Distracted

by Madeline Sloane

  “Fishing? Trolling a line isn’t fishing. And it doesn’t waste time. I eat what I catch, don’t I?”

  “I don’t eat fish, so it isn’t making my life convenient.”

  “Ah, I understand now. You’ve been eating your own cooking this week and you don’t like it.”

  He wouldn’t understand, Erin thought. She didn’t even understand. During the past few days, she had struggled with the fact that she was attracted to him. Yet he seemed impervious. Sure, he was considerate and easy going and he always used endearments when he talked to her. But to a man like Stephen Spence, every woman was a “babe” or a “honey.”

  She shrugged. “I just needed a night out. Some not-so-fresh air, I guess.”

  The dinner ended too soon, she thought, but they took their time walking downtown before heading back to the marina. As the night deepened, people filled the streets. Doors to taverns were opened, beckoning them. They stopped at a lively bar and Spence ordered them both mojitos.

  “This is delicious,” Erin exclaimed. “What’s in it?”

  The young, black bartender leaned on the mahogany counter, admiring Erin. “It’s a combination of rum, simple sugar, mint and soda.” He grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness of his face and the bar.

  Erin smiled at the handsome man. “It’s wonderful.”

  “It’s on the house, pretty lady,” he replied, winking at her.

  She thanked him and smirked at Spence.

  Spence smiled good-naturedly. He understood perfectly well.

  She considered her flirtation with the bartender as tit-for-tat for the Columbia’s hostess. Obviously she hadn’t seen the twenty he had palmed and handed to the young woman at the restaurant. He tipped the bartender generously when they departed.

  Back aboard the boat, Erin put her leftovers in the refrigerator and said good night. With a large hot water heater and its own water maker, Fusion’s shower was a refuge from her conflicting emotions.

  As she crawled beneath the soft comforter, the boat rocking gently, Erin hugged her pillow to her chest. In the dark, she found it easy to let her mind wander. To imagine Spence sleeping quietly in his berth on the far side of the boat. She allowed herself to fantasize about how it would feel to rest her head against him. She hiked her pillow up until it felt like a warm shoulder, closed her eyes and smiled.

  Chapter Eight

  “I’m thinking a couple days in Key West might be fun. Ever been there?”

  “No. My parents live in Sarasota, though.”

  “Would you like to go there? See them?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “We can go to the Tortugas first. We’ll do a little snorkeling and tour Fort Jefferson. It’s an old Civil War fort. Very cool. Then take a side trip to the Gulf Coast.”

  “Isn’t that fort way past Key West?”

  “Nah, it’s not too far. This cat is fast and I’m in no hurry. The weather’s great and there aren’t any storms on the radar.”

  She shivered. “That’s good.”

  “Don’t let a little weather worry you. This boat is blue-water certified.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Spence squinted at the compass, then adjusted the autopilot. “It means I can sail her anywhere I want. How about the South Pacific?”

  “You jest,” Erin said. “No; I think Key West is tropical enough for me.”

  “Want me to add Sarasota as a waypoint? Want me to meet the parents?”

  “Thank you, no. I’m working, remember? We’re both working. I’ll see my parents at Christmas.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Erin e-mailed two chapters and essays on a dozen paintings to Patricia’s office. She also uploaded digital copies of Spence’s paintings along with detailed captions.

  She was excited that work on the book was progressing, albeit slowly, and that Spence liked her outline. She resorted to interviewing him and then transcribing tapes and notes into a first-person format. The thoughts and feelings were his and they were real; she was simply the conduit for getting those thoughts on paper.

  “You’re really good at this, aren’t you?”

  Erin glowed at the compliment. “I enjoy working with writers. I love being an editor.”

  “Why don’t you write your own book?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Why not? I mean, why not write your own book? Why do you want to work with other people when you could just do what you want?”

  She bit her lip and smiled patronizingly. “Spence, this is what I want to do. I’m very happy working with talented people and helping them create a new piece of art. That’s what a book is, of course. As an artist, your goal is to produce a painting, not a book. But with my help, you can build a bridge between painting and writing.”

  She could tell he still didn’t understand.

  “Alright, think of me as the conductor of a symphonic orchestra. I’m not playing the instruments; I’m directing those who can. With my guidance, we create a work of art. Sure, I know how to write, just like the conductor knows how to read music and play instruments. But with his help, the musicians create the magic.”

  Spence shrugged, obviously not agreeing. “If you say so. Seems like you should be getting the credit, though.”

  “Believe me; I am paid well to stay in the background. I don’t require my name on the cover. I’m not an ego maniac. I get satisfaction from doing my job well. From knowing that my employer is satisfied and that I have helped a new author produce a quality book.”

  “I’m not an ego maniac,” he retorted.

  “I didn’t say you were. Sheesh.”

  “Okay, you’re not an ego maniac. You’re a control freak.”

  “I am not!” She tried to shove him out of the settee, using her hands and then her feet for leverage. Spence grabbed her ankles and tickled her toes.

  “So how much do you make on a book like this?”

  “None of your business, smarty pants.”

  “Seriously,” he drawled.

  “Well, not a half million, that’s for sure. How much do you make on a single painting?”

  Spence smiled and rubbed his hands gleefully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Actually, I already know.”

  “Well why’d ya ask?”

  “To see if you’d tell me the truth.”

  “I see. You’re testing me. I wondered when you’d start.”

  She glared at him as she shut her laptop. “Oh, get real. I couldn’t care less about testing you. Get out of my way.”

  She waited for him to move and when he didn’t she scooted to the opposite edge of the settee.

  * * *

  By late afternoon, she could see the Tortuga beach and the red brick structure of Fort Jefferson shimmering on the horizon.

  “Are there many people on the island?”

  “No. The only people who live here are park rangers and their families. It’s nice to visit, but it’s not very hospitable. There’s no fresh water -- just coral and sand. That’s why Spanish sailors called it the ‘Dry Tortugas.’ Even pirates avoided this place, except when they needed to maroon a kidnapped damsel.”

  Erin shaded her eyes and watched as the islands drew closer. She read the tattered brochure Spence dug out of the starboard locker. She learned that ‘Tortuga’ is Spanish for turtle and the old brick fort had been built in the 1800s but never saw any real military action. Its biggest claim to fame came after the Civil War, when it served as a prison. Decades of neglect and the occasional hurricane left parts of the fort crumbling, but the National Park Service was doing its best to stay ahead of the elements. Now, the main island and six lesser keys nearby serve as a remote outpost for small groups of tourists who make the seventy-mile, open-water trip from Key West. Other visitors included the occasional bird-watcher, scientists studying the turtle population, and sailors like Spence.

  “Are we going to be here long?”

  “Nah. We�
��ll do a little snorkeling and stay tonight. Then tomorrow morning we’ll head on to Key West, do a little Duval crawlin’, get some Cuban grub.”

  “What’s ‘Duval crawling’?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, smirking. “Meanwhile, let’s drop anchor at that small mangrove island just north of Tortuga. We can take the dinghy to the fort.”

  “Why don’t we just head for the piers?” Erin asked, nodding towards a series of dark wooden poles near the shore.

  “We’re going to stay the night and I don’t want company. Sometimes other cruisers come here and they like to party too much or too loud.”

  “Oh,” she said, noticing a small sailboat and a sport fishing boat tied to the piers. In the distance, a commercial ferry was leaving Tortuga and Erin could see the stern was crowded with tourists.

  Within minutes they secured the anchor and lowered the inflatable dinghy. Spence helped Erin into the little boat and tossed her a bag of gear and a picnic basket.

  “What’s this?”

  “We’ll do a little snorkeling before we go to Fort Jefferson. See some wildlife that the tourists won’t see.”

  He climbed in and started the motor. After days of quiet sailing and the occasional muffled diesel, the roar of the powerful gasoline motor startled her. Spence, sitting at the stern and guiding the tiller, grinned. He pushed the little speedboat and made great, loping circles until Erin laughed, clinging to the inflated sides.

  At the beach, Spence tied the Zodiac to the exposed roots of a mangrove. He dumped the contents of the bag into the boat, then handed Erin a mask, snorkel and set of fins. He showed her how to adjust the mask and blow through the snorkel. Then, he helped her with her fins. She waddled to the surf and turned around to wait for him.

  “Just remember, don’t touch,” he said as he bent over to rinse his mask in the water. Oh, how she wanted to touch. “Especially the corals. Touching is bad for them, and bad for you if you touch the kind that burns your skin.”

  They swam a few yards out and Spence pointed to a dark patch of water, signifying a coral head. Erin inserted her snorkel and dove under the water. At only ten feet deep, it was easy to see the sandy ocean floor.

  She marveled at the silence, broken by the splash of her flippers and her breath through the snorkel. She hovered near a patch of coral, watching as yellow and blue and purple tropical fish darted through the shallow water. She floated toward Spence, her green eyes dancing as she surveyed the underwater paradise.

  A large manta ray swam slowly past them, then doubled back. Erin grabbed Spence’s arm, pointing frantically before she broke through the surface, sputtering. Spence laughed, then groaned as she tried to climb up his body and away from the ray.

  Her arms were around his neck, her flippers poking him in his stomach.

  “What is that? Is it dangerous? Some kind of sting ray?”

  “It’s a ray but don’t worry. It won’t harm you,” he said, smiling. “They’re very gentle.”

  Spence wrapped her legs around his hips, moving her threatening flippers away from his groin. He slid one hand around her waist, the other cupped her bottom.

  Erin wasn’t convinced. She put her chin on his shoulder and stared behind him at the open water. It took him several minutes of gently stroking her back and talking about the sea life before she let him go. She wasn’t sure if she should be embarrassed; Spence acted as if nothing had happened.

  For another hour, they explored beds of coral and the colorful fish that lived there. She picked up a few sand dollars, stuffing them in the side of her bathing suit. She slowly came to accept the surroundings, gaining a little of the confidence Spence apparently had plenty of.

  Soon, they returned to the secluded beach. Spence pulled a colorful blanket from the boat and spread it on the sand, anchoring one corner with the small cooler. Then he sat down and pulled two bottles of water and some fruit out of the cooler. In just a few days of sailing and eating well, he had dropped some weight. Erin poked him in the stomach.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “How do you lose weight so quickly and where were those abs last week?”

  “Ah, you want to know my secret? Each morning I do crunches and I have a set of dumbbells in my cabin. Fifteen minutes of strength training and I’m good to go.” He flexed a bicep and smiled. “Go ahead. I know you want to touch it.”

  Her mind swam. The sun, the water, the man and this paradise a million miles from anywhere made her feel woozy. She ignored the warning bells. At the moment, danger was far from her thoughts.

  Erin gently squeezed his upper arm and sighed. “Oh, Popeye.” Then she took a bite of a peach. Juice dripped down her chin and onto her chest. The smell of ripe fruit blended with salt air. She needed a napkin but was out of luck. She lifted her hand to wipe off her chin but Spence caught it. He leaned forward and sucked at her chin. Then he licked the juice off of her chest. Erin couldn’t breathe. He pushed a curl from her forehead and whispered, “You taste as good as you look.”

  Erin swooned.

  In one easy movement, she was on her back and Spence was leaning over her. The forgotten peach rolled from her hand. He continued to brush her hair from her face and then traced her profile with his finger. He stopped at her lips and gently caressed them. Erin couldn’t tear her eyes from his. Nervously, she opened her mouth and wet her lips. Kiss me. Oh, kiss me, she thought.

  He did and he tasted like salt and sugar. Erin closed her eyes and kissed him back. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pressed closer, wanting to feel his chest against hers. Spence reached behind her neck and untied her top. He tugged it down and then held her close, crushing her breasts against him. Erin gasped at the sensation.

  Once again Spence captured her mouth and his tongue danced with hers. They kissed for several minutes before Spence pulled away.

  “I want to make love to you.”

  “I know,” she whispered.

  “You want me, too.”

  She didn’t answer. Spence kissed her chin then her ear.

  “Tell me you want me,” he commanded.

  Still, Erin said nothing. She turned her head away.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  She dropped her arms. “I don’t think we should do this.”

  Smiling at her, he pulled her bikini straps up and tied them behind her neck. He helped her to her feet and wiped sand off of her back. Resting his forearms on her shoulders, he placed his forehead against hers. Looking into her troubled green eyes he said, “Soon.”

  She blinked.

  He kissed her softly and then ran for the surf. He dove in and caught a wave.

  “C’mon. You know how to body surf?”

  Chapter Nine

  After rousing Erin in pre-dawn light, Spence weighed anchor and sailed close-hauled to Key West. He radioed ahead for a slip in the historic marina and by late afternoon they closed the hatches and locked the saloon door for a trip to town.

  Ashore, they ate at a small Cuban restaurant, washing down the spicy food with bottles of icy beer. Erin kept the conversation light and impersonal.

  “So, you’ve lived in North Carolina all your life?”

  Spence leaned back in the bamboo chair, his eyes resting on the harbor. Sailboats were milling about, ferrying tourists on the daily sunset cruises.

  “Mostly. I’ve been a few other places but North Carolina’s home.”

  Erin nodded. “Will you live there from now on?”

  Spence took the fork out of her hand and turned it over, tracing her palm with one large finger. “That’s the plan.”

  She closed her hand, making a fist. Spence laughed.

  “Relax, babe.” At her frown he hastily added, “I mean, Erin.”

  They talked and laughed and drank too much beer. Erin was giddy with excitement and she couldn’t stop blushing. Instead of returning to the boat, Spence had checked them into the adjoining hotel. Soon they were standing outside her roo
m. Erin leaned against the wall as he unlocked the door. He bent to kiss her and she lifted her face in anticipation. He hungrily sought her neck and throat. Encircling his waist with her arms, she whispered, “Where’s your room?”

  “Here,” he said as door open. He swept her into his arms and, keeping his mouth fastened on hers, kicked it shut behind them.

  The mattress dipped as he laid her gently on the bed. His hands glided over her belly, pushing her T-shirt aside.

  “Spence,” she whispered.

  “Erin,” he countered huskily.

  “We shouldn’t be here.”

  “Where would you rather be?”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  Spence rolled onto his back, pulling her on top. His hands worked deftly sliding her shirt up and over her head. Rosy nipples hung before his eyes, tantalizing and lush. He asked, “You’re a logical woman, aren’t you, Erin?”

  “Yes,” she moaned as his tongue sparred with her breast, brushing lightly across the tense nipple.

  “How do you explain the fact that you’re here, nearly naked and in my bed?” He suckled while his fingers pushed her shorts down the small of her back, over her hips and with long arms down her legs.

  He didn’t understand her distress. She felt guilty because she was hired to help him. Instead she had skipped aboard his boat, lounged around in a skimpy bathing suit, flirted outrageously, and danced provocatively with him. Every day since she had met him, she had made it clear she desired him. How could she blame him for wanting her How could she refuse what he offered?

  Instead of pulling away, she settled closer to him, a thin wisp of silk separating her from his low-slung khakis. She rubbed gently against his zipper, moaning softly as the cold, sharp steel bit into her sensitive skin. “You kidnapped me,” she whispered as the last of her resistance melted away. “Just like the pirates on Tortuga.”

  He slid a hand between them, sliding down his zipper. He pulled himself free and rubbed against her. “You want your freedom?”