by Doreen Alsen
“Are you ready to go?”
She stood. “Aye, aye, Skipper.” She grabbed her over-sized Vuitton tote bag, pulled her sunglasses out of it, and put them on.
He laughed. “Then let’s go. We’re wasting daylight.”
She grinned. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
“Daylight’s a terrible thing to waste.” He held out his hand to help her down the stairs. As usual, it was warm, dry, and calloused.
Thrilling. And she wanted to feel his hands on other parts of her body instead of her hand.
How could she make that happen sooner rather than later?
Chapter Sixteen
Tim steered his Mercedes G550 north out of Lobster Cove and headed for the Spinnaker Yacht Club. He’d already launched and loaded the boat so they could take off right away. His stomach jumped with the desire to get going.
To get out there, skating with the wind across the water.
Of course, that might also have something to do with Angie sitting in his passenger seat.
Man, she looked good, although he had serious doubts about her shoes being practical for sailing. He intended to take it easy and keep Fantasy as flat as possible, but she’d still need to be light on her feet and able to move from the low to the high side every time they tacked.
He liked the sparkly lobster on her hat. Actually, he liked the whole package. The hat just brought more of the cute.
He’d stowed his camera in a waterproof bag under the hull, in case he could talk her into letting him take some pictures of her on the island.
He wouldn’t push the issue, especially as he hadn’t told her yet that he was a photographer. That day wasn’t today.
In no time, he turned into the Yacht Club’s crushed clamshell parking lot and grabbed a space. He put the car in reverse, turned off the engine, and pulled up the hand brake. “We’re here. You ready?”
She smiled at him, her eyes bright. “I am if you are.”
“Let’s go.” He got out of the car and noticed she made no effort to do so. Of course. His mother had trained him better. After rounding around the back of the Mercedes, he opened her door and offered his hand to help her out. “My lady Sparky.”
Laughing, she put her small hand in his and let him help her out. “Thank you, kind lord Skipper.”
“Just trying to prove that chivalry is not dead.”
“And doing a good job of it.”
“Does calling me Skipper make Chester the new Gilligan?”
She giggled. “I don’t think so.”
He offered her his arm and she threaded her arm through his. Her bright eyes dazzled him to the point that he momentarily lost his power of speech, so much so that he had to clear his throat. He nodded toward the dock where he’d moored the boat and cleared his throat again. “C’mon.”
“I’m looking forward to going sailing with you.”
Tim picked up her hand and kissed it. “Me too.”
****
They’d passed a whole bunch of really big yachts on the way to get to Tim’s boat. As they walked along the dock, the boats got increasingly smaller.
She had the feeling that she was leaving Kansas with Dorothy and Toto.
The Welcome to Oz sign came up fast on the horizon.
She should have picked out the red espadrilles instead of the white, because, you know, ruby slippers and all that.
Tim led her past all the increasingly smaller boats until they got to the end of the dock. Tied to it was what, to Angelique’s way of thinking was the smallest boat in the world.
“Here we are,” Tim said. “I’ll board her first, then help you.”
“I thought you had a yacht.”
He grinned. “I do. This is she.”
The boat pitched and rocked as he stepped down onto it. He raised his hand out to her. “Take my hand. I’ll steady you as you step across the lifeline.”
She froze, just couldn’t make herself move.
“It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not going to let anything bad to happen to you.”
Taking a deep breath, she took his hand and inched to the edge of the dock.
“That’s it. Now put one foot over the lifeline and then the other.”
“Okay.” She lifted her leg and got halfway over the rail when the boat pulled slightly away from the dock. So there she was, one foot on the boat, the other on the dock, with the distance between the two getting bigger. “Tim?” She squeaked.
“Don’t panic. I got you.” He pulled on a rope and got the boat back in closer. “Now bring your other foot over.”
She whimpered a little but got her other leg onto the boat. She heaved a sigh of relief. “I thought you’d have a gangplank or something.”
He barked out a laugh. “A gangplank would probably be bigger than the Melges. Sit here while I tie us loose and cast off.”
“Okay.” She sat on the bench and watched him as he worked to get them moving. It seemed very complicated.
And the boat floated closer to the water than she’d expected. Just what had she gotten herself into?
****
Tim had been right about Angie’s shoes. They were not practical boat shoes. He headed for the breakwater then he would change course to get them to Bar Island.
He supposed while they were still in relatively calm water he should teach her a thing or two about sailing the boat in case he needed her to jump in and help.
“Here are some things it might be helpful for you to know.”
She turned those gorgeous dark eyes to him, so he launched into an explanation about the two sails, the main and the jib, how there were no ropes on a boat but lines, to trim the sails, and halyards, to raise and lower them. He showed her the winch and how it worked.
She listened solemnly, like a novice nun at mass with the Pope.
“It’s easy, you’ll see. Fun!” He grinned and pointed the bow high into the wind. The breeze grabbed the sails and they started to cut through the water on a beat, heeling slightly.
The sun glittered the waves, the air smelled crisp and cool, and the sky was blue and cloudless.
What a great day!
Chapter Seventeen
Well, this wasn’t quite what she signed up for, Angelique thought. Not at all.
She watched Tim tie up in a slip at a rickety dock. Okay, it looked rickety to her. He assured her it was absolutely sturdy and safe.
She didn’t trust him. Not when it came to this sailing stuff.
“We having fun yet?” Tim’s oh-so-cheerful voice came from behind her.
She turned to face him. “Mais yeah, cher.”
“We’re about to have more fun. I’ll get off the boat first then help you out.” He leaped onto the dock with all the grace of Mikhail Baryshnikov and extended his hand. “C’mon.”
She sighed. Stood. Took his hand.
Fortunately, it was easier to get off the boat than it was to get on.
“I’ve got to unload some things for our picnic. Why don’t you go on up and I’ll be right there?” He motioned to dry land with his head.
“Okay.” Ready to do just that, she moved down the dock. Except that her feet didn’t quite work. She couldn’t quite catch her balance. “Whoa!”
Tim grabbed her from behind by the arms. “You need to get your sea legs.”
“Is that what this is?” The dock felt a little bit steadier.
“Yep.” He escorted her down the dock, staying close enough behind her, all warm and protective.
Now that she liked.
“You good now?” He turned her around so they were face to face and kissed the tip of her nose.
She nodded. “Oui.”
“Good. Just wait right here and I’ll be right back.”
She looked around at the landscape. Quite barren, some trees, a lot of sand, no sign that anything human lived on Bar Island.
Maine’s version of the bayou, only very windy and no gators. What if it had some
thing worse than a gator, like a bear or a moose?
She swung her head around, first in one direction, then the other, trying to find any clue that might indicate any bear or moose lurking.
“What are you looking for?”
Now, how could she tell him that she was on the hunt for mean animals with big teeth or a coatrack as headgear? “Oh, nothing. Just checking out the scenery.”
“It’s great, isn’t it?” He carried a big red cooler that had a red tartan blanket on it.
“Let’s go. I know the perfect spot.”
She trudged along beside him, her shoes sinking in the sand, which made keeping up with him very difficult. She started to break out into a sweat and wasn’t that attractive? Uh, negative.
Big negative.
“Here we are. Let’s pick a shady spot.” Tim grinned.
Thank you, Jesus. Angelique wanted to drop to her knees in gratitude.
He guided her to a pretty little place, well shaded by some evergreen trees and scrub pines. The trees sheltered them from some of the wind.
He laid the blanket on the ground. “You hungry?”
His sexy smile sent shivers up and down her spine. “I could eat.”
“Good!”
She let him help her down to sit on the blanket then sat next to her and gave her a small kiss.
The kisses made the misery almost worthwhile.
Almost.
For sure, the chocolate-covered strawberries would go a long way to bridge the gap left by the kisses.
****
Tim opened the cooler and reached in for a couple of beers. What a great day.
Blue sky? Check.
Puffy clouds? Check.
Sunshine? Check.
Steady wind? Check.
He opened the beers and handed one to Angie. “I bet you’re thirsty.”
She stared at it for just a couple of seconds before she took it from him. “Thank you.”
“I hope you’re hungry.” He reached into the cooler and took out the sandwiches he’d gotten from Maggie’s Diner. “I didn’t know what you liked then I had this great idea. I coaxed Maggie into trying her hand at making a muffuletta. I hope it’s close to what you’re used to.” He put it down in front of her.
“I haven’t had a muffuletta in a long time.”
He nodded. “I’ve got some chips,” he said as he rummaged around in the canvas bag in which he’d stored the dry stuff. “Here. I’ve got a couple of flavors.”
“Humpty-Dumpty potato chips?”
He grinned. “Finest kind. I’ve got salt and vinegar and another bag of sour cream and clam dip.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Clam flavored chips?” Please no.
He nodded. “My favorite.”
Going back to the cooler, he pulled out a couple of Baggies filled with raw vegetables and a vat of onion dip. He pulled out a plate to put them on, along with a huge pile of napkins.
If a muffuletta was anything like a Maine Italian sub, like Maggie had told him, there was a mess about to be made.
He unwrapped his half of the sandwich with gusto. He loved Italian subs and couldn’t wait to dig in.
He glanced at Angie who seemed to be waiting for something.
Duh! Of course. She was waiting for a toast.
He held up his beer bottle. “Let’s toast to a great day of sailing and to you the beautiful milady Sparky, for coming along with me!”
She brought her beer up slowly and they clinked bottles.
Tim took a big swallow. He noticed Angie didn’t. After her delicate little drink, she lifted her beer. “To milord Skipper for inviting me.”
“Thank you, lady Sparky.” They bumped bottles again, but still Angelique didn’t drink very much.
Damn she was so lovely. There weren’t enough adjectives to describe how beautiful she was.
“So, check out your sandwich. Maggie’s going to be on pins and needles, waiting to hear how you liked it.”
She unwrapped her wedge of muffuletta part way and with great care. The sandwich was big, filled with marinated olive salad, and layers of mortadella, salami, ham, and provolone cheese. She couldn’t get her mouth open enough to get a full bite, so she nibbled first the top half of it, and then the bottom. Olive oil dripped down her chin.
“It’s good, yes?” Tim opened wide and took a monster bite and blissfully chewed on it.
Angie put her sandwich down and grabbed a napkin to wipe the olive oil off her face. “It tastes very authentic.”
“Great! Do you need another beer?”
“No, thank you. I’m good.” She nibbled another bite off the muffuletta.
Yep, Tim thought as he chewed off another chunk of sandwich. Fair winds, good food, and a beautiful woman at his side.
Finest kind.
Chapter Eighteen
Wearing a bright yellow weather coat over an electric orange life preserver, Angelique gripped the lifelines on the high side of the boat for all she was worth.
The weather had turned on a dime and Tim declared it time go home.
So here she was, holding on for dear life, on a very small boat that heeled almost ninety degrees from the water. Tim told her everything was okay and that Fantasy couldn’t capsize, which meant they’d go into the water and have to right the boat, or turn turtle, which meant the boat would go arse over teakettle, as in bottoms up.
Somehow, that wasn’t reassuring right now.
She dared a glance at Tim, whose muscles bunched and flexed as he fought with the wind. As he’d given her the only rain jacket, his clothes stuck to him, delineating every muscle he had.
He had a lot of them.
Usually she’d enjoy being with a strong, muscled, all-wet man. This was not one of those times.
Right now she was praying to every god listening that she wouldn’t die here in the cold waters of Frenchman’s Bay, Maine.
“Hold on! We’re gonna get a gust!” Tim yelled over the roar of the wind.
What!
The wind hit and the boat nearly went over onto its side, with the spreaders touching the water. She screamed her lungs out. Barely able to breathe, she scrabbled up as far as she could and held on to anything she could grab.
Tim swore a lot as he reached over to release the jib sheet. For a brief, dizzy moment, she knew, absolutely knew, they were going to die.
Then not. After he let out that damn sail, the boat got a little bit flatter.
Thank you, all you gods and goddesses. Now, they had to get home. In one piece.
And sane.
Don’t forget sane. She didn’t think Betts Quinn would like to have a babbling idiot working at the Sea Crest Inn.
“It’s settling down a bit. Bad news, we had a rough ride. Good news, we’ll get into port faster.”
“Oh, thank God.” She’d never wanted to be on solid ground so much before.
“It’s been a little hairy out there, but you did great,” Tim yelled as a wave smashed against the transom, sending more cold salt water into the cockpit.
Her pretty new espadrilles were a lost cause, totally saturated.
Ugh!
Even if they ever dried out, the salt would have ruined them. She might even have to cut them off her feet. If that had to be, she was going to weep.
She glanced at Tim. He looked all manly and sexy as he fought the elements for their survival. She sighed.
It didn’t matter how gorgeous he was. She would never ever set foot on a sailboat ever again.
****
“I’m sorry about the trip back. Try as I might, I don’t have control of the weather.” Tim helped Angie down her path and up the stairs to her front door.
“Don’t worry about it. It made for some terrifying circumstances.”
“That bad, huh?” He grimaced. “You were pretty brave. I’m impressed.”
“You do what you have to do.” And it was really not as horrible as spending twenty-four hours in a Paris jail.
He put his hand
s on her waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her.
She twined her arms around his neck, moved in even closer, and kissed him back.
He thought he could do that all night, drown in the taste, the warmth, the light flowery scent of her. Then he felt her shiver in his arms.
Trembling meant she wanted more, shivering meant she was cold. He broke the kiss. “Hey, you’re shivering. Are you cold?”
She turned those deep dark eyes of hers up. “A little.”
“Well, you need to go in and warm up. I had a great time with you today, really…I don’t know…none of the words I have can describe it. I hope you did, too.” He kissed her forehead.
She sighed. “It was…different.”
Uh-oh. “Different good or different bad?”
She took a step back, out of his arms. “Just different. I really didn’t know what to expect.”
Uh-oh squared. “I should let you go in.” He kissed her hand. “Dream of me.”
She sent him a sassy smile. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
“You’ll have to let me know. Good night.”
“Adieu.” She stuck her key in the lock, opened her front door, then closed it softly behind her.
He stood on her porch a little longer, staring at the door. His heart pounded a little harder as he tried to figure out his next move. Maybe he should leave it up to her.
Yeah. That was an idea whose time had come.
Chapter Nineteen
“Angie! There you are!” Birdie McCorkle captured Angelique in the back of the walk-in refrigerator. “It’s almost time for the picture.”
Angelique closed her eyes and prayed for strength. The reporter from The Boston Globe and his photographers were crawling all over the Sea Crest Inn, like fleas on a dog. She’d been shaking all day, along with ducking into corners and hiding. Of course, the shaking could from the fact that she’d been hiding out in a refrigerator for the past twenty minutes.
She patted her hair. She’d specifically let it frizz out that morning. “Do I have to? I’m having the worst bad hair day in the history of womankind.”
She looked down at her green logo polo tee and pulled it away from her mid-section. “My shirt is really dirty. I spilled a whole order of Finnan Haddie down my front.” She’d dumped the milk and haddock dish down her front on purpose.
