“Where’s the wind?”
“I’ve got it pointed into the wind already, but you see those little strips of yarn on the rigging? Those are tell-tales. They tell you which way the wind is blowing. Just keep your course steady and your eye on the tell-tales. They should be flapping toward the stern of the boat.”
“Okay.” Erin nodded, recalling the basics of wind direction from sailing dinghies on the lake. She hiked up onto the seat, resting her hands on the wheel.
Spence went forward and furled the jib, tucking the sheets into cam cleats and tying new stopper knots. Then he pressed a button and the mainsail furled into the mast. He checked that all the other lines led back to the helm or were coiled properly on the deck.
“Put her in neutral,” he called to Erin.
She looked at the two-lever throttle control.
“Which one do I use?” She yelled.
“Both,” Spence replied loudly. “They operate both the port and starboard engines.”
She stood on the chair’s footrest to see over the cabin roof. She could see Spence bend over the bow, an anchor held lightly in one hand and its chain in the other. He dropped the heavy steel plow anchor into the water, slowly paying out the chain rode, then the line attached to it. She heard the motor whirl of the electric windlass. A few minutes later he stood up and checked to make sure no other boats were nearby. “Put her in reverse. Go slow.”
Erin slid the handles into reverse. The sound of the big diesel engines changed as they slipped from neutral into reverse.
Spence watched the anchor line then held up a fist. “Okay, stop.”
She quickly put the controls back into neutral.
Spence knelt on the bridge deck and tugged on the line that led into the ocean. “One more time. Back up slowly, then stop.”
Erin did as he asked, repeating the process twice more before Spence was satisfied that the anchor was set. He tied a bridle leading from the port and starboard hulls onto the anchor rode after sliding a heavy, lead kedge down the line. “That should keep us from sashaying tonight,” he said.
Returning to the cockpit, he turned off the engines and set the GPS anchor alarm. If the boat moved more than usual as it swung on the anchor, then the crew would be alerted. No captain wanted to sleep through the predicament of a dragging anchor.
Erin moved from the helm to the cockpit door.
“It’s late. I guess I’ll get ready for bed.”
Spence nodded, still reviewing his navigation screens.
“I’ll wrap things up here. You head on in.”
She went down in to the port hull and gathered her bath supplies. She took a quick, cramped shower, then dressed in a T-shirt and pair of panties. She had left so quickly and felt pressured while packing that she had left many of her clothes at Spence’s house. She hadn’t even packed a bra.
After she had curled up in the berth, she realized she had nothing to read. She tucked the quilt around her and called out.
“Spence? Are you there?”
“Yes,” he said, his head and shoulders appearing in the passageway. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. But I need something to read. I didn’t pack anything except my laptop and I’ve left it in the saloon. Can you bring it to me?”
“Sure.” He reappeared shortly with her briefcase. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure. I just don’t have many clothes on, and I don’t want to parade around your boat half-dressed. Thank you,” she said primly, taking the briefcase and unzipping it. She flipped open the screen and looked at him questioningly. “Thank you,” she repeated.
“You’re welcome,” he said, a wicked grin on his face. He flopped down beside her and tugged at her quilt. “You don’t have any clothes on?”
“I said I don’t have ‘many’ clothes on. Of course I’m wearing clothes. Now get out of here.” She kicked at him, a feeble effort under the heavy spread.
“Whatcha working on?” he persisted, stroking her covered knee.
“Go away,” she gritted between clenched teeth. “You’re dismissed. Shoo.”
“I thought you wanted to work on the book. Isn’t that what you’re being paid to do?”
“Yes, I am,” she retorted. “But not at night and in my bed. Quit teasing me, Spence.”
His gaze settled on her breasts and as if magnetized, he raised a hand towards them. Then he glanced into her face, noted her red-stained cheeks and brilliant eyes and decided to retreat.
“Babe, I would never tease you,” he drawled, slowly dropping his hand. “Good night. If you need anything, just yell.”
He was gone. Erin couldn’t hear his footsteps; her heart was pounding and blood roared in her ears. She didn’t know if she should be angry or frightened. After a few seconds, she realized she was neither. She was excited and a flame licked through her chest. She had wanted Spence to touch her, to stroke her breast the way he stroked her knee. She hid her face in her hands, blotting out a vision of him lying on her bed. Her computer slid off of her lap, unnoticed.
Chapter Six
Surprisingly, Erin found life aboard the catamaran very comfortable. She didn’t mind the close quarters and loved lounging in the wide cockpit while Spence handled the ship’s wheel. She worked on her tan, wearing her bathing suit top and a pair of shorts. Spence wore a pair of trunks and his ever-present sunglasses. Behind her own sunglasses, Erin watched as he effortlessly steered, adjusting the sheets and the sails from controls near his seat. Each morning, he turned on the autopilot and set up a line, trolling for fish. Occasionally, he caught something that he had to clean, cook, and eat alone.
Spence quickly discovered that Erin was much better with the navigation charts and plotting a course than sautéing or baking. It amused him that she didn’t bother to try to cook for him, unlike other women he had dated. Often, they tried to impress him with their domestic skills. Erin didn’t bother.
They talked; she asked him about his family, his childhood and how he became an artist. Spence unreservedly answered all of her questions. He didn’t pry, but she chatted about herself anyway. In the evening, as agreed, they worked on his book. Erin felt triumphant after she finished his outline.
“I’m glad it makes you happy,” he said.
“Of course it does. It should please you, as well. I’m proud of you.”
He laughed at her enthusiasm.
“They teach you positive reinforcement at grad school?”
“No. It comes from years of working with lazy, selfish artists who only think of themselves.”
“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this.”
“You signed a contract. You accepted the advance. You had a clue that a book is the end result.”
* * *
On their fourth day out, Erin felt confident enough to raise the anchor. “I am so glad you have a fancy electric winch for this anchor,” she said.
“Manual labor’s good for you, but hoisting an anchor isn’t,” Spence replied, a cigar clenched between his teeth.
“Must you smoke that smelly thing?”
“Yeah. It’s a vice. You want to try one?”
“No. Ick.” She moved away from him, waving a hand in the air as if it were thick with smoke. In truth, she was getting used to the aromatic tobacco he used but she appreciated the fact that he only smoked one a day.
He tossed her a bottle. “Hey babe; how about some sunscreen?”
“I told you not to call me babe,” she said, aggravation causing frown lines. She squirted white cream into her hands and began to stroke them up and down her arms, then her legs.
“I meant me,” he complained.
“I know. Give me a minute.”
He watched covertly as she squirted more into her hands and rubbed them on her belly and her breasts, sliding her fingers under her bikini top and straps.
“You want me to do your back?”
“Yes. You do me; I’ll do you,” she said, handing him the bottle and turning her
back to him.
Spence swiveled and leaned back in the wide captain’s seat. He tossed his cigar into waves and squirted sunscreen into his large, calloused hands.
His touch, rough and warm, startled Erin. He slid his big fingers over her shoulders, up her neck and rubbed her ears. “Don’t want those to burn,” he murmured. Then his hands returned, slathered with more lotion, and he ran them up and down her back, making small circles down her spine, sliding them up and down her waist. He slid his fingers into the loose elastic waistband of her shorts and pushed them down a few inches. Then he rubbed lotion on her lower back, his hands spreading and gently wrapping around her hips, cupping them. Erin tried to ignore the rapid beat of her heart, the tickling sensations of his warm hands.
“That’s good,” she said, pulling away. “Now you. Turn around.”
Spence blotted his hands on a towel while he checked the autopilot then took off his faded ball cap and tossed it on the cockpit table.
“Do my face and ears, please.” He removed his sunglasses and closed his eyes.
“You can do that yourself.”
“No. You do it. I’ve wiped off my hands. I don’t want to get the controls greasy.”
Erin bit her lip. “Sounds like an excuse to me. You’re just lazy.”
“No; you’re better than me. You get all the right spots.”
“You just want to be pampered.”
Spence smiled, white teeth barely showing, his eyes still closed. “I’ll make something special for dinner tonight,” he bargained.
Erin squirted a little lotion into her hands, rubbed them together and started applying it in small quick motions to his cheeks and ears. He turned his face into her hands like a dog angling for a scratch. She smiled and traced his stubbled chin, his broad forehead, his nose. “You need some zinc here,” she said.
She shook the bottle and squirted more into her hands. She placed them on his shoulders, rubbing up and down the thick cords of his neck, then down the furry center of his bare chest.
“Why do you wear this,” she asked, shoving her fingers under the ubiquitous St. Christopher’s medal.
“It was my father’s. My mother got it for him when they took a second honeymoon in Hawaii.”
“Oh.” Why did he have to be sentimental? Everyday he became a bit more appealing. It was most unnerving, especially when she was touching his warm skin. For a moment, she fantasized about leaning in and kissing his soft, barely parted lips, burying her face into his neck and inhaling the sweet coconut scent of the lotion. Instead, she picked up the bottle of sunscreen, squirted a few blobs into her hand.
“This is empty,” she said, running her hands up and down his right arm.
Spence put his sunglasses back on. “There’s another bottle in the port locker.”
She opened the trash locker and added the empty bottle to the growing pile of crushed soda cans and water bottles. Then she reached into the port locker, pushing aside bags of snorkel equipment and life preservers. Indeed, there was a case of sunscreen, the cardboard box ripped open. There were still a couple dozen bottles. “Why do you have so many?”
“It’s easier. Suzy includes me when she orders bulk supplies.”
“Humph. I suppose you go through a lot of this what with the models and actresses?” Erin wanted to toss the bottle at his head.
“Not me, babe,” he said. “You’re the first female to board this boat.”
“Right,” she drawled sarcastically. “Like I believe that. And don’t call me babe,” she huffed as she opened the new bottle. She lifted his left arm and squirted a thick line from his wrist to his bicep. She roughly rubbed it in and then, wiping the excess lotion on her shorts bottom, turned the chair so Spence was facing the ocean. She squirted more than she needed on his back, spelling the word “jerk.”
She slapped his back a couple of times and tossed the bottle onto the cockpit table. “Okay, all done.”
“Aw, come on, Erin. You haven’t finished my back. I’ll get burned.” He wheedled, “I’m making dinner, remember? You want me to grill steaks?”
She stared at the boat’s wake, biting her lip. Why was she so angry? It was unreasonable, she knew, for her to feel nervous when close to him, or threatened by a thought of other women aboard his boat.
She stepped forward and quickly rubbed the rest of the lotion into his skin. “There. Now you’re done. And I want mushrooms and onions on my steak.”
Spence watched as she picked up a beach towel and tote bag and headed for the bow of the boat. She spread the towel on the trampoline, pulled a visor and glasses out of the bag, and laid on her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.
He would never understand women, he thought, suddenly craving his cigar. One minute they’re fine, the next they’re not.
Chapter Seven
Six days into the passage, Spence pointed towards the coastline. “There’s St. Augustine.”
Erin shaded her eyes and followed his pointing finger. In the distance she could see bumps on the western horizon.
“Are we stopping there?”
“Would you like to?”
Erin nodded her head. “Yes. I think I’m going stir crazy, looking at your goofy face all day. I need to see other people.”
Spence smiled. “Goofy? Well, at least I’m not a sour puss.”
“I’m not a sour puss. I just need to walk around on dry land. And I could use some things. We left so quickly, I left a lot behind.”
“That’s the point, sweetheart. Travel light.”
“Well, there are some things a woman needs. And right now, chocolate is one of them.”
Spence nodded wisely. “Ah yes. Things a woman needs. Can do.”
Spence and Erin were not exactly a well-oiled team, still a few hours later they managed to drop the sails and motor in to the St. Augustine Municipal Marina. A quick call on the VHF reserved the huge catamaran an outside slip, making it easy and convenient to dock.
After helping to secure Fusion to the pier, Erin grabbed her purse and headed for the marina’s chandlery. Spence checked all of the through-hull fittings for leaks and, finding none, he turned off the power. They agreed to meet at the front of the marina. The sun would be setting within an hour, so they would have time to walk the neighborhood and find a restaurant.
Erin was fidgeting by the time he arrived at the marina store. “Come on. Hurry up.”
Spence took her hand. “What’s your hurry?”
She tried to tug her hand free. He held it tighter.
“I want to look around before its dark.” She lifted her chin and sniffed. “Do you smell that?”
“What?”
“Trash. Exhaust fumes. People.”
“You like that?” He shook his head wonderingly.
“No, not really but I miss it. Remember, I live in the city.”
They strolled towards the historic district, admiring the Spanish architecture. Dozens of small shops lined the streets, many with tables arranged outdoors. Erin stopped to admire the preserved alligator heads, carved coconut faces, postcards and citrus-themed snow globes.
They walked past several restaurants until Erin froze in front of The Columbia. She inhaled the exotic aromas of the famous Spanish restaurant, then pulled Spence inside.
“Hello. Dinner for two? Do you have reservations?” A lovely, dark-haired young hostess greeted them as they walked in the plush restaurant.
“Two, please. No, we don’t have reservations.” Spence smiled engagingly, offering his hand to the hostess. She smiled in return.
“One moment; let me check.” She consulted a chart on her podium, then made a mark and picked up two menus. “Follow me, please.”
She ushered Spence and Erin past a row of people also waiting for tables. Erin avoided their faces, feeling a bit guilty that Spence’s sex appeal meant prompt seating. Once at the table, however, she shed her remorse, picked up the menu and began to salivate.
After a waiter took their drin
k order, Erin glanced over the top of her menu at Spence. “What are you getting?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Want to share an appetizer? Maybe two?”
Spence frowned. “What you are thinking?”
“Well, I’m going to order the Queso Fundido. Mmmm, warm cheese and toasty Cuban bread. But I also want the empanadas. The beefy turnovers with salsa.”
“I’ll consider sharing if we can add the jumbo chilled shrimp.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
For her entrée, Erin ordered the house special, a broiled center-cut filet mignon. Spence asked for the red snapper.
“Excellent choice, sir. That recipe was created by the owner’s grandfather many years ago. It comes with our highest recommendation.” The waiter rapidly filled his tablet and scurried away.
Erin sipped the red wine Spence had chosen, closing her eyes. “This is decadent. It’s just what I needed. Sorry, I’m not much of a sailor, am I?”
Spence shrugged. “It’s your first voyage. It’s like camping out. You have to get used to doing without a lot of amenities.”
“Hah! That’s a floating palace. You’ve even got a washing machine, for God’s sake. You’ve got TV, the Internet and satellite radio. You even have gallons of sunscreen so the babes can oil you down. You’re not suffering.”
“I didn’t say I was suffering. I enjoy sailing and I like my toys. You want me to apologize?”
Erin rolled her eyes and took another sip. She wondered if she was becoming one of his “toys.”
“What’s the problem? Why are you angry? Did I offend you?”
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. I’m not upset.”
“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”
She pounced. “Yes, there is. You can buckle down and get to work on the book. You’ve been wasting too much time the past two days fishing.”
Distracted Page 6
