see London, but Trae knew how little she’d looked forward to her engagement party. “Rhys won’t care,” Lucie had told her blithely, suggesting Trae go to the party and see for herself. Sure enough, Rhys had smiled throughout, acting as if nothing were wrong, telling everyone that a bout with a minor virus had his fiancée confined to her bed.
But to this day, Trae regretted not flying off to England with her friend. The minute the party was over, Rhys had hopped the next flight to London, bringing Lucie back home a few days later with the huge rock still on her finger.
“The point is,” Trae continued with a dismissive wave of her hand, “the poor girl is obviously confused. She needs to talk about this marriage. To someone other than yourself. The minute we reach that island…”
Cursing under his breath, Rhys glanced at his watch. “Damn, what am I doing?” Dropping what little remained of his sandwich, he rose and raced to the door.
“What’s wrong?” Trae called out. “Where are you going?”
“The bridge. At this speed, we’ll be slamming into the island in fifteen minutes.”
Rhys stood at the wheel, watching the sky brighten above the approaching shoreline. Fortunately, he’d had ample time to slow the yacht down before they hit the island. Pulling the throttle again, he brought the engines to a crawl as they hit the harbor limits.
What had he been thinking, letting himself get so distracted? He must be more tired than he thought. How could he get so involved in Trae’s incessant chatter that he’d put his boat—not to mention their lives—at risk?
Then again, had it merely been her chatter that had him so distracted?
Against his will, he recalled the sudden rush of desire as his hand had touched hers over the bread. He’d been caught off guard by how slender her hand had been, how soft and warm. Just like he’d been surprised by the unexpected view of her full white breasts, which had left him wondering if they were as soft and warm as her hands…
“Here.”
Wheeling around, he found Trae behind him, holding two mugs. He hoped she didn’t plan to make a habit of popping out at him from unexpected places while he was engrossed in his thoughts. Especially those thoughts.
Ignoring his frown, she smiled as she offered him one of the mugs. “I made coffee. I figured we both could use it.”
He took the mug. As the rich, aromatic steam teased his nostrils, he could feel his anger dissipate. Trae was right, he decided after a long, reviving gulp. He did need it.
He did not, however, need her on his boat. Or interfering with Lucie. Studiously ignoring his unwanted passenger, he concentrated on bringing them into port.
“I thought of something while I was below,” Trae said, oblivious to his displeasure. “In all the confusion, I had no time to grab my passport. Will there be trouble when we dock?”
“We’ll be mooring at my place.” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he gestured to the cove on the starboard side. “No one should question you there.”
What he didn’t bother to add was that while getting onto the island should be easy enough, getting off again might pose a problem. For her, anyway.
He had no intention of sticking around to find out. Once they docked, she was on her own.
Misinterpreting his smile, she returned it with one of her own. “This coffee sure hits the spot, doesn’t it? I know I needed it. I took this pill for seasickness and it’s got me feeling so groggy, I could have cotton balls jammed in my head. I guess it’s made me a tad grumpy. I blurted out things I probably shouldn’t have.”
Man, the woman could talk. “Your point is?”
He saw the flash of anger, just for an instant, but she clamped down on it with an impressive exhibition of will. “My point is, I’m sorry. For getting in the way, for hiding in your closet, for everything.”
“Everything?”
This time she wasn’t quite as successful at hiding her temper. Green eyes flashing, she glared at him over the top of her coffee cup. “I’m not apologizing for wanting to help Lucie, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“All I’ve ever asked is that you stop interfering in my life.”
“I’m not…” Her hands tightened around the mug, but with a sigh, she tried again. “Look, Paxton, I’ve said things and you’ve said things, some justified and some downright nasty. But right now, this is about Lucie. About her safety and future happiness. Can’t we put aside our differences until we’re sure she’s all right?”
“Are you suggesting a truce?” he asked, incredulous. The woman barged in on his boat, berated and insulted him, and then expected his help in ruining his life?
“Yes,” she said, beaming as she held out a hand.
Studiously ignoring it—as well as her question—he shut down the engines. “Hit that switch, will you?” he said, hoping to distract her. “We need to lower the anchor.”
Gazing around them, hand still extended, she looked as if someone had just yanked the rug from beneath her feet. “We’re stopping here? In the middle of the water? Not at the pier over there?”
“It’s for smaller boats. If I take this yacht any closer to shore, she’s likely to run aground. I generally use the skiff to get to the beach.”
“Oh.” Grinning sheepishly, she pulled the switch. “Don’t mind me. I’m not very nautical.”
No kidding, he thought, eyeing her fitted green skirt and bare feet. “It won’t be easy climbing in and out of the skiff in that outfit,” he told her. “Why don’t you look through Lucie’s bags? I took then down to the cabin earlier. Maybe you can find something more suitable. You can change down below while I finish docking.”
“Good idea. Thanks.”
He said nothing as she went below, knowing that in truth, he wasn’t being helpful at all. While she was below, he planned to get the skiff in the water. If he hurried, he could get to the island—and, more important, to Lucie—before Trae realized he was gone.
It took less than five minutes to get the skiff in the water. He was about to shove off when he heard Trae behind him. “Oh, here you are. For a minute, I thought you’d left without me.”
Rhys saw no reason to grace that with an answer.
Besides, he was robbed of speech when he saw her new outfit. Riding low on her hips and high on her thighs, the red shorts showed off an alarming expanse of smooth, tanned leg. The white T-shirt left even less to the imagination.
He didn’t help her into the skiff, knowing better than to risk coming in contact with all that exposed flesh. More to the point, Trae didn’t allow it. Dragging a suitcase behind her, she stepped over the rail and dropped into the boat before Rhys could recover his wits. “I figured Lucie might want her things,” she offered in explanation.
Cursing her soundly under his breath, he shoved off and motored their way to the beach.
None
