sheets with each cry of dismay. She was not going to fall for Jackson McKenzie again. Only a masochist would do something so stupid, and she was not a masochist.
Rolling onto her back, Ali raked her hands through the tousled mess of her hair. She stared up at the dark ceiling again, an ache deep in her belly. Almost four years ago to the day, she’d said goodbye to her father. Four years without his love and guidance and support. Four years since she had allowed any man a place in her heart.
“And there’s no damn way Jackson McKenzie is going to change that.” she ground out.
Yeah , a sarcastic little voice piped up in her head. Right.
Chapter Three
Wind Seeker cut through the water of Port Jackson, the deep thrumming of its spinnaker vibrating through Ali’s very being. The exhilaration of sailing was intoxicating, a drug on which she’d been hooked since her father first took her out on the Connecticut River at seven. When her father had been transferred to Australia for work, she’d been worried sailing would stop, but it hadn’t, and now it was such a part of her life she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Didn’t want it any other way. On land, she felt awkward, clumsy. On her yacht however…
She moved over Wind Seeker with complete confidence, tacking into the gusting southerly, aware of every tiny movement the yacht made, every little creak in its hull.
The harbor was alive today, boats of all shapes and sizes out on the water enjoying the magnificent summer’s day. A powerful motorboat roared by, the sun-baking owner giving Ali a wave from his place on the deck. Ali didn’t wave back. Zane Peterson may have more money than God, but that didn’t mean she found him any less repulsive. It still disturbed her that the small weekly sum he paid her to skipper his racing team was pretty much the only thing putting food on her table at the moment. Unless, that was, she wanted to accept his repeatedly made offer…
A cold shudder rippled through Ali and the back of her throat filled with sour bile. No. She wouldn’t let herself think of that offer again. She wasn’t that desperate.
Not yet. If she lost this race however…
Another boat came into her view, cutting across her starboard side, and for a brief moment, Ali lost focus on the race.
Seabird .
The thirty-six footer was a craft of exceptional quality, a sloop designed with speed and comfort in mind, bought by her father as the second yacht in his growing charter fleet. But the rising cost of her mother’s treatment and a worrisome lack of clients had forced Ali to sell it only six months after his death. It had broken her heart signing it away. One day however, she’d get it back. She swore it every time she saw it.
A deep swell smacked into the stern, plunging Wind Seeker ’s bow into the water, and Ali jerked herself out of her glum reverie. “Focus, Ali.” She gritted her teeth, fighting to correct the wayward helm. “Focus.”
Skipping over the companionway, she made a minor but crucial adjustment to the rigging, lifting to meet the breeze as Wind Seeker ’s leeward side dug in. Another small adjustment evened the mainsail and the yacht stopped heeling and sliced back through the water to power onward.
Shooting a quick look at the tiny ribbons whipping from her bow, Ali set the wind at forty-five degrees. Her spinnaker filled to explosive capacity with a thundering boom, the solid noise sending a thrill through her whole body. It was a risky move but her only weapon against that damn rocket Jack had disguised as a yacht. If she lost the temperamental southerly wind now, Suspicious Ways would leave her behind and the race would be his. She’d engaged him in a tacking duel for most of the last leg and now sat just off his leeward side, but that damn boat of his was like a torpedo, cutting through the small waves with ease. It would take every trick in the book and all her skill to edge past him.
Ali threw a harried glance at
Rolling onto her back, Ali raked her hands through the tousled mess of her hair. She stared up at the dark ceiling again, an ache deep in her belly. Almost four years ago to the day, she’d said goodbye to her father. Four years without his love and guidance and support. Four years since she had allowed any man a place in her heart.
“And there’s no damn way Jackson McKenzie is going to change that.” she ground out.
Yeah , a sarcastic little voice piped up in her head. Right.
Chapter Three
Wind Seeker cut through the water of Port Jackson, the deep thrumming of its spinnaker vibrating through Ali’s very being. The exhilaration of sailing was intoxicating, a drug on which she’d been hooked since her father first took her out on the Connecticut River at seven. When her father had been transferred to Australia for work, she’d been worried sailing would stop, but it hadn’t, and now it was such a part of her life she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Didn’t want it any other way. On land, she felt awkward, clumsy. On her yacht however…
She moved over Wind Seeker with complete confidence, tacking into the gusting southerly, aware of every tiny movement the yacht made, every little creak in its hull.
The harbor was alive today, boats of all shapes and sizes out on the water enjoying the magnificent summer’s day. A powerful motorboat roared by, the sun-baking owner giving Ali a wave from his place on the deck. Ali didn’t wave back. Zane Peterson may have more money than God, but that didn’t mean she found him any less repulsive. It still disturbed her that the small weekly sum he paid her to skipper his racing team was pretty much the only thing putting food on her table at the moment. Unless, that was, she wanted to accept his repeatedly made offer…
A cold shudder rippled through Ali and the back of her throat filled with sour bile. No. She wouldn’t let herself think of that offer again. She wasn’t that desperate.
Not yet. If she lost this race however…
Another boat came into her view, cutting across her starboard side, and for a brief moment, Ali lost focus on the race.
Seabird .
The thirty-six footer was a craft of exceptional quality, a sloop designed with speed and comfort in mind, bought by her father as the second yacht in his growing charter fleet. But the rising cost of her mother’s treatment and a worrisome lack of clients had forced Ali to sell it only six months after his death. It had broken her heart signing it away. One day however, she’d get it back. She swore it every time she saw it.
A deep swell smacked into the stern, plunging Wind Seeker ’s bow into the water, and Ali jerked herself out of her glum reverie. “Focus, Ali.” She gritted her teeth, fighting to correct the wayward helm. “Focus.”
Skipping over the companionway, she made a minor but crucial adjustment to the rigging, lifting to meet the breeze as Wind Seeker ’s leeward side dug in. Another small adjustment evened the mainsail and the yacht stopped heeling and sliced back through the water to power onward.
Shooting a quick look at the tiny ribbons whipping from her bow, Ali set the wind at forty-five degrees. Her spinnaker filled to explosive capacity with a thundering boom, the solid noise sending a thrill through her whole body. It was a risky move but her only weapon against that damn rocket Jack had disguised as a yacht. If she lost the temperamental southerly wind now, Suspicious Ways would leave her behind and the race would be his. She’d engaged him in a tacking duel for most of the last leg and now sat just off his leeward side, but that damn boat of his was like a torpedo, cutting through the small waves with ease. It would take every trick in the book and all her skill to edge past him.
Ali threw a harried glance at
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