Heart Of Gold (21 page)

The
sailboat rode through the choppy waves in the bay with water slapping at its
sides and spray coming over the bow. Overhead, the sky was clear, except for an
occasional cloud, and sunshine rippled across the lake with flashes of gold. It
was a perfect day in late June and Nick felt downright jubilant.

As well
as very attracted to the woman who stood before him.

When they
were past the peninsula that insulated the boathouse, Carter cut the engine as
the sail grabbed a gust of wind and the boat took off. Targeting the best
trajectory for the wind's direction, she set them on an aggressive course that
maximized their speed. The gurgling noise of their wake swelled, and Nick
adjusted himself higher on the gunnels to compensate for the boat's lean into
the water. She was in total control at the helm as she angled them further into
the gusts, ensuring that every square inch of the sail was filled with wind.
The boat was tilted at a steep pitch, the keel almost out of the water, and
still she pushed them harder.

Nick
didn't look where they were going because he couldn't take his eyes off Carter.
Her hair was billowing around in the wind, the dark strands whipping across her
face in a lively dance. Her eyes sparkled as much as the sunlight on the water.
Her joy was palpable.

“You're
a terrific sailor,” he said over the din. He was surprised as a shadow
crossed her face,

“I
spent a lot of time sailing as a child.”

“Where?”

When she
remained silent, he wondered if she'd heard him.

Finally
she answered, “The Aegean Sea, Bahamas, off the coast of Brittany. On the Lake Michigan here in the States.” She hesitated. “My father taught me.”

Nick's
interest was piqued by the grudging admission, and he changed his position so
that he was closer to her. “He taught you well. You see him much?”

Carter's
head wrenched around and she immediately got defensive. “”Why do you
ask?"

“Pretty
common question about someone's father, isn't it?”

There was
a long pause as she seemed to struggle with anger and mistrust. “No. I
don't see him.”

“Ever?”

She shook
her head.

“Mind
if I ask why?”

He
watched as her hands tightened on the wheel.

“I
don't want to ruin the day with a conversation like that.”

“You
two don't get along?”

“No
one can get along with a sociopath,” she snapped.

“Sociopath?
He's got a reputation for being fairly ethical.”

Her eyes
were wide, almost panicked, as they flashed to his. “How well do you know
him?”

“I've
met him a number of times.” Nick made sure his words were gently spoken.
“But that can't be a shock. He's a venture capitalist, too.”

“I
should have known,” she muttered. "Two sharks swimming in the same
water.”

“Two
men in the same line of business.”

They were
silent for a long time.

Nick's
eyes never left her. He needed to know what had happened to make her hate
William Wessex so much.

“Why
are you staring at me?” she demanded impatiently, tightening her grip on
the wheel.

“Why
don't you want to talk about your father?”

“Oh,
for Chrissakes,” she shifted angry eyes to him, “can't you just leave
it alone?”

“Just
tell me why.”

“Because
it's guaranteed to put me in a bad mood, as you can see. I didn't know you were
so interested in family dynamics.”

“I'm
interested in you.”

She
stiffened. “Be interested in me in other ways.” I am.

“Then
be satisfied with what I'm willing to give you.”

“I
want more.”

“Tough.”
Her voice was hostile.

“I
want all of you.”

Her blue
eyes flashed to his. He saw alarm in them. And heat.

Nick was
shocked by his admission, too. It had leapt out of him with such honesty he
couldn't have held it back if he'd wanted to.

“You
can't blame my curiosity,” he said, changing the subject.
“One mention of your father and you're gripping that wheel like it's your
last hold on sanity.”

He
watched as she forced her hands to relax.

“Did
you ever get along with him?”

Carter
stayed silent for a long time, and all that traveled between them was the sound
of the water and the rush of the wind.

Then she
said, slowly, “My father and I.... When I was growing up, I worshiped him.
He wasn't around a lot, but when he was my life got more stable and I was
happy. Although that was all before I really knew the man. I miss the illusion
of him.”

“And
your mother?”

“Dead.
But then you must know that, right?”

“I'm
sorry. I know what it's like to lose parents. Were you close to her?”

Carter
shrugged and focused on the horizon, though he doubted she was actually seeing
what was ahead of them. “Mummy was beautiful. Far too young for Father. In
the beginning, he cherished her like a doll and, because she craved attention,
they got along rather well or so I've heard. She had me when she was
twenty-two, one year and two months after they married. Things began to unravel
after that. She was far better equipped to be a child than to raise one. I grew
up. I don't think she ever did.”

Carter
was talking to herself, he realized, and he didn't prompt her when she paused,
for fear she would stop speaking altogether.

“They
weren't a good match. My father was always gone and she didn't handle being
alone well. Of course, she'd have handled it better if he'd been faithful while
he was away.” She stopped abruptly. “Isn't it time we come
about?”

“A
little bit farther,” he said, holding off the flurry of activity that
would come with changing the sailboat's direction. He knew the conversation
would be lost. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“At
her funeral,” she said brusquely. “I think we should come
about.”

“Not
yet. Another couple hundred yards. Does your father ever try to get in touch
with you?”

“Coming
about,” she announced, and wrenched the wheel around. The boat swung hard,
and Nick was thrown off balance. He recovered quickly and leapt to reel in the
mainsail. When they were settled on their new course, Carter regarded him
coolly.

“That's
enough conversation about my past. I live in the here and now. That's all I've
got and it's all I need.”

She
remained quiet as they traveled down the lake, but at least they fell into a
good pattern. Carter would call the directional change and work the helm while
he handled the sails. The easy rhythm went a long way to relaxing the tension
that had sprung up during their conversation.

A while
later, Nick pointed ahead.

“Head
over to that island. The bay's behind it.”

She
piloted the sailboat easterly. The island was a quarter mile offshore and about
the size of a football field. As they passed by it, none of the campsites
dotting the shore were inhabited. After the Fourth of July, the official start
of summer, they'd be in high demand, but not now, not quite yet.

“It's
so peaceful here,” she remarked.

Nick
nodded, pleased she was talking to him.

He'd
pressed her too far on the topic of her family, but he'd learned some valuable
information. The raw strength of her emotions about her father made him rethink
the chance of a successful reunion between them.

“Did
you ever camp on any of the islands?” she asked as they drifted by another
empty dock, tent platform, and hearth.

“When
I was young, it was high living to me. Taking a bed roll, a knapsack full of
food, and heading out onto the lake with no particular direction. It was a
great adventure.”

When they
cleared the island and breached the entrance to the bay, the sailboat's
mainsail began to flutter. Nick took it down and secured it as Carter fired up
the engine.

As she
steered the boat deeper inside the secluded paradise, Carter was awed by the
bay's beauty. The lofty mountain overhead charged down to the lakeshore in a
series of jagged cliffs, but it wasn't all steep rocks and plunging vistas. In
the far corner, there was an alcove that offered gentler slopes and a level
place that would be perfect for sunbathing and picnicking.

Shutting
down the engine, she let them drift silently. The water was calm and clear, the
breeze soft and welcoming. Wood ducks, clustered in pairs, skimmed over the
placid water, and somewhere in the background she could hear the call of a
loon.

“This
is spectacular,” she murmured.

“One
of my favorite places in the world,” Nick said, reaching into a hold and
taking out an anchor. “I've been to more five-star hotels than most travel
writers, but I'd take this over any of them.”

He tossed
the anchor overboard in a single, powerful movement. It landed with a splash,
kicking water up into the sunlight.

As she
looked down into the lake and watched the ripples he'd created spread over the
smooth surface, she regretted her revelations. She hadn't spoken of her father
to anyone in a long time, and it had been hard to relive her feelings. Mixing
her confusing emotions for Nick with her shadowy past was particularly
disturbing.

And she'd
have much preferred that the two men didn't know each other at all.

In the
quiet that surrounded them, she felt pressured to make conversation, to bury
what she'd told him about her family under mundane chatter. Subjects like the
weather or interest rates seemed appealing, but she settled for tourism. It was
less obvious and something she could fib her way through, which was more than
she could say for Alan Greenspan's lot.

“Do
you come here often?” She hoped her tone passed for casual.

Nick was
standing on the bow, looking at the mountains, and he turned to talk with her.

“Only
in the off-season. In July and August, this place is standing-room only. It
gets choked with tourists in powerboats. Ironically, they come to enjoy nature
but instead end up in nautical gridlock, choking on exhaust fumes and drowning
in noise pollution. It's a damn shame.”

He paused
and then took off his sweatshirt.

Carter
didn't hear anything else he said.

Trying to
appear as if she wasn't staring, she forced herself to murmur in appropriate
places and hoped she nailed the right pauses. Seeing him naked to the waist had
wiped out any coherent thought. His chest was wide and well-muscled, his arms
carved, his stomach a washboard of planes and angles. Lightly tan, his skin was
smooth, with only a little hair marking his pecs and disappearing in a line
under the waistband of his trunks.

“Hello?”
he said in a sexy drawl.

“I'm
sorry, what?”

Nick's
smile was slow and full of promise. “Do you like what you see?”

Carter
tried to swallow. “I told you, the bay is beautiful.”

“I
didn't think you were looking at the landscape.”

He
approached her with unmistakable purpose, and she took an involuntary step
back.

“Of
course, I was. The water, those ducks over there ... the water ...”

Carter
panicked, overwhelmed by how good he looked and the fact that they were alone.
That she wanted him badly and might actually have him.

“I
have to go change now,” she said quickly, skirting around the helm.

His
laughter, deep and very male, followed her down into the cabin.

Hands
shaking, Carter shut the door and collapsed against the wood.

Trying to
pull herself together, she grabbed her backpack and fumbled with its zipper.
When, she finally got the thing open, she wrenched Ellie's towel free with more
force than necessary and it unraveled wildly, throwing something to the floor
in a flash of color.

Carter stared,
dumbfounded, at what had popped out.

“You've
got to be kidding me,” she said aloud.

“What's
that?” Nick asked from outside.

“Nothing.”

Which was
exactly what she was looking at. Two tiny pieces of pink fabric joined by a
string and a Larger piece the size of a handkerchief. She picked them up,
wondering where the rest of the bikini was.

“Ellie,
you're only fifteen,” she said with exasperation.

“What?”
he called out.

“It's
so pristine down here.”

“Thanks.
I like to keep a neat boat.”

Rolling
her eyes, she sank down onto one of the bunks and looked around the cabin for a
better option.

It was
pristine, from the galley kitchen to the two sleeping compartments to the
sitting area. Everywhere, wood and brass glowed with age and attention. It was
luxurious and elegant, perfectly appointed.

But it
sure as hell didn't offer up anything else she could swim in.

Carter
glanced down at the pink slashes of fabric and then over to the
kitchenette, wondering if she could make do with a dish towel or two.
Hell, if he had any Band-Aids around, she'd use them. A box of those would
cover more surface area. Stay in place better, too.

“You
okay down there?”

“Fine,”
she called out and then muttered, “Just damn ducky.”

She'd
feel foolish reappearing on deck in her clothes but would feel like an
exhibitionist wearing the bikini. The trouble was, she really wanted to go
swimming. And besides, she had nothing to be ashamed about. Years of hard labor
had honed her body into top condition. She was perfectly fit and, after all, she
didn't have anything that he hadn't seen before.

Oh, that
was a big help, she thought, imagining all of the women he must have seen
naked.

Grimacing,
she stripped and put on the bikini. With some artful arranging, she was able to
cover the parts that would have gotten her arrested for indecent exposure, but
she was far from feeling clothed.