Summer Love: The Best Mistake / Impulse

“I often do.”

“Welcome aboard, sir,” a white-uniformed man with a British accent said.

“Grady. This is my guest, Miss Malone.”

“Ma’am.” Grady’s cool British reserve didn’t flicker for an instant, but Rebecca felt herself being summed up.

“Cast off when you’re ready.” Stephen took Rebecca’s arm. “Would you like a tour?”

“Yes.” A yacht. She was on a yacht. It took all her willpower to keep her camera in the bag. “I’d love to see it all.”

He took her below, through four elegantly appointed cabins. Her comment about living on board had been said impulsively, but she could see now that it could be done easily, even luxuriously.

Above there was a large glassed-in cabin in which one could stretch out comfortably, out of the sun, and watch the sea, whatever the weather. She had known that there were people who lived like this. Part of her job had been to research and calculate so that those who did paid the government as little as possible. But to be there, to see it, to be surrounded by it, was entirely different from adding figures on paper.

There was a masculine feel to the cabin, to the entire boat—leather, wood, muted colors. There were shelves filled with books and a fully stocked bar, as well as a stereo system.

“All the comforts of home,” Rebecca murmured, but she’d noted that there were doors and panels that could be secured in case of rough weather. What would it be like to ride out a storm at sea, to watch the rain lash the windows and feel the deck heave?

She gave a quick gasp when she felt the floor move. Stephen took her arm again to steady her.

“We’re under way.” Curious, he turned her to face him. “Are you afraid of boats?”

“No.” She could hardly admit that the biggest one she’d been on before this had been a two-passenger canoe at summer camp. “It just startled me.” Under way, she thought as she prayed that her system would settle. It was such an exciting, adventurous word. “Can we go out on deck? I’d like to watch.”

It was exciting. She felt it the moment the wind hit her face and rushed through her hair. At the rail, she leaned out, delighted to see the island shrink and the sea spread. Because she couldn’t resist and he didn’t laugh at her, she took half a dozen pictures as the boat sped away from land.

“It’s better than flying,” she decided. “You feel a part of it. Look.” With a laugh, she pointed. “The birds are chasing us.”

Stephen didn’t bother to glance at the gulls that wheeled and called above the boat’s wake. He preferred to watch the delight and excitement bloom on her face. “Do you always enjoy so completely?”

“Yes.” She tossed her hair away from her face, only to have the wind rush it back again. With another laugh, she stretched back from the railing, her face lifted to the sun. “Oh, yes.”

Irresistible. With his hands at her waist, he spun her toward him. It was like holding a live wire. The shock rippled from her to him, then back again. “Everything?” His fingers spread over her back and, with the slightest pressure, moved her forward until their thighs met.

“I don’t know.” Instinctively she braced her hands on his shoulders. “I haven’t tried everything.” But she wanted to. Held close, with the sound of the water and the wind, she wanted to. Without giving a thought to self-preservation, she leaned toward him.

He swore, lightly, under his breath. Rebecca jolted back as if he had shouted at her. Stephen caught her hand as he nodded to the steward, who had just approached with drinks. “Thank you, Victor. Just leave everything.” His voice was smooth enough, but Rebecca felt the tension in his hand as he led her to a chair.

He probably thought she was a fool, she decided. All but tumbling into his arms every time he touched her. He was obviously a man of the world—and a kind man, she added as she sipped her mimosa. Not all powerful men spoke kindly to those who worked for them. Her lips curved, a little wryly, as she sipped again. She knew that firsthand.

His body was in turmoil. Stephen couldn’t remember, even in his youth, having had a woman affect him so irrationally. He knew how to persuade, how to seduce—and always with finesse. But whenever he was around this woman for more than five minutes he felt like a stallion being spurred and curbed at the same time.

And he was fascinated. Fascinated by the ease with which she went into his arms, by the trust he saw when he looked down into her eyes. As he had in the olive grove, he found himself believing he’d looked into those eyes, those rainwater-clear eyes, a hundred times before.

Still churning, he took out a cigar. The thought was fanciful, but his desire was very real. If there couldn’t be finesse, perhaps there could be candor.

“I want you, Rebecca.”

She felt her heart stop, then start up again with slow, dull throbs. Carefully she took another sip, then cleared her throat. “I know.” It amazed her, flattered her, terrified her.

She seemed so cool. He envied her. “Will you come with me, to my cabin?”

She looked at him then. Her heart and her head were giving very different answers. It sounded so easy, so… natural. If there was a man she could give herself to, wholly, he was with her now. Complications, what complications there were, were her own.

But no matter how far she had run from Philadelphia and her own strict upbringing, there were still lines she couldn’t cross.

“I can’t.”