AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.
‘You sure you can hold her?’ he said, and the exhilaration in her chest combined with a lingering sense of loss for that complicated, taciturn boy who had taught her to sail a lifetime ago. And whom she had once loved without question.
She nodded.
He stood behind her, shielding her from the beating rain. She melted into him for a moment and the punch of adrenaline hit her square in the solar plexus, taking her breath away as she felt the boat’s power beneath her feet.
When she’d been that frightened, insecure girl, scared of her father’s wrath, always looking for his approval, Dane had given her this—the freedom and space to become her own woman. And she’d screwed it up by falling for him hook, line and sinker.
If this time with him taught her one thing, let it be that she would never do that again. Never look for love when what she really needed was strength.
‘Go below! I’ve got this!’ she shouted over her shoulder, trying to concentrate on the job at hand and not let all the what-ifs charging through her head destroy the simple companionship of this moment.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, and the husky words sprinted up her spine.
Giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze, he took a deep breath and stepped away, leaving her alone at the helm. He pointed towards the horizon.
‘Head towards the clear blue. And avoid the breakers.’
She concentrated on the break in the storm line, scanning the sea for the next wave. ‘Will do. Take as long as you need.’
Widening her stance, she let her limbs absorb the heel of the boat as it rode over the swell. The rain was finally starting to trail off. Arousal leapt, combining with the deep well of emotion, as she watched him unclip himself from the safety line and saw his shoulders fill the entryway before he disappeared below.
* * *
The boat rolled to the side and Dane’s heart went with it, kicking against his ribs like a bucking bronco as he staggered into the salon, his head hurting like a son of a bitch, but his heart hurting more.
He shook his hands and the shivering racked his body as he stripped off the life jacket and the wet clothing with clumsy fingers and headed back to his cabin.
He didn’t want to leave Xanthe alone up there too long. She’d always been a natural sailor, and he’d sensed a new toughness and tenacity in her now, a greater resilience than when they were kids together. But even so she was his responsibility while she was on the boat, and he didn’t want to screw it up. Again.
He winced as shame engulfed him. He’d already put her at risk, sailing them both straight into a force-eight because he’d been too damn busy thinking about the hot, wet clasp of her body and trying to decipher all the conflicting emotions she could still stir in him, instead of paying the necessary attention to the weather report, the cloud formation and the sudden dip in air
pressure.
They’d been lucky that it hadn’t been a whole lot worse.
But he knew when he was beaten. He had to sleep—get a good solid thirty minutes before he could relieve her at the helm. Gripping the safety line she’d rigged, he made his way to the head, dug out a piece of gauze to dab the cut on his forehead, then staggered naked into the cabin.
Thirty minutes—that was all he needed—then he’d be able to take over again.
His eyes closed, and his brain shut off the minute his head connected with the pillow.
* * *
He woke with a start what felt like moments later, to find the cabin dark and the boat steady. The events of the day—the last few days—came back in a rush.
Xanthe.
He jerked upright and pain lanced through the cut on his forehead where he’d headbutted the boom. He cursed. How long had he been out? He’d forgotten to set an alarm before crashing into his berth. He looked up to see clear night through the skylight. Then noticed the blanket lying across his lap.
The blanket that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen headlong into the bunk what had to be hours ago.
Emotion gripped as he pulled the blanket off.
Was she still on deck? Doing his job for him?
Ignoring the dull pain in his head, he pulled on some trunks and a light sweater. Heading through the salon, he noticed the debris left by the storm had been cleared away and the film of water that had leaked in through the hatch onto the floor had been mopped up. His wet clothes hung on the safety line, brittle with salt but nearly dry.
