René suddenly made the mistake of looking directly into CeCe’s eyes and saw a hunger there that shoved everything else out of his mind. He forgot the exertion, he forgot his vengeful grand-mere, he even forgot for a moment why he and Chienne couldn’t get along.
Was it possible CeCe wanted him as much as he’d been lusting after her all along? Need, longing, and loneliness shone out of her wide, blue eyes.
René’s feelings came into focus. He hated the dog, was wary of the boat, but the woman? He was terrified to realize he would do anything, go anywhere, endure anything for this woman. He was lost. Even more terrifying? He didn’t care.
* * *
CeCe tightened her grip on Chienne until the dog whined a bit and leaned away. The muscles of René’s lean body working the oars made her forget to breathe. His strong, muscular chest looked like the perfect place to curl into on a cold, stormy night. Then? The long look from René trapped her in its intensity. She feared she’d revealed too much in one unguarded glance. Their long days together had taken a toll.
She clipped Chienne’s leash to the front oarlock, and without any more thought or debate, she crawled across the inflatable’s wood slat seats, bypassing all the bags and packages, until she knelt in front of him. He continued to row, eyes closed in exertion. She moved in and brushed his lips with a soft, tentative kiss. His eyes blinked open, blazing with lust, or was that fear? It didn’t matter when he rested the oars in their locks and pulled her tight. He initiated and deepened the next kiss, like a man finding water in the desert.
They drifted aimlessly for a few minutes before CeCe broke the kiss. René sat as if gobsmacked. She rested her face on his chest, the perfect place to be. She listened to his heart as it raced and then gradually slowed, lulling her.
“What does this mean, CeCe?” René asked.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about what it meant. She wanted so much to do the last thing she should do - lie there forever and let his heart be the only sound in the world—that and the lapping of the water against the raft. They remained still until Chienne leaned over the side and barked like mad at a flying fish that tried to jump inside.
CeCe returned to her seat. René regained the oars and pulled hard for Tourbillon rocking at anchor far out in the harbor.
She swiped with the back of her hand at the never-ending damned tears sliding down her face and stood to catch the boarding ladder on the old ship when at last they neared the stern.
Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. Why did she have to want this playboy whose picture was probably next to the definition of “player” on Wikipedia? And how could she possibly be having feelings for René when the baby of another, world class asshole lay in her womb?
For the first time in a long time, she wanted her mother. She wanted to talk to her, to hear her explain the tough choices she’d made so long ago.
* * *
René wondered how he’d managed to finish rowing the rest of the way to Tourbillon when the major portion of his life blood was diverted to an organ other than his lungs. He couldn’t wait to get back to the dilapidated excuse for a seagoing yacht.
He couldn’t be sure if CeCe was in a mutual state of lust. He’d been wrong before about women, but she did make the first move. She came across the raft to him, didn’t she? It’s not like he tried to seduce her. He’d promised to be a good guy and stop trying to get her into his bunk. This was her idea. Wasn’t it?
He gave himself a mental slap to the forehead while following her up the ladder to the ship, bundling Chienne under one of his arms. The dog was uncharacteristically subdued. Any thoughts he had of Chienne warming up abruptly ended when they reached the deck and she jumped from his grip, scratching his arms while leaping toward CeCe.
Once the dog raced off, René went back down to the raft to bring the bags aboard.
Later, after the last of the provisions were stowed in the galley, he turned to CeCe and noted the shuttered expression on her face. Whatever that moment had been on the raft had passed. She was quiet, all her earlier feelings masked.
When he reached out to pull her to him, she stiffened and the damned dog growled again. She moved toward the stove, turned on the propane, and lit a burner. She shoved the kettle over the flame and motioned toward the galley table.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” she asked.
René was in a state of frustration, not knowing what she wanted now. He decided to bare the truth. “If I were honest, I would tell you I want to take you to my bunk and make long, slow love to you until morning.” His heart climbed to his throat while he waited for her answer. He’d laid the pounding organ on the table, and she could either pick it up or skewer it. It was always like this, a great gamble, but this time, it felt different, far more serious and with much higher stakes.
“That’s all you’ve wanted from the beginning,” she said, pointedly.
René kept his face soft and hid his frown of disappointment. It wasn’t the romantic start he’d wanted. “Yes, CeCe, you are beautiful, and yes, I’ve dreamed of kissing you, but you kissed me first, remember? I have kept my promise.”
“First time? Strain anything?” She tried to make her questions a joke, but her blue eyes were cold. Then he remembered, she was both Portuguese and Swedish. It was northern ice that froze her blue eyes.
And yet he couldn’t forget the Mediterranean heat in her kiss. If René was going to go down, he’d go down fighting. He drew close to her, gazed into her eyes, and spoke in a husky whisper. “I will continue to keep my promise to myself, to you, and to my grand-mere. If you want us to cross the Atlantic as comrades, we can. If you want to sail as my friend, you will find me caring and kind. And if you want to be my lover, I can do that as well. It’s up to you. We can forget about the kiss, or we can use it to light a flame that might burn forever.”
When she blinked those eyes at him, he saw the ice melting. Behind them was confusion, but also a heat that left him a little dizzy.
He eased her out of the small galley. “I will make tea. Why don’t you go up top and consider what I have said while you get us under way. I’d like to get to Antigua by tomorrow night, and then we can truly begin our journey. Besides, I can’t reveal the recipe for my grand-mere’s tea. It is very private, and she’s already displeased with me.”
Without a word, CeCe turned and walked up the companionway out of sight. Chienne gave René a vicious look and then trotted after the only human on the ship she didn’t loathe.
René took his time making tea for both of them. He spooned dollops of honey into two cups after rinsing both with boiling water to heat them. He then carefully measured the leaves into the metal ball and set the timer for three minutes, just as he’d learned from his grand-mere.
René suspected he’d either put himself in the friend zone forever or he might have lit a fire. That fire might burn endlessly, but it might also consume him in the process.
He didn’t care. He would welcome such a cleansing fire if he could stay close to a woman like CeCe.
* * *
CeCe had to kick the windlass to get the chain started, but once it got going, the anchor rode spun, throwing ocean water and churning as it clinked into place. She went back over everything René had said. The kiss was unfortunate but it had felt like the right thing to do at the time.
And the tears could be explained by the baby, as well as the mood swings. One minute, she found herself straddling René and kissing him deeply and the next, she was cold to him, teasing him about how much he wanted her, when the truth was, she wanted him just as much.
But something else was going on, and she needed time to figure it out.
When she eased out the main sail, the canvas snapped in the evening breeze. She pulled in the main sheet and cleated it off, then adjusted the jib sheet. Free of the anchor and under sail, Tourbillon charged through the ocean waves in a froth. Sea spray perfumed the air and covered CeCe’s skin, washing away her swe
at. All of her senses came alive. She could almost smell the sun heading for the western horizon, turning the island of Martinique into a silhouette.
Sailing and the sea brought back so many memories, not only of her father and brothers, and the teasing, pushing, shoving, and dunking, but also of her mother. CeCe’s mother had loved the ocean as much as her husband and sons. In fact, she had originally left Sweden for warmer waters, where she could swim and sail year round.
When CeCe was little, her mother had sailed her own small boat for alone time, away from the stresses of a large family and more housework than a team of women could do. CeCe’s father expected her mother to do it all without any help and without a word of complaint.
A hundred years ago, maybe CeCe’s mother wouldn’t have rebelled. But once CeCe hit high school, her Mom offered to take her back to Sweden because she was through living with such apes. CeCe had been torn, but in the end, her school friends seemed more important. And besides, CeCe had wanted to stay to see her father struggle through the millions of chores his wife had done. She loved her dad, but sometimes, well, sometimes, he could be insufferable.
At first when her father insisted she take over the household, CeCe had refused. She made it clear if he pushed, she would go live with her mother. Her father had surrendered, but his curses often filled their home. Surprisingly, he didn’t immediately go out and find another wife. No, he had loved CeCe’s mother, and her leaving had hurt him. Losing his daughter as well might’ve sent him to an early grave.
Family was everything to him, and now, he would be a grandfather. CeCe touched her belly. She knew many of her friends might’ve considered ending the pregnancy, but CeCe couldn’t. For whatever reason, she’d gotten pregnant even though she’d used birth control. It seemed the world wanted her to provide another baby, and she was up to the task.
And yet, a child would change everything. Her free days and wild nights would end when she took on the role of motherhood.
CeCe went to the wheel and steered the Tourbillon into open sea. They weren’t yet out into the Atlantic Ocean, but after Antigua, they would be. Islands could still be seen on the horizon, offering comfort.
She was a little afraid, but also excited. She was confident the ancient yacht would deliver them safely. Chienne barked from the bow, and she could hear the dog’s happy excitement. Chienne might not be able to pee very well on boats, but clearly, she loved them.
CeCe smelled the ocean, the wood of the deck, even Chienne’s doggy aroma. She was excited to be on the journey, and she knew this might be her last adventure for a long time. She would enjoy the voyage.
And did that include René? Did she want him as a captain, a friend, or a lover?
The answer rushed at her. All of the above. And the nice thing about a man like René, he could have a little fling and then let her go. She knew he wasn’t about to settle down, even though he talked about the fires of their love burning forever.
For guys like René, forever lasted about fifteen minutes.
So she would play with him, they’d cross the Atlantic together, and then? He would go his way and she would go hers. There was no reason to tell him about the pregnancy. In the end, it was her business, not his. And she did not want him to treat her like an invalid. Tell a man you’re pregnant and the first thing he wants to do is put you on bed rest. She was not going to cross the Atlantic on her back. Not unless René was on top of her.
A delicious, shivery tingle zipped through her body, but she vowed to take it slow and enjoy the teasing and kissing and touching.
René bustled up the companionway with a tray, the tea he’d promised. He moved gracefully even as Tourbillon rose and fell with the waves. It seemed as though he’d been born walking the deck of a boat under full sail. Ever the captain, he looked over her sails and knots, shot Chienne a nasty look and then brought CeCe her tea.
René smiled and raised his cup. “Here’s to the voyage of the Tourbillon and her crew. May they enjoy fair winds and following seas.”
Chienne barked from the bow.
“Here! Here!” CeCe said and took a deep sip of her tea. She hummed in appreciation at the warmth of the sweet concoction.
They stood by the wheel while Tourbillon cut through the water, her sails taut.
René turned to her. “What have you decided?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She drew in close. Their lips were a breath apart. When she looked into his eyes, they closed into an aching squint. She slowly, gently, licked his bottom lip, before kissing him again, tasting his mouth.
Just as she felt him losing himself in the kiss, she pulled back. “René, we have many long days and nights ahead, I want to make them last. I want to go slow. Can you go slow with me?”
He nodded. She knew she’d taken his breath away, and she loved the feel of power as well as the wet stickiness between her legs. She was surprised the deck didn’t burst into flames beneath their feet.
René choked but managed a “Oui. God help me, I will go slow.”
CeCe laughed. ““Good! Now, what’s for dinner? I’m in the mood for aubergines.”
Chapter Ten
17.0608°N, 61.7964°W
Day Eight
Aboard Tourbillon, Antigua
René began to measure his life from the moment CeCe first kissed him, that afternoon on the dinghy, before they set off for Antigua. It had been day one since CeCe’s kiss.
That long night he tossed and turned in his bunk, wanting her, re-living the kiss. Twelve hours had passed since the kiss. Finally, he got up and relieved CeCe of duty, so he could take watch. Since he couldn’t sleep, she might as well get some rest.
Bored and obsessed, he set up Chienne’s bed in the galley and built the potty box on the bow of the ship, so at least the filthy animal had a place to do her business. Which she did, growling at him all the while. The sunrise on the sails and the early morning deep green of the ocean signaled the morning after the kiss.
He napped in a hammock while CeCe took over the watch. They reached Antigua twenty-eight hours after the kiss.
He woke up for day two since CeCe’s kiss, and thought maybe bacon would help the situation. But then the propane stove winked out, and he had to replace a hose. The Tourbillon had taught him to appreciate spares. In fact, he’d engaged in frantic stockpiling of spare parts. Better to have it and not need it, then wind up adrift in the Atlantic, where the only spare ship parts were in wrecks beneath the waves, down more kilometers than he could dive.
He tried to be quiet while he replaced the hose because he thought CeCe was sleeping in one of the bunks next to the galley, but she wasn’t. She climbed down the companionway, having spent the night in the deck hammock, where he’d napped the day before.
She drew close and kissed him and then stepped back to massage his scalp. “Good morning, René. Sleep well?”
He lost it, grabbed, and crushed her to him. She smelled like the sea, but better, because he could smell her and the last of her perfume. She was so wonderful. His mouth found hers, and their tongues met. His cock grew so rigid, he couldn’t breathe, and the squish of breasts and hips never felt so wonderful. Soft, pliant, fleshy and hot.
CeCe broke the kiss and said one word. “No.”
He let her go and moved back.
She smiled and mouthed a better word. “Soon.”
René shrugged, as if he didn’t care. “Well, there is always bacon. And you might want to brush your teeth.”
She lost her smile and raised a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is my breath bad?”
It was his turn to smile. “Nothing about you is bad, CeCe. Except how you can tease.”
“I’m not teasing,” she said. “I’m going slow.”
He traced her collarbone with a lazy brush of his finger and caressed the top of her chest, up her chin, to her lips. He leaned forward and gave her a butterfly-soft kiss. “You are worth the wait.”
She colored before turning to disappear
into the forward head to brush her teeth.
René had to adjust himself before he could chop up the leftover grilled eggplants they’d eaten the night before. He had a little sauce he could add. Mix them up with some peppers into some eggs, and yes, an omelette for her and an omelette for him. Hers would have a diced jalapeño because she loved her food spicy. And his would include bacon because, well, bacon. And French roast coffee as black and bitter as the darkest night.
CeCe came back and kissed him again, but this time, he could taste the mint from her toothpaste. “Better?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I’d rather taste you. Every part of you.”
She blushed, speechless for a minute.
“Sorry,” he said. “No suggestive comments. I take it back.”
She fell into him, and he held her. He was pretty sure that embrace was okay.
René had promised his grand-mere he would get CeCe safely across the Atlantic and not break her heart. He would do the former, God willing. And he made a vow to himself right then, holding her, he would keep her heart safe by giving her his own.
* * *
After breakfast, CeCe stayed aboard while René made one last run for supplies before leaving Antigua. It would be their last port until Bermuda, a week at least of hard sailing. The Caribbean island chain was like an arm reaching from Florida to South America. Antigua was at the elbow.
She knew they couldn’t simply head east from Antigua. The winds would die as soon as they hit the Sargasso Sea, and they didn’t want to motor through that muck. Centuries of sailing had shown humanity that it was best to follow the trade winds up to the north, and then let the Gulf stream pitch them toward their first stop, Bermuda.
Once they left Bermuda and caught the North Atlantic Drift, they’d slide right by the Azores. She did not want to stop and see her father or her brothers, not with René. And not until she had the baby. Then she could plan a trip home. As it was, she would get to England, fly to Portugal, work the job, stash money away, and then when she was near to her delivery time, she would go to her mother in Sweden. But she wasn’t sure if that’s where she wanted to raise her child. She couldn’t imagine her baby not growing up on an island like she did, the seas, the beaches, the glory of the Azores.
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