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Damn.
He tried to stare her down, but she wouldn’t look away. He held up a hand in surrender. “Okay. Elias asked for three weeks. That’s all you get. I’ll leave for Australia when we return.”
Did she flinch at the mention of his departure? Now, wouldn’t that be something?
He took another step into the room. “Do you understand me, Princess?”
She retraced her steps to stand before him, hands on hips. He almost grinned at that stubborn, familiar I’ll-argue-till-you-kiss-me-into-submission look. Oh, yeah, Princess, give me a reason to reach for you. He was nuts to think he’d make this trip unscathed.
Her pointed finger came within inches of his chest. He wondered if she dared not touch him for fear of where it would lead. Her nostrils flared in that ever-so-enticing way. “Never call me Princess, Del Rio. Just get me to Little Harbour as fast as you can.”
DANIEL STOWED THE LAST of Maria’s gear and climbed into the cockpit, wanting badly to break something. Elias’s words, You don’t run out on family, prodded him like a pitchfork. Family. What remained of his family was here at Reefside. Yet living with Maria’s emotional absence and physical presence made this last task seem futile.
Even worse were the last words she’d fired at him before the accident. Despite the exquisite love that bonded them, she had chosen to mistrust him. The look in her eyes when her accusations flew had branded his soul forever. He had been so busy these past months, working with Elias to restore Maria’s memory, that he hadn’t taken the time to sift through his own emotions from that fateful day.
Now they whipped around his head like a hurricane. If he was successful in helping Maria restore her memory, and if all became resolved between them, could he be safe in her love, knowing she’d turned from him once before?
Grabbing a polishing cloth, he settled for wiping down the pristine instrument panel at the helm one more time. If they weren’t scheduled to set sail in minutes, he’d guzzle a beer. Hell, he might anyway. His mouth was drier than the Tortugas.
Yanking open the door of the cockpit refrigerator, he pulled out a bottle of water. He swigged a huge gulp, glaring down the waterway leading to the ocean but seeing nothing.
A haze of guilt clouded his vision.
How could Elias expect him—trust him for God’s sake—to take Maria back to where all the trouble began? He and the old man knew the story. They had a deal. Now Elias had imposed his will, knowing Daniel could not refuse Maria. Elias was breaking the promise he’d made like some deity tossing a mere mortal from the clouds. And Daniel had agreed. He would do it as a favor…but for whom? Did he still harbor the hope of winning her back?
He slapped his forehead. What the devil was wrong with him? He was about to spend one long, sweet sail alone with her. Like a maiden voyage for both of them. A lot of ground could be covered in twenty-one days. This could be the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Seducing Maria could be a goddamn dream come true, if he could allow himself to trust her love once more. Quite an irony, since he’d spent a year ignoring the possibility that he might not want her love anymore. Up to this point, all he wanted was to have her wake up and remember him. Now he wondered what good it would do if she did.
The Honora would be a hotbed of emotions for him no matter what happened. If Maria were to fall in love with him once more, even without regaining her memory, he could seize the opportunity to teach her what they’d once shared. Best-case scenario was that she would remember the accident and still find her way to understand the truth—what really happened before the collision—and forgive Daniel. Then, their love might grow roots so deep, no one would ever be able to shake them apart.
But before he could claim her love again two things were needed: honesty and redemption. There had been no sign of either, but that could also have been because the opportunity had not arisen. Well, here he was, ready and waiting. The only woman who could bring about either possibility was Maria, and she didn’t have a clue.
He had been shocked when his hands shook as he started the engine. Acknowledging the tension he felt leaving the dock was hard. No matter what the courts had said. No matter what he knew had happened on that boat, he had been responsible for the accident. He was a licensed captain. His lack of control had caused the death of two women.
Granted, he knew the mechanics of operating a vessel. He understood the wind, the tides, could read the skies, understood navigation laws, but witnessing those broken bodies and the destruction of lives after the fact had crippled Daniel’s faith in his abilities.
Who was he kidding? He needed healing as much as Maria. That one truth he would give to Elias. The older man, better than anyone, understood why Daniel had remained marooned at Reefside while Maria continued to dodge him. Sometimes he wondered if what was precious between them had been destroyed when she doubted his love at the worst possible moment before the collision.
No matter. What was done was done. Her world had been stripped bare. He had lost confidence, and her love. What a joke. Now he had to overcome his own fears in order to sail to the place where their lives had been ruined.
He hung his head, briefly closing his eyes. Sometimes, it was best leaving the dead buried. Maybe Maria was better off starting over without him; he should jump off the Honora and head to Australia before it was too late. After all, if one stepped beyond the point of no return, well, there simply was no return.
Did he care?
Hell yes.
Because Maria couldn’t remember. It wasn’t fair that he held all the cards, because he did remember.
A groan escaped his lips. Like it or not, he’d accepted a lose-lose situation. Screwed if she remembered. Screwed if she didn’t. When all this was over, he’d head to those Brisbane races either a man redeemed, or a man doomed.
Well, his world had been ripped from him once before when his parents were killed in Chile. He understood how to live with loss. Maybe sacrificing his future with Maria was the price he’d pay for absolution.
So be it.
A motion on the green caught his eye. Maria stormed down the lawn toward the dock, her hair bouncing like a veil of midnight silk on her shoulders. Her dark, exotic eyes smoldered with a distress he could feel from where he stood, and she hadn’t even spotted him yet.
“Shit. Here we go.”
Her steps slowed to a cautious tread as she approached the wharf. She still hadn’t noticed Daniel. Panic tightened her features as she stared at the dock.
She stopped as if an invisible wall blocked her passage. Her chest heaved in quick breaths, tightening the thin, crimson fabric of her halter top.
Daniel’s gaze caressed her face then traveled slowly down her body, over the rise of her breasts, down to her waist, where an inch of tanned, flat stomach peeked out from the waistband of chino shorts. They stopped midthigh, exposing the long, tanned length of those unending legs that once knew the touch of his hand. Daniel stifled another groan as she jammed her paint-stained fists into her pockets and looked up, her eyes begging for help.
Her fear wrenched his heart. Damn his doubts. He bolted for the dock, and offered her a hand, a peace offering in more ways than one.
“Here, let me help you.”
Like a finger snap, her panic disappeared. Maria raked him with her gaze, glanced at his hand and ignored it.
“Did you stow my art supplies?”
Daniel rolled his eyes, flattening his palm against his board shorts. “You bet, Princess. Your twenty tons of paints, brushes and canvases. I’m glad you thought to pack at least one bikini.”
He headed back to the Honora. Over his shoulder he said, “Casting off in ten seconds, sweetheart.”
MARIA STARED AT DEL RIO as if he spoke a foreign language. This trip had been her idea. Why was she so terrified? She couldn’t move. Every muscle gripped her bones like a vise, refusing to yield. The sun burned hot on her head and shoulders. The monkeys laughing in the banyans around her studio called as if begging her to stay. The soft scent of grass blended with the brine of the Intracoastal as land feuded with water in her mind. Just watching the yacht sway at the dock made her stomach heave.
Her blood grew cold as the familiar rumble from the center of the sloop rose on the air. Oh, God. Del Rio already had the engine running. The acrid smell of exhaust churned her anxiety. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she watched him, one hundred percent pure, bona fide male, standing at the helm.
His colorful board shorts and a small rip in the shoulder of his sun-faded blue T-shirt made him look more like a surfer than the captain of the Honora as he checked the instruments. Poppa had reminded her that Daniel had sailed his entire life. Won awards for racing some of the most sophisticated sailboats. Oh, he could handle a helm all right. Those tanned hands looked more than capable. She just didn’t like what the sight of those strong, slender fingers did to her belly.
Damn. This was not about Del Rio. Boarding this ship was about Carmen and Momma. Enough.
With not even a glance in her direction, Del Rio jumped onto the dock and began untying the bowline. Next, he’d work his way to the spring line, the stern line, and then he’d cast off.
“Hold on, Captain. Give me a minute.”
Her palms itched. Perspiration drenched her, pissing her off royally. She didn’t expect this reaction and needed a moment to collect herself.
He faced her, arms open. “I have to be in Australia in three weeks. Let’s shove off.”
Inhaling a searing breath of earth and sea, Maria bolted forward. She didn’t stop to think until she was locked in her cabin, poised over the toilet, throwing up what little toast and tea she’d managed to eat at lunch.
The engine accelerated. They’d left the dock. The forward motion of the ship had her heaving again. She flushed the toilet and sat on the floor, her cheek pressed against the closed lid. Becoming panicked and ill had not been part of her plan.
She moaned as a thought occurred: maybe she hated sailing and Del Rio knew it. Maybe that was what he’d tried to tell her last night.
She slammed open the toilet lid and heaved once more.
DANIEL STRAINED TO HEAR any sound from below. He’d given Maria the bow cabin, which left him hard-pressed to hear anything, even through the open hatch topside. He hoped the snug but luxurious quarters would give her a sense of security since he felt her terror right down to his bones. Until she overcame that fear, they’d get nowhere. The familiar feel of the wheel beneath his hand sent a surge of pleasure through him. He’d be careful this time. He’d do everything by the book. Yet, no matter how sleek and fast the Honora, and how comfortable the wheel felt in his hands once more, the passage to the Bahamas would seem endless.
For both of them.
As the Honora glided down the waterway, Daniel glanced back at Reefside. Elias’s shock of silver hair revealed his presence on the rooftop terrace. Of course, the old man chose to witness the beginning of the end. Daniel should have known better. Loyalty to family ruled a Latin heart. Maria had to regain her memory before any of them could move forward.
Damn the bastard for knowing exactly what needed to be done.
CHAPTER THREE
THE RATTLING OF ANCHOR CHAIN woke Maria. She’d managed to move from the toilet to her bunk, more a bed in the center of the forward, V-shaped cabin, and fallen into a brief, dead sleep. She barely remembered flopping onto the bed. Somewhere in her haze she’d heard the three horn blasts signaling the bridge opening. But to drop anchor now meant they hadn’t entered open water. What was Del Rio thinking?
She rolled off the bed, her knees like rubber. She’d never been seasick in her life—that she could remember. And they hadn’t even left the Intracoastal.
Water. She needed water.
A bottle of mouthwash perched on the sink in the head. She rinsed her parched mouth, spitting out the burning liquid.
Her reflection in the mirror said she already looked like the dead. As she splashed water on her face, the gentle hum of the engine ceased. She stopped, listening. Why were they stopping? Maybe Del Rio had a change of heart. That had to be the answer. Not good. She might be sick, but she was determined to see this journey through. She opened the medicine cabinet, grateful to find the roll of antacids. Chewing two, she headed for the deck.
The warm, salt air caressed her face, a welcome change from the air-conditioning below. Del Rio had his back to her, snapping off the cap from a Modelo Especial. He tipped the beer to his lips and didn’t even turn to greet her.
“Why have you stopped?”
The Hillsboro Inlet Bridge lay off the stern, the inlet a football field’s distance off the bow. The ocean blanketed the horizon in turquoise luminescence beneath the setting sun. She looked back at Del Rio, his profile to her now as he gazed across the small harbor.
He took another swig. “I thought you might want a second chance to jump ship.”
Her enthusiasm for getting out to sea overrode her disquiet at his arrogance. A glistening bottle of water stood in the beverage holder. Whether for her or not, she twisted off the cap and downed half the bottle before speaking.
“I’d like to get under way, if you have no objection.”
The beer bottle stopped halfway to his lips. “Oh, I have an objection.”
The heat of his gaze made her pulse leap. “Why are you drinking beer when we should be sailing?”
He moved around the deck table, his intentions like a heat wave. He stood close to her, a boa constrictor measuring its prey. His skin smelled of suntan lotion, his breath a sweet mixture of barley and hops. She refused to budge, though she ached to slap his concerned, irresistible face. Instead, she drank from the water bottle.
His gaze moved to her throat as she swallowed.
“We can’t sail into West End in the dark. The reefs are too dangerous.”
She didn’t expect this answer. “For goodness’ sake, then why did we leave so soon?”
Del Rio started to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He swallowed hard then managed to smile. “I thought it was a good idea for you to adjust your sea legs before we got too far.”
Something told her that was not what he wanted to say, but given her queasy stomach, he might have a point. “You’re worried for my welfare?”
He held her gaze a moment too long before a sheepish grin broke. “Nah. I just don’t want you puking on my teak.”
Under other circumstances, she might have laughed, but right now she suspected he meant it. She placed the bottle back into the holder.
“So, now we just wait?”
Daniel nodded. “It’s only a couple of hours. How about we put together some nachos, enjoy the breeze and chat?”
Suddenly, going below with Del Rio at her heels was the last thing she wanted, especially with nothing to do for hours. Why hadn’t she taken the time to reason what it would be like to be alone with him on the Honora? Lord. It felt way more intimate that she had expected. She had been so focused on making her plans happen, that she hadn’t given any thought to the notion of them being isolated together. And damn if close proximity to this man didn’t set her nerve endings tingling. Now turning back was too late.
Months ago, she’d refused to feel attracted to this man, who only seemed concerned with playing shadow to Poppa while leaving her to find her own way back to sanity. Yesterday, she’d told herself that if he truly cared about her, he would have jumped at the chance to help her recover her memory. But no. Clearly, he was too self-serving, which made his physical appeal totally unfair.
She pushed past him, planting herself on a cockpit cushion, her fingers curling around the lifeline for more reasons than the ship’s sway. She closed her eyes, her stomach starting to roil with the rocking.
“I’d prefer to stay in the cockpit. I need air.”
He returned to the helm, sitting on the cushion inches away from her, and took another sip of Modelo. Silent, concerned, he glanced at her as if he sensed her disquiet. She didn’t want his understanding right now; just his compliance. She had a task to fulfill. She didn’t like the reaction her body was having to him.
A flush heated her cheeks at his nearness. “And what exactly is your schedule, Captain?” She couldn’t help the edge in her question.
He shrugged. “To take you to Little Harbour.”
Impatience snapped at her heels like a nasty dog. She wanted to be there yesterday. “When will we sail?”
He glanced at his watch, at the sun low in the western sky, then at her.
“After midnight. Maybe 2:00 or 3:00 a.m.”
His blue eyes matched the damned glorious sky behind him, wreaking havoc with her pulse and making her want to paint an abstract of them on her soul.
Her body froze. Where did that thought come from? With only three weeks to accomplish her goal, she had no time to explore her attraction to a man who had agreed to help her only to please her father. A thought struck: perhaps Del Rio was a gold digger. Perhaps it was Reefside he was after. Maybe this rudderless ship’s captain hoped to gain a home through Poppa, so he’d canceled his Australian plans to accommodate her.
Not while I live and breathe.
If that were true, then Del Rio was truly despicable. With that thought, she unceremoniously quashed any attraction she might feel for this man. He had one, and only one, purpose: take her to Little Harbour. Other than his ability to captain the Honora, she had no use for Daniel Murphy Del Rio.
She breathed in the sea air, feeling infinitely restored. “So what do you figure? Four days to Little Harbour?”
He compressed his lips as if calculating. Given his experience, he should know the answer, immediately.
“I estimate six, maybe seven, days.”
Suspicion narrowed her eyes, and she realized she could use her sunglasses right about now. “I have a travel book, Captain. It says a yacht of this size can make the journey in three to four days.”
He took another swig of beer. “That’s if you hurry.”
Her temper started simmering. “You know I don’t want to waste any time.”
“You want your memory back?”
The question seemed to upset him. She answered slowly, trying to determine his intent. “Of course. Why else would I be here?”
His gaze held hers. “Then we should retrace the same journey you originally took to get to Little Harbour.”
She didn’t like where this conversation was leading. “How do you know how I got there?”
He looked past her to the horizon. “You’d be surprised what I know, Princess.” Frowning, he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. He leaned against the cushions and slugged the rest of his beer. “So, how about those nachos?”
“Oh, just like that, you criticize my lack of memory then ask me to wait on you? Have you lost your mind, Captain?”
Once again, here she was with no recall, while Del Rio smugly sounded like he knew all the answers. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask what, exactly, he did know, but she refrained. That would make her vulnerable and reliant on him. She hadn’t been prepared for that possibility.
His job was to take her to Little Harbour. Period.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he didn’t want to take her to the Abacos. Because of her, his departure to Australia had been delayed another month. No time to train. No time to organize a crew. Maybe he was taunting her because he just did not want to be here. Whatever the reason, a conversation with so much volatility within the first hour was not a good way to begin a voyage.
She studied his profile. What was it about this man that made her want to keep him at arm’s length, preferably like an employee? She knew he had an excellent rapport with Poppa. But with her he was an arrogant, sexy, rogue pirate with a quick laugh, whose gaze alone promised a seduction that would fulfill a woman’s deepest fantasy. She was quite certain any woman would relish three weeks on a ship with this man in charge. So, why not her?
She knew the answer. This sail was for her sister and mother. It was to stop the nightmares. Unearth answers. It had nothing to do with her and Del Rio.
Although she trusted her own gut and Poppa’s faith in the man’s ability to get her safely to her destination, she distrusted Del Rio because she could remember nothing about him.
He had proved to be the perfect gentleman over the past year. Yet with one look from him, her insides fluttered with a vague sense of knowing him, or wanting to know him, intimately, and that terrified her. She felt as if she were walking a high-wire blindfolded. She did not want to take another step.
She stood, hoping her glare would silence him. “Nice of you to offer, but I am not hungry. I’m going below. Don’t worry about making dinner for me.”
FROM WHERE HE SAT, DANIEL could hear Maria’s cabin door slam, the tremor vibrating through the ship’s hull.
Yep. This was going to be one hell of a trip.
He needed to do some final soul-searching here before leaving Fort Lauderdale. He was a man who few, if any, people could tell what to do. So, he had to admit taking this trip was something he wanted. But really. Why?
His life before meeting Maria had been chaotic, thrilling, prestigious. He’d been on the cover of sailing magazines. Earned enough money to run a small country. Dated beautiful women from Buenos Aires, Santiago, Monaco. Yet, while his life had never been more full, it had never seemed so empty.
He had lost both parents in a Chilean political coup when he was a young boy and had been exiled from his home country. Elias and Rosalinda had rescued him. Daniel had discovered racing helped to heal his broken heart, and gave him a chance to fly with the wind when memories of the demons that destroyed his world returned to haunt him.
Daniel attended the best American boarding schools. After his parents’ disappearance, Elias brought him home to Reefside for vacations whenever he was not racing somewhere in the world. Of course, he hardly saw Maria or Carmen in their teenage years. Rosalinda used to whisk them away to Chile or Paris during school breaks.
Daniel soon made a name for himself as a helmsman and was asked to captain corporate-sponsored boats. He loved the sea, racked up the trophies, but those distant horizons made a man eventually understand how alone he could be in the world.
While he had seen Maria’s artwork in celebrity homes where he partied, the woman herself had always managed to elude him. Her twin, Carmen, was the Santiago darling, running the club circuit, often accompanied by Rosalinda. Word in the clubs was that Maria preferred the solitude of her studio to the company of others. He could understand why. The depth, colors and questions in her paintings had seduced him in a way no woman ever could. He secretly harbored the hope of seeing Maria as soon as possible at Reefside and always accepted Elias’s invitations to come home.
He would never forget the first time he finally saw her. Elias had asked him to come celebrate the twins’ twenty-fifth birthday. Carmen and Rosalinda were spending the morning at the spa. Daniel had just finished lunch on the patio with Elias, drinking mohitos. Elias was enjoying a cigar when Maria descended her studio stairs in a big straw hat, a braid running down her shoulder and a bikini. Her tanned, smooth skin had glistened with suntan oil, her hypnotic eyes were shielded by a pair of sunglasses, and those full sweet lips were soft natural pink. Her ocean-blue bikini looked like Neptune’s mermaids had sewn the tiny strings and scraps of fabric to magically mold her luscious body.