“How do you know?”
“I have eyes. Ears.” Hall clattered out the door. “Later, Sissy.”
Hall sounded normal enough, but something still felt off between them.
She slumped into a chair, not knowing what to do about Hall or Jake.
What was the lifespan of a rebound, anyway? Jake hadn’t exactly said he’d propose, but almost. A time-lapse photography sunflower of excitement grew in her chest. She squashed it down. Easier for Jake’s attraction to die before he proposed than for her to have to say no again.
Rachel’s hand quivered in Jake’s calloused, foreign grip as he threaded them through the throng of familiar teens toward the brick gym. If she’d thought ahead about how it would feel to be thrown back into the sea of eyes staring at her, she wouldn’t have come.
“Hi, Ms. Martin,” a fifty-pounds-lighter Sassy McQuen said.
Rachel waved at her former swim team charge as the girl cast a curious glance at Jake.
Rachel got the girl talking about this year’s season—anything to keep from wondering whether Sassy knew she and Bret had been an item. When Sassy returned to her friends, Rachel pulled some ones out of her back pocket.
Jake waved her away. “I got it.”
This felt like a date. The way he’d been funneling all his attention into her since the day he caught her mowing the lawn had tossed them into awkward. Yeah, she liked it—a lot—but her brain kept telling her his mini-crush would flame out.
Jake propelled her toward the open glass doors, and she took a deep breath, fortifying herself against all the gossip that bred like fungus in the school.
Inside the building, she nearly walked into Bret who stood against the cement block wall, a squirming one-year-old gripped under his arm. His eyes clamped on hers. From the scowl on his face, he’d been watching them through the glass.
Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized Bret’s pregnant wife standing in line at the concession stand. Beside her a pre-school boy clung to the counter and walked up the wall with his feet.
She wanted to turn and run—away from Bret, the likely possibility that his wife had heard about her, from the guilt that sloshed in her stomach every time she moved.
Jake pulled her closer and ducked his mouth to her ear. “This is for Bret.” His lips touched down on her temple.
In the space of a second, warm pressure of Jake’s lips radiated all the way inside to where the guilt swam. The soft pressure ended, leaving her starved for more—acceptance, absolution, love. She didn’t know what to call it. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“Anytime.” Jake nodded at Bret as they passed him. “Rustin.”
Not daring to look at either of them, she heard the smile in Jake’s voice. Arm in arm they made a beeline for the gym doors and across the glossy basketball court.
At the bleachers, her eyes skimmed back to the door and smacked into Bret and his family.
Bret’s gaze caught hers.
The realization that Bret had planned to abandon, not only two small kids, but a pregnant woman, snuffed out any twinge of attraction Rachel might have felt at seeing him again.
Jake’s fingers wove through hers.
They climbed the steps and settled onto the top row of the bleachers in the half-empty gym.
Bret took a seat near the floor in front of them with the baby on his lap, the toddler between him and his wife.
“Want to move? Go home? We don’t have to stay.”
She glanced at Jake. The bile of shame rose in her throat. How could Jake stand her, someone who’d threatened a marriage and the future of three children? Rachel tugged her hand toward her lap, but Jake held on.
“Bret needs to know you’re off limits to him.”
Her eyes dampened. A lump lodged in her throat. The warmth of Jake’s hand wrapped around her heart, cauterizing the guilt as she stared at the back of Bret’s family.
“Bret dredge up old emotions?”
“Shame. Self-loathing.”
“I don’t see what you did that was so bad. I’ve done the same and don’t feel bad about it.”
Her eyes swerved to his.
He shrugged. “You slept with the guy. I had sex with Gabs. Gramps would have said that was wrong. But six weeks from the wedding? Come on.”
“You didn’t steal someone’s heart from their spouse and kids.”
“What? Bret was an innocent bystander?”
“It was half Bret’s fault, but I should never have kissed him the first time.”
“My point is, any guy who’s willing to walk away from his kids has got a lot more guilt on his shoulders than you do.”
“But I’m ashamed.”
Jake searched her eyes. “I thought you said God forgave you.”
“Yeah, but I feel lousy. Maybe it didn’t take.”
He grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her face toward him. “I don’t see you as guilty.” His eyes lasered into the place where guilt lived. His lips touched down on hers, gentle, purifying.
The pep band launched into the school fight song as the boys jogged onto the court.
Jake dropped his hand from her face, siphoning dry her guilt. She felt light. Clean. Her gaze darted to the back of Bret’s head, but no guilt oozed back.
Jake jumped up and YMCA-waved till Keenan saw them and waved back.
He sank thigh-to-thigh beside her on the bleacher seat, even though no one sat within five feet of them. One hand found hers, the other went to his mouth for a shrill whistle.
Rachel squeezed his fingers.
Jake swiveled toward her.
“You really helped.” Even after Jake’s little rebound ran its course, she’d get to keep this after-the-rain-clean—a gift that bore God’s fingerprints.
A couple hours later, Jake pulled up to Newport Sound Apartments and leaned across Rachel as Keenan clambered out of the car. “Have you got time to help me pull the Queen’s fore john tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yeah.”
“Call you later, man.”
Jake sat up, inhaling Rachel’s scent as the door shut. He slipped his arm around her before she could think about scooting away, a high school move worthy of Keenan’s awe. He squeezed her arm through the thick fabric of his letter jacket he’d lent her when they stopped at Dairy Queen.
He heard Rachel’s sharp intake of breath and pulled onto Tenth Street. “You’ve got a gift—how you encouraged Keenan.”
“I was good cop to Bret’s bad cop with the swim team.”
A welder’s torch of jealousy seared through his gut.
“And still oblivious. You encouraged Keenan to play ball, and tonight, to hang tough. You pushed me to talk about getting past Gabs—which was a good thing for me and heiress Maddy. You suggested swim lessons to Quill.”
“What about your giving Keenan odd jobs?”
Jake turned down Faulkner. “Quit deflecting. I’m trying to tell you that you did a good job tonight.”
“We did a good job.”
Jake pulled the Explorer up in front of Rachel’s house and killed the engine. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
She scooted toward the door, easing her shoulder from his grasp. “Thanks. I had fun tonight.” She reached for the door handle.
“Stay there.” He jumped out of the car and strode around to open her door. Rachel’s feet hit the ground inches from where he stood with one hand on the door and one on the car.
Streetlight glinted off her glossy lips, and he leaned in, already tasting them in his mind. The alarm in her eyes stopped him. “Man, Rachel you look like you’re going to freak out—like after I kissed you on the Queen.
“That kiss was… crazy.”
Jake fought to keep a straight face, but a grin broke through. “Crazy good.”
The wariness dimmed, but didn’t leave her eyes.
He stepped back, swallowed his disappointment, and dropped his hand from the door. “Geez, Rae, you can relax. I’m not kissing
you when you look at me as if I’m a serial rapist.”
“You’re a lousy mind-reader. When you kissed me in the gym, I felt… absolved.”
Soft lips pressed against his cheek. Then she ducked under his arm.
The car door thunked shut under his hands. He leaned against the car and watched her move up the walk.
Rachel turned toward him in the halo of the porch light, buttoned into his letter jacket as if she belonged to him. She smiled and lifted a hand.
“See you Monday.” Frustration roughened his voice. The public kiss was fine, but hardly enough. It only made him hungry for more.
Chapter 22
“Coming about!” Rachel swung the Queen’s bow into the wind toward a vanilla moon.
Guests scrambled out of the way of the boom. Jake yanked down the flapping mainsail hand-over-hand. Two retired executives furled it into the sail cover. Jake jogged forward to anchor.
Rachel could be doing fifteen different jobs right now, but she banked the memory of the fluid way Jake moved about the deck in the lunar glow. Who was this Jake who didn’t bark orders? He’d thrown her off balance all week. Not that he’d been anything but professional on the job—only a few public touches. But he tuned in to her. Hovered.
The guests littered her with good-nights as they filed through the companionway until only she and Jake remained aboveboard.
Jake strode toward her, down the bouncing deck with his loose-jointed sailor’s gait. He stopped where she perched on the coaming, and pushed up the cuffs of his long-sleeved T-shirt. “Come down to the office. I want to show you the Queen’s financial records.”
She followed him into the aft cabin. “It’s your boat, your money—none of my business.”
“You did half the work.”
“Whatever.” She climbed into the dark cabin and heard Jake shut the hatch behind them. As she groped for the light switch, he ran into her. She felt his hand on her waist, his knee bumped against the back of her leg, and his chest connected with her back. A shiver shot through her and her mind slipped back to the kiss they’d shared here—the lava of wanting and being needed scalded through her.
She flipped on the light. The kiss evaporated, but not the need.
Jake bent over her as she sat in his office chair, and ran a finger down the expenses column in the ledger.
No way could she speed read along with Jake’s finger. Her eyes focused on one entry as he talked about expenses, operating costs, and profit margin.
“Wow. They must mix gold dust in the marine paint.”
“We can’t afford to go cheap on the hull and have to haul her early.”
Jake looked at her from inches away, and she had to make herself concentrate on what he was saying instead of on his lips.
“The old girl is a money sieve. It will take two years to save enough money to replace the engine. I hope it lasts that long.”
He turned his attention back to the ledger and she relaxed.
Half an hour later, Rachel yawned and rubbed her temples. She pushed away the ledger and spreadsheets scattered across the desk. Leaning back in Jake’s office chair, she closed her burning eyes.
Every night this week, he’d found her before he went to bed and said good night and pecked her forehead as if she were his kid sister. Sweet and weird at the same time.
Thank God tonight was her last night on the Queen for the week. Hopefully, she’d have three nights of dead-to-the-world slumber before the next cruise.
Jake perched on a corner of the desk.
“So far you’ve turned a modest profit. Fifteen thousand dollars will be reinvested in the Queen’s upkeep, repairs, fuel, and docking next year. You paid me a chunk, but you still eked out a living.” She opened her eyes. “Right?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, nobody’s getting rich off this business.” Jake stood and stretched, his muscles straining the cotton of his shirt, revealing a swatch of his stomach she hadn’t seen since summer. “But it’s we who made the profit.”
She seriously needed to get out of the engine room before she did something she’d regret. “So, write me a check for my half.”
“I could do that,” Jake said, as if he wasn’t talking about thousands of dollars. “But I’d rather take you on as a partner, not just in operations, but the whole business.” His gaze speared her. “What do you say?”
“You’re crazy. You supplied the capital, remodeling, planning, marketing, sailing expertise—”
“I want you as a partner. And—” He stopped.
“And?”
“I trust you.”
What had he almost blurted?
“You want me to crew next season.” The waspish tone in her voice would fend him off. He couldn’t find out how much she wanted to crew for him.
A muscle clenched in his cheek. “We’ll talk about it some other time.”
Reaching across her, he stuffed the ledger onto the shelf over the desk and anchored the elastic cord over it. She wheeled the chair away from the desk, and he shoved the spreadsheets into a drawer. This Jake, she knew.
“I’m quitting January First.” Four weeks. If she didn’t, she could get stuck like Daddy in a marriage that never should have happened.
She expected Jake to stomp off to bed, but he halted in front of her chair. He stared at her, hurt warring with the anger in his eyes. “We’re not discussing this now.” He bent toward her. His lips branded her hairline with a kiss that singed any hope of a peaceful night’s sleep.
Jake woke with a start. Moonlight shown through the portholes. He listened to the water slosh against the hull, the rigging tap-tap-tapping in the breeze. There it was—the scratching sound that woke him. He’d have to go topside to check things out.
He glanced at Rachel, asleep three feet away in her bunk where she had been most nights for the past six months. He’d nearly told her he wanted her for a business partner and a wife in the same breath tonight. Would she have shot him down on both counts instead of one?
Good thing he’d stopped himself in time.
A moonbeam fell across dark tendrils of her hair spilling in every direction across the white of the pillow. Thick lashes lay on her cheeks, peaceful compared to the jumbled sleeping bag she’d nearly wrestled out of during the night. Her lips parted. Even breaths flowed with the rise and fall of her chest. His eyes stopped on her sweatshirt where it pulled taut across her breasts.
Kicking off his sleeping bag, he threw his legs over the side of the bunk. He raked his gaze from her body and grabbed a jacket, his mind dancing around an educated guess of what lay under Rachel’s sweatshirt. Time to go topside to check on the Queen.
Jake tugged on the anchor rope, studied the rigging, and walked the deck. No problems. He shrugged. With any luck he’d have four more hours of sleep. He climbed back into the cabin.
He eyed an inert Rachel and froze.
She had rolled to face the hull, exposing six inches of skin. The pale smoothness stretched across her back and the beginning curve of her hip. If he moved three inches to the right, he’d see the softness of her stomach for the first time.
His breath stilled in his chest. His fingers flexed.
He pivoted away and exited the cabin through the engine room, all hope of sleep gone.
At the sound of Jake’s gruff voice nearby, Rachel’s head popped up from the sandwiches she assembled on the galley counter.
His bloodshot eyes skewered her from the companionway. “Hurry lunch, would you? It’s after one. We need to get underway to make anchorage before dark.” He washed his hands and stacked the sandwiches on a plate. He turned toward the steps.
“Wait,” Rachel said.
He faced her as she reached for a bag of chips in the overhead bin. His gaze honed in on her chest. “Screw this.” He headed up the steps.
Rachel peered at New Smyrna Beach--Shark Bite Capital of the World silk-screened across her T-shirt. Was he mad because the slogan was bad for business?
He’d been as su
rly this morning as he was when she first started working for him. Only now he shredded her emotions. The kiss on her forehead notwithstanding, he must still be ticked about her rejecting his ridiculous business partnership idea.
Had anger killed his infatuation as quickly as it had sprung up?
Oh God, I’m not ready for it to be over yet. I’m begging you for Jake’s rebound to last four more weeks. Perfect timing would be for Jake’s crush to die the day she quit. Then everyone would be happy. She’d have four weeks of being “in love” to last her the rest of her life. And Jake could go on to find his soul mate, whether that was Gabrielle or someone else.
After lunch, Jake barked, “Reef the main. Take down the genoa. Be ready to drop all sail when I give the word.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” She spit back. So much for being in love.
He caught her arm. “We’ll talk later.”
“Can’t wait.”
Something rocked Rachel side to side as the clanking and whizzing of the Travel Lift quieted in her ears. Shushing and rhythmic thumping took their place, leaving her sobbing, bereft.
“It’s okay, Rae, I’m here. It’s only a dream.” Jake’s whispered words fell into her ear with the warmth of his breath.
Her eyes blinked open. Moonlight beamed through the porthole onto Jake’s face, inches from hers. Had he escaped Gabrielle and the Travel Lift?
“Jake?” her voice croaked out.
“I’m here. You had a nightmare.” Jake cradled her head against his T-shirt, rocking her. A hand soothed her head.
The previous day speared her like a dozen cortisone needles. The talk they’d never had. The one where Jake would tell her he accepted her resignation.
“You screamed my name. Do you want to tell me about it?” He wiped the tears from her cheeks with his shirt.
She should sit up, relieve Jake of comforting her so he could go back to sleep, but his body cradling her felt too good. “It’s the same dream I’ve been having all week. You’re tangled in the Travel Lift straps, headed for the water, and I can’t save you.”
Tattered Innocence Page 18
