Authors: Kay Hooper
Shane had been right-in her case, anyway. Her instincts were in turmoil. After a year of terror for her husband and a year of grief after his death, she had come alive again-extremely so. And she was all too aware of Shane's magnetic, sensual appeal.
Wide-eyed, she watched him moving about the boat, taking note of his catlike grace and sure motions. She remembered his lion's growl, shivering as her nerve endings responded even to the memory, and directed her gaze out over the water.
"Robyn?"
She blinked and jumped in surprise to find Shane standing directly in front of her. "I'm ready," she muttered with clenched-teeth determination,
feelingas
cheerful as if he'd just announced that the dentist would see her now.
Shane laughed, but his eyes were intent on her face. "Regretting the trip so soon?" he asked softly.
Robyn stood up slowly, all at once aware of the heat of the morning sun, the salty sea breeze, and the curiously vivid green of his eyes. And she wondered why she was wasting time with stupid, useless fears. "No," she responded just as softly. "Not regretting."
A muscle leaped in his lean jaw, and one hand jerked up as though pulled by strings. His fingers hesitated just before touching her cheek,
then
the hand fell heavily to his side. "Don't look at me like that," he warned roughly. "It plays havoc with all my good intentions!"
"Good intentions?" A smile hovered around the corners of her mouth. "I'll bet this is the first time you've ever denied yourself something you wanted."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "Don't rub it in. And stop smiling at me, you little witch! You have no idea what it does to my blood pressure."
Robyn experienced a sense of wonder at the desire he made no effort to hide, realizing that she'd never in her life met a man who spoke so openly about how he felt.
He reached up to rub his knuckles down her cheek with gentle roughness, then turned her around briskly and gave her a firm swat on the bottom. "Grab that line and cast off when I tell you to!"
Rubbing the abused portion of her anatomy, Robyn threw a half-laughing glare at him over her shoulder and stalked away to take the line he'd indicated. "Aye, aye," she said resentfully. "But please don't ask me to do anything desperately important, skipper, or we'll both end up in the drink!"
Within half an hour, they had left the marina behind. Shane had used the small engine to propel the boat until they were well out, and then cut its power and commanded Robyn to take the wheel while he showed her how to raise the sails.
A bit gingerly, she stood behind the big brass wheel and held it firmly, resisting her desire to watch the colorful sails of other boats heading out to sea. Dutifully, she watched Shane at work, trying to make sense of his movements and not having very much success. She nearly lost him once, swinging the wheel instinctively when a large motorized boat came a bit too close for her peace of mind.
Having regained his balance swiftly, Shane gave her a short lecture on maritime law, which inexplicably proclaimed that the smaller boat had the right of way. Robyn listened meekly.
She felt like a fool until he winked solemnly at her, and she realized that he wasn't at all dismayed by her ignorance. After that, it was easier to absorb his instructions.
"Swing it a bit to port," he called back to her, busily tying off one of the innumerable ropes.
Barely able to hear him over the snapping and cracking of the wind-filled sails, she responded hastily, "You're talking to a landlubber, remember! Is port left or right?"
He laughed. "Sorry! Port's left."
Wary after her near-catastrophe earlier, Robyn carefully turned the wheel to the left and felt rewarded when Shane gave her a thumbs-up signal. She swung her head to throw the single heavy braid back over her shoulder, and reflected that it was a good thing she'd decided on that style this morning. Her fine hair tangled easily, and, without the braid, she would have looked like a wild woman by now.
Apparently satisfied with the sails, Shane made his way back to her side. He moved deftly and easily about the heaving deck, and Robyn envied him his steady sea legs. She didn't feel sick-yet-but only her death grip on the brass wheel steadied her balance.
She watched him lean against the side of the boat, his arms folded casually across his chest, and she asked uneasily, "Aren't you going to take over now?"
"Why? You're doing fine." Before she could protest, he went on briskly, "We're going to drill a little nautical terminology into your head so you won't panic."
"I never panic," she informed him indignantly.
"Uh huh.
Port's left."
Sighing, Robyn realized he wasn't going to let her get out of learning how to sail. Aware that they were far out to sea, and interested in spite of
herself
, she resolved to learn. "Port's left," she parroted faithfully.
"Starboard's right."
"Starboard's right."
"The front of the boat is the bow, and the rear is the stem. Or you can call it fore and aft-"
"Let's stick with bow and stern," she interrupted quickly. "There's no need to thoroughly confuse me our first day out."
Solemnly, he said, "You have to learn, Robyn. In case something happens to me."
"In case something-" The boat made a decidedly ungentle lurch as her hands jerked on the wheel. "Shane! I can't sail this thing by myself! If you fall out, I'll never forgive you!"
"Overboard," he corrected, his lips twitching.
"What?"
"If I fall overboard.
Not out."
She glared at him. "Now, look-"
"Starboard?"
"Right," she supplied irritably. "Shane-"
"Port?"
"Left.
Will you-"
"Bow?"
"Front."
"Stern?"
"Rear."
Her voice held more than a suspicion of gritted teeth.
"Very good," he commended cheerfully. "Think you can remember that much?"
Robyn stared at him for a long moment,
then
spoke carefully. "Did I ever tell you that I know karate?"
"Nope."
His lips twitched again.
"Well, I do. I'm probably a little rusty, but I'm sure I could manage a few lethal moves."
"Should I bear that in mind?"
"I would."
Shane grinned and then sobered abruptly. "I'm not trying to scare you, Robyn. I certainly don't expect any problems between now and Monday. But it's best that you be prepared for anything. You can never take the sea, or the weather, for granted. When we get a little farther out, I'll show you exactly how to raise and lower the sails and the anchor, how to read the compass and handle the radio, and what to do in an emergency." He hesitated and reached out to touch her cheek lightly. "Okay?"
Reassured more by the tingling touch than anything else, she nodded and smiled. "Okay. But don't go too fast!"
"Right."
He laughed.
"Port?"
"Right.
I mean left!
Dammit
."
"Starboard
?...
"
Two hours later, Robyn had raised and lowered the sails twice by herself, had mastered the peculiar art of hoisting an anchor, was reasonably certain that she could handle the radio, and could make a stab at reading the compass.
She was also hot, tired, aching in more muscles than she'd known she had, and teetering on the brink of telling Shane to forget the whole damn thing.
She collapsed at last onto the cushions of the stern seat, glared at the rope burns on her hands and then at Shane, who was standing comfortably near the big wheel. In the tone of a litany, she recited, "The sails are down, the
anchor's
in place, we're heading south-by-southwest, and I'm catching the first shore-bound sea gull."
He was laughing at her,
dammit
!
Trying to infuse her voice with hearty good cheer and succeeding only in sounding weary, she asked, "Anything else, skipper?"
"I think you've done enough, sailor.
How about a break?"
Robyn peered at him uncertainly,
then
sighed with relief when she realized he was being serious. "Oh, thank you," she breathed. "I think I'm dead and you haven't bothered to tell me."
Shane grinned at her. "Don't be ridiculous. Think your stomach could stand some lunch?"
Surprised, Robyn realized that she had been too busy to worry about the possible revolt of her stomach. The gentle rocking motion of the boat wasn't bothering her in the least. "Was that the method to your madness?" she asked suspiciously.
Shane didn't misunderstand. "Partly," he confessed with a grin. "It's a question of mind over matter; if your mind's occupied, the matter generally remains stable.
Lunch?"
"Lunch," she agreed. "But only if you fix it."
"That's mutiny!"
"Call it anything you like," she said with a sweet smile.
He sighed dramatically and headed below deck. "It's a good thing I'm a nice guy," he threw over his shoulder at her.
"Attila the Hun probably said the same thing!" she yelled with a final burst of energy. She smiled as she heard Shane's laugh. Glancing around, Robyn was surprised to find that there was no land in sight and the nearest of the colorful sails that had left the marina with them looked miles away. She sincerely hoped that Shane's navigational skills were in order.
Her
newly acquired compass-reading abilities notwithstanding, she had only the vaguest idea of how to get the boat back to dry land.
The subject of her thoughts came back on deck at that moment, carrying a blanket under one arm and a wicker basket in his free hand. He tossed the blanket at Robyn. "Spread this out on deck while I rig the sun shade. Your nose is getting pink."
"It is not," she automatically countered, spreading the blanket and watching while he stretched an awning over their heads. "I never burn."
"No?" He glanced back at her as he snapped the canvas into place, his green eyes glinting in a smile. "Wrinkle your nose."
She did as he ordered and nearly winced at the tight, prickly feeling of slightly scorched skin. "Well, not much," she amended.
He joined her on the blanket, bringing the hamper with him. "Don't worry, I have some first-aid cream that'll take care of it-and your hands as well. I have a feeling you have some rope burns."
Robyn flexed her hands slightly and smiled at him. "They're a little sore," she admitted, "but not bad."
Shane opened the hamper and began pulling forth goodies from within, a self-satisfied expression on his face that made Robyn instantly suspicious. "Wine, ham and cheese sandwiches, cheese and crackers, assorted fruit, potato salad," he enumerated solemnly.
"You didn't fix this stuff!" she exclaimed. "Where did it come from?"
He grinned at her. "Didn't you see it in the galley? I had the hotel fix it up this morning, and I stored it in the second refrigerator in the galley-where Eric normally keeps his beer."
"Oh." She stared at him,
then
began dividing the food onto two paper plates while he coped with a stubborn cork. By the time he had opened the wine and poured some of the ruby liquid into two plastic goblets, everything was ready.
Handing her a glass, he lifted his own in a toast. "To friendship," he murmured, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.
She lifted her glass, softly echoing his words, then sipped carefully, grateful for the drink after her work. She watched him from beneath lowered lashes as they began to eat, wondering at his apparent ability to put the past behind him. Granted, it had been nearly two days since her confession, but he still seemed to have gotten over it awfully quickly. She again inwardly remarked on how little anger he had actually shown.
The only real experience Robyn had had with masculine anger had been with Brian. Her father had been a loving, even-tempered man, and she hadn't been close to any other man except Brian. Brian's reckless temper had been of the long-lasting variety-a deepfreeze of rage that lasted days after the initial explosion.
"You're thinking about him, aren't you?"
She quickly looked down at her wine glass, suddenly afraid that her wayward thoughts had spoiled their trip already. She didn't want Shane to be angry, and she was unable to explain that only the growing and striking contrast between Brian and him had brought her husband to mind.
"Can't you forget about him for a few lousy days?"
There was an odd note in Shane's voice that immediately brought her eyes back to his face. Not anger, but weariness and something that might have been pain quivered in his low tone. And his lean face was so somber that it gave her the courage to speak.
"Shane, the more I get to know you, the more I can't help
.. .comparing
you to Brian."
He stared down at his half-finished meal, his lips twisted.
"Unfavorably?"
"No.
Favorably."
She smiled a little painfully as his gaze swiftly lifted to hers. "Shane, there were... problems in my marriage. Problems that ultimately would have torn it apart, I think. I'll never know for sure. But Brian's gone. He's not a part of my life anymore. Please believe that."
Green eyes now glowing, he stared into her eyes for a long moment,
then
reached out to clasp her free hand. "Just don't think about him too much, honey," he said softly. "It hurts."
Moved almost beyond bearing by the vulnerability he wasn't afraid to show her, Robyn felt the sting of tears in her eyes. He seemed to care so much, yet they had met less than a week ago.
What did he want from her, this green-eyed man of so many moods? What did he see in her that he was so determined to know her and to have her know him?
He lifted her hand suddenly, rubbing her fingers lightly against his cheek. "Tears?" he queried softly.
"For me?"
He shook his head slowly. "Don't cry for me. Not unless I don't get what I want, what I need. In that case, I may join you." Before she could respond, he quickly added, "I'll go get that cream for your burns."