Authors: Kay Hooper
"Fine.
What time tomorrow?" Robyn was astonished at her easy acceptance.
"I'll pick you up at eight." He waited for her nod and then turned away, only to turn back. "Uh oh, I just remembered something."
"What?"
"Eric will kill me if your cousin doesn't show up at his party tomorrow night!"
Robyn laughed. "Give him Kris's number and tell him to call her tomorrow. Once I describe him, she'll go to the party!"
He lifted an eyebrow. "I'd like to hear that description."
She smiled sweetly. "See you tomorrow... friend."
"You're going
where?
With
who?"
"Whom," Robyn corrected in a deliberately offhand voice, frowning down at the selection of clothing laid out on her bed. She was trying to think of a reasonable answer to the question she knew her cousin was on the point of asking.
Kris made a rude noise and ignored the correction of her bad grammar. "You're really going sailing with Shane Justice?" She looked over at Marty. "Is she crazy?"
"She says not." Marty's voice was as grim as her face. "I'll take leave to doubt that, though."
Her gaze swinging back to Robyn, Kris said carefully, "You're jumping into this-this relationship with Shane awfully quickly, sweetie. Are you sure, you're not-"
"Rushing things?" Robyn looked up at last, a faint smile lifting her lips. "That's what this trip is for- to make sure we
.. .get
off on the right foot." Her smile faded but didn't entirely disappear. She added quietly, "Brian's dead, Kris. And he wouldn't have wanted me to grieve forever."
Kris made another rude noise. "He wouldn't have grieved this long. For you, I mean." She hesitated when Robyn frowned at her,
then
went on coolly, "He wasn't a very deep person emotionally, you know. I'm not saying he didn't love you; he loved you as much as he could, being Brian." When Robyn made no response, Kris sighed and ruthlessly returned to the original topic. "Why go with Shane? He races, Robyn, and you can't take that. You know you can't!"
Robyn rolled up a colorful T-shirt and stuffed it into the duffel bag at her feet. "We're going sailing, Kris, not getting married."
Kris sank down onto the opposite side of the bed and gazed at Robyn with transparent concern. "You're getting involved with him, Robyn. You got involved with him that first night. I don't want to see you terrified out of your mind like you were with Brian. It'd kill you this time."
Hearing Kris echo her own earlier thoughts, Robyn absently stuffed a bikini into the bag,
then
looked across the bed levelly. "Would it? I don't know. But I know one thing, Kris." She included Marty in her level stare. "I can't walk away from Shane just because I'm afraid. And I can't go through life being afraid of things I can't change. If I do, I'll become an emotional cripple."
Kris was frowning now as she stared at her cousin; Marty looked thoughtful, her face unreadable. Robyn continued calmly.
"I may live to regret it, I know.
The thought of going through what I went through with Brian makes me sick to my stomach.
But I won't walk away from Shane without giving myself a chance." She hesitated,
then
finished almost in a whisper, "Love's so rare. I owe it to myself to see if I can find it again.
A stronger love.
A mutual love."
"Something tells me," Kris said very quietly, "that you've already found it. That's why you're going with Shane, isn't it?"
Robyn abandoned pretense. "It's another chance, Kris. And I can't throw that away."
Robyn thought about her own words as she lay in bed that night, wondering if she were only fooling herself. She turned restlessly and pounded her pillow in irritation. It was useless, this soul-searching.
Utterly useless.
She and Shane would have a nice little trip, and that would be the end of it.
Maybe.
She was still trying to convince herself that that was what she wanted when she entered the den the next morning, dragging the heavy duffel bag behind her. Shane had already arrived. He was standing facing Marty, smiling slightly. Marty, Robyn noted, wore a defiant, minatory frown.
Abandoning the bag in the doorway, Robyn walked into the room, saying immediately, "Marty, take that frown off your face. What have you been saying to Shane?"
Before Marty could answer, Shane turned to face Robyn, his warm green eyes sweeping her faded jeans and full-sleeved pirate blouse. "She was warning me to take good care of you," he replied. "I told her that the warning was completely unnecessary." The look in those emerald eyes brought a flush to Robyn's face.
Trying to ignore her response to that slumbering green passion, Robyn glanced at Marty. "There was no need for that," she said uncomfortably. "He isn't kidnapping me, Marty, and I'm not a child!"
"She was worried about you." Shane strode across the room to her side, casually catching her hand in his. "And I don't blame her. You and I haven't known each other very long, after all."
Robyn sneaked a glance at his face but said nothing more as he led her to the door, pausing only long enough to pick up her duffel bag. Marty spoke to Robyn at last, and her voice was perfectly calm. "You two have fun."
Shane smiled winningly at her. "We'll let you know if something delays us. Otherwise, expect Robyn home by Monday."
Robyn barely had time to wave before Shane was tucking her into the black Porsche and stowing her bag in the trunk. Silently, she watched him handle the powerful car for a few moments,
then
she spoke wryly. "Why do I get the feeling that you tried to charm Marty?"
He grinned unrepentantly, confessing with a theatrical sigh, "It didn't work. She doesn't trust me."
Smiling in spite of herself, Robyn murmured, "I wonder why?"
Wounded, Shane protested, "I'm a prince among men!"
"Put not your trust in princes," she intoned meaningfully.
Shane started laughing, and Robyn reflected briefly that it was good to laugh with someone, good to share a joke or an understanding remark. She felt close to Shane in that
moment,
and she had to squash her instinctive alarm and remind herself that she was going to have this chance.
Even if it scared her half to death.
When they reached the marina, Shane helped her from the car, cheerfully reporting that the galley was stocked and everything ready for them. He retrieved her bag from the trunk and carried it for her as they threaded their way through the bewildering maze of boats of every size and description. He finally stopped beside a boat that looked, to Robyn's inexperienced eye, like a battleship. The thing was huge.
Perhaps reading the anxiety in her gaze, Shane assured her, "Don't worry-two can handle it."
"But I don't know anything about sailing," she protested hesitantly, watching him toss her bag aboard and then step neatly onto the deck.
"I'll teach you." Shane appeared unconcerned.
She stared at the hand he held out to her,
then
mentally burned her bridges. Taking the hand, she made use of the one bit of nautical protocol she'd culled from movies and television.
"Permission to come aboard?"
"Granted."
He grinned at her, his emerald eyes incredibly bright in the early morning sunlight. He helped her over the side, steadying her as the boat shifted slightly. Robyn suddenly had a horrid thought.
"Oh, no!
What if I get seasick?"
He chuckled softly. "I thought of that. There're some pills for motion sickness in the galley. You can take one now, if you like. They really do the trick."
"I think I will," she murmured, releasing her death grip on his hand and bending carefully to pick up her bag. The thought of getting sick drove other thoughts from her mind. She looked toward a doorway and then lifted a quizzical brow at Shane. "Down there?"
"Down there," he confirmed, seemingly amused by her uncertainty. "The galley's to the left when you reach the bottom of the steps. Your cabin's to the right. The galley, by the way, is the kitchen."
Robyn swung the duffel bag over her shoulder and staggered under the weight of it. Glaring up into his amused eyes, she stated with offended dignity, "I'm not that dumb. I
know
the galley's the kitchen."
She got a firmer grip on her bag and stalked- carefully-toward the doorway. "Are we going to float here all day like a lily
pad.
or
are we going some where?" she questioned huffily over her unburdened shoulder.
"We're going somewhere," he assured her, laughing. "You put your stuff away and take a pill, then come back up here and give me a hand and we'll get underway."
Robyn went down the steps carefully, leaving her bag in the cubbyhole of a hallway while she explored the galley. The cramped room hardly seemed large enough to store anything in, but she soon discovered that quite a large amount of supplies and foodstuffs had been neatly placed in the cabinets and drawers. She puzzled for a moment over the somewhat elaborate latches that secured doors and drawers,
then
realized that such precautions would be necessary in rough seas.
Her already nervous stomach tightened at the reminder, and she hastily began looking for the motion-sickness pills. She located them in a cabinet over the postage-stamp sized sink. Moments later she had washed down the required number of pills with some orange juice she found in the small refrigerator.
Making sure that everything was again fastened securely, she left the galley. She looked in briefly at the tiny bathroom complete with a narrow shower stall,
then
opened the remaining door in the hall.
The tiny cubicle, which bore the glorified name of "cabin," was only slightly larger than her closet at home. Two bunk beds took up most of the available room. The remaining space was merely a narrow walkway, lined by the beds on one side and two small chests on the other. Above the chests was a small mirror carefully secured to the
wall.
Directly opposite the door was a large porthole.
Electing to put her things away later, Robyn lifted her bag to the bottom bunk and then went back out into the hall, shutting the cabin door behind her. She stood there for a moment, knowing there was something bothering her but unable to figure out just what it was. And then she had it.
Separate cabins. He'd said that they would have separate cabins on the trip.
She stared carefully at the three doorways, looked in each room a second time, and then stood in the hall frowning at the steps. Granted, the cabin had two beds. But two beds did not separate cabins make. And Robyn had a feeling that Shane had known exactly how many cabins the boat had before he'd invited her.
Oddly enough, she was more curious to hear his explanation than angry. Climbing to the deck, she blinked in the bright sunlight and briefly took note of the activity going on around them in the marina. Shading her eyes with one hand, she finally located Shane near the front-was that port or starboard, or bow or stem?-of the boat. He'd shed his slacks and stood clothed in a pair of white swim trunks. He was busily engaged in untangling a pile of ropes.
Robyn picked her way carefully along the deck toward him, avoiding more tangles of rope. Reaching his side, she inquired with deliberately deceptive calm, "Weren't we going to try to be friends?"
"Sure." He cast a sidelong look at her, and Robyn had no trouble reading the mischief in his eyes.
"Then tell me something-friend. Why did you lie about there being two cabins on this boat?"
"I didn't exactly lie." He threw her another glance,
then
bent his attention back to the rope in his hands. "I said we'd have separate cabins. My cabin's out here; I'll sleep on deck."
"On deck?" she exclaimed as though he'd just proposed sleeping in the ocean. "You can't do that!"
"Why not?
The weather's supposed to be fine, and I've certainly slept in worse places."
"But-"
"As a matter of fact, I'll probably be more comfortable than you. The cabin tends to get stuffy at night."
"But-"
Cutting her off smoothly, he murmured, "And you wouldn't want to share the cabin, now, would you?"
Robyn opened her mouth to suggest just that, and then suddenly acquired the suspicion that she was being neatly maneuvered. Beginning to be able to read his expression and subtle body-language, she studied his faint smile and the almost imperceptible tension in his lean body. So he was plotting, was he?
Smiling sweetly, she folded her arms, careful to keep her feet solidly apart on the shifting deck. "I wouldn't think of it," she returned politely. "Why would I deprive you of the pleasure of sleeping out under the stars?"
He turned to look at her, and she nearly giggled at the look of almost comic dismay on his face. "You're not going to let me get away with much, are you?" he murmured wryly.
"Not if I can help it. But don't worry-when this trip's over, you'll be stronger in character." She reached up to give his cheek a friendly
pat,
and she nearly gasped at the almost electrifying sensation of flesh on flesh. Hurriedly drawing back her hand, she feigned interest in what he was doing with the ropes. "Can I help?" she asked brightly.
He stared at her for a moment, the green eyes strangely dark, then flexed his shoulders abruptly as if throwing off an unwelcome hand... or thought. "No," he muttered, clearing his throat.
"No, not right now.
We won't be able to raise the sails until we clear the marina. Have a seat in the stern until we're ready to cast off."
Since the only seat she could see-an L-shaped bench-was in the back of the boat, Robyn assumed that that was the stern. Her nerves jumping after the unexpectedly stimulating sensation of touching him, she wasn't about to protest his order. A little shakily, she made her way to the stern and sank down onto the padded bench.
Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She was about to spend several days alone on a boat with a man, and she couldn't even touch him casually without experiencing a heart-stopping shock! She had a funny feeling that their undemanding "friendship" wasn't going to last very long. Her only hope was to keep things light and humorous-and to avoid touching him as much as possible.