by J. Haymore
"Yes. I'm Tara." I drag my gaze back to his face and quirk up a brow. "And you're…?"
"Ethan Williams."
I connect the dots immediately—Ethan is the fifth member of the crew of the Temptation, the only crewmember I haven't met before today.
I don't know anything about Ethan other than the fact that he and Nalani Jordan, our captain, met at the local yacht club. They started talking about Nalani's plans to sail to Hawaii, and he volunteered to join the crew.
He holds out his hand, and I grasp it. His hand is warm and dry, his fingers strong.
"Good to finally meet you," I say, sounding perfectly composed. Thank God.
"Good to meet you too." His lips curve into a smile that can only be described as luscious, and in some sort of primitive, instinctual reaction, my body roars to life. Heat rushes through me like I've just run a mile, blood pounds through my veins, and my skin prickles all over.
Our handshake has lasted much longer than a handshake should. I give my hand a little tug, and he releases it.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Yes."
He probably doesn't believe it, but I actually am okay. The way he looks at me is exhilarating, somehow. Most people see past me or through me. Or they stare at my limp, pity in their eyes. But Ethan is really looking at me.
I smile at him—a real smile, not one of those forceful turns of my lips I usually give to strangers.
He draws in a quick breath, and blue heat flares in his eyes, but before I have time to figure out his expression, he looks away, clearing his throat and turning to my duffel. Surprise blooms in my chest...he seems as shaken by me as I am by him. But that's crazy. He's so out of my league.
"I'll take this for you." He grasps its handles.
"Oh. Okay. Thank you." I try to brush some of the muck off me but only succeed in smearing it. I give Ethan a sheepish look and shrug. "Hopeless."
Yeah, I'm hopeless, all right.
"Let's get to the boat and get you changed," he says.
Moving his hand to the small of my back, he steers me around the wide slick of algae that covers this side of the ramp.
His touch sucks the breath straight from my lungs. The warmth of his fingers seeps through my shirt. There's something strong and sure about his touch. Like he knows exactly where he wants to go. Where he wants to be.
The sea breeze ruffles my wavy blond hair and blows strands of it out of the ponytail holder and into my face. The briny tang of harbor salt water washes over me. The boats around us stir restlessly in their slips, the ropes that tie them to the docks straining and creaking.
Once we're safely on the dock, Ethan drops his hand. Which is too bad, because I liked it there.
I focus on masking my limp, but no amount of concentration will make it go away completely. What does Ethan think about it? I half expect him to ask if the fall hurt my leg, but he doesn't say a word.
We pass the other boats leading to the end of the dock where the Temptation floats like a crowning glory presiding over all the other inferior vessels.
A large cabin spans the center of the Temptation, attaching the two long, sleek hulls that close into sharp wedges at the front, perfect for slicing through waves. Its black, rectangular windows contrast with the stark white of the rest of the deck area. A thick metal mast rises from the front and center of the cabin roof. When the sails are up, they're enormous white billowing triangles that capture the wind's power and propel the Temptation forward, giving the sensation of soaring just above the surface of the water on a smoothly pitching, silently speeding hovercraft.
Everything about the cat is beautiful and modern. Its exterior is polished to a gleaming white shine, and its interior is brimming with polished mahogany and modern stainless steel. With its mechanized winches and radios, high-tech GPS, autopilot, and computers, the Temptation almost sails itself.
For the next three weeks, this fifty-foot boat is going to be the source of everything we need for survival; it's going to be the only thing separating the five of us from a cold, deep sea full of predators and other untold dangers.
It's slightly insane and totally illogical to put my life in the hands of a floating bucket of fiberglass. Kyle, however, says that's what makes a trip like this so exciting. Kyle is different from me, though. The guy craves adrenaline like a drug addict craves heroin.
"It's going to be an adventure," he said to me. "The biggest adventure of your life."
As insane and illogical as this whole thing is, a part of me—a tiny kernel that's buried under a whole lot of baggage—wants to be a thrill-seeker. That's why I'm here.
When we reach the catamaran, Ethan steps aboard over the thick black block lettering that reads "Temptation" on the side of the hull. He lowers my duffel onto a seat in the cockpit, then reaches out to help me up.
His hand closes tightly over mine, and I step onto the deck as the electric jolt of contact rushes through me yet again. Our gazes lock as he pulls me up to stand before him. He's tall—taller even than Kyle. Gazing up into his sea-blue eyes, I open my mouth to thank him, but Kyle calls out a greeting, and Ethan releases my hand as we both turn toward the companionway.
"Tara!" Kyle's blond head pops out of the doorway, and he flashes me a blinding grin. "You're here! Ah, and I see you've already met Ethan."
There he is. The man who helped bring me back from heavy depression, who wouldn't let me quit school. Who convinced me to go on this trip. Four months ago, we were sitting on my couch wearing sweats, drinking beer, and watching action movies late one night—aka avoiding studying for midterms—when he told me Nalani had been hired to sail the brand-new luxury catamaran to Hawaii, and he was going with her.
I told him he was a crazy moron. Then I'd wistfully said, "I'd like to do something crazy and moronic someday."
"Why don't you, then?"
I was on my third beer and feeling reckless. I'd grinned and said, "Think Nalani would let me come?"
"Definitely. She's searching for people to crew."
I'd raised my beer bottle, clinked it against his, and said, "Count me in."
Since then, those three little words have scared me and thrilled me and filled me with excitement and dread, all at the same time.
Kyle, who's spent the past week on the Temptation with Nalani getting the boat ready for the voyage, bounds out onto the deck and gives me a bear hug. But then he pulls away, grimacing, and holds me at arm's length as he scowls down at my leg. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Slime's the new rage. Don't you like it?" I bend my leg provocatively and make a sweeping gesture down the length of my green-smeared leg. "Algae is the hottest thing on the runway this summer."
Kyle's lip curls. "Fashion sucks. In the Universe of Kyle, men should only wear board shorts and T-shirts, and women should only wear bikinis. Thong bikinis."
I roll my eyes at him.
"Seriously," he says, though his tone is anything but serious. "What happened?"
"I fell."
"There's algae all over the ramp coming down from the gate," Ethan says darkly. "It's slippery, and it's a hazard, especially when the tide's down and the ramp's so steep."
There's nothing in his words or tone that blames my limp or me being clumsy. I love him a little bit for that.
"Bummer," Kyle says sympathetically. He squeezes my shoulder. "You should go change."
Just then, Nalani exits the cabin. Nalani is a tough captain who doesn't take bullshit from anyone. She's beautiful in an exotic way, with thick, long black hair, wide-set Polynesian cheekbones, and dark almond-shaped eyes.
She's Kyle's current bedmate too. Not his "girlfriend," because Kyle refuses to call the women he sleeps with girlfriends, even when he's been sleeping with them for a while, like he has with Nalani.
When she sees my pants, we go through the slippery-algae-causing-me-to-fall conversation again.
She flashes a knowing glance at Kyle, and my chest tightens. Unlike Ethan, she's going to blame
my limp for this.
My supposed lack of balance was her main concern about having me as part of the crew. You need steady feet on a sailboat, otherwise it can be dangerous, for obvious reasons. She and Kyle argued about it, but he convinced her it wouldn't be a problem.
To prove myself to her, I took sailing lessons this past spring, and I've gone sailing with her on the Temptation. I thought all that established that I could be trusted to be steady on my feet. However, her lips pinch together in an annoyed expression that confirms she doesn't have much faith in me after all.
I grit my teeth, more determined than ever to prove to Nalani that my limp doesn't limit me.
It's other things that limit me. But she doesn't need to know that.
I head toward the sliding door that leads into the main cabin, really needing to get changed, but as I reach the companionway, Mick emerges. Mick Tannenbaum is a salty sailor in his forties with a short stature, narrow features, and a swarthy appearance. He used to operate a sailboat chartering company in the Caribbean, so he's a definite asset to the Temptation's crew. He steps into the cockpit and shakes my hand vigorously. "Hey, Tara! You made it. Good for you."
"Hey, Mick."
He winks at me, his brown eyes twinkling. "So...you ready for this?"
I told him about my reservations about this trip a couple of weeks ago on a warm-up sail to Catalina.
I give him a brisk nod. "Yes, I definitely am."
He turns to Ethan. Evidently, the two of them haven't met.
"Mick, this is Ethan. Ethan, Mick," Nalani says. "Mick is an experienced blue-water sailor. We're lucky to have him aboard."
As they exchange pleasantries, I edge away, but just outside the companionway, I glance back at the small group clustered on the deck. For the next few weeks, there will never be more than fifty feet of separation between me and my four companions: Nalani, Kyle, Mick, and Ethan.
My gaze lingers on Ethan. There's a seriousness that cloaks him, a tightness about his lips, and a crease between his eyebrows that probably never goes away. His eyes scan his surroundings, and I bet he'll be able to recite every detail of this moment tomorrow.
He stands next to Kyle, my light-haired, good-natured, perma-grinning Kyle in his board shorts and tank top that shows off the tattoo on his right biceps of a surfer shredding a breaking wave. He's Ethan's polar opposite.
Why has Ethan decided to do this, anyway? He seems solid, intense, and serious. He just doesn't appear to be the thrill-seeking kind of guy who's inclined to take off on a whim to rough it over open oceans for weeks at a time.
Ethan's blue eyes meet mine again. They seem to pierce right through my skin and burn me in places that have no business being burned by a stranger.
The thought of spending weeks in such close quarters with him makes me uneasy and nervous, but the way he looks at me…it arouses hot, wicked, needy sensations I haven't experienced in a long time.
My lips curve into a shy smile. Ethan's gaze flickers to my mouth and then his eyes narrow, sharpening into something predatory, something hungry. Something hot. The heat rushes directly to my cheeks, and, flustered and probably as red as a lobster, I look down and turn away.
As I hurry to my cabin to change, my heart pounds wildly, my blood a heavy, hot throb through my veins.
For the first time in almost two years, I feel desired.
Chapter Two
We leave the marina behind early the next morning, all of us wide awake and excited to get going at the "ass-crack of dawn," as Kyle cheerfully calls this time of day.
The ocean is calm, with dense, cool fog, and there's no wind. When we put up the sails, we make no forward progress and the canvas just flutters uselessly. It feels like we're a cork bobbing around in a giant tubful of placid water.
We all stand around and look at each other helplessly. If this is going to be the weather all the way to Hawaii, we'll make it sometime next year. Or maybe the year after.
I'm not going to think of this as another bad omen...nope, not at all.
After a few hours, Nalani gets frustrated and fires up the engine. "Screw saving gas," she says. "This is ridiculous."
Finally we start to make progress through the gentle swells. As we cross the shipping lanes, Nalani tells me to go to the bow to keep a lookout for other boats. Even though other ships will see us on their radars and keep their distance, it's good to keep a lookout as a precaution when it's this foggy.
So I sit on the very front of the right—no, the starboard—hull of the catamaran with Kyle keeping me company. Our legs dangle over the side as the Temptation cuts a swath through the fog. All is silent except for the low rumble of the engine.
"I thought you were going to back out," Kyle says. Last night, he kept looking at me as if I were a trapped rabbit whose cage door had just been opened. He expected me to jump up and rush back to the safety and comfort of my rabbit hole.
"I thought so too," I admit.
"But you didn't."
"I didn't." And that, all by itself, is exhilarating. There's no backing out now. I'm doing this. I feel like doing a fist pump.
"No panic attacks last night?"
"Not one."
"I was sure I'd wake up this morning and you'd be gone."
I grin at him. In fact, I'd had a great night's sleep, and Kyle had had to come in to my cabin to wake me this morning.
He drapes his arm over my shoulders and tugs me close, and I relax against him. It's always been like this with Kyle—there's nothing sexual between us. He's been the one constant in my life, and I love him for that. And right now, I'm glad to be sitting beside him out here on the tranquil ocean, with the Temptation purring beneath us.
"Good job, T. See. I knew you could do it," he says quietly.
"It's only the first morning, but...I think I'm going to be okay."
This odd feeling of elation has been nudging at me all morning. I'm not sure if it's the freedom of being out on the open ocean or the fact that Ethan Williams keeps giving me these intense, scorching looks, but something is happening out here. I feel great.
Kyle's hand slips off my shoulders, and he glances back toward the stern. I follow his gaze to the bridge, where Nalani has her hands on the giant steering wheel. She's gripping the circular wheel tightly as she stares at us, and the expression on her face isn't friendly.
"Uh-oh." I scoot a few inches away from Kyle.
"Eh." Kyle waves his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about her."
"She doesn't think…?" My voice dwindles, and I make a strangled noise. Because, really, anything sexual between me and Kyle? Ew. It'd be like having sex with a brother. I can't even say it out loud, because the whole idea of it gives me a sick feeling.
"Nah. She knows we've been friends forever. I don't know what the stink-eye's about."
I like Nalani, and I respect her, but we'll never become good friends. Except for her obnoxious distrust of my limp, she has been polite to me, but there's also an aloofness about her that seems impossible to penetrate.
"Just, please…can you remind her that we're just friends? Because if I'm not mistaken, that was the pissed-off glare of a woman who feels like someone's poaching on her territory."
Kyle scoffs. "I'm not her territory."
I wince at that. Kyle has been with a lot of women. He is the epitome of the clichéd never-willing-to-commit single guy. And he's kind of a manwhore. Poor Nalani.
"And I'm not poaching!"
He raises his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Fine! I'll remind her." He casts his eyes heavenward. "God."
I pat his shoulder consolingly. "Aw, you're a big boy. You can do it. Plus, we're on this boat for at least three weeks. You don't want your girlfriend to be unhappy."
"Not my girlfriend." Kyle has repeated this phrase to me at least a hundred times.
"Nonetheless…"
"I know, I know. Fine, I'll talk to her." Kyle sounds exasperated. And a little exhausted too. "I'll go make nice."
"
Good idea."
Heaving out a sigh, he stands and makes his way to Nalani. Alone, I lean forward against the lifeline—the plastic-covered wire strung taut above the edge of the deck.
Smooth, low waves roll under us as the distance grows between the Temptation and the California coastline. My isolated existence slips farther and farther away.
I'm breaking out of my bubble and heading into uncharted waters. For the first time, that thought doesn't make me sweat. It doesn't make my heart start beating hard, and it doesn't close my throat. There's no sign of a panic attack on the horizon.
Everything is going to be okay.
Three or four weeks on the ocean, a couple of weeks in Honolulu, then back to LA to start my career as a financial analyst for a prestigious bank downtown. This is my new beginning, and it's exactly what I need.
A few minutes later, footsteps sound behind me. Thinking Kyle has come back, I don't look up. "What's up?"
"Nothing much."
My shoulders stiffen. It's not Kyle standing behind me—it's Ethan. We haven't talked beyond the necessities since we met yesterday—we've all been busy preparing for the Temptation's departure.
This is the first time Ethan's been off his phone or laptop all morning. He is clearly in demand at work, yet he agreed to take three weeks off to sail across the ocean. Why is he here? I don't get it.
Deck shoes, sailing pants, and a long-sleeved black cotton shirt have replaced the more formal clothes he was wearing yesterday. He was scorching hot in a suit, but this look… The shirt hugs his chest, leaving no doubt in my mind that while he works hard in the office, he also spends a lot of time in the gym.
The cotton clings to his torso, revealing the dips and curves of every muscle—and there are many, taut and well defined. His sleeves are tight around bulging biceps. His muscular shoulders taper to a narrow waist.
My mouth actually waters at the sight of him. I'm so jealous of his shirt—I want to be the one to be touching him all over like that.
He holds out a steaming mug. "I brought you some coffee."
I take the cup from him and stare down at it, chewing on my lower lip, feeling my cheeks heat in a sudden flush of shyness.
