Pearls of the Past Page 13

  “Please.” It was almost a plea as Corrie lowered her eyes. “I’m not without blame.” She raised her head and her chin, seeking the strength to continue. “I too have done some reflecting. I had no right to ask the inflammatory questions I did. The way you conduct your life has nothing to do with me.”

  “But I want it to!” he declared, his voice rising, as his hand raked back over his short, cropped waves.

  Her eyes widened with consternation.

  “I’m sorry.” He gave a quick, hard laugh. “I’m doing it again. Reverting back to the irrational madman who scared you half to death with his vehement declarations. But today, let’s have today together, free of recriminations and weird hallucinations of déjà vu. Just two people willing to enjoy each other’s company on a beautiful ketch, on a day the gods have made especially for them.”

  Somehow, Corrie found her hand gently held in a warm, large hand with beautiful sea-green eyes smiling down into hers. All her negative thoughts flew out the open sliding glass doors, not once questioning how right or wrong her decision was.

  “These gods of yours, they would be upset if I missed their special day?” she asked.

  “Devastated! Now, where are those sarongs I heard about? Your swimmers and a couple of sarongs are all you will need. And your hat. We can’t have your cheeks and nose catching the sun again, can we? But first eat breakfast, while I go see Wing Lee about our picnic hamper.”

  “Britt, I wanted to ask you...”

  “Ssshh.” He brushed his finger lightly across her lips. “Out there,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the turquoise sea, “we’re going to forget every care and worry. When we get back we’ll ask all the questions we need to. Now be a good girl and have something to eat, and I’ll be waiting for you on the Lady B in a half hour.” His knuckles playfully rested against her jaw for a moment as a final salute.

  It appeared she was gullible to someone other than Rusie!

  Chapter 10

  Clear of the harbor and well into Kennedy Channel, Corrie shaded her eyes to watch the rust-stained sails run up the mast, snapping into place as the trade wind filled and stretched them to their limit. Lady B heeled over to let her gunnels become re-acquainted with the foaming crescents above turquoise waves, Corrie feeling a slight tremor run the length of teak decking under her sandaled feet.

  She turned quickly to look at Britt. He smiled broadly as his hands held the wheel with competent ease; a man at one with the elements. His golden, strong legs were planted firmly to compensate the exhilarating list.

  “Grrrrrr!” She snatched a quick, shocked breath at her appreciative growl.

  One of Britt’s hands lifted toward her, and she obeyed his silent request to stand at his side. “You felt her lover caress her? It happens every time we sail. She’s insatiable,” he said with a soft laugh.

  “Oh, don’t be cynical. I think that’s lovely—the sea being her lover. She’s so beautiful and the sea so strong, why wouldn’t she tremble at its touch? Just look at the way she slides into each trough then rises to shake her head in admonishment at its clinging...arms.” She glanced his way, “And don’t look at me like that with your eyebrows raised. You’re making me feel awfully silly with my going on. Sprouting lyrical.”

  “So you don’t see her as an old lady—mind you, an elegant old lady—moaning the fact that this would-be sailor makes her work hard to satisfy his whims?”

  “How can you say that? She loves it out here. Her proud lines tell you that, and those sails... They are romance personified.” In her enthusiasm she lifted her face to his. “Oh, Britt! The tales they could tell, secrets of deep, still waters that fill infamous Asian ports, smugglers, pirates bold.” She giggled. “Are pirates bold, Britt? But you’re not a pirate, you’re a Viking.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Wrong country. Holland.”

  “Close enough to be one, and not old, only nearing mature age,” she quipped.

  “I was hoping the gray hairs wouldn’t show in the fair hair and short haircut.”

  “It’s the lines.” She touched the etched fans at either side of his beautiful eyes. “Here, here, and this.” She wriggled her closed fist against his square, obstinate chin. “Years of getting its own way much too often.”

  “Too many years a bachelor.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, and his pressure increased on the wheel for a moment as he gathered her close to his side, making the sloping deck tilt even more.

  Russella squealed at the movement.

  “Britt!” Matt bellowed as Russella clung to him in panic. “Ease her off!”

  He looked down at Corrie. “What do you think, Captain?”

  “Yes. Rusie prefers calm waters.”

  “Now I thought that would have been you.”

  Corrie was quick to respond with a cheeky grin. “A different type of calm water altogether.”

  “Well, she’s all yours.”

  Britt eased Corrie in front of him and placed her hands on the smooth, traditional timber wheel. His hands covered hers, letting her become accustomed to the strength of the elements, then slowly they lifted and the beautiful lady was in her hands...all hers.

  Exhilaration flared through her as she accepted the challenge.

  “That high point...” His straight arm indicated over her shoulder. “Steer for that.”

  And Corrie found herself doing the most natural thing in the world at that precise moment. She laid her cheek against his arm in acknowledgment. Britt folded his arm under her chin, exerting the slightest of pressure, and her head was lifted to rest back against his chest.

  “Don’t encourage me too much, sweetheart,” he growled, as his lips rested against her ear to drift to the pulse point beneath, before his presence was gone.

  Corrie’s face heated with embarrassment, not quite sure if his words held cynicism or if they contained a faint plea. “Don’t go too far!” Her apprehension was evident as a foam-topped wave spumed further up the deck.

  “Never.” It was a promise. “You’re doing fine. I’m just going to ease her off before we have Matt up here making a nuisance of himself.”

  With a few precise actions of his strong arms the sails were slackened and Lady B brought herself more upright in the water. Even that small measure of movement in the sail lessened the tension coming through her hands and up her arms.

  Britt’s hands covered hers again. “You’re hanging on like grim death. Relax.”

  Corrie, with complete faith in his judgment, did.

  “That’s better.” His hands squeezed, then intimately brushed back and forth across the backs of her hands before drifting up her bare arms, leaving the most peculiar sensation behind with all the fine hairs standing on end in the path of heat he created.

  Her hands tightened again in an effort to prevent her willful body from responding by leaning back against the strong, virile body standing so close, yet so far. A distance she somehow knew was entirely up to her to maintain.

  How long she would be able to resist, if he touched her like that again, was in the lap of the gods. She knew without a doubt that slowly but surely she was becoming more susceptible to his Nordic golden charisma, and he was exerting it for all his worth. He was wearing her down, and like some poor, helpless fish, she was caught in his net.

  The color of the water was changing from deep turquoise to jade, and up ahead she could see a huge area of pale aquamarine which disappeared around the point he had told her to steer toward. His tall body eased against her entire length, and Corrie’s whole body went rigid.

  “Almost there.” His warm breath fanned the side of her face. “So we start the engine. Push that button.” One hand indicated the starter button while the other came to flex around the wood of the wheel, helping to maintain the course required.

  He had seemed to become all business-like, but had he really? For when the engine turned over to begin its slow, rhythmic thud and Corrie had straightened, he had moved much closer and she found he
rself enclosed even more intimately. She was cushioned against the concave of his hips and hard, muscled stomach, his potent smell of maleness overpowering. It was only for a brief moment, but it left her trembling and almost on the verge of turning to mold herself to the satisfaction he was offering. Then he was gone.

  With the wind decreasing in the lee of the rocky headland, Corrie watched him lower the sails then call to Matt to finish the job as he once again took the wheel.

  Corrie took advantage of what was offered to her—escape. Ducking under his arms, she sagged onto the padded seat behind the steering position. She had never been more grateful to have something stable under her.

  Her legs had turned to jelly, and her pulse raced, throbbing in her throat, making her breathing constricted. She was running a fever—she was sure she was! Her hand came up to shield her face, and she turned her head away from the man responsible for her mystifying condition.

  Within minutes there was a rattle of chain letting the anchor find a secure hold. Rusie plopped down beside her. “I’ve never been so relieved to arrive. That was scary!” she exclaimed, dramatically fanning herself.

  “Corrie didn’t think so,” Matt stated, grinning from ear to ear.

  Knowing she couldn’t hide for the rest of the day, she lifted to her gaze and fixed it firmly on Britt’s narrowed, green eyes which were watching her intently. “Didn’t I?” she asked softly, teasing, knowing she would probably pay the penalty, and she found she wasn’t particularly concerned about that prospect.

  “Well, you’re a first-class actress if you did. A born sailor. What do you think, Britt?”

  “I think we,” he said, an emphasis placed on the intimate we, “have done our bit. Now we are going for a swim, and we leave you and Russella to organize cool drinks then lunch.” All the time he spoke Corrie was captured by his green eyes. “Now, where are those sarongs I’ve heard so much about?”

  “Sarongs!” Russella gaped then went into gales of laughter. “You, sarongs, Corrie?”

  Corrie found herself coloring with embarrassment, but before anything more could be said on the subject, Britt was saying to Matt, “You know where the galley is, Matt. A cool drink right now would be welcomed.”

  Without query Matt took Russella’s hand, urging her to follow him.

  Britt turned his attention back to Corrie and gestured for her to step below deck. “After you, Corrie. The forward cabin is where you’ll find your bag. I’ll meet you back up here.” He reached past her, his hand on the cabin door, ready to ease it open. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the sarongs. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not to blame. They are something I would normally never buy, quite out of character, and Rusie was surprised. Seems I keep doing a lot of out of character things since I arrived here.” She leaned back against the side of the short passageway to look up at him. “The only way I can explain my actions of the last few days is to say this island has cast a spell over me.”

  “I certainly hope so,” he said, his voice soft with yearning.

  A wild response surged through Corrie. Here, with the width of his shoulders creating their own intimate space, she still couldn’t hide her uncertainties and puzzlement of what was happening to her. “Do you?” she asked.

  His hand rose as if to touch her cheek then dropped abruptly, and he grinned. “Yes. And that cool water is waiting to cast another spell. Can I expect you not to drown on me?” He gave an apologetic grin. “What I meant to ask was can you swim?” He raked his hand over his hair, closed his eyes, and grimaced. “I’m making a hash of this, aren’t I? It’s just...”

  Corrie couldn’t help but smile, part of her enjoying his uneasy attempt not to offend. She took pity on him. “I do flounder nicely, sufficiently enough not to drown. I don’t think you need to be overly concerned.”

  He chuckled slightly. “Oh, good! Then I’ll see you topside.” He pulled the door open for her then strode off, and Corrie stepped into what was Britt’s cabin.

  Jade green and cream met her eyes. Everything was built in. A queen-sized bed took up most of the space, leaving just enough room to walk around it. She pulled the door closed and turned to sit on the end of the bed. To her right were double louvre doors, a wardrobe she presumed. On the left side of the doorway was another louvre door, and she stretched forward to push down the brass door-catch. It swung open to reveal a small bathroom. She pushed the door closed then, sitting on the edge of the bed again, she sank back, intending to close her eyes for a moment. Instead her breath caught as she looked up at the ceiling.

  The entire surface was covered by a map of the world, painted in soft, muted shades, that looked like an ancient chart. She had no idea how long she lay there before her gaze began to follow a fine, black line circumnavigating the world, crossing every ocean and sea.

  “The course of the master mariner,” she murmured, recalling Victor’s words describing Britt.

  Again she let her gaze slowly sweep the work of art, because that’s exactly what it was. It was breathtaking! Who painted it? She kicked off her sandals to stand on the bed, stretching, peering, but there was no signature anywhere.

  A knock sounded and she guiltily jumped down off the bed. “Britt wants to know if you’ve fallen asleep,” Matt called from the other side of the door.

  “Almost ready,” she said, which was followed with a flurry of movements getting into her swimmers. She had no time to pause in front of the mirror attached to the cabin door and experiment with the most efficient way of wearing her green flowered sarong. So it was loosely draped and hurriedly tied around her hips, the pale green of her one-piece swimmers blending beautifully.

  Barefoot, hair flying loose behind her, she hurried along the passageway and up the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt to look down at Britt floating in the crystal clear water.

  “I finally made it,” she called, making him turn his head to look up at her.

  * * * *

  Britt was at a loss for words as they choked in his throat.

  “My God!” he moaned. He had never seen anything as bewitching in his entire life. She had one hand on a stay, her body arching against the motion of the sea, her hair blowing free.

  He sank below the surface to momentarily gain his equilibrium then rose, tossing the cooling water from his face.

  “Well, come on, let me see how beautifully you flounder,” he challenged.

  “You will save me if I sink three times, won’t you?” She laughed.

  Letting the sarong slide to the deck, exposing her gently flared hips and shapely curved legs, she launched herself into a graceful, arching dive. Her slim arms pierced the surface of the water. As straight as an arrow she dived deep, passing beneath Britt’s body.

  For a moment Britt was awestruck, mesmerized, as his gaze followed the path made by her body defined in air bubbles as it continued deep below the surface and on toward the shore.

  Why didn’t she surface?

  Panic arrived.

  He began to swim, kicking out strongly with desperation. Just as he was on the verge of diving to give assistance, she curved her body up to break through the surface well ahead of him. Pausing briefly, Corrie then lifted her arms in a perfect, rhythmic crawl, slicing through the aquamarine sea. Finding the bottom with her feet, she walked from waist-deep water up the beach to throw herself on the sand.

  Britt was unable to identify whether it was relief or anger he felt. Having him experience the terrible panic he had tasted in his mouth, he should shake her, but of course he wouldn’t. Instead, he slowed his stroke and floated in with a slight wave as it broached the coral sand beach. Acting with great theatrics, he proceeded to crawl until he was just clear of the water.

  “You are a mermaid, the siren Lorelei. I’m bushed!” He collapsed on the sand, a small, curling wave washing his legs.

  Giving a laugh, she was on her feet, the sand fanning him as she ran by. He flipped himself over just in time to see her grab both his ankles as she endeavored
to pull him back into the water. “Poor old Neptune, is he past a little exertion?”

  With a frightening roar, he sprung up, charging at her. Wrapping his arm around her pliable body coated with fine coral fragments, he dived toward deeper water, taking her with him. They sank, she struggled, they surfaced, Corrie spluttering, Britt grinning.

  “Brute!” she accused.

  “Say you’re sorry.”

  “No!”

  She laughed, and they submerged as one. Britt binding her close to his aroused body, their legs entwined, they were held suspended for electrifying moments before they slowly rose, still locked together. Corrie’s arms were around Britt’s neck, and this time their laughter held a different note, soft and intimate, each experiencing a myriad of sensations.

  He lifted his hand and caressed the side of her face. His voice low, he said, “I am not past a little exertion.”

  * * * *

  Corrie needed no intimate manual to tell her that! His erection was hard and pulsing, his swim shorts unable to conceal he was all man. She slowly disentangled herself without resistance from Britt, then smiled at him teasingly.

  “Then too much of the good life?” She hoped he would accept her wanting to return to the friendly game they had been playing.

  “Witch!” he growled, before scooping a hand full of water at her only to escape retribution by diving. Surfacing some distance away, he turned on his back and floated, drifting with the motion of the slight swell.

  Corrie did the same in the opposite direction. But not because she was frightened Britt would take advantage of the situation they had just found themselves in; he had already proved he wouldn’t do that. During those few minutes when their bodies were entwined, if he had pressed his advantage, there was no way on earth she could have resisted, and he knew it. But he chose instead to let her have her space, and her heart swelled with a feeling she was not yet prepared to acknowledge.