Distracted (8 page)

They talked; she asked him about his family, his
childhood and how he became an artist. Spence unreservedly answered
all of her questions. He didn’t pry, but she chatted about herself
anyway. In the evening, as agreed, they worked on his book. Erin
felt triumphant after she finished his outline.

“I’m glad it makes you happy,” he said.

“Of course it does. It should please you, as well.
I’m proud of you.”

He laughed at her enthusiasm.

“They teach you positive reinforcement at grad
school?”

“No. It comes from years of working with lazy,
selfish artists who only think of themselves.”

“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this.”

“You signed a contract. You accepted the advance. You
had a clue that a book is the end result.”

* * *

On their fourth day out, Erin felt confident enough
to raise the anchor. “I am so glad you have a fancy electric winch
for this anchor,” she said.

“Manual labor’s good for you, but hoisting an anchor
isn’t,” Spence replied, a cigar clenched between his teeth.

“Must you smoke that smelly thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a vice. You want to try one?”

“No. Ick.” She moved away from him, waving a hand in
the air as if it were thick with smoke. In truth, she was getting
used to the aromatic tobacco he used but she appreciated the fact
that he only smoked one a day.

He tossed her a bottle. “Hey babe; how about some
sunscreen?”

“I told you not to call me babe,” she said,
aggravation causing frown lines. She squirted white cream into her
hands and began to stroke them up and down her arms, then her
legs.

“I meant me,” he complained.

“I know. Give me a minute.”

He watched covertly as she squirted more into her
hands and rubbed them on her belly and her breasts, sliding her
fingers under her bikini top and straps.

“You want me to do your back?”

“Yes. You do me; I’ll do you,” she said, handing him
the bottle and turning her back to him.

Spence swiveled and leaned back in the wide captain’s
seat. He tossed his cigar into waves and squirted sunscreen into
his large, calloused hands.

His touch, rough and warm, startled Erin. He slid his
big fingers over her shoulders, up her neck and rubbed her ears.
“Don’t want those to burn,” he murmured. Then his hands returned,
slathered with more lotion, and he ran them up and down her back,
making small circles down her spine, sliding them up and down her
waist. He slid his fingers into the loose elastic waistband of her
shorts and pushed them down a few inches. Then he rubbed lotion on
her lower back, his hands spreading and gently wrapping around her
hips, cupping them. Erin tried to ignore the rapid beat of her
heart, the tickling sensations of his warm hands.

“That’s good,” she said, pulling away. “Now you. Turn
around.”

Spence blotted his hands on a towel while he checked
the autopilot then took off his faded ball cap and tossed it on the
cockpit table.

“Do my face and ears, please.” He removed his
sunglasses and closed his eyes.

“You can do that yourself.”

“No. You do it. I’ve wiped off my hands. I don’t want
to get the controls greasy.”

Erin bit her lip. “Sounds like an excuse to me.
You’re just lazy.”

“No; you’re better than me. You get all the right
spots.”

“You just want to be pampered.”

Spence smiled, white teeth barely showing, his eyes
still closed. “I’ll make something special for dinner tonight,” he
bargained.

Erin squirted a little lotion into her hands, rubbed
them together and started applying it in small quick motions to his
cheeks and ears. He turned his face into her hands like a dog
angling for a scratch. She smiled and traced his stubbled chin, his
broad forehead, his nose. “You need some zinc here,” she said.

She shook the bottle and squirted more into her
hands. She placed them on his shoulders, rubbing up and down the
thick cords of his neck, then down the furry center of his bare
chest.

“Why do you wear this,” she asked, shoving her
fingers under the ubiquitous St. Christopher’s medal.

“It was my father’s. My mother got it for him when
they took a second honeymoon in Hawaii.”

“Oh.” Why did he have to be sentimental? Everyday he
became a bit more appealing. It was most unnerving, especially when
she was touching his warm skin. For a moment, she fantasized about
leaning in and kissing his soft, barely parted lips, burying her
face into his neck and inhaling the sweet coconut scent of the
lotion. Instead, she picked up the bottle of sunscreen, squirted a
few blobs into her hand.

“This is empty,” she said, running her hands up and
down his right arm.

Spence put his sunglasses back on. “There’s another
bottle in the port locker.”

She opened the trash locker and added the empty
bottle to the growing pile of crushed soda cans and water bottles.
Then she reached into the port locker, pushing aside bags of
snorkel equipment and life preservers. Indeed, there was a case of
sunscreen, the cardboard box ripped open. There were still a couple
dozen bottles. “Why do you have so many?”

“It’s easier. Suzy includes me when she orders bulk
supplies.”

“Humph. I suppose you go through a lot of this what
with the models and actresses?” Erin wanted to toss the bottle at
his head.

“Not me, babe,” he said. “You’re the first female to
board this boat.”

“Right,” she drawled sarcastically. “Like I believe
that. And don’t call me babe,” she huffed as she opened the new
bottle. She lifted his left arm and squirted a thick line from his
wrist to his bicep. She roughly rubbed it in and then, wiping the
excess lotion on her shorts bottom, turned the chair so Spence was
facing the ocean. She squirted more than she needed on his back,
spelling the word “jerk.”

She slapped his back a couple of times and tossed the
bottle onto the cockpit table. “Okay, all done.”

“Aw, come on, Erin. You haven’t finished my back.
I’ll get burned.” He wheedled, “I’m making dinner, remember? You
want me to grill steaks?”

She stared at the boat’s wake, biting her lip. Why
was she so angry? It was unreasonable, she knew, for her to feel
nervous when close to him, or threatened by a thought of other
women aboard his boat.

She stepped forward and quickly rubbed the rest of
the lotion into his skin. “There. Now you’re done. And I want
mushrooms and onions on my steak.”

Spence watched as she picked up a beach towel and
tote bag and headed for the bow of the boat. She spread the towel
on the trampoline, pulled a visor and glasses out of the bag, and
laid on her stomach, her head resting on her crossed arms.

He would never understand women, he thought, suddenly
craving his cigar. One minute they’re fine, the next they’re
not.

Chapter Seven

Six days into the passage, Spence pointed towards the
coastline. “There’s St. Augustine.”

Erin shaded her eyes and followed his pointing
finger. In the distance she could see bumps on the western
horizon.

“Are we stopping there?”

“Would you like to?”

Erin nodded her head. “Yes. I think I’m going stir
crazy, looking at your goofy face all day. I need to see other
people.”

Spence smiled. “Goofy? Well, at least I’m not a sour
puss.”

“I’m not a sour puss. I just need to walk around on
dry land. And I could use some things. We left so quickly, I left a
lot behind.”

“That’s the point, sweetheart. Travel light.”

“Well, there are some things a woman needs. And right
now, chocolate is one of them.”

Spence nodded wisely. “Ah yes. Things a woman needs.
Can do.”

Spence and Erin were not exactly a well-oiled team,
still a few hours later they managed to drop the sails and motor in
to the St. Augustine Municipal Marina. A quick call on the VHF
reserved the huge catamaran an outside slip, making it easy and
convenient to dock.

After helping to secure Fusion to the pier, Erin
grabbed her purse and headed for the marina’s chandlery. Spence
checked all of the through-hull fittings for leaks and, finding
none, he turned off the power. They agreed to meet at the front of
the marina. The sun would be setting within an hour, so they would
have time to walk the neighborhood and find a restaurant.

Erin was fidgeting by the time he arrived at the
marina store. “Come on. Hurry up.”

Spence took her hand. “What’s your hurry?”

She tried to tug her hand free. He held it
tighter.

“I want to look around before its dark.” She lifted
her chin and sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

“What?”

“Trash. Exhaust fumes. People.”

“You like that?” He shook his head wonderingly.

“No, not really but I miss it. Remember, I live in
the city.”

They strolled towards the historic district, admiring
the Spanish architecture. Dozens of small shops lined the streets,
many with tables arranged outdoors. Erin stopped to admire the
preserved alligator heads, carved coconut faces, postcards and
citrus-themed snow globes.

They walked past several restaurants until Erin froze
in front of The Columbia. She inhaled the exotic aromas of the
famous Spanish restaurant, then pulled Spence inside.

“Hello. Dinner for two? Do you have reservations?” A
lovely, dark-haired young hostess greeted them as they walked in
the plush restaurant.

“Two, please. No, we don’t have reservations.” Spence
smiled engagingly, offering his hand to the hostess. She smiled in
return.

“One moment; let me check.” She consulted a chart on
her podium, then made a mark and picked up two menus. “Follow me,
please.”

She ushered Spence and Erin past a row of people also
waiting for tables. Erin avoided their faces, feeling a bit guilty
that Spence’s sex appeal meant prompt seating. Once at the table,
however, she shed her remorse, picked up the menu and began to
salivate.

After a waiter took their drink order, Erin glanced
over the top of her menu at Spence. “What are you getting?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Want to share an appetizer? Maybe two?”

Spence frowned. “What you are thinking?”

“Well, I’m going to order the Queso Fundido. Mmmm,
warm cheese and toasty Cuban bread. But I also want the empanadas.
The beefy turnovers with salsa.”

“I’ll consider sharing if we can add the jumbo
chilled shrimp.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

For her entrée, Erin ordered the house special, a
broiled center-cut filet mignon. Spence asked for the red
snapper.

“Excellent choice, sir. That recipe was created by
the owner’s grandfather many years ago. It comes with our highest
recommendation.” The waiter rapidly filled his tablet and scurried
away.

Erin sipped the red wine Spence had chosen, closing
her eyes. “This is decadent. It’s just what I needed. Sorry, I’m
not much of a sailor, am I?”

Spence shrugged. “It’s your first voyage. It’s like
camping out. You have to get used to doing without a lot of
amenities.”

“Hah! That’s a floating palace. You’ve even got a
washing machine, for God’s sake. You’ve got TV, the Internet and
satellite radio. You even have gallons of sunscreen so the babes
can oil you down. You’re not suffering.”

“I didn’t say I was suffering. I enjoy sailing and I
like my toys. You want me to apologize?”

Erin rolled her eyes and took another sip. She
wondered if she was becoming one of his “toys.”

“What’s the problem? Why are you angry? Did I offend
you?”

She shook her head stubbornly. “No. I’m not
upset.”

“Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”

She pounced. “Yes, there is. You can buckle down and
get to work on the book. You’ve been wasting too much time the past
two days fishing.”

“Fishing? Trolling a line isn’t fishing. And it
doesn’t waste time. I eat what I catch, don’t I?”

“I don’t eat fish, so it isn’t making my life
convenient.”

“Ah, I understand now. You’ve been eating your own
cooking this week and you don’t like it.”

He wouldn’t understand, Erin thought. She didn’t even
understand. During the past few days, she had struggled with the
fact that she was attracted to him. Yet he seemed impervious. Sure,
he was considerate and easy going and he always used endearments
when he talked to her. But to a man like Stephen Spence, every
woman was a “babe” or a “honey.”

She shrugged. “I just needed a night out. Some
not-so-fresh air, I guess.”

The dinner ended too soon, she thought, but they took
their time walking downtown before heading back to the marina. As
the night deepened, people filled the streets. Doors to taverns
were opened, beckoning them. They stopped at a lively bar and
Spence ordered them both mojitos.

“This is delicious,” Erin exclaimed. “What’s in
it?”

The young, black bartender leaned on the mahogany
counter, admiring Erin. “It’s a combination of rum, simple sugar,
mint and soda.” He grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness of
his face and the bar.

Erin smiled at the handsome man. “It’s
wonderful.”

“It’s on the house, pretty lady,” he replied, winking
at her.

She thanked him and smirked at Spence.

Spence smiled good-naturedly. He understood perfectly
well.

She considered her flirtation with the bartender as
tit-for-tat for the Columbia’s hostess. Obviously she hadn’t seen
the twenty he had palmed and handed to the young woman at the
restaurant. He tipped the bartender generously when they
departed.

Back aboard the boat, Erin put her leftovers in the
refrigerator and said good night. With a large hot water heater and
its own water maker, Fusion’s shower was a refuge from her
conflicting emotions.