Tattered Innocence (20 page)

She spun away from him and swayed off
balance. She grabbed the wooden ridge of her bunk, her breath
coming in short gasps. If the Bret episode hadn’t convinced her—and
Jake—she was a slut, the cocktail of passion still swilling her
body did. Why hadn’t she had the sense to hold back some of
herself. At least she’d have her dignity now. She had to get out of
there.

Mindlessly, she grabbed her backpack from
the bin under her bunk. She reached for her toothbrush in the head
and dropped it into the pack, shoved in her purse and a few
clothes. She fished her phone and charger from their spot tucked
against the hull. Shouldering the pack, she grabbed her basketball.
The voice in her head chanted,
You’re weak just like your
mother.

Behind her, Jake’s silence screamed.

Rachel slid open the hatch. “Take me ashore
or you’ll have to swim for the dinghy when you need it.” She
climbed out of the cabin into the rainless air.

The weather, like her mood, had changed. Sun
forked through the clouds and glinted off the slick deck making the
threat of a hurricane seem as remote as Jake’s loving her—or Bret’s
loving her, for that matter.

Jake followed her aboveboard. “Where are you
going? You can’t walk back to your car. The marina must be fifteen
miles from here.”

Rachel clambered into the dinghy, dropping
her basketball.

It gave a sad bounce and rolled to the
center of the boat.

“My aunt lives out here, a mile tops.”

Jake stood on the deck above her and scanned
the wooded shoreline closest to their anchorage. He untied the
dinghy from the
Queen
and dropped into the boat. “You going
to tell me what you’re hacked off about?”

Rachel stared over his shoulder. She wasn’t
angry about the kiss. Mortified? Yes. Overwhelmed by the mammoth
emotions Jake stirred? Check. Listening to the sound of her heart
cracking in half? Pretty much.

Jake jammed the oars into the oarlocks and
maneuvered the boat toward shore. He rowed hard, his mouth set in a
grim line.

As they approached the muddy, sloped shore,
Rachel braced herself for the boat’s slam into the bank.

At the last minute, Jake threw the oars into
the boat and grabbed an overhanging tree branch. The dinghy slid to
a stop.

Rachel peered at the ten-foot climb up the
muddy bank. She hoisted herself out of the boat and struggled up
the incline using spindly trees for hand and footholds. As she
neared the top of the slope, the basketball slipped from under her
elbow and snaked its way down to the water. Jake scooped it up and
planted a foot on the muddy slope, holding the ball up toward
Rachel.

As she reached for it, Jake jerked it out of
her reach. “Tell me. What are you running from?”

“You. Isn’t that obvious?”

“You’re afraid of me? What? You think I’m
going to hurt you?” He tossed the basketball into the bottom of the
boat with a huff of disgust.

Only my heart.
“Something like
that.”

“Rae, come down here and talk about it.
Then, if you still want to go, you can.”

A squirrel darted from tree to tree, his
tail floating behind him.

“I’ve slept in the same room with you for
months. Don’t you think you can trust me?”

It was herself she didn’t trust. She moved
up the bank.

“You were running when you met me. But I’m
not Bret. It was just a kiss. Not a big deal. Come on, get back in
the dinghy.”

Rachel clamped her lips together.
Sure,
no big deal. Right.

Jake knifed the oars into the smooth water
of the cove as he watched Rachel disappear over the rise of the
bank. Solitude draped his shoulders like a twenty-pound overcoat.
Terrors crouched in the cavern of his chest—hurricane winds
blasting the
Queen
against the trees, Rachel, gone like
Gabs.

He’d struck out trading up at Gilford Prep,
the Tri Delts in college, and Gabs. Now he’d run off someone from
his own social strata. Maybe he should try picking up girls outside
Walmart. He slammed Rachel’s basketball against the side of the
dinghy with his foot.

He had no claim on Rachel. She was free to
walk anytime. Even in the middle of a hurricane. And maybe it was
better if she did. How was he supposed to know kissing her would
make him want to throw out all the plans he’d made for his life?
All the love he’d felt for Gabrielle.

He rowed—dig, heave, replace. Dig, heave,
replace. Dig, heave, replace—the rhythmic expulsion of energy raked
off the top layer of his ragged emotions.

He should have gone with the instinct that
told him kissing Rachel would screw up their working relationship.
All he wanted was to go on kissing her. Instead, he might lose one
of the closest friends he’d ever had and a superb crewman.
Brilliant.

As he neared the
Queen,
the wind
screeched through the rigging. Right now he needed to survive this
hurricane. Alone.

That night he lay in his bunk in the dark
conserving the marine battery. Wind whistled through the cove,
clanging the rigging overhead. He popped up and peered out the
porthole to see if the
Queen
dragged anchor. The National
Weather Service had downgraded Kendra to a tropical storm as she
veered northeast back into the Atlantic.

Tell that to the wind.

If Rachel were here, they’d swap histories
to get through the storm. Since meeting Hall last week, he wanted
to know the rest of her family. He wanted to know everything about
her—like why the cartwheels over a C minus? But he didn’t know if
he’d get the chance to find out. And he couldn’t envision the
business thriving without her.

He sighed, feeling again Rachel’s angles
melt into him in their kiss, all softness and heat. Of course, he
wanted her—wanted her now, just remembering the kiss. Any guy would
respond to a kiss like that. But that didn’t mean he’d lose
control. Geez, didn’t a year of good behavior with Gabs count for
anything? Too many years of good behavior before that? She didn’t
have to run away from him. And a world-class kiss was nothing to be
embarrassed about.

He had kissed Gabs hundreds of times, but
she’d only dished out teaspoons of herself. All of Rachel came
through her kiss—her heart, body, trust, essence.

The kiss had been a spontaneous celebration
of their dangerous run along the coast. But it morphed into more
the instant his lips touched hers—connecting them deeper than the
physical, deeper than he wanted to connect. Could they rewind to
friendship?

He sat up and tossed his sleeping bag to the
stern, all hope of sleep abandoned. Who was he kidding? The only
way a kiss like that could be satisfied was in bed.

Wet drops shook loose from a pine growing at
the top of the bank and trickled down Rachel’s arm, chilling her as
much as facing Jake. She watched the back of his head as he rowed
toward where she stood on the bank.

When Aunt Winnie had finally come home from
buying out Winn Dixie, Rachel had tried to sleep in her guest room
as the storm outside subsided and the one inside ramped up.

Something deep in her had latched onto Jake
in that kiss. The passion in his eyes, in his voice, when he said
her name, had eclipsed Bret’s pale imitation. But she could only
imagine two choices—Jake still in love with Gabrielle or Jake on
the rebound.

A balled-up sweatshirt of a cloud passed
overhead blotting out the sun’s heat.

Wind rustled the pines that canopied her on
the bank. In her head they chanted the basketball cheer,
R-E-B-O-U-N-D, rebound!

Jake coasted toward her in the dinghy,
looking over his shoulder at the muddy shore beneath her feet.

She stopped the bow with her foot and
clomped into the center of the boat. The dinghy rocked, and she
grabbed Jake’s shoulder, her fingertips digging into his collarbone
and yesterday’s desire.

She climbed past him and took a seat in the
stern, her hand disconnecting from his shoulder. She pressed her
palm into her stomach, smashing down the memory.

His stony gaze focused on her.

Jake deserved an explanation. “Hall called
me irresponsible for ditching you in the middle of a hurricane
threat.” Her brother’s words from yesterday’s call still rankled.
As if they had switched places, now she was the child and Hall, the
parent.

A muscle jumped in Jake’s cheek as he rowed.
“We’ll sail the
Queen
home today.”

“I’m sorry. Hall was right. My meltdown
could have endangered you and the
Queen.
”

Jake measured her with his eyes, not
breaking the tug and glide rhythm of his strokes.

She fixed her gaze on a day’s growth on his
jaw.

She hugged her knees to her chest
.
She’d thought she loved Bret, but she’d only obsessed over him. How
could she trust her judgment now? It didn’t matter. By the time she
figured out what she felt, Jake’s rebound would be over. Sticking
around had sounded a lot more doable before Jake’s kiss. Now it
felt like masochism.

She filled her lungs and released the air,
gathering the strength to say the words she needed to say. She
opened her mouth. Closed it.

She had to do this to survive. She cleared
her throat. “I’d like you to hire a replacement for me.”

The oars halted in mid air. The color
drained from Jake’s face as water from the paddles dripped
concentric circles into the lagoon. “You’re quitting over one lousy
kiss?”

Lousy?
She folded her arms across her
chest, bravado lifting her chin. “I think it would be best.”

“Not for me. And you love the
Queen
,
sailing. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Look, I
won’t kiss you again. I’ve been not-kissing you since Bret sailed.”
He raked the oars through the water, jerking the dinghy forward. “I
don’t want you to quit.”

He’d wanted to kiss her since Bret sailed
with them? Warmth carbonated under her ribs, but the cynicism Bret
had generated doused it. “Doesn’t matter. I’m still quitting.”

“You’re worried about being off the playing
field—not getting any closer to marriage and babies?”

Rachel shrugged one shoulder. Let him think
that if he wanted.

Jake pursed his lips, his brows lifting. “I
liked kissing you—maybe we could—” He pulled an oar into the boat,
and motioned between them. They coasted up behind the
Queen.

“Are you whacked? You’d marry me to keep me
crewing for you? Forget it. If that’s the best offer I ever get,
never mind.” She swung up the transom ladder. “Or did you just
offer sex and babies?” Gloom swallowed her as she descended into
the aft cabin.

“Yeah, I’m all about sex.” Jake’s sarcasm
knifed into the musty-salty air of the cabin. “What do you take me
for?” He shook his head.

Jake hurled the painter rope against the
Queen’s
transom and cursed. The rope sunk into the murky
water. The last thing he needed was a second proposal thrown in his
face.

He yanked the painter into a soggy mess in
the bottom of the dinghy and shoved away from the
Queen.
He
rowed for the mouth of the lagoon, steam to burn.

And why had Rachel been pissed? So what if
it was spur of the moment? Wouldn’t most girls take a proposal as a
compliment? Apparently, Rachel wasn’t most girls. She couldn’t even
recognize one, much less be happy about it. He was so over her
issues.

He heaved the boat into the waterway. A
stiff wind blew against his back, and his mind emptied of
everything but the strain of his muscles as he leaned and pulled
against the current. His deltoids, biceps, and triceps burned from
exertion. The wood of the oars rubbed angry blisters into his
palms. He twisted to peer at the three-foot ocean chop looming at
the head of the waterway in the Atlantic.

That stupid kiss. Yet, he couldn’t quite
wish it away. A hundred times in the past twelve hours, the kiss
had replayed in his head leaving a citronella coil of sweetness and
heat, burning to a center glow in his gut.

Anger spent, he circled back toward the
lagoon and pulled the oars aboard. The dinghy drifted toward the
cove, propelled by the elements. What was wrong with marrying
Rachel? The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea.
They’d worked together like a team from the start. Friendship
sprouted. Then, attraction.

When she’d said she was quitting, it felt
like the rending of the mainsail all over again. No way could he
let Rachel walk away. Not without the fight of her life.

Rachel snapped the last sail cover into
place, bracing against the
Queen’s
bounce in her slip.

The National Weather Service may have
downgraded Hurricane Kendra this morning, but wind still buffeted
New Smyrna Beach as if she hadn’t gotten the memo.

Jake’s hand closed around her sweatshirt
sleeve. “We need to talk.”

Now
they had to talk, after sailing
up the coast without a word—anticipating each other’s next move
like a well-rehearsed dance?

The wind flung Jake’s curls away from his
face.

She focused on the utility lines looped over
his shoulder. “I want to get into dry clothes.”

“Fine. Meet me in the dining nook in
five.”

Breaking out of his grasp, she headed for
the aft cabin. The sooner they talked, the sooner she could pack
her stuff and leave. She’d have to give him two weeks’ notice,
maybe longer if he couldn’t fill the position immediately. At least
with leftover hurricane rain and wind, they wouldn’t be sailing
this week.

The scent of hot raspberry tea from the cup
steeping on the table wrapped around her as she slid onto the
dining bench. Jake’s attention to detail—her details—warmed her
like the cup in her hands. She spooned in sugar from the Tupperware
container Jake set on the table.