Garden of the Moongate (12 page)

So she would have to find some other means to solve the overcharging puzzle, but at the moment she didn't want to think about that. Yesterday's trip into Hamilton with Ric still lingered in her mind, and she felt an odd contentment in the thought that they had enjoyed hours together without once getting into a fight. He could be so nice, and Allendre sighed dreamily as she propped her chin on her updrawn knees, staring out at the azure water but seeing in actuality a lean, tanned face and warm blue eyes. Rousing herself from her reverie at last, she scrounged through the jumbled contents of her beach bag, only to find that she had left her bottle of sunscreen in her room.

"Oh, drat," she muttered, examining her long, lightly tanned legs, and deciding she could safely stay in the sun about an hour. After that she could go snorkeling; underwater, the sun would be no threat. Rolling over onto her stomach, she propped up on her elbows to begin her daily search for tiny seashells in the sand. Though she had no idea what she might do with the perfect specimens she found, they were such exquisitely beautiful little things that she couldn't resist collecting them.

She was still absorbed in her task some minutes later when an eerie sensation that she was no longer alone trickled along her spine. She seemed to be in shadow, while the sun shone on the sand all around her. A tiny frown knitted her brow, and she turned over warily, squinting at the bright sunlight that surrounded Ric's silhouetted form. "Oh, hi," she murmured weakly, inexplicably self-conscious about the modest white bikini she wore. Scrambling to sit up, she started to fold her arms across her chest, decided that would appear childish, and ultimately leaned back on her hands to gaze up at him with a rather shy smile. Then her heart seemed to do a somersault when he knelt down on the towel beside her, his blue eyes frankly appraising as they drifted slowly over the entire length of her body.

"I noticed you sifting through the sand," he said, his voice coming from deep in his throat as a glint of amusement danced in his eyes. "Let me give you some advice. If you're searching for buried treasure, use a shovel next time. You'll make much faster progress."

Allendre wrinkled her nose at him. "I was searching for seashells, not treasure," she informed him tartly, amazed at the warm excitement that coursed through her veins simply because he was close. Trying to lessen his disturbing effect on her, she grinned and glanced around. "Of course, if there is supposed to be treasure around here somewhere, maybe I will get a shovel. I don't think I'd mind being independently wealthy."

"There are rumors of buried pirates' troves on every island, but you don't have time to start digging right now. You're going sailing with me."

His supremely confident pronouncement widened her eyes. "Sailing?" she squeaked, staring with fascination at the brown hand that suddenly enclosed hers. "But I—"

"No buts. You're going." Rising to his feet, he pulled her easily up to stand before him, the commanding gleam in his eyes advising against argument. "Now, gather up your paraphernalia and I'll drive us to the dock in the Jeep."

Allendre hesitated, swallowing convulsively as she tilted her head back to gaze up into the dark blue depths of his eyes. She shouldn't go with him; her nagging common sense was trying to tell her that. Already, in the few days she had known him, she had become too involved. Considering how he could arouse her both physically and emotionally with little effort on his part, she would be a fool to place herself in a situation where they were alone for hours on a boat in the middle of the ocean. Anything could happen. If he chose to seduce her, she wasn't at all sure she could resist. Her eyes lowered to the enticing expanse of brown throat exposed at the open collar of his white knit shirt, down to the tan length of chino-clad legs. He looked much too attractive for her peace of mind. Torn between longing to go with him and knowing she should not, she gestured uncertainly. Then her resentful green eyes darted up to meet his as he laughed softly.

"Scared, Allendre?" he whispered, stroking the bridge of her small nose with the tip of one finger. "Afraid I mean to spirit you off somewhere and have my way with you?"

"No, of course not!" she denied, blushing hotly as she realized he had voiced her thoughts almost as if he had read her mind. Then she qualified her denial in a weak little voice. "I mean… I don't have any reason to be scared. Do I?"

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and his brows lifted as he shrugged nonchalantly. "I never make promises, Allie," he murmured provocatively. "So I guess you'll just have to take a gamble. Come on, come with me."

The coaxing note in his voice was her undoing. Putting her common sense on hold, she nodded, her breath catching at the sudden intense light in his eyes. Yet she went along willingly after he gathered up her towel, and she suppressed all the doubts that were nagging at her when she got into the Jeep and rode with him to St. George's Harbor.

With a gleaming white hull and varnished wood cockpit, the
Sea Dancer
sparkled in the sunlight at its mooring between Ordinance Island and St. George proper. After hesitating a moment, Allendre took Ric's outstretched hand and allowed him to help her aboard, then caught her breath when he sat down on his heels in front of her and began unbuckling her leather sandals.

"The deck can be slippery," he explained, grinning up at her flushed face as his hand curved around one slim ankle, then the other, and he removed the sandals from her feet. "You're safer barefoot if you don't have the proper shoes."

"Oh, I see." Averting her eyes from the laughter in his, she glanced around at the gleaming wood lines of the cockpit and the chrome fitting that glimmered in the sunlight. "
Sea Dancer—
this must be the yacht I heard Deb talking about the other day. Isn't it?"

Ric shrugged. "Deb calls her a yacht. I call her a boat. I don't suppose it matters as long as she's seaworthy, and she is that. My grandfather had her built as a gift for my grandmother. She loved to sail." With a reminiscent smile, he took Allendre's hand, drawing her into the windowed cockpit. "How about you, Allie? Do you like to sail?"

Confined in such a tiny little space with him, she could feel a disturbing fluttering begin in her stomach, and she tried to lessen her reaction by looking around curiously. "I've only sailed twice, and neither time was on a boat as big as this. So, if you expect me to be your crew, I'm afraid I won't be much help. I know nothing at all about hoisting the mainsail or battening the hatches or all that other nautical stuff."

He laughed at her. "Then I'll just have to teach you some of that 'nautical stuff this afternoon, won't I?" Giving her a playful pat on the backside, he scooted her out of the cockpit. "Now, while I'm casting off, why don't you take that hamper of food below to the galley? No use letting it sit in the hot sun."

With a nod she obeyed, relieved that at least she knew what a galley was. As she stepped down the steps into the cool, dim cabin below deck she was surprised to see how much space there was. It wasn't a ballroom but it was adequate. One forward corner contained the diminutive galley, with a tiny refrigerator and a gas-heated stove built into cedarwood cabinets. She put the hamper down on the table affixed to the floor in the center of the cabin, then pressed a testing hand down into the mattress of the upper berths on the port side. It felt comfortable enough. Merely curious, she walked past the table and affixed chairs to open a door beyond. A tiny blue mosaic-tiled bathroom offered the luxury of a shower stall plus the other essential fixtures. After pulling the door shut again, she opened the one next to it, then stood transfixed. Cream-colored carpet provided the perfect contrast for the teakwood walls. A stained-glass Tiffany lamp was suspended from the ceiling above an intricately carved tea table. Beneath the leeward porthole sat a delicate writing table, and built against the port side was a thick-posted double bed with a red velvet coverlet.

She hadn't expected anything as grand as this, and as she stared at the bed a sudden unbidden thought sent her pulses racing. What would it be like to spend long nights at sea with Ric in this cabin… in that bed? Horrified by her wild flight of fancy, she spun around, jerking the door shut behind her. For a moment she stood gazing across the main cabin at the galley, but as she heard the abrupt puttering start of the engine she roused herself and moved again. Still unable to dismiss that velvet-covered bed from her mind, she became increasingly self-conscious about the bikini she wore. In comparison to others she had seen, it was actually an adequate, nearly demure covering but still she felt an urgent need to conceal more of herself. Considering Ric's usual effect on her
and
that bed…

Opening her straw bag, she brought out the raspberry-colored terry-cloth cover she had carried to wear back from the beach. She slipped it over her head, securing the white piping ties on each side of the high waist and straightening the piping-edged square neckline. Feeling infinitely more secure, she lifted her skirt hem to negotiate the steep, ladderlike steps that led back up to the deck.

Sea Dancer
was gliding slowly away from the cement wharf out into midharbor toward a narrow channel. A breeze picked up, lifting wisps of sun-bleached hair back from Allendre's temples, and with a resolute squaring of her shoulders she went to join Ric in the cockpit.

One hand controlling the wheel, Ric glanced around at her, his brows lifting as his gaze traveled from the low-cut square neckline all the way down to the hem that brushed her bare feet.

"Cold?" he asked perversely, then grinned as he turned back toward the wheel. "Or just scared I wouldn't be able to resist you in your former half-dressed state?"

Grateful that he didn't see the blush that flooded her cheeks, she didn't even bother to answer. She wasn't about to admit he was right, and a lie would be utterly futile. Maybe he
could
read her mind. Finding such a thought far too disconcerting, she forced herself to pay strict attention as Ric navigated the boat through St. George Channel to open sea, steering clear of the buoys that marked submerged coral reefs.

About a half mile out from shore they caught a southwestern wind. Ric cut the engine, then went out on deck to hoist the white headsail, which billowed, then tautened, as it caught the wind. "Perfect," he commented as he passed Allendre on his way back to the cockpit. "Even a landlubber could handle her today."

"If you say so," she retorted doubtingly, but she returned the indulgent smile he gave her.

For an hour or so they sailed within sight of the island, glimpsing a few frolicking dolphins that arced above the waters, then disappeared gracefully beneath the surface again. Ric cut the engine, then lowered the sail again and dropped anchor. "I'm hungry," he announced, dropping down onto a deck chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Since I've done all the work thus far, I think I'll let you serve lunch."

"Sounds fair to me," she agreed, heading forward immediately. A moment later she returned with the hamper, spread a cloth on deck, then unpacked the container of shrimp salad, a plate of succulent ham and cheese rolls, and a dish of fresh strawberries.

"And I was counting on fried chicken," she lamented teasingly. "How did you acquire such a sumptuous feast?"

"One of the advantages of owning one's own hotel," he countered with a grin as he uncorked a bottle of white wine. "One has one's own personal chef, so to speak."

Later, as they were finishing off their feast with the strawberries, Ric lounged back in his chair again. Soon they had renewed their argument about Hemingway; then the conversation veered into the realm of world events. About an hour later Ric caught Allendre stifling a yawn.

"Fanatical revolutionary leaders bore you, too, I see," Ric commented lazily and then stood. Reaching down, he took both her hands and drew her to her feet. "Maybe a swim would wake you up a bit."

"Swim?" she exclaimed softly, eyeing the dark blue water with unbridled suspicion and fear. "You mean, go for a swim way out here? Oh, I don't know. I like to swim, but… you just never know what might be down there, lurking about, just waiting for some unsuspecting victim." She shuddered. "You know, sharks, maybe, or some of those creepy moray eels."

"You obviously saw both
Jaws
and
The Deep
," he said, his thumbs caressing the back of her hands. "Listen, I wouldn't even suggest a swim if the dolphins weren't around. But they are, and sharks are afraid of them."

"Maybe so, but those eels…"

"Don't want to see you any more then you want to see them," he assured her, brushing a wayward strand of hair back from her cheek. "I've swum offshore countless times. It's as safe as scuba diving, but if you'd feel too uncomfortable…"

"You'd stay close to me?" she relented, not wanting to seem cowardly. "Wouldn't you?"

"I don't plan to let you out of my sight." He surveyed the terry-cloth shift she wore with a wry smile. "But you're not going swimming in that, I presume?"

"Of course not," she answered, too aware of the enticing warmth emanating from his body. She took a jerky backward step, easing her hands free from his. "I… I'll go below and take it off. Be right back."

A couple of minutes later Allendre reappeared, clad only in her brief swimsuit but determined not to feel self-conscious in it. Pausing for a moment by the cockpit, she watched Ric check the ropes that secured the furled sails. During her absence he had stripped down to white swim trunks. His long, muscular limbs were tanned a deep brown and lightly covered with fine dark hair, and when she realized she was staring at the broad expanse of his back, she looked away hastily.

When Ric finally turned, he caught her eye again. "Well?" he questioned mysteriously. "What do you think?"

"Think? About what?"

"About my knees, of course. Are they too knobby, or are they nice enough for me to flaunt them in some Bermuda shorts?"

Allendre laughed, her foolish tension banished suddenly by his playfulness. "Your knees are absolutely
gorgeous
, probably the best-looking knees I've seen since I arrived in Bermuda."