Children of Dynasty (10 page)

Mariah inhaled the sense of peace that surrounded them, yet noted the bustling of ferries and windsurfers leaping wave crests, their colorful sails and wetsuits contrasting with the blue water.

Over the next hour, she fell back into the old rhythm of tacking, changing directions against the wind. “Ready about,” Rory would say, while she loosened the sheet that held the jib taut. Then “Hard alee.” Amid flapping chaos, the jib and main swung to the other side of the boat while she climbed across to sheet both sails in firmly.

The Pearson glided soundlessly under the Golden Gate Bridge, its vermilion metal towers rising in majestic contrast to the cerulean sky. Huge tankers and container ships ploughed in and out of port. Their wakes gently lifted and lowered the sailboat’s hull, yet crested against the bridge supports with startling violence.

In a sheltered area on the north side of the bay, Rory sailed in lazy circles while Mariah laid out bread, cheese, and wine. Going below, she located stemmed glasses wrapped in dishtowels to keep them from breaking in rough seas, and brought them on deck.

“Too deep to drop anchor.” Rory steadied the wheel with his knee while he pulled the cork.

Mariah took the bottle from him, catching a whiff of the wine’s sharp-edged bouquet, and poured. The first glass she handed to Rory. The second she filled and took into her hand.

“To Charley,” Rory said before she could.

“To Charley.” She swallowed the tart crimson liquid around the lump in her throat.

Reflected in Rory’s sunglasses, Mariah saw herself pour wine into a third glass. He came to her and wordlessly put his hand over hers on the stem.

Was that an echo of Charley’s laugh or a sea bird’s cry? In her mind’s eye, her friend appeared once more, long limbs, freckled face, and mischievous eyes. A vivid image that time must inevitably fade.

In fitting farewell, she and Rory poured wine upon the water.

On the sail back, Rory kept the boat close-hauled against the wind, showing Mariah what it could do. He brought a yellow foul weather jacket from below for her, but even with the coat on her face and hair were soon dripping from the spray. He liked that rather than complaining or flinching, she laughed with each dousing.

His sense of exhilaration lasted almost all the way to the marina. Then he began to have the sense of time running out. Just before they pulled into the quiet water of the harbor, he lost a battle with himself and leaned over to kiss her. The quick buss tasted of salt on their chilled lips, but it was also a memory. He’d also kissed her on that perfect long-ago sail with Charley, before bringing the boat to the dock.

When he nosed the Pearson into its slip, it was nearly four o’clock. The sun shadow of the hill above Sausalito covered the harbor as Rory and Mariah worked together to put everything back in its place. With the sails covered, life vests and cushions back below, they washed the salt from faces and hands and dried their briny hair on thirsty cotton towels.

Even without makeup, with her hair brushed back and caught in a clip, Rory thought Mariah looked wonderful. In an effort to prolong the afternoon, he suggested another trip to the Italian market, this time for a warming cappuccino.

When they approached the counter, the proprietor recognized them and asked how was their sail. With a wink, he told Rory his “missus” was “most beautiful.” Mariah immediately appeared engrossed by the tubs of gelato in the freezer case.

Rory reached for his wallet and counted out bills. The man’s innocent assumption burst the fragile bubble he’d constructed around him and Mariah today, reminding him that despite a raging obsession there could be nothing for them. No normal progression from an afternoon sail to dating on the town, no getting down on one knee with the diamond ring … he’d tried all that with Elizabeth and ended up in divorce court.

Their drinks in hand, Rory led the way to a table on the exterior patio where they were the only customers. Sipping hot sweet coffee, he studied Mariah and found that despite his resolve to avoid getting burned again, he was once more playing “what if.” With her hair drying from dark gold to wheat and her cheeks sun-warmed, she made him want to protect her from the roving press, from sorrow over Charley. The last thing he wanted was to take her back to the city.

“Drive down the coast with me,” Rory decided aloud. “We’ll spend the weekend at Big Sur.”

Mariah gasped. “I can’t,” she said automatically. “Dad expects me at the Nikko.”

Rory unclipped his cell phone from his belt and held it out. Her own was in her purse in the Porsche’s front luggage compartment, the charger at home on her bedroom dresser. “Tell him you’re with a friend,” he said. “He’ll be glad you have something to take your mind off things.”

In the interest of harmony, she decided to drop the issue of her father. Rory might feel the same involuntary negative response she did at the mere thought of Davis Campbell. Instead, she gestured at the still-damp, salt-stained legs of her workout pants. “I don’t have a thing to wear.”

He dug in his pocket and tossed a credit card on the table. “We’ll buy whatever we need in Carmel.” Reaching across, he took her hand. “Haven’t you ever wanted to go someplace on the spur of the moment?”

She had thought about it. Inevitably, it had been with a darkly handsome man who looked a lot like Rory Campbell.

His fingers persuaded, stroking a light rhythm on hers.

To keep things in perspective, she pulled away. “Let me think.”

“Don’t think.” He recaptured her hand and brought it to his lips. With the tip of his tongue, he teased the space where two fingers joined, a butterfly’s touch with a deep, roiling impact. “Just feel.”

She took her hand away again, thoughts swirling … of conflicting interests between their companies, Davis Campbell’s ire, and her father’s disappointment if he knew where she was.

“No thoughts of the future or the past,” Rory proposed. “Just an escape to a fantasy world where we can do whatever we want.”

“That’ll be the day.” She rose and turned away. Standing in front of the low wall surrounding the patio, she heard the scrape of his café chair on the tiles. Surrounded by the scent of potted flowers, she detected the spicy addition of his aftershave … just before his hands spanned her waist.

Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she imagined their expression. Seductive and pleading, yet with a pride that said he was no beggar. Desire swirled and gathered at the base of her stomach. In the two weeks since she’d seen him again, she’d relived their past with a sense of hopelessness, like biting on an aching tooth. Now, for the first time, she permitted herself to imagine making love with him again.

“Trust me,” he whispered near her ear. “You won’t be sorry.”

It was too soon for trust between them; she could not forget his past betrayal. But her knees went weak with the same primal reaction she’d always had when his breath warmed her neck.

In an uncanny display of mind reading, he said, “If you don’t trust me, trust your instinct.”

He reached back to the table, picked up his cell phone, and held it before her eyes.

As if in a dream, she saw her hand lift and take it.

Yes, said the Nikko operator, John Grant was registered. The line began to ring.

He wouldn’t be there. It would ring and ring and then she’d tell Rory she couldn’t go.

“Hello,” said her father.

“Dad.” Mariah took a hesitant breath and glanced at Rory.

“Don’t say no,” he said urgently.

He was right. “No” wasn’t good enough anymore. Neither of their fathers had any business telling her and Rory how to live.

“Mariah?” John asked. “Where are you?”

Once more, she paused. She could truthfully say she was with a friend, but that set a precedent for a secret affair, something she had no stomach for. Though he might be let down, even angry, Dad deserved the truth from her rather than from an “On The Spot” story about her going to Rory’s townhouse.

“I’m with Rory. He rescued me from the press this afternoon.”

“When will I see you, then?” he asked tightly.

“I know you don’t approve, but you were right about there being something between me and Rory. Maybe you saw it before I could admit it to myself.” She spoke into her father’s silence. “With all that’s happened this week, the accident, and Charley …” She swallowed. “Rory and I are going to drive down to Big Sur for the weekend.”

O
n the drive down, Mariah had trouble believing she had told her father where she was going. All he had said was, “I hope you know what you’re doing, daughter,” but the resignation in his tone had her wondering if she should ask Rory to turn the Porsche around. It wasn’t too late to get back to the city by sunset.

For it was in this night’s darkness that she would truly cross the threshold. She knew from her experiences in the past eight years that going to bed didn’t constitute commitment, but with Rory, it would be different. Although the storm of feeling that had surged through her at his touch had subsided, images of them together kept flashing as if on a screen.

Of their past … the incandescent glow of the first time they’d made love. In the vee berth in the prow of
Privateer,
looking up at silver raindrops on the Lexan forward hatch, feeling the canvas cushions rough beneath her bare back, she’d given herself to him. Given and taken with a fresh, unfamiliar hunger, been filled and fulfilled, fierce joy seizing and transporting her until she felt she exploded into glittering shards. She sparkled and shone despite the gray day, all the while she felt herself floating somewhere above the bunk. Finally, softly, the pieces of her landed, gradually reassembling into someone that did not even resemble the old.

At least that’s what she had believed. Could she now truly set aside his marriage to Elizabeth, and believe he was not his father’s man?

Even as the thought formed, she recalled Rory’s premise. No thoughts of the future or past, an escape … that was what she had bought into when she took his cell phone and called her father. With a sinking feeling, she feared she had made a terrible mistake.

Yet, she recalled the deep intensity in Rory when he’d asked her to trust him, and if not him, then in herself. If she asked him to take her home, she would never know where their fantasies might lead.

When they passed Fort Ord with its huge dunes buffering the shore, Rory lifted his hand from the steering wheel and placed it on her thigh above the knee. His thumb moved over her yoga pants lightly, but she felt the touch as though her skin was bare.

As always, his slightest caress sent the familiar deep warmth that flushed her chest, tightened her nipples into peaks, and set up a melting glow at the base of her stomach. And her images shifted from past to future … to this night when they would finally be together after eight lonely years.

Fire winked back at Mariah from the jewelry store window in Carmel’s shopping district. Of the collection of opulent gems on black velvet, she had eyes only for the showpiece, a rare pigeon’s blood ruby. The oval center stone was clear, the purest of reds. Triangle-cut side diamonds glittered and flashed.