few minutes were chaotic. Rafe Sanderson had abandoned the wheel, put the steering on autopilot and, it appeared, had climbed up to set his mainsail.
Her unexpected arrival in the cockpit took him completely by surprise; the boom, which he’d just released, responded to the fluke breeze and hit him in the midriff and with a yell he slipped sideways, and toppled overboard.
Maisie stared in round-eyed horror this time. Then she came to life. She scrambled up and secured the boom to avoid decapitation. She hopped back down into the cockpit, studied the controls for a moment then put the motor into Neutral.
Finally she looked around wildly, spotted an orange lifesaver buoy, untied it and threw it with all her might at Rafe Sanderson’s bobbing head as he swam towards the boat.
It hit him on the head—fortunately the buoy was the soft variety—but, although he grabbed it and hauled himself in, it seemed to be the final insult added to injury for him. There was no doubting it was a murderously angry, dripping man who hauled himself over the transom.
A couple of strides brought him up to her, where he took her by the shoulders and proceeded to demonstrate that he’d like to shake the life out of her.
Maybe that was what he would have done if they both hadn’t frozen at the sight of a channel marker passing by on their port side, uncomfortably close.
He swore, released her and grabbed the wheel at the same time as he flicked the autopilot off.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded furiously as he put the power on and steered the boat into the middle of the channel. ‘Who the hell are you and how did you get on board?’
‘I—I,’ she stammered, ‘I needed to talk to you, but it was freezing so I went down into the cabin to wait for you, that’s all. I must have fallen asleep.’
‘You mean you broke into the cabin!’ he fired back at her.
‘I didn’t! It wasn’t locked, so—’
‘Oh, yes, it was!’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she insisted. ‘Do I look like the kind of girl who goes around breaking locks?’
‘You look like,’ he paused and scanned her, ‘heaven knows what! How on earth could I tell…’ He stopped impatiently then frowned. ‘Maybe not. You look about sixteen but I suppose you could have taken to a life of crime early!’
But Maisie was now looking at him in something like horror. ‘Who—who are you?’ she stammered.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he rasped. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Well,’ she swallowed convulsively, as her mind did cartwheels, ‘um—the door wasn’t locked. Maybe you had a delivery and someone from the marina office brought it on board and forgot to lock the door behind them?’
She stopped and flinched inwardly as she thought belatedly of Travis, the last person she wanted to blame, especially as she might have distracted him herself.
‘I…’ He paused. ‘I did have a catering package delivered and a new gas bottle,’ he said almost to himself, then shrugged. ‘That still gives you no right to be on my boat. Here, take the bloody wheel,’ he added roughly. ‘You may have all but drowned me, you may have tried to knock me out, but you’re not going to finish me off with pneumonia. Red to starboard, green to port,’ he said, indicating the channel markers.
‘I kn-know that,’ Maisie said a little shakily as she stepped up to the wheel, ‘but shouldn’t we be turning back?’
‘Like f…Like hell we should,’ he amended, still blazingly angry as he started to pull off his sodden sweater.
‘You don’t have to not swear on my account, if it makes you feel better,’ she said nervously as she took over the steering. ‘I’ve probably heard it all before.’
‘I doubt it. But just in case you haven’t seen it all before you might like to keep your eyes ahead.’
Of course, she turned to look a question at him automatically, only to see that he’d stripped and was pulling a towel out of his bag.
‘Oh,’ she said, and felt her cheeks start to burn as she switched her gaze to dead straight ahead. For, whoever this was, he was superb. Streamlined, finely muscled with compact hips, a washboard stomach, long legs—he’d be an artist’s dream model, not to mention the answer to most girls’ prayers.
Nor did it escape her attention that his naked body had caused a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach, which caused her serious consternation and disbelief…
‘Oh?’ he echoed.
‘I didn’t realise that’s what you meant, that’s all. Sorry.’
He growled something unintelligible and presently came back into sight, dressed in dry clothes, to take the wheel from her.
‘Now, ma’am, miss, boat burglar or whatever you are, we need some hot coffee.’
Maisie hesitated. ‘I really do think we should turn around—’
‘Then you shouldn’t have sneaked aboard,’ he said drily, ‘because I planned to sail to Horseshoe Bay on Peel Island this morning, I’ve invited two couples from other boats aboard for lunch and that is still my intention. Off you go!’
Maisie went. She had no idea what else she could do at that moment.
Under normal circumstances, unless your mind was going round in circles, it would have been a pleasure to make coffee aboard the Mary-Lue.
The sumptuousness of the main cabin was revealed in all its glory in daylight. The mellow rich gleam of New Guinea rosewood was polished to perfection. The navy cut-velvet upholstery was lifted with turquoise scatter cushions and turquoise carpeting, and a brass lamp with a gold foil shade stood on the bar.
There was a built-in chart table and a duplicate set of controls, a radar, GPS and plotter, plus a variety of marine radios. You could go anywhere on the Mary-Lue, she thought.
The galley was spotless and had every mod con including an ice-maker. No plastic glasses and mugs—instead she found crystal glasses and a set of fine china coffee mugs that echoed the décor in their pattern of navy, turquoise and gold.
She could only find instant coffee, however, but when she opened the fridge for milk it was to see it was stocked with pâtés and exotic cheeses, smoked salmon and oysters, a lobster salad, strawberries, six bottles of champagne and much more. She assembled the coffee on a tray and bore it carefully up the stairs.
The man at the wheel bent down to take it from her, and she emerged into the cockpit to see he’d taken the waterproof covers off the seats.
His short, thick hair had also started to dry, so she could see it was dark blond; ditto, she thought. Height? About six feet four—ditto, she thought again—and grey eyes, but it was definitely not the same man, with a very different aura.
She closed her eyes in confusion then opened them to notice the sky hadn’t cleared
