two cents she’d follow Troy up those steps, march down the dock and leave him in the lurch. Let him find another crew-member! What did she care? One of the reasons she’d become self-employed was so she wouldn’t have to deal with dictatorial male bosses. Because one thing was clear to her: what she had earlier labeled as Troy’s confidence wasn’t confidence at all. It was arrogance. Downright arrogance.
High-handedness. Despotism. Tyranny.
The buzzer rang on the stove. The crab dip was as perfectly browned as any her mother had ever made, and smelled delicious. Balancing it on top of one of the gas elements on the stove, Lucy heaved a heavy sigh. Tyrant though Troy was, she still wanted to sail out of the harbor the day after tomorrow. She wanted to hear the slap of waves under the prow and feel the helm quiver with responsiveness. She wanted to swim in the turquoise waters of a coral reef…
She reached for the packages of crackers she’d bought, and five minutes later was climbing the steps with a platter on which the crackers and some celery stalks were artistically arranged around the dip. ‘Hello,’ she said, with a friendly smile at the man sitting across from Troy.
‘Jack Nevil,’ he said bluffly, getting to his feet. ‘Skipper of Lady Jane… Is this for us? You’ve lucked out, Troy.’
Lucy smothered a smile. Troy said with a dryness that wasn’t lost on her, ‘I sure have… Want a beer, Jack? Or something stronger?’
‘A beer’d be great… and one for the lady?’
‘The name’s Lucy,’ she said limpidly. ‘I’d love one; it’s been pretty hot in the galley.’
Her eyes, wide with innocence, met Troy’s. He was quite aware of her double meaning, she saw with some satisfaction. He said blandly, ‘Jack, who was that chemist who won the Nobel prize—Prigogine? His thesis was that at a state of maximum disequilibrium, a system will spontaneously create its own order—I think that’s Lucy’s theory of cooking.’
‘If this dip is anything to go by, the theory works,’ Jack said enthusiastically. ‘Have a seat, Lucy.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said sweetly, ‘I’d better get back to work. Troy’s a hard taskmaster.’
‘Only that I have a preference for eating before midnight,’ Troy responded equally amiably. ‘Thanks, Lucy…see you later.’
And who had won that round? Lucy wondered as she went back to the steaming-hot galley. If she were an optimist she could call it a tie.
But Jack Nevil and her mother’s crab dip had probably saved her from being fired.
Two hours later Lucy twirled the last strawberry in the chocolate sauce and took another sip of the German dessert wine in her glass. She’d drunk rather more wine than was good for her in the course of the meal. Maybe to hide the fact that Troy had spoken very little as they ate. Or maybe so she’d have the strength to face all the dirty dishes stashed below. ‘What a glorious night,’ she said soulfully.
Jack had left before dinner, having demolished the crab dip and three beers. She and Troy were eating on deck, where the smooth black water was illumined by a three-quarter moon and stars glimmered in the blackness overhead. It was blissfully, blessedly cool.
‘That was an excellent meal, Lucy,’ Troy said brusquely. ‘But entirely too elaborate—I can’t have you spending all day in the galley when you’ll be needed out on deck.’
She took a gulp of wine. ‘Is that what’s called damning with faint praise?’ she said provocatively.
His eye-sockets were sunk in shadow, his irises reflecting the harbor’s obsidian surface. ‘And that’s another thing,’ he said, in the same hard voice. ‘You and I can fight like a couple of tomcats from sun-up till sundown tomorrow. But when the Merritts come on board there’ll be no more fighting. We’ll get along even if it kills us.’
To her horror she heard herself say, ‘You mean you’ll actually be nice to me?’
He banged his clenched fist so hard on the table that the cutlery jumped. ‘I’ve never in my life met a woman as contentious as you! Don’t you ever let up?’
‘I wouldn’t be so cranky if you’d act like a human being,’ she retorted. ‘It’s because you’re so—so unreachable.’
‘Unreachable is exactly what I am, and what I intend to remain,’ he answered grimly. ‘I said no male-female stuff and I meant it. And don’t, if you value living, ask why.’
Any flip reply Lucy might have made died on her lips, because there was genuine pain underlying Troy’s voice and the moonlight lay cold along his tightly held jaw and compressed lips. He had a beautiful mouth, she thought unwillingly. Strongly carved yet with the potential for tenderness. What had made him so unreachable? Had filled him to the brim with suppressed rage?
Whatever it was, it was his secret. Nothing to do with her.
Swallowing the strange bitterness this conclusion caused her, Lucy let her thoughts march on. There was more than an element of truth in everything Troy had said. The meal had been too elaborate. And people didn’t pay high rates for a charter to spend their time listening to the crew fight all day. She downed the last of her wine and said forthrightly, ‘I’ll prepare simpler meals from now on. And I’ll do my best not to lose my temper again.’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Or at least not more than once a day.’
His mouth softened infinitesimally. ‘I should have told you there’s a very good delicatessen on one of the backstreets—you can buy a lot of stuff already prepared and freeze it. Quite a lot of it’s West Indian style, so the guests enjoy it. Plus, it would make life much easier for you.’
‘Oh. That’s a good idea.’ And because Troy’s voice, like his face, had gentled, and because she was alone on the deck of a yacht in the tropics by moonlight with a handsome blond man, she babbled, ‘I’m going to give the galley a good cleaning tomorrow before I bring in the supplies. The brass lamps and fittings are tarnished, so I’ll polish them, and then I’ll—’
‘It’s okay, Lucy… If there’s one thing I’ve learned today it’s that you’re a hard worker. Why don’t you go to bed now? You must be exhausted. You can take one of the cabins downstairs and I’ll sleep up at the bow.’
‘I think you just gave me a compliment,’ Lucy said dazedly. ‘A real one.’
‘I believe I did. Off you go.’
Struggling to collect her wits, Lucy muttered, ‘I’m going to do the dishes first, they won’t take long.’
He stood up. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
As he stretched lazily, a bare strip of skin showed itself between his waistband and his T-shirt. She dragged her gaze away. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Two confrontations with Raymond Blogden today, along with a yelling match with me, is more than enough for one woman. Come on, let’s get at them.’
‘You can be so darn nice when you forget about being angry,’ Lucy blurted, then, before he could reply, ran on, ‘I know—I shouldn’t have said that.
