by Helene Young
‘Welcome. Let’s see where the wind takes us.’
She didn’t reply, but her smile was all the reward he needed.
On deck she looked around with her hands on her hips. ‘It’s bigger than I expected. You have a table.’ She ran a hand over the varnished wood. ‘And you even have pretty cushions.’
‘The previous owner was a family. Mum, dad and two kids. They sailed all round the Pacific. She’s had a refit, but she’s got great bones and a fine pedigree.’
‘Two kids? Wow. That would be challenging.’
‘Imagine having this as your schoolroom.’ He waved an arm to the horizon.
‘Much like having Ruby Downs and School of the Air when I was in primary school.’
‘You homeschooled?’
‘Sort of, yeah. My brother and I both went to boarding school once we reached Grade Eight. Same age as Abby is now.’
‘Let me give you the tour.’ He led the way down the wooden stairs and took her to the forward cabins first, with their neutral colours and full cupboards. He had no idea why he kept two beds there, as though he was expecting guests at any minute. No one had ever been sailing with him on the Veritas.
‘This is the main saloon, my nav station and where I do my work.’
Kristy ran a finger down the spine of the books lined up behind wire keepers. ‘Stock market? Self-managed super?’
‘Have to do something to pay the bills.’
‘Quite.’ Her glance around the boat said she thought there’d be plenty of bills to pay. She was right.
‘And this is the head,’ he said as he opened the small door with its brass handle.
‘Head?’
‘Bathroom. Here, let me get the basics out of the way.’ He showed her how to use the marine toilet, relieved that she seemed to take it all in her stride.
‘Beats the outhouse on the station.’
‘Much more civilised. Here we just feed the fish.’
She wrinkled her nose.
‘And this is my room.’ He gestured towards the wood-panelled cabin that filled the stern. The bed took up most of the space, the dark-blue cover tucked in neatly and the matching pillows resting below the overstuffed bookshelf. He flicked a switch and the brass lights cast a golden glow over the room.
‘It’s huge. I was expecting bunks or hammocks or something.’ Kristy said. He thought he heard a husky undertone, but maybe it was wishful thinking.
‘I’m all for creature comforts. And since I’m six foot three I need a bit of length to stretch out. I had this one put in for me as part of the refit.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She was definitely blushing now and turned away from his frank gaze. He followed her back to the cabin.
‘So, ready for this?’
‘Sure.’
‘Let’s get the anchor up, then. The tide’s perfect.’
See what the wind and tide has in mind, he thought, as he started the engine. It felt as though his heart was thudding in time to the deep note of the diesel.
Today was a new day. Tomorrow was a new year.
10
Kristy steadied herself against the movement of the deck. Was she going to feel seasick? They’d motored out past the headland and into the endless blue horizon. It was exhilarating and daunting all at once.
‘Want to have a go at steering? I’d like to hoist the sails. Far more peaceful.’
She turned to him, her heart beating faster. ‘Steering? Me?’
‘Sure, it’s easy. Stand here.’ He moved aside to let her take the wheel, the metal smooth and warm still from his touch.
‘Right.’ Her knuckles went white as the wheel moved against her.
‘Relax. You don’t need to do anything but keep us heading in the same direction. See the numbers there?’ He pointed at the chart plotter. ‘Keep us heading one-five-zero. You won’t need to turn the wheel much at all.’
‘Okay.’ She could do this. He made his way forward, releasing catches and fiddling with the sail.
‘Hold it steady and here we go.’ The electric winch chattered and overhead the snowy white sail fluttered towards the top of the mast. ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Time for silence.’ He turned the motor off and the only sounds were the lap of water against the hull and the creak of the sail.
She turned with a look of awe as the boat’s speed increased.
‘Magical.’
‘It is.’ And from the way his gaze lingered on her face she didn’t think that he was necessarily talking about the sailing. ‘Let’s head in the right direction now.’
He moved behind her, not touching but so close she could feel his breath on her neck and the heat from his lean body. ‘Hands light, feel the pressure on the rudder, now left hand down and turn us to port.’
‘Port left,’ she muttered, concentrating on the bow of the boat as it gently moved left. The wind on her face with the taste of salt on her lips made her feel alive. The smells, the sensations, were so different to being out on Ruby Downs and yet it was thrilling, like a hard ride down a mountainside or the furious chase of a recalcitrant steer as it threaded through the scrub desperate to escape capture. No dust or flies here and the pace was different, but still her heart beat faster, her lips were dry and she felt the surge of adrenaline as Conor hauled on the jib sheet, muscles flexing. The sail filled and the boat heeled over, her hands tightening on the wheel, partly for balance and partly because she felt as though her world had tilted.
With the blistering north sun beating down, the breeze on her face and azure water dancing around the boat, it seemed that Conor was a magician and he’d conjured it up for her alone, laid the gift of laughter at her feet and asked nothing more than that she accept it. And who could refuse? He stood tall beside her, hair fluttering behind him, dark eyes bright. He looked down at her and his teeth were white against the deep tan of his skin.
‘So you still think it’s better on a horse?’
She grinned, defenceless against his charm. ‘Different, but this is . . .’ She searched for the word. ‘Sublime.’
‘A day like today is a gift from the gods. It doesn’t get any better than this.’
‘So are we going somewhere?’
‘I thought we’d anchor off Dawson Reef. Do you snorkel?’
‘I swim, but I’m not sure about snorkelling.’
‘Trust me, you’ll love it.’
He looked so boyish but so sure of himself she didn’t have the heart to tell him she had a love-hate relationship with water after losing Finn the way they did.
Just over an hour from where they’d left the protection of Grassy Hill, she could still see the distinctive lighthouse on the hill behind them.
He explained the points of sail to her, laughing as she concentrated on holding a straight course, her lip caught between her teeth. She laughed with him as he made her turn and look at their erratic wake. She was so conscious of his lithe strength, the rumble of laughter that seemed to sit just below the surface. In the silence between conversations the enchantment of the ocean settled over them. Abby would love this, Kristy thought, looking ahead towards the horizon. She hoped there would be another time.
‘We’re getting close. Drop anchor in five minutes,’ Conor said, a timbre to his voice that sent a ripple of desire through her. She wouldn’t have believed sailing could be sexy. Afloat on this shimmering sea with no one else around, she wanted to rip off her clothes and dive into clear water that would wash away the darkness, the sadness. Something about this man made her want to grab hold of his hand and take him with her on that plunge into the unknown blue depths. Instead she just smiled at him because she knew that sensible, practical Dr Dark, single mother to a thirteen-year-old daughter, would do no such thing.
‘Your whole face lights up when you smile,’ he said. ‘It’s worth the wait.’
‘Worth the wait?’ She didn’t know whether to be flattered or aggrieved.
‘You should smile more often.’ He turned and pointed slightly to their right
. ‘Head up that way, into the wind; feel it on your ears.’
She turned her head as he’d shown her, feeling for the whisper of the breeze on her face.
‘You look like you’ve been doing it all your life,’ he said with a quick grin. ‘Hold it steady while the sail comes down.’
Five minutes later, the sail stowed, the motor thudding, they nosed closer to Dawson’s Reef. Kristy was on the bow now, looking down to an ocean floor way below them.
‘Ready,’ he called.
‘Okay,’ she shouted back over her shoulder as the vessel started, ever so slowly, to reverse. She pressed on the remote and the anchor chain rattled as it dropped from its cradle. She watched as the silver fluke dived for the bottom, laying chain in a line as the Veritas slid away. He held up his palm for a high five as he stood beside her and the boat swung with the breeze. The heat was fierce now they weren’t moving and she could feel the sweat under the band of her hat and under her breasts.
‘You’re a natural, doc,’ he said, and the approval in his eyes meant a great deal. ‘So, a swim? You can see the coral bommies ahead of us.’
‘Sure. I need to change though.’
‘Of course. Pick a cabin.’
She tugged at her shirt as she went below, sorry that her swimsuit was old but grateful she’d spent a frantic five minutes shaving bikini line, legs and armpits this morning.
Wriggling into the one-piece wasn’t easy with sweat on her skin. She smoothed sunscreen over her face and body. There were no mirrors in the cabin, but she breathed in and ran a hand over her stomach.
By the time she came on deck Conor had lowered the dinghy. And shed his shirt. She felt her nipples tighten as he glanced over his shoulder at her. His muscles, sculpted with the density of a mature man’s, rippled in the light as he finished securing the dinghy to the side. A smattering of dark hair swathed across his chest and down in a neat vee before it disappeared into the waistband low on his hips. There was no comparison between the raw power of his body and the rounded city-dweller’s body of her late husband.
‘Nervous?’ he said, concern in his eyes.
‘A little. There’s no one else here.’
‘No, there isn’t.’ He held out his hand. ‘No one but us.’
How did so few words hold so much promise? she wondered, placing her hand in his, feeling the warmth, the roughened skin, the tension in him as he drew her around the small table and towards the stern where he’d lowered the boarding ladder.
‘Ready?’
‘Jump or dive?’
‘Whatever you’d prefer.’
She looked around at the vast expanse of water. ‘Jump,’ she said, gripping his hand a little tighter.
‘Trust me,’ he said.
She looked into his eyes, saw the truth in their darkness and found that she did.
‘Okay.’
‘Feet together and point your toes.’ With a quick tug, before she could think about it, he pulled her over the stern and into the endless blue.
It was colder than she’d expected, a sensuous rush over her body, like the slide of silk sheets. Conor’s warm grip on her hand anchored her by his side as they sank towards the coral. The salt water stung her eyes a little and she blinked, feeling the burn in her lungs now as well. As if sensing it, Conor reached out with his free hand, legs kicking as he headed up for the light. Above them the dark-blue hull of the yacht hovered like a predator with its young in tow.
They broke the surface and the buoyancy of the ocean held her as the water flowed around her body. She turned to Conor as he drew her back to the ladder. His hair was slick against his head, laughter in his eyes. ‘Okay?’
‘It’s like swimming in air.’ Looking down she could see their feet and the bottom below.
‘Here.’ He dropped her hand and she felt the coolness on her fingers as he swung to the dinghy and hauled himself up, hanging over the side. ‘Masks and snorkels.’ He swam back to her, clutching two sets. He handed one over and then showed her how to spit into her mask to stop it fogging.
She did as she was told, her hair tangling in the strap. Before she could remove it she felt his fingers tucking the hair back, adjusting the strap and settling it in the correct spot. One hand lingered for a moment on her shoulder and she turned to look at him through the mask. His hand fell away then, but he didn’t move back. For a moment they hung there, weightless in the water, suspended in a crystal-clear bubble of blue. And then he touched the snorkel itself, tugged it around and held it in front of her mouth. ‘Don’t bite down on the mouthpiece, just hold it in your lips. Then breathe in and out through your mouth.’
‘Right.’ She fitted the snorkel into her mouth.
‘Now, put your face in the water and remember to breathe.’
She nodded, thinking it wouldn’t be any different to wearing swimming goggles, and dipped her head under. She took several deep breaths, stunned by the colours of the garden beneath her. She surfaced, spitting the snorkel out. ‘Oh my God. I had no idea.’
‘And the further north you go the more beautiful and pristine it is.’ She could see the delight in his eyes. Another gift from this complex man.
‘Here.’ He reached into the dinghy again and handed over a pair of fins. She struggled to fit them while hanging off the ladder.
‘Come here,’ he said. ‘Foot up.’
She hauled one leg up and his thumb on her instep felt like a caress. He pulled the strap of the fin tight. ‘And the other one?’
This time he held her calf as he fitted it and she hoped he wouldn’t feel the quiver in her limbs. His touch went straight to her centre. What would it feel like to have those hands run down her back and over her hips, trace a path up to her breasts?
‘Okay, time to turn tourist.’ He held out his hand again. ‘Stay close. The tide’s slack at the moment, but when it changes it will pick up speed. Let’s go find some fish.’
Face down, side by side, they headed towards the coral heads. The abundance of life stole her breath away and she had to remind herself to breathe. Conor tapped her shoulder and pointed down at a giant clam, its velvety purple flesh standing out against the coral. He pulled free and dived, waving his hand over it so that it closed, shutting tight against the intruder.
Time and again he found things to delight her with, from tiny fish hiding among the slender branching coral to parrot fish happily munching on hard coral. A Nemo fish darted past and she squealed, the noise muffled by the snorkel. Finding Nemo had been one of Finn and Abby’s favourite movies.
Conor tapped her shoulder again and broke the surface. ‘Tide’s starting to run. We’d better head back.’
‘Oh.’ She was disappointed, but when she looked for the Veritas she saw they’d moved quite a long way from it. The dinghy drifting on a long line was closer. ‘That was amazing.’
‘I never get tired of it.’
‘You snorkel by yourself?’
‘Sure,’ he replied with a dismissive shrug. She wasn’t convinced that was a good idea. ‘Lie on your back and kick.’ He wrapped her hand in his again and started towards the dinghy.
She told herself it was for safety, but she was sure she felt his thumb moving across her palm and an involuntary ripple shot from the tip of her head to her toes. The sun on her face was warm and she blamed it for the burn in her cheeks.
He let go as they reached the dinghy. ‘This is the tricky part. I’ll get in and then give you a hand up.’ He tossed their masks and snorkels into the bottom of the boat. Kristy thought about looking away as he wriggled up and over the inflatable sides. The hairs on his legs were dark and fine, covering long, toned muscles. As his feet disappeared over the side she closed her eyes against the white-hot blast of desire.
‘Your turn. Arms over the side, grab here and kick.’
She reached as high as she could and he guided her hands to a handle on the top.
‘Ready?’ he asked.
‘Yep.’ She couldn’t see how she was going to ma
ke it over the side gracefully.
Just as she kicked and hauled on the handle he reached over, grabbed her upper arms and lifted. She shot up and straight into his chest, toppling the two of them over. He still had hold of her and landed flat on his back with her weight pinning him to the inflatable side.
It clearly knocked the breath out of him for a moment, but try as she might she couldn’t get her balance with fins on her feet. She tried to roll sideways, in danger of collapsing in the bottom of the boat, and realised he was shaking.
‘Are you okay? Did I hurt you?’
He snorted and she peered at him.
‘You’re laughing!’
‘Sorry, I’m so sorry, but . . .’ He let go of one arm, steadied her and turned her so she sat next to him on the side. They were touching at shoulders, hips and thighs. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked contrite now.
‘Sorry for what?’ She didn’t move away, laughing despite herself.
‘I’ve spent the last few months wondering how I could get the delectable Dr Dark in my arms and now look!’
‘You what?’ She didn’t know whether to be outraged or flattered.
‘Sorry. No pressure. You’re not trapped on a boat with a mad stalker. I promise to keep my hands to myself.’ He raised them above his head, his smile unrepentant. ‘This really was just an invite to come sailing with me. To see if I could make you laugh.’
‘Make me laugh?’
‘You’re always so reserved and serious. The way Abby clowns around, I figured you must laugh at home. You have a killer smile.’
‘No one’s ever told me that before.’
‘Someone just did.’ He turned away to start the motor. ‘Lunch? Hungry?’
‘You have no idea.’ Her voice was husky and she hoped he really did have no idea because right now she wanted to sink her teeth into that glossy shoulder and see if he tasted as good as he looked.
He shot a quick glance at her and it left her a little breathless. ‘And a shower, rinse off.’
She ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Definitely.’ She didn’t think her nonchalance was fooling him and she wished her nipples weren’t doing their best to push through her flimsy swimmers. She crossed her arms over her chest and saw out of the corner of her eye that Conor’s mouth quirked.
