Smooth Sailing. Lori Wilde

ended up talking to one of her coworkers starboard, but every now and then, she’d dart a glance in his direction. When their eyes met, she’d quickly glance away. Can’t handle the heat, huh, angel?

      Corner her. Kiss her, hissed one of those lusty, inappropriate impulses.

      Nope. No way. He’d lasted this long without giving in. He could certainly last one more night. Haley deserved much better than a quick one-night stand, but even a pious man had his share of sexual fantasies, right? And when it came to the pious spectrum, Jeb slid to the not-so-much side of the scale.

      She was unlike the sophisticated society women that he usually dated, women who could shrug in and out of an affair like their designer clothes. Haley was honest and down-to-earth and direct, and he was a jerk for even entertaining the fantasies dancing around in his head.

      He made the rounds, talking to his party guests, but no matter where he was on the boat, his gaze was drawn back to her again and again. A full moon climbed the sky, setting the mood and tugging at the tides. Haley stood in shadows with her head tilted up, bathing that side of her face in moonlight, and she let out a light laugh that stirred his desire.

       Do something. Move. Drink. Eat. Talk to your other guests. Just stop staring at her!

      He went toward her. She stood with her back against the mainsail mast, her spine as straight as the post. She had great posture, shoulders squared and alert.

      People stood around her, drinks in hand, but he saw none of them. Moonlight glinted off her eyes; her lips were painted deep pink. He realized it was the first time he ever remembered seeing her wear lipstick. The wind ruffled her hair, which for once was not pulled into a stern ponytail or tight bun. The breeze molded the dress to her slender figure, hugging her hips and stopping several inches above her knees.

      His mammalian brain whispered, Claim her.

      Resist. You are not going to succumb. One more night and you’ll be out to sea. Within a week, you’ll be holding Jackie in your arms and the wait will be worth it.

      Love the one you’re with, prodded the most primal part of him.

      He snuffed that out.

      Or at least tried to.

      Haley was watching him warily.

      He moved closer.

      She slunk away.

      Seeing her in this environment—his environment—was novel and exciting, and he simply reacted, moving forward as she slipped away from him behind other guests.

      The chase was on.

      The part of his DNA that was thousands of years old stirred, eager for the hunt. His body quivered and his heart hammered against his rib cage. All his senses were aroused.

      His civilized veneer vanished. Raw, aching need took over. Need so strong it scared him.

      Back off! Wake up. Snap out of it.

      Treacherous body.

      He shook his head but could not seem to stave off the sense of urgency shoving his blood through his veins. He was a lion and she was the most beautiful lioness on the plains. She mesmerized him and he was aware of everything about her. It was disorienting, this acute sense of awareness.

      His muscles were tensed, the hairs on his arms raised, a thrill shivered through his nerve endings. He felt well and truly alive, but the jolt was nerve-frazzling and worrisome.

      Around and around the boat they went, Jeb pursuing, Haley fleeing. It was fun and he was quite enjoying himself, even though he knew nothing would come of this strange cat-and-mouse game. Didn’t want anything to come of it.

      Until a group of people cornered him for a toast and Haley gave him the slip.

      HEART IN HER THROAT, a helpless smile on her face, Haley hid behind a large man to catch her breath and then rushed down the steps as best she could to the lower deck. What was this weird game they were playing and why was she playing it? Why didn’t she just leave?

      Why? Because Jeb had lit a fire inside her that scared her silly. Being with him was like driving a Ferrari on the Autobahn with a learner’s permit. Roadkill. She’d been there before. Refused to be there again.

      She had to get off this boat. Coming to the lower deck had been a mistake. He could corner her down here.

      Alarmed by that thought, she moved to climb the steps but she wasn’t accustomed to stilettos. It took more skill than one might suppose. She tripped and nose-dived forward, wine splashing out of her glass. She would have hit the deck if a masculine hand hadn’t reached out to catch her.

      “Are you okay?”

      She glanced up to see Rick Armand, a respiratory therapist who worked at St. Michael’s General Hospital. He’d asked her out several times, but she’d put him off. She considered him a bit smarmy with his oversize porn-star moustache and the way he clicked his tongue and used his fingers like pistols, pretending he was shooting her. Still, she let him rescue her from Jeb. “I’m fine.”

      “You lost your drink,” Rick said. “Let’s get you another.”

      She was about to say no, when she glanced back to see Jeb giving her the eye. “Yes, that sounds good. Make it a salty dog, please,” she said extra loudly so Jeb would hear.

      Rick took her empty wineglass and gave it to a passing waiter. “Would you like to come with me?”

      Yes…yes, she would.

      She accepted Rick’s hand and allowed him to lead her to the bar. It took everything she had in her not to look back to see the reaction on Jeb’s face. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared what he was thinking about her going off with Rick.

      As they stepped up to the bar, Rick placed a hand to the small of her back. Haley moved sideways and Rick dropped his hand. “Salty dog for the lady,” he told the bartender. “And I’ll have a beer.”

      “Thank you,” she told him.

      “I’ve never seen you looking like this,” Rick said, raking a lascivious gaze over her. “I like it.”

      “Moment of temporary insanity,” Haley mumbled and tugged at the hem. A bandanna had more material in it. How did Ahmaya wear these skimpy dresses without feeling overexposed?

      “I like it.”

      The bartender placed their drinks on the bar. Rick reached over, plucked a pink flamingo stir stick from the holder, dropped it into Haley’s drink and stirred the salty dog before handing it over to her.

      “The alcohol tends to settle to the bottom. You have to stir it to make sure it’s completely mixed. Don’t want that last swallow to be pure alcohol. Might go straight to your head.” Rick leered as if that was exactly what he was hoping would happen.

      See, this sort of thing was precisely why she didn’t like wearing short skirts and stilettos. It had guys dripping all over her.

      “Thanks for watching out for me,” she said sarcastically and stirred her drink vigorously.

      “My pleasure.” Rick showed a row of small, crowded teeth. Shark.

      What was she doing here with this dweeb? Oh, yeah, avoiding Jeb. She looked around for him, didn’t see him. Thank heavens.

      They stepped away from the bar, walking to the back of the boat. Aft, she thought it was called. She touched the straw to her lips, took a swallow of the salty dog. Not bad. Tangy. Salty. Tart. She took another sip. Hmm, on second thought, it had a weird aftertaste she didn’t really like. Maybe she could dump the drink overboard.

      “Your eyes sparkle in this lighting,” Rick said. “And with the full moon behind you, the night is picture-perfect.”

      “Um.”

      Rick started