as Dale’s had been. Dale had been barely able to say the R word. She smiled. ‘Says he who insisted I wait to wish upon a star,’ she countered.
He laughed. ‘Touché.’
His laugh did funny things to her insides and a part of her wanted to stay out with him all night and watch the sun come up, but her eyelids were growing heavier and she yawned again.
She sat. ‘Right. I’m off to bed.’ She stood and looked down at him lying on the deck of his boat wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung boardies and still somehow managing to look as if he ruled the entire ocean. ‘See you in the morning.’
He nodded. ‘I won’t be too far behind you,’ he murmured.
Stella turned away from him, padding her way across the deck, conscious of his eyes on her. She heard his faint ‘Night, Stel’ reach her as she climbed down the stairs.
She was too beat to reply as her legs took her past the galley, through the saloon to the aft cabin where Rick must have placed her luggage earlier. She didn’t bother to shower, hell, she barely bothered to undress, just kicked out of her shorts, pulled the sheets back and crawled under.
She was dreaming even before her head hit the pillow.
Dreaming of Vasco.
IT WAS ten the next morning before Stella woke. The gentle rhythm of the waves had rocked her into a deep, jet-lagged slumber. She had a quick shower and threw on a sarong and T-shirt. Rick wasn’t below deck but there was an incredible aroma coming from above and she followed her nose.
He was standing at the grill in his boardies—no shirt—and for a moment she just watched the broad bronzed planes of his back that narrowed the closer they got to his waistband.
Or perhaps hip-band might have been more salient.
But then her stomach outed her by growling loudly and she propelled herself forward. ‘Sorry for sleeping so late,’ she said as she approached him.
Rick turned and smiled at her. ‘It’s fine—jet lag’s a bitch like that. I’ve only been up for half an hour myself. But, lucky for us—’ his smiled broadened into a grin ‘—the fish have been up for a while.’
Stella inhaled. ‘Hmm. Smells great.’
‘Grab some plates—we’ll eat, then get back to the marina.’
They ate quickly and were under way half an hour later, Rick again letting Stella take the wheel. It was early afternoon before they were finally on land again and alighting a taxi at Cairns Central Shopping Centre.
‘So you think you can remember how to provision a boat for a few weeks?’
Stella nodded. She’d often gone with Sergio to buy supplies just prior to an expedition. Serg, a grizzled veteran of the merchant navy and stalwart of Mills and Granville, usually went out on the longer trips as chief cook and bottle washer. He cooked good plain food in bulk and pastry to die for.
‘I checked out the galley properly so I know what storage capabilities there are. I assume we’ll buy fresh food where we can along the way?’
‘Yep.’
‘So I’ll get all the usual staples.’
He handed over the company credit card of which she was a signatory. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked as she slid the plastic into the back pocket of her shorts.
‘I’m heading to the Boating, Camping, Fishing store to pick up a few things. Let’s meet up back here at that coffee shop,’ he said, pointing behind her, ‘in about an hour?’
Stella checked her watch. ‘Right. See you then.’
Shopping in another country was always a challenge. In Penzance she frequented the local supermarket and she knew what and where everything was. Far from home, it took her much longer to find the things she’d already put on a mental list in her head.
But at least Cairns had first-world shopping facilities and everyone spoke the same language. She and Serg had certainly shopped in much more rudimentary surrounds.
By the time the hour was up Stella had a trolley piled high with provisions and the credit card had taken a hit—if they were going to be limited in what they ate for the next few weeks, then she was going to make damn sure what they did have was of the highest quality. Good chocolate—for her anyway, Rick wasn’t fussy—and the most decadent biscuits money could buy—for him.
Serg had told her when she was a teenager that Rick had a sweet tooth that was best kept fed. She hadn’t been sure whether that had some double meaning or not, but it had certainly fed her hormone-fuelled imagination.
Stella pushed the uncooperative metal beast with two wonky wheels for what seemed like five miles in the giant sprawling shopping centre. She almost crashed into a shop window and earned the wrath of a mother who thought Stella was deliberately trying to run her tantrumming little angel down.
When she finally reached the coffee shop her abdominals, quads and biceps were cramped with the effort of keeping the damn thing on track. Her mood was not great. It didn’t improve any to find Rick, with one shopping bag, chatting up a tall, dark-haired waitress who looked as if she were born dancing the Flamenco.
Of course.
The man had a perpetual hard-on.
‘Hi,’ she said, using the back of Rick’s chair as a brake for the trolley.
Rick spun around as the impact interrupted him mid-flirt.
‘Oops, sorry, damn thing is impossible to control,’ she said, smiling sweetly at the waitress, who looked as if she was about to give Stella a piece of her mind for careening into a customer.
A sex-god customer.
Stella was pretty damn sure if someone had barged into her chair with a dangerous weapon, Ms Flamenco wouldn’t have batted an eyelid.
‘Hey, Stel.’ He grinned. ‘Have a seat. You want a coffee? Something to eat? Ramona says they do a mean nachos here.’
Stella smiled at Ramona. ‘Nachos and a flat white would be great, thanks.’
Ramona nodded at Rick. ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’
I just bet you will, Stella thought uncharitably as she sat down.
‘Whoa, you buy the whole shop?’ Rick asked, examining the contents of the missile that had smacked into him.
‘You have to cover every contingency,’ she said waspishly.
‘Ooh, Snickers,’ he said, pulling out the packet of fun-sized chocolate bars. ‘My favourite.’
Yes. Which was why she’d bought them.
‘Can I take your order, sir?’
Stella
