bare-breasted as the lady on the bow and not nearly as wooden—which was something she sought to remedy by turning the tables on Noah.
“Does she excite you?”
“Who?”
Shaye tossed her head toward the bow, then watched as he bent sideways.
“She’s not bad,” he decided, straightening. “A little stern-faced for my tastes. Like you.”
“Your tastes are probably as pathetic as old Horgan’s. If he were building a boat like this today and dared to put a thing like that at the bow, he’d have women’s groups picketing the pier.”
Noah drew himself to his full height and glared down at her. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a militant feminist.”
She glared right back. “And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a presumptuous male. You’re just itching for a fight, aren’t you?”
“Damn right.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“The way I see it,” she said, taking a deep breath for patience, “either you’re annoyed that I’ve come along or you didn’t want to be here in the first place.”
His hair was blowing freely now. “Oh, I would have been happy enough sailing off with Samson. He’s undemanding. I’d have gotten the R and R I need.”
“Then it’s me. Why do I annoy you?”
“You’re a woman, and you’re prissy.”
Unable to help herself, Shaye laughed. “Prissy?” Then some vague instinct told her that prissy was precisely the way to be with this man. “Prissy.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I do believe in exercising a certain decorum.”
“I’m sure you give new meaning to the word.”
Shaye was about to say that Noah probably didn’t know the first meaning of the word when the sound of unfurling canvas caught her ear. She looked up in time to see the mainsail fill with wind, then down to see Samson securing the lines.
“Shouldn’t you give him a hand?”
“He doesn’t need it.”
“Then why are you here at all?”
Noah’s smile might have held humor but didn’t. “To give you a hard time. Why else?” With that, he sauntered off.
Aware that he’d had the last word this time around, Shaye watched him until he disappeared into the companionway. Then she turned back to the bow and closed her eyes. His image remained, a vivid echo in her mind of tousled dark hair, a broad chest, lean hips and endless legs. He was attractive; she had to give him that. But the attraction ended with the physical. He was unremittingly disagreeable.
And exhausting. It had been a long time since she’d sparred with anyone as she was sparring with him. Not that she didn’t have occasional differences with people at work, but that was something else, something professional. In her private life she’d grown to love peace. She avoided abrasive people and chose friends who were conventional and comfortable. She dated the least threatening of men, indulging their occasional need to assert themselves over choice of restaurants or theaters because, through it all, she was in control. Not even her parents, with their parochial views, could rile her.
But Noah VanBaar had done just that. She wasn’t sure how they’d become enemies so quickly. Was it his fault? Hers? Had she really seemed prissy?
A helpless smile broke across her face. Prissy. Wouldn’t André and the guys from the garret—wherever they were today—die laughing if they heard that! Her parents, on the other hand, wouldn’t die laughing. They’d choke a little, then breathe sighs of relief, then launch into a discourse on her age and the merits of marriage.
Prissy. It wasn’t such a bad thing to be around Noah. If he hated prissiness so much, he’d leave her alone, which was all she really wanted, wasn’t it?
Buoyed by her private pep talk, she sought out Victoria, who was chatting with Samson as he hauled up the first of two jibs. Indeed, it was Samson she addressed. “Would you like any help?”
Deftly lashing the line to its cleat, he stood back to watch the sail catch
“Does she excite you?”
“Who?”
Shaye tossed her head toward the bow, then watched as he bent sideways.
“She’s not bad,” he decided, straightening. “A little stern-faced for my tastes. Like you.”
“Your tastes are probably as pathetic as old Horgan’s. If he were building a boat like this today and dared to put a thing like that at the bow, he’d have women’s groups picketing the pier.”
Noah drew himself to his full height and glared down at her. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a militant feminist.”
She glared right back. “And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a presumptuous male. You’re just itching for a fight, aren’t you?”
“Damn right.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“The way I see it,” she said, taking a deep breath for patience, “either you’re annoyed that I’ve come along or you didn’t want to be here in the first place.”
His hair was blowing freely now. “Oh, I would have been happy enough sailing off with Samson. He’s undemanding. I’d have gotten the R and R I need.”
“Then it’s me. Why do I annoy you?”
“You’re a woman, and you’re prissy.”
Unable to help herself, Shaye laughed. “Prissy?” Then some vague instinct told her that prissy was precisely the way to be with this man. “Prissy.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, well, I do believe in exercising a certain decorum.”
“I’m sure you give new meaning to the word.”
Shaye was about to say that Noah probably didn’t know the first meaning of the word when the sound of unfurling canvas caught her ear. She looked up in time to see the mainsail fill with wind, then down to see Samson securing the lines.
“Shouldn’t you give him a hand?”
“He doesn’t need it.”
“Then why are you here at all?”
Noah’s smile might have held humor but didn’t. “To give you a hard time. Why else?” With that, he sauntered off.
Aware that he’d had the last word this time around, Shaye watched him until he disappeared into the companionway. Then she turned back to the bow and closed her eyes. His image remained, a vivid echo in her mind of tousled dark hair, a broad chest, lean hips and endless legs. He was attractive; she had to give him that. But the attraction ended with the physical. He was unremittingly disagreeable.
And exhausting. It had been a long time since she’d sparred with anyone as she was sparring with him. Not that she didn’t have occasional differences with people at work, but that was something else, something professional. In her private life she’d grown to love peace. She avoided abrasive people and chose friends who were conventional and comfortable. She dated the least threatening of men, indulging their occasional need to assert themselves over choice of restaurants or theaters because, through it all, she was in control. Not even her parents, with their parochial views, could rile her.
But Noah VanBaar had done just that. She wasn’t sure how they’d become enemies so quickly. Was it his fault? Hers? Had she really seemed prissy?
A helpless smile broke across her face. Prissy. Wouldn’t André and the guys from the garret—wherever they were today—die laughing if they heard that! Her parents, on the other hand, wouldn’t die laughing. They’d choke a little, then breathe sighs of relief, then launch into a discourse on her age and the merits of marriage.
Prissy. It wasn’t such a bad thing to be around Noah. If he hated prissiness so much, he’d leave her alone, which was all she really wanted, wasn’t it?
Buoyed by her private pep talk, she sought out Victoria, who was chatting with Samson as he hauled up the first of two jibs. Indeed, it was Samson she addressed. “Would you like any help?”
Deftly lashing the line to its cleat, he stood back to watch the sail catch
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