Trusting Again (8 page)

About halfway to their destination, as if the natural world around them wasn’t providing her with enough amazing scenery, Marius made the view considerably better by taking off his blue work shirt. She didn’t know if he’d worked up a sweat but she was sure she broke out in one looking at him. Those gorgeous shoulders came out in all their glory, as well as the chest she loved to nestle against, the six-pack she’d run her fingers over when they were in bed, the dark hair on his chest tapering to a thin line leading down his flat belly to …

Madness. It led to madness. If she had any chance of doing something other than lust after him all day, she had to stop thinking about what was under those cut-offs. It was bad enough worrying about whether he expected her to make the first move tonight and invite him into her cabin or if she should wait for him to ask. But obsessing about it all day would only interfere with her enjoyment of the trip. She had to focus on something other than his body and what they might be doing when the sun went down and they were tucked into the coziness of the boat.

She looked around for something, anything, to take her mind off him. There. That line. She could coil it up so neither of them would trip on it. And police up the life jackets that had slid off the seats when they’d been heeled over. That should do it.

• • •

What was going on? Up ’til two minutes ago, she’d looked so happy. Marius had been trying to come up with ways to keep that look on her face every day for the rest of the trip. She was relaxed, at ease with herself and with him. After only an hour or so, she was handling the lines and sheets with the confidence of an experienced sailor, even though she’d said she hadn’t been sailing in years. She was stronger than he expected, quick on her feet, graceful at everything she did and beautiful doing it. But now she looked pensive, disturbed by something. What?

Then, just as suddenly, her expression changed back. She was engaged again, coiling a line, a happy expression on her face. He liked watching her. It took a luffing sail to remind him he’d better watch what
he
was doing and not her.

It was difficult. The wind had loosened some of the hair from her braid and the strands curled around her face and neck. He wanted to smooth them back into the braid, tuck the loose ends behind her ears after he’d rubbed their silky texture through his fingers. But he’d sworn to himself that he’d keep his hands, and every other part of his anatomy, to himself until she indicated she wanted him to do otherwise.

Not that she made it easy with what she was wearing. Those cute little white shorts were bad enough, showing off the long, lissome legs he had last seen wrapped around him in his bed. But almost as soon as they were on board, she’d taken off the prim blue and white striped shirt she had on and tied it around her waist, leaving only a black bikini top that barely contained her breasts. He remembered only too well what those breasts tasted like, how her pink nipples beaded up when he touched them, how her breasts fit perfectly in his hands as he caressed them …

Mother of God, he had to stop this. When he offered her the master cabin, he’d hoped she’d suggest they share it but she hadn’t. The look of fear he’d seen on her face when he’d gone below for the first time at the marina had sobered him. He didn’t think she was afraid of him, but he’d apparently underestimated her uneasiness about coming on this trip. He had to make her comfortable. Once she got comfortable, it was more likely he’d get to be that way, too. Otherwise, he was going to walk around with an aching groin for ten days.

The privacy he’d promised, she’d get, even if it meant he had to sleep in the main cabin and stare at the damn door to the master cabin all night. Which is what he imagined he’d be doing tonight. Not what he’d planned, but then half of what he’d planned with this woman hadn’t gone his way so why was he surprised this trip was headed in that direction?

• • •

Mid-day they moored at East Sound on Orcas Island for lunch. Cynthia had volunteered to provide all the lunches as her contribution to the trip. Today, she served up cold chicken, a pasta salad, nectarines, and brownies. He offered a light white wine or sparkling water to accompany lunch. She picked the latter. She was not about to add alcohol to the mix of sun, wind, and Marius Hernandez’s half-naked body and was relieved when he chose the same.

When they’d packed up the remains of their meal, Cynthia poked around in her small duffle bag and came up with a tube of sunscreen. “I need to put more on. Want some?”

He held out his latte-colored arm. “With this skin?”

“With any skin. You mean you don’t have any sunblock on? Don’t you know about the epidemic of skin cancer? Here, let me.” Without thinking it through, she went behind him and began to rub lotion onto his shoulders.

It was a mistake, a very
big
mistake. The heat of his skin zinged through her fingers, up her arm, into her chest, taking up so much space in her lungs it was hard to breathe. She tried to get more oxygen in by taking deep, deep breaths, but that just meant she replaced the little air in her lungs with the exotic smell she associated with him, a scent even the sunscreen couldn’t mask.

And if touching his skin wasn’t bad enough, there was the feel of the muscles underneath. Oh, dear God, the muscles. Trying to distract her mind from what she was doing, she racked her brain for something to think about that wasn’t related to his body. Touching his body. Massaging those muscles. Which if she didn’t stop thinking about would lead to licking all the way up his spine to his neck. Where she’d nibble, until she moved to sucking on his earlobe. Or maybe sliding her hands around his waist, insinuating her fingers under the waistband of his cutoffs to follow that line of dark hair.

No! She had to do something to stop the train wreck she could see coming if she kept on thinking this way. But she couldn’t help herself. She loved touching him. Loved the feel of his skin and the strength of his muscles. Remembered what it felt like to have him hold her, touch her. To feel the hardness of his body against her softness. To have all that male heat against her. Inside her.

This was getting worse by the minute. There had to be something she could do. But what? What? Wait. She’d read someplace about what men did to divert themselves from thinking about sex. What was it? Oh, right. They thought about baseball. That wasn’t workable. She didn’t know enough about the sport to form a coherent diversionary sentence.

Okay. What was it Liz said she’d done when she wanted to stop smoking? Oh, yeah, she’d used the idea of a mental stop sign when she got the urge to light up. Cynthia closed her eyes for a minute, pictured a huge, red stop sign on Marius’s back and proceeded to blow right through it to touch the next muscle.

Then she remembered her life drawing class in college, naked bodies as art project. She’d learned all the major muscles in that class and now ran through what she could remember. Trying to think of the correct names for what she was massaging worked at first. Deltoids. Triceps. Biceps. Brachioradialis.

Arms and shoulders finished.

Then on to his back. Latissimus dorsi. Trapezius. Obliques. She was on a roll. Gluteus max … oh, shit. Don’t go there. Do not go anywhere near that thought. Or that muscle.

One by one, his muscles tensed and twitched as her fingers worked the lotion into his skin as if she’d said its name out loud. Maybe she had. Or was that Marius she heard? She could have sworn she heard a soft groan as she spread the sunblock down his back to the waistband of his cutoffs. She felt like moaning herself. If she didn’t finish this soon, she’d be lost.

• • •

He had about twenty seconds of control left before he’d strip her naked and thrust himself deep inside her right here on the deck in front of all the angels in heaven, a half dozen boats and whoever was watching from shore. There was only one thing to do to save her — save himself — from that.

“I think you got it all,” he said. His voice, he knew, was thick, hoarse. “Let me do your back.”

He grabbed the sunblock from her with a grip so tight, enough lotion squirted out to save a significant portion of the population of the state of Washington from malignant melanoma. After taking a second or two to compose himself, he began to slowly, carefully, rub the cream along her arms.

Her skin was so soft, her muscles so pliant. She pressed her arm into his hand and rotated her shoulder back towards him as he smoothed the sunscreen across her back, up her neck, under a complicated set of woven strings holding her bikini top on. Ties he would love to un-complicate, un-weave, rip through, bite off.

And she made little noises, tiny moans in the back of her throat, like the sounds she made when she was about to come. He didn’t think she knew what she was doing, what it was doing to him, but he didn’t stop her — didn’t want to stop her. Any more than he could stop himself from thinking what it would be like to ease his fingers under the front of the top, feel her breasts, touch the nipples he was sure were in hard peaks by now.

Jesus, this wasn’t any better than having her put the lotion on him. Fortunately, she turned around. “I think my back’s done now.”

He still had a handful of sunscreen in the palm of one hand. “How about your face?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before gently massaging the lotion into her forehead, along her nose, down her cheeks to her jaw, then her neck and her chest.

His fingers were now on the rise of her breasts; all he had to do was slide down the slope to her nipple. He could see them peaked against the thin fabric of her bikini top, knew she was aroused, too. Her breathing was rapid; her face was flushed. Just another inch or two …

She grabbed the tube from him and in a raspy voice said, “Good. We’re both safe now.”

Like hell they were. Only an idiot would think either one of them was safe after that. And neither one of them was an idiot.

When they resumed sailing, it was awkward at first. He could see she was deliberately giving him a wide berth as she moved from one part of the boat to another. It was just as well. He hadn’t recovered from the sunscreen episode, either. He’d risk cancer rather than repeat that little experience.

But within a half hour, they were back to working easily as a team. She didn’t seem uncomfortable when, giving her a feel for the tiller, he put his arms around her, his hand over hers. He was grateful. At least for a few minutes, he was touching her, inhaling her peachy-sunscreen scent, feeling the tendrils of her hair whip across his chest.

They sailed for another couple of hours then headed for the marina at Deer Harbor where they were to spend the night. To celebrate their first night out, Marius had made reservations at a restaurant in town. Their table was on an outside deck where they could enjoy the long, lovely evening. The restaurant had fresh seafood and a passable wine. The place was full, so the service was slow, but that gave them more time to talk.

When the server had poured wine for both of them, Marius touched his glass to hers in a toast. “You were a great crew today. I didn’t need to bring out the whips and chains once.”

“Oh,” she said with a devilish gleam in her eyes, “you keep whips and chains on your boat?”

“Yeah, in case I have a naughty passenger. Not that I’ve ever had one on board. But you never know.”

“So all your passengers are well-behaved?”

“That’s not it. I’ve always sailed alone. Except for the few times when Enrique and I have gone out together.”

That seemed to stun her. “You’re kidding. I’m the first?”

“The boat’s called
Soledad
for a reason. I wanted it for privacy, solitude. On this trip, though, I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Why me? You could have asked any woman in Seattle and gotten a yes.”

“Just in Seattle? I thought maybe my range might be a little wider than that.”

“Marius, be serious. Why me?”

“Do you really need to ask? Isn’t it obvious how attracted I am to you? Can’t you feel … ?”

“Now you’re making me embarrassed.” She played with her fork and avoided his eyes.

He watched her for a few moments. “And I don’t want to make you any more uneasy than you already are. So, we’ll change the subject. You said you sailed when you were a kid. I’ve forgotten where you said you grew up. You house must have been on the water.”

“It still is. I grew up in Port Townsend. My parents moved to Bellingham a few years ago but none of us could bear to sell the house, so we rent it out. My sister talks about moving back there but she and her husband both have tenure at Wazoo, so they’ll be in Pullman forever, I think.”

He shook his head. “You know, that tripped me up for about a year. I got it pretty quickly that UDub was the University of Washington, but it took me a lot longer to realize that Wazoo was Washington State University and not something considerably less educational. Thank God I did okay with Huskies and Cougars.”

“Which any Washingtonian will tell you are far superior mascots to those wimpy Ducks and Beavers in Oregon. And don’t get me started on Trojans.”

“Obviously, you didn’t go to school in California or Oregon. Husky or Cougar?”

“Neither. I did go to college in Oregon — Reed College in Portland. That’s how I know Amanda. We met there.”

“And what is Reed College’s mascot, may I ask?”

“Well, there’s no
official
mascot. The unofficial mascot is a griffin. Reed’s not your usual college. No griffin mascot prancing around while the Ultimate Frisbee Team competes.”

“A griffin and an Ultimate Frisbee team. No wonder they turn out artists.”

She laughed and started telling him stories about her years at Reed with Amanda.

Seeing the light return to those blue eyes as she talked about her college years and her friend, hearing her easy laugh made whatever discomfort he’d had on the boat through the rest of the day worthwhile. He settled back into his chair and enjoyed the perfect end to the day.

After the whole sunscreen thing, Cynthia had been
very
careful about where she was in relation to where Marius was on the boat. He’d seemed more observant, too, at least for a while. Eventually, they got back into their rhythm of working together. Even the lesson on handling the tiller had gone well.