areful, patient tuition, I ha一ve now
stowed a mainsail, a headsail, and a spinnaker and learned
to tie a reef knot, clove hitch, and sheepshank. His lips
were twitching throughout the lesson.
“I may tie you up one day,” I mutter crabbily.
His mouth twists with humor. “You’ll ha一ve to catch me
first, Miss Steele.”
His words bring to mind him chasing me round the
apartment, the thrill, then the hideous aftermath. I frown
and shudder. After that, I left him.
Would I lea一ve him again now that he’s admitted he
loves me? I gaze up into his clear gray eyes. Could I ever
lea一ve him again—no matter what he did to me? Could I
betray him like that? No. I don’t think I could.
He’s given me a more thorough tour of this beautiful
boat, explaining all the innovative designs and techniques,
and the high-quality materials used to build it. I remember
the interview when I first met him. I picked up then on his
passion for ships. I thought his love was only for the
ocean-going freighters his company builds—not for supersexy,
sleek catamarans, too.
And, of course, he’s made sweet, unhurried love to
me. I shake my head, remembering my body bowed and
wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional
wanting beneath his expert hands. He is an exceptional
lover, I’m sure—though, of course, I ha一ve no comparison.
But Kate would ha一ve ra一ved more if it was always like this;
it’s not like her to hold back on details.
But how long will this be enough for him? I just don’t
know, and the thought is unnerving.
Now he sits, and I stand in the safe circle of his arms
for hours, it seems, in comfortable, companionable silence
as The Grace glides closer and closer to Seattle. I ha一ve
the wheel, Christian advising on adjustments every so
often.
“There is poetry in sailing as old as the world,” he
murmurs in my ear.
“That sounds like a quote.”
I sense his grin. “It is. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.”
“Oh . . . I adore The Little Prince.”
“Me, too.”
It is early evening as Christian, his hands still on m
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