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“Don’t worry, all is well, my dear!”
I pulled the towel tighter around me as he fired up the propellers. When the helicopter lifted off the landing pad a few feet, a gust of wind took it for a little spin. I ducked into the cabin and watched in amazement and horror as he expertly navigated through the turmoil, grateful I wasn’t aboard to throw up on his shoes. I heard the yacht’s motor starting up, the vibrations traveling up through my feet, setting my teeth chattering, or maybe that was the terror. Then it died just as quickly. Where was everyone? If a crew was piloting the yacht, where were they? Inside the cabin I threw my clothes on, crossed the bar area and made my way to the stairs leading up, presumably to the captain’s bridge. When I opened the deck door, I heard the downpour, the harsh rain slapping the wood with loud echoes.
I saw the black sky above me.
“Not good,” I muttered, shutting the door. The portholes were blurry with rain. But I needed to find someone from the crew, to tell them I was here and to find out the plan, if there was one. I punched the door open again, and braced against the rain, now streaking sideways and pricking my skin. I was about to head to the bridge, when I heard a voice. I thought it was coming from a speaker on the yacht, but it was actually coming from the deck of a Coast Guard tugboat that had pulled up next to the yacht. From the deck, a tall man in a white T-shirt and jeans yelled my name through a megaphone.
“Cassie! My name is Jake! You must disembark now! We need you off this boat, right away, before this storm gets any worse. Come here and I’ll grab your hand. I’ve been sent to rescue you.”
Rescue me? Were it not for the very real weather, causing very real panic, I would have assumed this was, indeed, my rescue fantasy. But there was a storm to survive, and this man’s tight expression made it clear to me that this wasn’t part of the fantasy at all. I was in danger. I clutched a rail, my tunic soaked to my skin. Was it really safer in that tiny little boat than on the enormous solid yacht? Nothing was making sense.
“Cassie! Come closer and grab my hand!”
I stepped out onto the deck and saw the churning sea around me. Wave after wave smashed high over the deck, slapping my legs, sending gallons more water over the polished wood and into the blue pool. Another wave hit, this time sweeping me off my feet and onto my hip with a bang. I sat there, legs splayed, frozen, as I do in times of abject panic. I could no longer hear Jake’s voice, just the sound of the angry, black sea. I grabbed onto a lower rail, afraid to stand up. I had the doomed sense that if I let go, I’d be washed over the side of the heaving boat. Before I knew what was happening, an arm like a tree trunk grabbed me around my middle and lifted me off the ground.
“We have to get off this boat, now!” Jake bellowed.
“Okay, then!”
What can I say? I flailed like a scared, wet cat in the driving rain. I clutched where I could, but his T-shirt was slippery and I couldn’t get a grip. I went over the side of the boat, felt the sharp sting of the water. For a second I went under and could see only the churning above my head. I screamed underwater, soundlessly, and felt my body buffeted by the swells until at last my head emerged and the scream pierced my own ears. I pulled in a fast breath and had just a second to see that if the boats moved any closer to each other, I would be crushed. Before I could figure out what to do, I saw Jake struggling through the waves to reach me.
“Cassie! Calm down!” Jake yelled, splashing towards me. “You’re gonna be okay, but you have to relax.”
I tried to listen, tried to remember that I could in fact swim. I helped us move towards the side of the rescue boat and from there he secured my hands around a lower rung on the ladder, climbed ahead a few steps, then reached down and pulled me aboard like I was a wet rag doll. I dropped onto the deck, breathless. He shook out his hair, knocking the sea water from his ears, then took my face in his hands and said, “Good going, Cassie.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “I nearly killed us both! I panicked!”
“But then you calmed down and you helped us swim to the boat. And we’re okay now. We’re going to be okay.” He moved strands of dripping hair away from my face. “Let’s get you below deck.”
I finally got a good look at the man who had saved me, as he stood up. He was enormous, at least six-foot-five, with a shock of black wavy hair and black eyes. He had the profile of a Greek statue. He caught me looking at his torso and then it struck me. He knows my name!
“Are you one of the men from …”
“I am,” he said, yanking me to my feet. He threw a thick wool blanket around my shoulders and added, “Now that we’re here and you’re safe, maybe we should get back to the plan. What do you think? Do you accept the Step?”
“I … guess so, yes. I do.”
“Well, either way, I still have to get us out of here. I am a certified diver and lifeguard, just in case you were wondering.”
He placed his firm hands on my trembling shoulders and ushered me below to a much smaller room, cozier than any I had seen on the yacht, but much less steady. The waves were slapping at the portholes. I made a beeline for a space heater in the corner and used the blanket to cup the warm air on either side of me. I looked around, trying to keep my balance as the storm tossed the boat. The room was dimly lit with gaslight sconces, oak walls and quilted pillows strewn about a high bed. I noticed a quaint kitchenette with an old-fashioned stove and a ceramic sink. It looked like the captain’s quarters.
“I’m sorry I panicked. I thought we were moving away from the storm. Next thing you know, I was in the storm.” I started to sniffle, the ev
ents of the last half hour finally catching up to me.
“Shhh … it’s okay,” Jake said. He swiftly crossed the room and took me in his arms. “You’re safe now. But I have to leave you here to steer us away from the hurricane.”
“Hurricane!”
“Well, initially it was a tropical storm. It turned very quickly. Wait here. And get those wet clothes off. It won’t be long until we’re safely away,” he said, his muscled torso apparent through this wet white T-shirt. This man was romance-cover-model perfect. And though I didn’t want to be alone again, he had an authority to his voice that was hard to ignore.
“Get under those covers and warm up. I’ll join you soon.”
He went to leave, then pivoted and made his way over to where I was standing in front of the heater. When he bent to kiss me, I almost laughed at the image of us, me a naked woman under a blanket being kissed by a giant, shirtless god, one with wet curls and the thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a man. He placed his lips on mine and pressed, parting them easily, his warm tongue prodding, tentatively at first. He folded over me, his massive hand cradling my head like it was no bigger than a peach. When he pulled away from me it was only reluctantly, I could feel it.
“I won’t be long,” he said.
“Hurry back.” Hurry back? I might as well have said that in a Southern accent! We were in real danger and I was swooning like a schoolgirl.
