls screeched overhead, swooping and gliding in graceful acrobatic acts. Tenacious blue flowers grew out of the rocky cliffs, supple stems bending with the wind.
Although Gina was planning to go home, she took a roundabout route by the harbor, unwilling to admit that Rhyder would never return. She didn't really expect to see the yacht, Sea Witch II. She was so certain she wouldn't see it that she nearly didn't. When she recognized it, she took two racing steps toward it before she could control her exultation and saunter casually forward.
Rhyder was on deck, the white of a sail spread across his lap. Gina could see he was stitching a tear in the canvas. She paused on the dock where the boat was made fast.
"Do you sew a fine seam?" she asked mockingly.
He glanced up at her briefly. "Hi, Gina. Come aboard." He bent his dark head again to his task.
She wished his welcome could have been a bit more enthusiastic and his invitation less like inviting a child aboard. But she was much too glad to see him again to let herself worry about that for long. She stepped aboard with alacrity.
"Where's Pete?" Gina glanced around.
"Ashore buying some groceries so we can eat dinner tonight."
It was on the tip of her tongue to invite them to eat with her and her grandfather, but she sensed that would be going too far, too soon. She leaned a shoulder against a mast and watched him work.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't be coming back here," she said at last.
