Tattered Innocence Page 10

  “Doesn’t matter,” Rachel said under her breath. “It’s wrong.”

  “Yo, Rachel, Leaf, give me a hand,” Jake called.

  Rachel jerked her head for Bret to follow and headed for the gangplank.

  Leaf let out a loud yawn, eyed Bret, and pulled his Heath’s Natural Foods cap back down over his eyes as if Bret’s presence meant his services weren’t needed.

  Jake glanced first at Rachel and then Bret, wiped his palms on his surf shorts, and reached over the sail to shake Bret’s hand. “Jake Murray, Captain.”

  Bret gripped Jake’s hand. “Bret Rustin.”

  Their eyes met, lions circling each other.

  “Welcome aboard. Give us a hand with the new mainsail?” Jake squatted and butted a shoulder under the sail.

  Rachel directed Bret to the middle of the sail. “Lift here.”

  Bret leaned close as he grabbed the sail. “Whatever you say, my Cassiopeia.”

  Rachel grasped the sail. Bret’s vat of obscure literary allusions made her feel stupid, as usual. She would enroll in a college class at the end of this cruise if she had to read every word of the textbook herself.

  They wormed their way across the gangplank and deposited the sail on the fore cabin.

  Rachel reached for the passenger list hanging on a clipboard inside the hatch and ran her finger down the column. “Stateroom Three.” She should have checked the guest list before now and spared herself the shock.

  Bret’s arm brushed against her as he stepped through the companionway and she flinched away.

  Rachel watched him make his way through the salon.

  Jake lifted a brow. “A little drama?” he said somewhere near her ear.

  “A little.” She clutched the clipboard and jogged down the steps.

  Bret pushed open his door and motioned for Rachel to follow him into the tiny space.

  She hesitated, then stepped into the room. “Why did you come?”

  He reached across her and pressed the door closed. Pleading eyes peered up at her as he sat back on the bunk.

  His thumb rubbed his empty ring finger. “I’m ready to leave Sheri. I need you too much.”

  The wintergreen from his breath mingled with the scent of Obsession and the faint musty sailboat smell before a breeze blew in through the porthole. His mouth eased into a tentative smile. “I’m here to sail—” he tapped the pendant around her neck “—but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have hopes.”

  Her heart thumped against the clipboard clenched to her chest, her eyes welded to Bret’s.

  Three sharp raps on the door.

  Rachel jumped.

  Jake’s voice passed through the plywood door inches from her ear. “Rae, where’s the passenger list?”

  Rachel flung open the door. “Here.” She jammed the clipboard against Jake’s T-shirt and shoved past him in the narrow passageway. She pasted on a smile as she passed a nautically clad elderly couple trailing Jake.

  Jake followed her aboveboard and muttered, “How was I supposed to know what was going on in there? What if the guy was hurting you? You didn’t have to get so testy.”

  “Yeah, he’s hurting me all right, but not the way you think. I can handle Bret.” She glanced down the companionway to make sure no one was in earshot. “FYI, he’s the guy I was running from when you hired me.”

  “Figured.”

  A couple in matching tire-tread sandals crossed the gangplank.

  “Hi. We’re Karl and Ginger Groostringer.” The woman stumbled over the last name and laughed. “We’re honeymooning on the Smyrna Queen.” Ginger shook her bleached-blond bob and Rachel counted six piercings in each ear, unusual for a woman in her fifties. The groom was one of the few men Rachel had ever seen who could pull off bald-on-top with a ponytail.

  “Congratulations!” Rachel shook their hands. “I’m first mate, Rachel.”

  Jake introduced himself and motioned them through the companionway. “Stateroom Four is in the bow.”

  After disconnecting the water and power lines, Rachel sped along the deck toward the cold cuts she’d forgotten on the galley counter. She barreled into Bret. He grabbed her by the arm to steady her. The warmth of his hand spread all the way to her face.

  Bret grinned. “I haven’t caused a blush in a long time.”

  Rachel shrugged off Bret’s hand. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  “You always were hard to hang on to. Maybe that’s what hooked me.”

  Her fascination with Bret had grown so gradually. Only now could she put her finger on when things had veered from innocence. Her mind arched back to the dusk after a swim team practice.

  She had tugged her assistant coach jacket tighter and tossed a stray pull-buoy into the bucket in the pump house. She heard doors slamming, swimmers shouting to each other, and tires peeling out of the Aqua Park Aquatic Center lot. She stepped onto the pool deck.

  Sun sheened the pool to orange glass and back-dropped Bret’s lean, lanky form walking toward her. Attraction bubbled between them.

  Rachel shut the pump house door and locked it with the key on the lanyard around her neck. She moved through the door to the parking lot ahead of Bret. She could almost feel his eyes boring into her back between her shoulder blades. The crackle of magnetism rooted her feet to the sand parking lot. The last car pulled onto Eaton Road. She heard the whoosh and thunk of Bret’s shutting the Aquatic Center door, the click of his key turning in the lock, then quiet.

  They stood, not moving, beside their cars in the last vestige of daylight. Darkness settled around them, and still she didn’t turn around, didn’t dare.

  Bret’s stomach growled and broke the tension. She laughed and turned toward him. “Good night, Bret. Go home to your supper.”

  “Saved by the growl.”

  She waved and walked toward her car.

  After that, by unspoken agreement, they both entered their cars before the lot emptied. The season wound down, their wins and losses evening out. They wedged conversations between coaching and slating meet rosters. Tension stretched like a bungee cord between them.

  But it hadn’t stayed innocent.

  Rachel coiled the halyard at the foot of the mainmast.

  A shadow fell across her on the fore cabin.

  Bret had hovered for two days.

  She squinted at him. “What do you want?” The wind dried the sweat on her neck.

  “I want you, Rachel.”

  “You’re married.”

  He took the rope out of her hands.

  Her breath drew in at the brush of his fingers against hers.

  “We both fought this thing. We didn’t ask for it, but it happened.” He hooked the rope on the cleat at the base of the mast. “You have my word—I’ll leave Sheri. Rachel, you’re holding me off, but you want me, too. It’s written all over your face.”

  Her eyes flew to his. How could he still read her so well after all this time? She’d done the right thing, albeit way too late. Why hadn’t God taken the attraction away? She glanced around the Smyrna Queen.

  He bent his head toward her. “We could continue this conversation below—”

  “We wouldn’t have conversation below.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  She never noticed the olive oil smoothness of his voice before. It ran over her now, warming her and repelling her at the same time.

  Bret lifted her chin with his finger and repeated his question. “Would it be so bad? Remember—”

  “No! I…’m in love with someone else—with Jake.”

  Jake ducked under the boom. “Rae—” His voice croaked like he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared his throat. “Would you take over the helm for a few minutes?”

  “Sure.” Her voice amplified as though she’d downed three shots of espresso.

  Jake glanced at the back of Rachel’s head as he climbed into the aft cabin. Her chin pointed toward the horizon beyond the bow and her hand rested on the wheel.

 
He had ducked under the boom and faced Rachel before her words registered. I’m in love with someone else... with Jake, she’d said. Could the wind have been in his ears? Maybe she loved cake… or steak. He shook the playground rhymes out of his head. He knew what he’d heard.

  He reached into the bin for the chart he needed to study. Rachel probably had said she loved him to throw the slime ball off her trail.

  What if there was a grain of truth in Rachel’s words?

  True, he had spent more time with Rachel in the months they had been sailing the Queen than he’d spent with Gabs in the year they dated. He and Rachel worked together like they were made to be a team, each anticipating what the other would do. His friendship with her had soared past superficial long ago. He trusted her implicitly. He liked Rachel. But love?

  Not going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

  He smoothed the map across Rachel’s bunk which had been his chart table before her arrival. As he bent over the chart pinpointing their location, he caught Rachel’s scent—like the smell of pines on the island they’d discovered.

  Sixteen hundred watt attraction had sprung up between them. Those tiny freckles on her nose and across her cheeks broadcasted her vulnerability—like her tears had the day of the storm. But light years separated wanting to make out with someone and loving her.

  His mind scrolled back through the days since he’d interviewed Rachel. He smiled, remembering how indignant she’d been when she thought sleeping with him was part of the job. She’d never given him any indication she wanted more than friendship.

  But what if she did?

  On Wednesday Rachel looked up from stacking mixing bowls and pans in the dishwasher. Through the hatch an orange orb settled on the horizon. The beauty touched off a melody and words she’d always known. “Amazing grace… how sweet the sound….” She hadn’t sung, other than with the boys during the storm, in a long time. The song seemed to pull in the beauty from the sky.

  Jake shot her a curious glance from the helm.

  At first she sang because of the beauty. “That saved a wretch like me…” Then, her voice swelled to fortify her against Bret.

  As if summoned, Bret popped out of his cabin. His eyes widened in surprise.

  She kept singing, “I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see….” She wiped the counters down and ignored Bret leaning against the fridge. She concentrated on the forgotten joy of song.

  The hand-holding honeymooners, both in tie-dye tonight, leaned against the aft cabin and watched her with attentive expressions. Julio, another guest, who had only spoken enough to tell them he was in software, bent his dark head over the coaming on the deck outside the cockpit like he listened, too.

  She hadn’t meant to gather a crowd.

  Bret’s full lips thinned. His eyes narrowed.

  Her voice crescendoed as the song ended.

  Connie, in a navy windbreaker dotted with gold anchors, leaned into the cabin and applauded.

  Rachel shot her a grin of thanks.

  The guests filtered to other parts of the Queen.

  Bret crowded into the galley. “You never told me you sang.” The hard edge in his voice raked through the beauty. “I thought you were over your family’s religion.”

  She gripped the lip on the counter. “People change.”

  “Karl Marx said, ‘Religion is the opiate of the masses.’”

  “You’re not winning any points.”

  His hand settled on hers. “I didn’t mean to insult you. If you feel a need for religion, you have my blessing.”

  Rachel stiffened. Annoyance and desire swirled inside. She didn’t want to be attracted to this man, but a disconnect glitched between her brain and body.

  He lowered his voice. “Is Jake religious? Look, I can always revisit the religious icon stage I went through in college.”

  His fingers ran along her jaw, over her shoulder, and down her arm raising a trail of awareness in their wake. She jerked away.

  His hand dropped to his side, hurt etching his eyes. “I’m not the devil. I’m the guy who loves you.”

  His sincerity danced across her nerves, leaving her hyperaware of his nearness.

  He loves me. Not for the first time, doubt crept in.

  “Come to my cabin later.”

  She gave a slight negative shake of her head, the most she could muster.

  “The invitation stands.” He climbed up the companionway, his jaw set.

  A thousand invisible rubber bands anchored her to him.

  When she relieved Jake at the wheel, he nudged her. “Sing much?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s going to change.”

  Chapter 12

  Late Wednesday night Rachel tossed on her bunk. A drive-in movie of Bret memories played on the back of her eyelids.

  On a January afternoon, before guilt crawled into her skin, she’d sat on a starting block at Aqua Park Aquatic Center. She pushed her assistant swim team coach jacket sleeves up to her elbows and tilted her face to catch the warmth of the sun. Water splashed her leg, and she sluiced droplets off with her hand.

  Bret crouched in the corner of the pool over Sassy McQuen. Her round face angled up, drinking in his gentle words of encouragement. The girl weighed a hundred and ninety-five pounds and floated like a buoy. Bret and swimming were changing her life. She’d lost ten pounds the first week of training.

  Bret stood and paced the pool. “Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up!” he yelled across six lanes. He leaned on the block beside Rachel, arms crossed over his chest. “You going for your bachelor’s?”

  Rachel lifted one shoulder as if she could care less. “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Because I’m too stupid, maybe? She raked a loose curl away with her sarcasm. “Bored—with school, life. They don’t give degrees for what I want.”

  Bret quirked one brow at her.

  “Babies.”

  “There’s a bucket of ice water on some guy’s libido.”

  Rachel rolled her eyes. “Right.”

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re beautiful. I’ve thought so since the day you held Colton in my classroom three years ago.”

  His steady look made her turn to jelly inside.

  In the pool, Alex Tremain backstroked into a turn.

  “Alex!” Bret yelled and followed him up the pool. “My Grandmamma swims faster than you!” He circled his arm around his head signaling for Alex to speed up. Bret jumped away from a splash and circled toward her.

  “You’ve got kids,” she said.

  Bret’s gaze focused on her. “Make your choices now. You have to live with them.”

  “You regret your kids?”

  “I adore my kids. I wish….” He stared hard at the opposite end of the pool. “Never mind.”

  Rachel shaded her eyes with her hand and peered at him. “You wish what?” The rhythmic splashing faded from her consciousness.

  “I wish I hadn’t picked the first career that came along, the first girl.”

  “Things can change.”

  “Yes, they can.” He stood between the blocks piercing Rachel with his eyes till her breath stuck in her throat.

  She’d meant he could go back to college, change his career.

  She sat up, tossing the memory off with her sheet. Bret was right. They needed to have a private conversation.

  Rachel eased out of the cabin, careful not to disturb Jake’s regular breathing. Connie and Clive Sevick chatted quietly on the foredeck, Clive’s ever-present skipper’s cap bent toward his wife. When Rachel had gray hair, she wanted a man like Clive listening to her in the moonlight.

  Rachel tapped on Bret’s stateroom door.

  He opened the door shirtless in a pair of New Smyrna Beach High athletic shorts. His face lit up.

  The memories she most regretted cascaded toward her. She felt dirty like when she’d spied the condom in the trashcan. He probably packed a whole box this week. “Thi
s was a bad idea.”

  He motioned with his head. “Come on, we’ll have that conversation you didn’t think we could have.” He flashed a white grin.

  She stepped into the cabin and clicked the door shut behind her.

  Bret slid onto the bunk.

  Rachel remained standing, pressed against the bulkhead, as far away from him in the small space as possible. Her eyes darted from the pale hair curling on his pecs and his pool-water-blue eyes, to the hull beyond his shoulder.

  “You’re as skittish as a chameleon,” Bret said.

  “Part of me has always known this is wrong.”

  “But part of you—”

  “You make me feel things.”

  He leaned over and ran a finger along the tender skin of her forearm. “What kind of things?”

  “Things I have no right to feel with you.”

  He stared at her in silence, then emptied his lungs. “You’re right. But we didn’t choose this.” Bret pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, it’s wrong to love you. But I can’t help myself. It’s like a Lolita fascination.”

  “In plain English, please.”

  “An old man fascinated with a schoolgirl.”

  “I’m twenty-three. You’re twenty-five.”

  “Okay, so that allusion was a stretch.”

  So, he’d been fascinated with her. She remembered Bret’s glances that lasted a moment too long around school. She’d thought they were her imagination, a product of her crush.

  “With Sheri, I know everything there is to know, like The Great Gatsby I’ve taught every year, studied ad nauseum in high school and college.”

  He ran a knuckle under her chin and her skin tingled.

  “But you’re… adventure.”

  Rachel crossed her arms. “I’ve lived in the same town all my life—bored out of my mind—and I’m adventure?”

  He cupped her cheek with his hand, and Rachel steeled herself against the sensation.

  “The unknown has intrigued man from the beginning of time.” His fingers slid to the nape of her neck, tugging her closer. “Every male wants to taste beauty.”