Summer on the Cape (6 page)

Allie was surprised by what she saw when she descended into the cabin. Even to an inexperienced landlubber like herself, the sharp contrast between the interior of
Sea Smoke’s
cabin and her shipshape appearance above decks was striking. Up on top, not a single mark marred her glistening white paint, her sails were furled tight against their booms, and the canvas covers were tied and snapped snugly around them. Every piece of line was neatly stashed and there wasn’t so much as a cotter pin lying about.

But the scene below decks was one of congenial clutter. Although the interior of the cabin was as beautiful as the exterior, with teak cabinets and wonderful brass fittings, all well cared for, Allie laughed to herself, thinking that her painting of this beautiful boat gave no hint of the very masculine disarray that was concealed inside its cabin.

On the galley top there were tools of all kinds, together with a marine radio, a cell phone, a teakettle, pieces of rope. Stacked carelessly on the cushioned seats and on the table between the seats were cans of motor oil and plastic containers of nails, together with marine charts and pieces of hardware that Allie couldn’t identify. A pair of high-power binoculars lay on the table next to a logbook, and an electronic navigational keyboard was half covered by Coast Guard notices.

Zach looked completely comfortable in the midst of the clutter. He set the kettle onto the alcohol stove, turned on the flame, and took mugs and instant coffee from the cabinets behind the small galley sink. Every move he made was smoothly efficient and Allie found that she was making mental notes of the way Zach’s muscles moved for the portrait of him she knew she was going to paint.

“I hope you like your coffee black,” Zach said. “When
Sea Smoke
isn’t cruising, I don’t keep ice on her, so there’s no milk.”

“Black is just fine.” Despite the casualness of their conversation, Allie was sharply aware of Zach’s physical presence, made more intense by the intimacy of the cabin interior’s close space. From where she stood, leaning against the steps, she could see past the galley into the sleeping cabin forward, comfortable and snug, cushioned all around, with beds built onto a kind of low platform.

“Do you travel much on
Sea Smoke
?” Allie asked, trying to find a safe subject, one that wouldn’t reflect the disturbing sensations that were stirring in her.

To her surprise, he didn’t answer her immediately, and his face clouded over, his blue eyes darkening momentarily under his craggy brow. Allie was puzzled by his response to a question that seemed innocent enough.

Finally, he spoke. “No. Not much.” Then he paused, seeming to have said all he was going to for the moment. “I run a boat rental business here, and there’s a lot needs to be done. Doesn’t leave much time for gadding about,” he said shortly.

Allie wondered what had shadowed that handsome face, but she sensed that he wasn’t likely to tell her, and that he wouldn’t want her to ask. Maybe someday, if they got to know each other better—

For now, best to change the subject.

“May I look around?” she asked. Her professional eye had already made a close inventory of the details, filing them away in her mental sketchbook.

“Sure,” Zach said. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”

He motioned her into the forward cabin, where the cushioned platform formed a deep vee-shaped sleeping space. Portholes let in the sunlight and a teak door could be closed to shut off this compartment from the main cabin behind it.

She stepped into the sleeping cabin and was instantly touched by its comfortable atmosphere.

How sweet it would be to wake up one morning, far out at sea, snug inside this sheltered place.

“It’s almost like a nest,” she said softly, turning to Zach.

He was standing just behind her, inside the forward cabin.

“Yes. It is like a nest,” he said. “Completely separated from the rest of the world. Very private,” he paused, and then added, “and safe.”

He was looking into her eyes, and she became aware of the sunlight, filtering through the portholes and glinting through his dark hair, lighting up the graying strands and turning them silver. She was acutely conscious of his closeness, as though she were being gathered up by a powerful, masculine energy. Feeling surrounded, engulfed, she sank down into the center of the vee formed by the cushions. Zach braced both his hands against the sides of the cabin roof over her head, and his tall, muscular body leaned over her. He was so close, she could smell his newly washed shirt, the masculine scent of his skin.

She was unable to say a word. Her face was turned up to his, and she could feel her breathing, deep and slow, as she was held, transfixed, completely controlled by his intense blue eyes. He made no move to touch her, but the entire surface of her body was aware of his presence, as though his hands—those fine, work-hardened hands, those hands that felt rough and gentle at the same time—were passing over her whole body, exploring her, stroking her hair and her face and feeling their way, through her clothes, to the shivering, tingling skin concealed inside. She felt her own response, a spasm quivering deep inside herself.

Like an alarm, there was a sudden piercing sound from the main cabin, a high-pitched shriek that startled Allie out of her almost mesmerized state. Zach’s face broke into a broad grin, a brief laugh escaping his lips. “It’s just the teakettle,” he said wryly. “Maybe the gods are sending us a message.” He went quickly into the galley to turn off the flame beneath the whistling kettle. “We’d better have that cup of coffee now.”

She stood up, the insides of her legs feeling weak and unsteady.

What could she have been thinking? She hardly knew the man!

Zach was pouring the boiling water into the mugs. Then he set the coffee and a shaker of sugar on the table, and Allie sat down at the little table, glad that her knees were returning to their normal state.

She sipped at the hot coffee, unaware that as she did, Zach was taking advantage of the opportunity to continue his sensual examination of her face, enjoying the smooth creaminess of her skin, the soft bangs feathering past her eyebrows. A remnant of paint was on the bridge of her nose and, as she drank from her mug, her long, golden lashes lay like a gentle fringe on her cheek. He was intrigued by those ragged bangs, that smudge of paint. He wanted to reach his hand across the table and brush the hair away from her beautiful hazel eyes. He wanted to feel those golden lashes against his lips. He imagined her lifting those lashes, letting him look into the bright depths of her glowing, mysterious eyes.

For the moment, he closed his mind to the fact that she was living at Adam’s place, that she was working with Adam. Zach let himself enjoy the pleasure of her presence. This woman, he thought, is someone really special. The sight of her, yesterday, coming out of the plane, would have been enough. But now that he’d seen her work, seen her talent, he realized she was not only beautiful and bright. This woman, he realized, was special.

“I’d like to talk to you about your painting of
Sea Smoke
,” he said, letting his eyes continue to enjoy her intriguing beauty. Over the rim of her mug, Allie raised her eyebrows questioningly. “I was wondering if it might be for sale.” He hesitated, realizing he’d just made an impulsive decision to purchase the watercolor. “Do you mind my asking?”

“Of course not,” she said, putting down her mug. She was surprised that this was turning into a business discussion. “That’s why I paint pictures, so people will buy them.” She laughed, a little ruefully. “That’s how I pay my rent, and buy bread and milk and silly things like that. The thing is”—she paused momentarily, hoping he wouldn’t think she was trying to put him off—“I don’t sell them myself. I have an agent, and he handles all of that for me.”

In a flash, Zach’s eyes hardened. “You mean Adam Talmadge?”

Allie caught the abrupt hostility of his tone and she remembered his ugly insinuations yesterday about her and Adam. Instantly, her fury of the day before returned. She felt herself stiffen, the warmth of a few moments ago disappearing quickly.

“Of course! Adam is my agent. I already told you that. He handles all my business matters.” Suddenly she didn’t care if Zach Eliot never owned a picture of hers. “If you’re thinking of buying the picture, you’re going to have to talk to him,” she said sharply. In her mind, the image appeared of a business negotiation between the small-town Zach Eliot and the urbane Adam Talmadge.

I’d love to be a fly on that wall, she thought caustically. Adam would eat up this simple sailor man in two bites!

“I should have realized,” Zach’s voice was ice cold. “So you’ll be taking all your work to him?”

“Yes.” The frostiness that had come into Zach’s voice did not escape Allie. “I have a show coming up in a couple of weeks at the Whiscombe Gallery and we may want to include some of these pieces.” There was the slightest flicker of reaction in Zach’s face—the barest acknowledging lift of one eyebrow—that told Allie he was impressed. She was surprised that the Whiscombe name meant anything to him. “I’ll be going back to the city to take these to him,” she continued, “next week, probably.”

“And will you be returning to the Cape after that?” Zach was struggling to remember his own advice to himself.
A light touch
, he was telling himself.
Keep it light, damn it
.

“Sure. Adam’s got some big project in the works, and he’s going to be needing me up here. He’ll have plenty for me to do. I expect I’ll be back and forth all summer.”

“Of course,” Zach said, his eyes now flashing blackly, his own good advice to himself completely vanished from his thoughts. “Of course you will. I should have realized. I’ll just bet Adam will be keeping you busy!” He couldn’t control his anger any longer. He reached across the little table and took the mug from her hand, setting it roughly onto the galley counter, the remaining coffee splashing over its edge. “Well, I’d hate to get in the way of all that important work you have to do for Adam and his damned project. And I know you need to get back to your busy schedule, so I won’t keep you any longer. Forgive me if I don’t escort you back to your car, but I’m sure you can find your way.”

Allie didn’t need any encouragement to get out of there. She was already on her feet and was climbing the ladder steps, with Zach’s last words rising angrily after her as she reached the deck.

“Thanks for the tour, Zach,” she called back at him sarcastically as she stepped up from the cockpit and over
Sea Smoke’s
rail, onto the float. “And thanks for the coffee. I’ll be sure to let Adam know how hospitable the natives are.” She was so angry, she didn’t care if the full force of her fury reached him or not.

She needed to get away quickly. In a rage, she packed up her things, thinking as she looked at the painting on the easel that the image on the paper didn’t begin to tell the real story of the beautiful boat and its infuriating owner.

She hauled the painting and her materials quickly up the ramp to the Cherokee, tossed everything into the backseat, and then climbed in behind the wheel. It was only then, after she’d turned on the motor, that she succumbed to the irresistible impulse, and let her glance return to the boat. He was nowhere in sight.

She didn’t understand it. Just mention Adam’s name and the man got crazy. Allie’s small chin came forward, her lips setting in firm resolution. But that doesn’t mean he can act like a clod!

She steeled herself against the memory of his caressing gaze, the intriguing, masculine power that had surrounded her, his gentle touch on her face. Full of righteous fury, she put the car in gear and drove away down the dock, being careful not to let herself look back again.

Even if she had looked back, she would not have been able to see him, inside
Sea Smoke
’s cabin, leaning back against the galley top, sipping from a mug of coffee. She would not have seen him watching her through the forward porthole as she loaded up her car and drove away. And she would not have seen how he put his mug down on the tabletop in front of him and closed his eyes disgustedly.

“Good going, Zach,” he said aloud, his voice heavy with the sarcasm he was directing against himself. “That was a really good job you just did of keeping your cool with that woman. I’m really impressed by that fine display of interpersonal skill and sophistication.” He covered his eyes with his hand, his black brows drawn together angrily. “Ah, Zach,” he said, more quietly still, “I’ve never known you to be such a fool.”

Chapter Five

A
llie was careful to avoid the dock area for the next few days. The last thing in the world she wanted, she told herself, was to run into that insufferable man. The trouble was, no matter how busy she kept herself, her concentration was repeatedly invaded by those deep blue eyes under the black brows, the broad mouth with its easy smile and its hidden sorrow, the scent of a newly washed denim shirt.

Unfortunately, her encounter with Zach had reawakened her old sense that, somehow, she didn’t “belong.” It had been many years since Allie had felt the pain of those early wounds, at least consciously, but Zach’s abrupt dismissal of her, for no good reason that she could understand, and her feeling that she had entered alien—and maybe hostile—territory, stirred old anxieties. Every time she drove off in the Cherokee, exploring the surrounding beaches and wooded places for good painting sites, she was reminded that nothing of her difficult childhood even remotely resembled the beauty and comfort of this affluent and long-established community. Allie had made what peace she could with her youthful losses, but one of her defenses against the pain of rejection was her quick temper, a prickly manner concealing her old vulnerability. Zach’s behavior had opened the door on the vulnerability, forcing her to raise her defenses. Having slammed that door closed again, Allie was determined to keep it closed.

* * *

Several days of good, solid work had passed and Allie was beginning to feel that she had successfully taken control of her life again. She had enough preliminary sketches to put together a portfolio for Adam, and she had already emailed a set of photos to him to give him an advance look at the work she was doing. She had all the seascapes she wanted and was looking forward to driving, next morning, through the hilly, boggy places filled with cranberry and blueberry shrubs, confident that she would find the perfect landscape subject to complement the sketches that were already done. Only a few days remained before she was to fly back to New York for the Whiscombe show and these last few pieces would be all she needed for Adam to gauge her progress on his mysterious project.