He didn’t tell her they’d had smooth seas for the whole voyage. That he was no sailor in any way, shape or form.
They passed several magnificent craft while Olivia described each one in pretty impressive detail.
Then he saw Chasing Dawn bobbing gently on the water and his throat went dry. Was he actually considering—even remotely—going to sea in this child’s bath toy?
She interpreted his expression correctly. ‘She may be small but she’s proud and every last inch of her is seaworthy.’ On light feet, she almost skipped ahead and waved a hand towards it when he reached her. ‘Come aboard.’
He gestured. ‘After you.’
The deck tilted ever so slightly beneath him as he stepped on board behind her. He had an impression of ropes and canvas and an animated Olivia amidst the chaos.
‘You’re the first male to be invited aboard, so welcome. I hope that’s not a bad omen.’
Making reference to his earlier gaff about women and boats. Should’ve kept his mouth shut.
‘So do I.’ He could tell she was determined to impress him with her baby. So far not good. ‘Where’s the rest of the boat?’ he wanted to know, glancing at the end only a few metres away. Or was it called the stern? He was out of his depth.
‘Down here...’ Then she was descending through the hatch, leaving him to follow.
Humid, stuffy air met his nostrils.
He took in the surroundings—it didn’t take long. What was virtually a narrow tube of polished wood, glimpses of laminate and aluminium. A few envelope-sized windows. Claustrophobic was an apt description. So much for any ideas about getting nautical. ‘Do I get the grand tour?’
Olivia smiled, pride warming her all the way through. ‘Of course.’ A few moments later—because it really didn’t take long to tour the Chasing Dawn—Olivia pulled two bottles of mineral water from the fridge. ‘Have a seat.’ She set them on the tiny table between them, unscrewed hers and raised it. ‘Cheers.’
He did the same and they both drank.
Olivia hadn’t realised how small and cramped the vessel was until Jett had come aboard. How he seemed to have sucked all the oxygen from the air. How his skin looked more swarthy down here, the stubble thicker, blacker. He reminded her of a romantic version of a pirate. Except she doubted even imaginary pirates smelled this good; his suave woodsy cologne enticed her to breathe more deeply.
‘You’re planning roast quail tomorrow night.’ He gestured to below decks with his bottle. ‘Here?’
Even his voice sounded too rich for the space. It seemed to reverberate across the short distance between them and brush up against her chest like a hand. ‘That’s what the microwave’s for,’ she said. ‘Something special for our first night at sea.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not cooking; I’ve had it specially prepared.’
‘The skipper, eh.’ He cast another look around the cabin. ‘You’re an experienced sailor, then.’
‘My parents were dedicated yachts-people. I’ve sailed all my life.’ She tilted the bottle towards him. ‘You’re safe with me.’
He glanced around them again. ‘Safe from pirates?’ He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur and she leaned closer almost without thought.
‘Pirates,’ she joked. ‘Off the coast of Tasmania. With helicopters and the press following our voyage?’
‘Yeah. Captain Jack Sparrow and company. Ever see any?’
There’d been a time off Madagascar, she recalled, and rubbed the sudden shiver from her arms. ‘They’re bloody and vicious and these days they use rocket propelled grenades and automatic rifles rather than the cannon and cutlass.’
‘You don’t find the notion of pirates romantic, then.’ He sounded almost disappointed.
‘Not in the least,’ she decided, brushing off her romantic vision of a piratical Jett. ‘So you can forget any pirate ways and whatever else you may have had in mind.’ She checked the time. ‘We’d better get going.’
‘Not yet. First we should discuss this attraction.’
Olivia almost choked on her water.
‘This crazy thing between us,’ he went on. ‘It could be awkward—best friends and brother.’
‘Very awkward. So we’ll put last night behind us. Forget it.’ Heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks and she glared at him, forced herself to hold his gaze. ‘We don’t need—’
‘I’ve heard the sound you make when you come. That soft bitey noise between a sigh and a scream.’
Oh. My. God. ‘I did not—’