Bay of Rainbows Page 8

  She wanted to run away and hide. The responsibility was too great. Yet somehow one hand remained on the wheel and the other clasped the mainsail winch. As the seconds ticked by and Seawitch continued to cut a creamy path through the sapphire water, the tightness in her chest became a pain. She realised with a shock that, while waiting for the disaster she believed was inevitable, she had been holding her breath.

  She let it out gently, not wanting to do anything sudden or jerky. Wincing at the stiffness in her fingers, she loosened her grip on the steering-wheel and was amazed at how much more responsive the boat felt. Or was it she who was more receptive?

  Screwing up her courage, Polly altered course very slightly, turning the winch handle to let the mainsail out just a fraction. She watched the way the wind filled it and felt the boat dig deeper into the water, moving under her like some wild creature straining against a leash.

  Her heart leapt with fright and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  Forcing herself to keep her actions smooth and steady, she tightened the sail again and turned the wheel a few degrees the other way. Seawitch came upright, her movement more demure and restrained.

  Polly grinned in delight, revelling in a heart-swelling sense of power. She had always loved to watch the sailing on Saturday afternoons and summer evenings when boats of every shape and size criss-crossed the wide estuary like multi-hued butterflies. Thrilled by the beauty of the scene, she had sometimes felt a twinge of envy for the people on board.

  But now not only was she on board one of the arrow-like, tall-masted ocean racers she had so admired, she was actually in control.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Nathan’s voice floated up from below.

  Polly jumped. ‘Just getting the feel of her,’ she shouted back recklessly.

  Not even the best vintage champagne could give this feeling of exhilaration. If the rest of the voyage was as smooth and simple as this, she didn’t have a thing to worry about. At least, not as far as the sailing was concerned.

  Totally absorbed in holding the course while at the same time tightening the mainsail as the breeze grew gusty and erratic, Polly was surprised when Nathan emerged from the companionway. ‘Have you finished already?’ she asked.

  ‘Mmm.’ He sat down. Resting his elbows on the deck behind him, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes. The white T-shirt pulled tight across his broad chest. Caught by the breeze, the lower edge flipped back to reveal a tautly muscled belly covered with fine dark hair which arrowed down beneath the waistband of his close-fitting denim shorts. Heaving a sigh, he stretched his bronzed legs out. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he enquired.

  Quickly dragging her gaze from his splendid body, Polly stared with intense concentration up at the mainsail, then down at the compass as embarrassment flamed her face. How had he known?

  Then common sense took over. He’d had his eyes closed. He couldn’t have observed her intent scrutiny which was fuelled by an unfamiliar feeling she found deeply shocking.

  Raising heavy lids a fraction, he cocked a quizzical eyebrow at her. ‘Well? Are you?’

  ‘Enjoying myself? I certainly am. This is fantastic.’ Her wide grin was partly relief. Let that be a lesson to you, she warned herself sternly. Then, realising that for a supposedly experienced sailor her enthusiasm was a little over the top, she added quickly and with complete honesty, ‘I’ve never sailed a boat like Seawitch before. She’s beautifully balanced and incredibly responsive.’

  ‘Boats and women,’ he said in a voice that reminded her of melting dark chocolate. ‘It’s all in the handling, so I’m told.’ Though his eyes were narrowed against the sun, there was no mistaking the glitter in them, and Polly felt her skin tingle as she coloured.

  ‘So you’re told?’ she repeated drily. ‘I had the distinct impression you’re an expert.’

  ‘On boats,’ he agreed.

  ‘Not women?’ She couldn’t resist the ironic dig. She’d put up with enough of them from him.

  Turning his head, he gazed out over the stern, his face as impassive as that of an Apache chief. ‘Any man who claims to be an expert on women quite obviously isn’t.’

  It certainly wasn’t the answer Polly had expected. ‘You amaze me. Surely a man with your experience—’

  ‘What would you know about my experience?’ he cut in, his tone scathing.

  ‘Well, obviously only what I read in the papers,’ she began. ‘But—’

  ‘And you believe what you read in the papers?’ His cynical taunt made her feel about fourteen.

  ‘I tend to when the same story appears time and time again,’ she retorted. ‘Of course, the woman in the photographs with you is usually different. But the caption is always the same. “Nathan Bryce with his constant companion

  . . .” ’ she snorted. ‘With so many constant companions to keep happy I’m amazed you find the time, not to mention the energy, to do any work at all.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Every job has its drawbacks.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Polly gave a dry smile. ‘It must be really tough being chased by hordes of gorgeous women.’

  Irritation crossed his face. ‘Most of them don’t know the first thing about sailing.’

  ‘And it’s important that they should?’

  ‘Of course.’ He stretched. Deliberate or not, the movement made Polly acutely aware of his superb physique. She felt a wrenching tug of attraction and swiftly crushed it.

  ‘After all,’ he went on, turning the full force of his piercing gaze on her, ‘you have to talk some time.’

  Blushing, Polly glanced away. Yet she still saw his hard proud profile, softened only by the unexpected generosity of his mouth. Immediately her treacherous mind began to fill with images of what would be happening during the silences.

  She recalled the swift bruising kiss he had given her in the restaurant. And though she longed to hurl some caustic retort at him, the words simply wouldn’t come.

  What would it be like to feel those lips stray over her body in warm and tender exploration?

  And his hands, so strong and capable with the sails, yet so light on the wheel. What would they feel like gliding over her bare skin? She swallowed, forcing the enchanting, tormenting images out of her mind.

  ‘Of course, I wouldn’t have that problem with you, would I?’ he said softly.

  ‘You wouldn’t have any problems with me,’ Polly snapped, glaring at him, her chin high.

  He said nothing, simply raising his eyebrows.

  She groaned inaudibly, and wished the deck would open up and swallow her.

  What she had meant was that there was absolutely no chance of her joining his lists of conquests. But he had interpreted her remark to mean exactly the opposite.

  Explanations would only make matters ten times worse. In any case, how could she look into his eyes and convince him she wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole when every time he came within a few feet of her she quivered inside, remembering the fierce and all too brief pressure of his mouth on hers?

  A public kiss, it had been fleeting. And despite what he’d said, less a token of affection than a means of throwing her off balance. Yet the sensation was indelibly stamped on her memory. And to her shame she longed to feel it again.

  Her face on fire, she looked at her watch. ‘Lord, is that the time? I’d better get lunch.’

  ‘Running away, little girl?’ he taunted softly.

  Polly tilted her chin, rage at his cruel teasing lending her courage. ‘Take a look in the mirror, Nathan Bryce.’

  He was suddenly still. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Forget it. You take the wheel, I’m going—’

  He stood up, blocking her escape. ‘You’re going nowhere until you explain.’

  Polly moistened her lips. ‘A different woman every day?’ Her brows arched and she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t take a psychologist to see that it’s you who’s running.’

  ‘Now hang on a minute,’ he snapped. ‘Most of the wom
en I’m photographed with are simply social acquaintances.’

  ‘Is that what you call it?’ Polly retorted, throwing his own words back at him.

  His features tightened. ‘As for being my “constant companion”, most of the time I don’t even know their names.’

  ‘Please!’ With an expression of pained distaste Polly closed her eyes briefly to silence him. ‘The sordid details of your liaisons are of no interest to me.’

  Nathan’s look as he towered over her sent cold shivers rippling down her spine. ‘That’s strange,’ he mused softly. ‘I got the distinct impression you were jealous.’

  ‘Jealous? Me?’ Polly laughed, and wished it sounded more convincing.

  ‘Well, you do seem to be remarkably interested in my love life.’

  ‘Love is not the word I’d use to describe your activities,’ Polly said caustically. ‘And as for being jealous, you’ve got to be joking.’ She glared at him, trying to project pity, annoyance, and exasperation all at the same time. ‘Isn’t that just typical? I make an observation about a recurring item in a newspaper and you interpret it as jealousy.’ She shook her head. ‘Talk about vain.’

  His gaze travelled over her face, and the look in his eyes made her ache inside. ‘So much fire,’ he murmured. ‘You really are beautiful when you’re angry.’

  ‘And you’re a walking cliché,’ Polly retorted, her cheeks scalding hot. It was definitely time to put some space between them. ‘I’m going to get lunch. Will sandwiches and coffee suit you?’

  ‘Is there a choice?’

  ‘Not if you want me to prepare it.’

  ‘That’s what you’re here for. At least,’ he added, making her stomach knot, ‘it’s one of the reasons.’

  Before she could respond he continued, ‘Sandwiches and coffee will be fine. I’ll eat anything provided someone else gets it ready. I’m not the world’s greatest cook.’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Polly retorted. ‘In fact,’ she delivered the shaft of a sweet smile, ‘I wonder you even find time to eat.’

  ‘God, woman,’ Nathan’s eyes glittered dangerously, ‘you do push your luck.’

  With a brisk nod Polly relinquished the wheel and dived down the companionway. Bracing herself against the movement of the boat, she clutched the crash bar in front of the cooker with one hand and pressed the other to her face. Her cheeks were burning and her heart hammered against her ribs as though trying to escape. She felt elated and furious, and trembled with nervous energy.

  She could hardly believe what she’d just done. Never in her entire life had she spoken to anyone the way she had just spoken to Nathan Bryce. But it was his own fault. He had asked for it.

  Rinsing her hands with cold water, she splashed some on her face. She had to get a grip on herself. There was no denying he was an exceptionally attractive man. But responding to Nathan Bryce’s flirting was about as wise as striking matches to find a gas leak.

  He knew all the moves. He had probably invented them. She, on the other hand, was in unknown territory. Giles had hurt her badly. Now, when she looked back, she couldn’t help wondering—had she really loved him? She had thought so at the time. But if someone loved you, how could they treat you so cruelly? Yet Giles was a lamb compared to the wolfish cunning of Nathan Bryce.

  Polly poured the steaming coffee into a vacuum jug and wrapped the plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches lightly in clingfilm. Then, taking two mugs from the cupboard, she spooned sugar into hers and carried the lot carefully up the ladder.

  Sitting in one corner of the moulded seat which ran round three sides of the cockpit, she bit into a sandwich, suddenly ravenous. Nathan was seated in the opposite corner, one hand easy on the wheel as he helped himself from the plate.

  Gazing out over the water, the sun hot on her bare limbs, Polly sighed and allowed herself to relax.

  ‘Though this isn’t what I’d have chosen,’ Nathan murmured, ‘I have to admit there are worse ways of spending a few weeks. So much of my time is spent designing or in meetings it’s all too easy to forget that this,’ he gazed around him, ‘is the purpose of it all.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Polly refused to comment. In one sense he was right; the trip itself was a wonderful change from her daily routine too. But having him as her only companion meant she had to be constantly on her guard. Against her own treacherous thoughts as much as against him.

  ‘We’ll take on fresh food and water when we reach Ibiza,’ Nathan announced.

  ‘How far is that?’ Eyes closed, Polly was enjoying the warm breeze ruffling her hair.

  ‘About four hundred and thirty miles.’ She heard him reach for another sandwich.

  ‘Surely we can’t do that distance in a day?’

  Nathan laughed. ‘Seawitch is fast, but not that fast. It’ll probably take us two and a half.’

  Polly looked across at him, feeling a twinge of unease. ‘So where will we be anchoring overnight?’

  His brows climbed. ‘We won’t. Surely you realised that? Apart from taking on essential supplies, the trip is non-stop. We’ll take turns on watch.’

  Her appetite vanished. In fact, she felt decidedly queasy. Returning her half-eaten sandwich to the plate, she picked up her mug, hoping the hot coffee would force the lump of half-chewed food down her suddenly constricted throat.

  Nathan scanned the sky. ‘It looks as if we might be in for a bit of a blow,’ he remarked.

  Polly tipped her head back. A thin veil of high cloud had made the sun hazy. The jaunty white puffs had become ragged and dirty grey. The sea had lost its sparkle and now looked leaden and lumpy. Her stomach lurched. The change had been so sudden. Even the breeze had a keener edge.

  Nathan stood up. ‘I’m going to shorten sail.’ He indicated the tray. ‘You get that lot below and break out the wet-weather gear. The oilskins locker is in the passage behind the chart table. Put on a sweater, and bring me one as well. Move yourself, girl,’ he rapped. ‘Things happen fast out here at this time of year.’

  Clive had warned her. But with temperatures in the high sixties, a gentle breeze, and uninterrupted sunshine from a cornflower-blue sky, she hadn’t believed him.

  Heart pounding, Polly stumbled one- handed down the companionway and dumped mugs, flask, and the plate containing the last few sandwiches in the nearer sink.

  Below deck the boat’s movement seemed more pronounced. Lurching through the saloon into her own cabin, she grabbed a sweater from the locker beneath her berth and slammed the cabin door behind her.

  Tugging the sweater on over her head as she hurried aft, she told herself there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Having designed and built this boat, Nathan knew its capabilities better than anyone. Besides, he was one of the world’s top yachtsmen. So if it was going to get rough she couldn’t be in safer hands.

  Nathan Bryce safe? Who was she trying to kid? All she was interested in right now, she told herself firmly as she banished tantalising, dangerous thoughts concerning those strong brown hands, was his ability to keep them afloat.

  In the passage she wrenched open the locker and hauled the oilskins off their hangers.

  ‘Polly,’ Nathan shouted down the companionway, ‘while you’re down there, close the hatches.’

  Dumping the oilskins on the floor, she fastened the saloon deck hatch, then hurried to his cabin and fastened that hatch. She was already on her way out when she remembered his sweater. She found one, shut the locker and the cabin door, scooped up the oilskins, and scrambled up the companionway into the cockpit.

  Nathan was still on the coach roof lashing the reefed mainsail to stop it chafing.

  As she struggled into the stiff shiny yellow jacket and leggings, obviously made for someone twice her size, Nathan jumped down into the cockpit. He slid the companionway hatch cover forward and fastened the doors, shutting off the interior of the yacht.

  Watching as he pulled on his oilskins with an ease born of long practice, Polly shivered violently. Isolated in this smal
l square well in the deck, they were exposed to anything the elements cared to throw at them.

  Nathan tossed her a safety harness. ‘Get that on, then take the wheel. There are a couple of things I want to do before it reaches us.’

  Polly pushed her arms through the webbing straps that reminded her of the restrainer her eldest sister used to stop her adventurous offspring clambering out of their prams and buggies. Her throat was so dry that it hurt. ‘Before what reaches us?’ she croaked, hanging on to the wheel as if it were a lifebelt.

  Nathan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘That.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Polly glanced round. Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the straight black line of a squall bearing down on them.

  ‘Watch your course,’ Nathan yelled, seizing the wheel from her and turning it as Seawitch lost the wind and wallowed. The headsail flapped uselessly, snaking and snapping the ropes.

  ‘S-sorry,’ Polly stammered above the wind. Off balance and staggering, she grabbed for a hand-hold.

  Taking one hand off the wheel, Nathan reached out and hooked his fingers through the front of her harness. Polly caught her breath, instinctively jerking backwards away from him. But he didn’t let go.

  ‘Don’t you think this might be more effective if it was attached to something?’ he enquired acidly, indicating a stainless steel anchorage point.

  ‘I—’ she started, but bit the words off. She was supposed to be an experienced sailor. How could she tell him she’d never used one before? ‘I’ve only got two hands, and you—’ A strange hissing sound made her look over her shoulder.

  A wall of water extended from the heavy black cloud to the sea, which frothed, briefly flattened by the force of the deluge. The huge drops were so close together that they reflected the light, and the rain billowed and rippled like a silver-white curtain.

  The hiss was followed by a roar as a sudden burst of wind hit them, hurling Seawitch forward like a blow from a giant fist.

  Spume was whipped from heaving pewter-grey waves. The punishing rain made it difficult even to breathe. Mixed with spray, it streamed over Polly’s face and ran in cold trickles down her neck. Her hair was plastered to her scalp, and she had to keep blinking and wiping her eyes in order to see at all.