Inner Harbor
Page 24
"Oh." She wasn't certain whether to be embarrassed or relieved. "I guess that shows I didn't have any brothers."
"It would have been their job to make your life a living hell." He leaned down, touched her lips lightly with his. "It's traditional."
He stepped onto the boat, held out a hand. After the briefest of hesitations, she let him take hers. "Welcome aboard."
The deck rocked under her feet. She did her best to ignore it. "Thank you. Do I have an assignment?"
"For now, sit, relax, and enjoy."
"I should be able to manage that."
At least she hoped so. She sat on one of the padded benches, gripping it tightly as he stepped out again to release the lines. It would be fine, she assured herself. It would be fun.
Hadn't she watched him sail into port, or dock, or whatever you would call it? He'd seemed very competent. Even a bit cocky, she decided, the way he'd scanned the hotel until he saw her standing out on her balcony.
There had been something foolishly romantic about that, she thought now. The way he had sailed across the sun-splashed water, searching for her, finding her. Then the quick smile and wave. If her pulse had bumped a little, it was an understandable and human response.
He made such a picture, after all. The faded jeans, the crisp T-shirt tucked into them as blindingly white as the sails, that gilded hair, and the warmly tanned, sleekly muscled arms. What woman wouldn't feel a bump at the prospect of spending a few hours alone with a man who looked like Phillip Quinn?
And kissed like Phillip Quinn.
Though she had promised herself she wouldn't dwell on that particular talent of his. He'd shown her just a little too much of that skill the night before.
Now with the sails lowered, he motored gently away from the dock. She found some security in the low rumble of the engine. Not that different from a car, really, she supposed. This vehicle just happened to drive over water.
Nor were they really alone. Her hands relaxed their death grip on the bench as she watched other boats skim and glide. She saw a boy who was surely no older than Seth, tucked into a tiny boat with a triangular red sail. If it was an activity considered safe for children, surely she could handle it.
"Hoisting sails."
She turned her head, smiled absently at Phillip. "What did you say?"
"Watch."
He moved gracefully over the deck, working the lines. Then suddenly the sails rose, snapped in the wind, filled with it. Her heartbeat skipped and scrambled, and her fingers tightened once more on the bench.
No, she'd been wrong, she saw that now. This was nothing at all like a car. It was primitive and beautiful and thrilling. The boat no longer seemed small, or fragile, but powerful, just a little dangerous. And breathtaking.
Very much like the man who captained her.
"It's lovely from down here." Though she kept her hands firmly locked on the bench, she smiled over at Phillip. "They always look pretty when I watch from the window. But it's lovely to see the sails from below."
"You're sitting," Phillip commented as he took the wheel. "And you're enjoying, but I don't think you're relaxing."
"Not yet. I might get there." She turned her face to the wind. It tugged and teased at her hair, trying to free it from the band. "Where are we going?"
"Nowhere in particular."
Her smile warmed and widened. "I rarely have a chance to go there."
She hadn't smiled at him just that way before, Phillip thought. Without thinking, without weighing. He doubted she realized how that easy smile transformed her coolly beautiful face into something softer, more approachable. Wanting to touch her, he held out a hand.
"Come on up here, check out the view."
Her smile faded. "Stand up?"
"Yeah. There's no chop today. It's a smooth ride."
"Stand up," she repeated, giving each word separate weight. "And walk over there. On the boat."
"Two steps." He couldn't stop the grin. "You don't want to just be a bystander, do you?"
"Actually, yes." Her eyes widened when he stepped away from the wheel.
"No, don't." She stifled a scream when he laughed and snagged her hand. Before she could dig in, he'd pulled her to her feet. Off balance, she fell against him and held on in terror and defense.
"Couldn't have planned that one better," he murmured and holding her, stepped back to the wheel. "I like getting close enough to smell you. A man has to get almost right here…" He turned his head, nuzzled his lips on her throat.
"Stop." Thrills and fears raced through her. "Pay attention."
"Oh, believe me"--his teeth caught and nipped her earlobe--"I am."
"To the boat. Pay attention to the boat."
"Oh, yeah." But he kept one arm snug around her waist. "Look out over the bow, to port. The left," he explained. "That little swash there goes back into the marsh. You'll see herons and wild turkey."
"Where?"
"Sometimes you have to go in to find them. But you can catch sight of them now and then, the herons standing like a sculpture in the high grass or rising up from it, the turkeys bobbling their way out of the trees."
She wanted to see, she discovered. She hoped she would see.
"In another month, we'll have geese flying over. From their view this area wouldn't look much different from the Everglades."
Her heart was still jumping, but she inhaled slowly, exhaled deliberately. "Why?"
"The marshland. It's too far from the beaches for the developers to be very interested. It's largely undisturbed. Just one of the Bay's assets, one of the factors that makes it an estuary. A finer one for watermen than the fjords of Norway."
She inhaled again, exhaled. "Why?"
"The shallows, for one thing. A good estuary needs shallows so the sun can nourish aquatic plants, plankton. And the marshlands, for another. They add the tidal creeks, the coves. There." He brushed a kiss over the crown on her head. "Now you're relaxing."
With some surprise, she realized she wasn't simply relaxing. She'd already gotten there. "So, you were appealing to the scientist."
"Took your mind off your nerves."
"Yes, it did." Odd, she thought, that he would know so quickly which switch to throw. "I don't think I have my sea legs yet, but it is a pretty view. Still so green." She watched the passing of big, leafy trees, the deep pockets of shadows in the marsh. They sailed by markers topped with huge, scruffy nests. "What birds build those?"
"It would have been their job to make your life a living hell." He leaned down, touched her lips lightly with his. "It's traditional."
He stepped onto the boat, held out a hand. After the briefest of hesitations, she let him take hers. "Welcome aboard."
The deck rocked under her feet. She did her best to ignore it. "Thank you. Do I have an assignment?"
"For now, sit, relax, and enjoy."
"I should be able to manage that."
At least she hoped so. She sat on one of the padded benches, gripping it tightly as he stepped out again to release the lines. It would be fine, she assured herself. It would be fun.
Hadn't she watched him sail into port, or dock, or whatever you would call it? He'd seemed very competent. Even a bit cocky, she decided, the way he'd scanned the hotel until he saw her standing out on her balcony.
There had been something foolishly romantic about that, she thought now. The way he had sailed across the sun-splashed water, searching for her, finding her. Then the quick smile and wave. If her pulse had bumped a little, it was an understandable and human response.
He made such a picture, after all. The faded jeans, the crisp T-shirt tucked into them as blindingly white as the sails, that gilded hair, and the warmly tanned, sleekly muscled arms. What woman wouldn't feel a bump at the prospect of spending a few hours alone with a man who looked like Phillip Quinn?
And kissed like Phillip Quinn.
Though she had promised herself she wouldn't dwell on that particular talent of his. He'd shown her just a little too much of that skill the night before.
Now with the sails lowered, he motored gently away from the dock. She found some security in the low rumble of the engine. Not that different from a car, really, she supposed. This vehicle just happened to drive over water.
Nor were they really alone. Her hands relaxed their death grip on the bench as she watched other boats skim and glide. She saw a boy who was surely no older than Seth, tucked into a tiny boat with a triangular red sail. If it was an activity considered safe for children, surely she could handle it.
"Hoisting sails."
She turned her head, smiled absently at Phillip. "What did you say?"
"Watch."
He moved gracefully over the deck, working the lines. Then suddenly the sails rose, snapped in the wind, filled with it. Her heartbeat skipped and scrambled, and her fingers tightened once more on the bench.
No, she'd been wrong, she saw that now. This was nothing at all like a car. It was primitive and beautiful and thrilling. The boat no longer seemed small, or fragile, but powerful, just a little dangerous. And breathtaking.
Very much like the man who captained her.
"It's lovely from down here." Though she kept her hands firmly locked on the bench, she smiled over at Phillip. "They always look pretty when I watch from the window. But it's lovely to see the sails from below."
"You're sitting," Phillip commented as he took the wheel. "And you're enjoying, but I don't think you're relaxing."
"Not yet. I might get there." She turned her face to the wind. It tugged and teased at her hair, trying to free it from the band. "Where are we going?"
"Nowhere in particular."
Her smile warmed and widened. "I rarely have a chance to go there."
She hadn't smiled at him just that way before, Phillip thought. Without thinking, without weighing. He doubted she realized how that easy smile transformed her coolly beautiful face into something softer, more approachable. Wanting to touch her, he held out a hand.
"Come on up here, check out the view."
Her smile faded. "Stand up?"
"Yeah. There's no chop today. It's a smooth ride."
"Stand up," she repeated, giving each word separate weight. "And walk over there. On the boat."
"Two steps." He couldn't stop the grin. "You don't want to just be a bystander, do you?"
"Actually, yes." Her eyes widened when he stepped away from the wheel.
"No, don't." She stifled a scream when he laughed and snagged her hand. Before she could dig in, he'd pulled her to her feet. Off balance, she fell against him and held on in terror and defense.
"Couldn't have planned that one better," he murmured and holding her, stepped back to the wheel. "I like getting close enough to smell you. A man has to get almost right here…" He turned his head, nuzzled his lips on her throat.
"Stop." Thrills and fears raced through her. "Pay attention."
"Oh, believe me"--his teeth caught and nipped her earlobe--"I am."
"To the boat. Pay attention to the boat."
"Oh, yeah." But he kept one arm snug around her waist. "Look out over the bow, to port. The left," he explained. "That little swash there goes back into the marsh. You'll see herons and wild turkey."
"Where?"
"Sometimes you have to go in to find them. But you can catch sight of them now and then, the herons standing like a sculpture in the high grass or rising up from it, the turkeys bobbling their way out of the trees."
She wanted to see, she discovered. She hoped she would see.
"In another month, we'll have geese flying over. From their view this area wouldn't look much different from the Everglades."
Her heart was still jumping, but she inhaled slowly, exhaled deliberately. "Why?"
"The marshland. It's too far from the beaches for the developers to be very interested. It's largely undisturbed. Just one of the Bay's assets, one of the factors that makes it an estuary. A finer one for watermen than the fjords of Norway."
She inhaled again, exhaled. "Why?"
"The shallows, for one thing. A good estuary needs shallows so the sun can nourish aquatic plants, plankton. And the marshlands, for another. They add the tidal creeks, the coves. There." He brushed a kiss over the crown on her head. "Now you're relaxing."
With some surprise, she realized she wasn't simply relaxing. She'd already gotten there. "So, you were appealing to the scientist."
"Took your mind off your nerves."
"Yes, it did." Odd, she thought, that he would know so quickly which switch to throw. "I don't think I have my sea legs yet, but it is a pretty view. Still so green." She watched the passing of big, leafy trees, the deep pockets of shadows in the marsh. They sailed by markers topped with huge, scruffy nests. "What birds build those?"
