remember
which way to go."
"I'll walk with you. It's probably the Warren
Inn, right?"
"Yes, but you don't need to walk with me.
Which way is it?"
"This way," he said, turning her, his hand
gentle on her elbow.
Sabrina took several steps toward what she
hoped would be her hotel, then stopped abruptly. She looked
pointedly at his hand on her arm, then at his face and blinked in
surprise. This time, light from the waning sun revealed a
scattering of freckles across a straight nose, a full mouth with
straight, white teeth. His eyes weren't dark after all; they were
clear gray-blue. Glints of red shone in his mussed hair.
He released her arm.
Sabrina caught her bottom lip between her
teeth. From a distance, he was hard lines and angles, but now,
outside in the fading light, he was almost adorable.
Without thinking, Sabrina lifted her hand in
a halting gesture. Jay caught it and gently pressed it against his
chest.
"All right, maybe I was flirting. At first,"
she conceded. "But not now. I don't know you. I think I'd better
go." Shakily, Sabrina pulled her hand away.
"I'd like to know you," he said. "What's your
name?"
This time she couldn't refuse. With bright
eyes pinned on his lips, she answered breathlessly. "Sabrina."
"Sabrina, you're the most beautiful woman
I've ever seen."
"Yeah, right," she drawled.
"I never lie." He changed the subject
abruptly. "It's going to be a nice evening. Would you like to go
for a sunset sail?"
Sabrina blinked again. "What?"
"Take a short sail on the river and watch the
sunset," he explained. "It's a Rhode Island tradition."
"I've never been on a sailboat before." Well,
except for this afternoon, but that doesn't count, she mentally
added.
He gestured to a large, vacant lot across the
street. On the far side of the lot, along the river, several small
sailboats were tied to a pier. "Here's your chance."
She frowned. The idea of sailing with this
stranger was intriguing. "How do I know you're not a murderer?"
"You don't, but this is a small town and
everyone knows me. I can give you a reference."
As if on cue, an older couple walked out of
the bar and headed for a truck in the parking lot. "Good evening
Jay," they called.
"Good evening Paul, Barb," he replied, his
eyes pinned on Sabrina.
"That was convenient," she said.
He sheathed her hand in his, its heat
radiating up her arm. They crossed the street in silence, walking
towards the boats rocking in the current.
"Which one is yours?" she asked.
Jay nimbly dropped into a small boat and
patted the gunwale. "They all are. But this evening, we'll use this
one. She's my favorite. Just give me a minute to get her ready,
then you can climb aboard."
Sabrina watched as he tugged on the shrouds,
making sure that the rigging was tight. He pulled the cover off the
mainsail and checked the sail ties. He placed the rudder in the
water and tied the tiller against the port side of the boat, then
stood in the cockpit and looked around.
"Ready?" she asked?
"Wait just a sec. Going over my list," he
said, then continued his mental survey. After checking in the small
cabin for life jackets and flares, he stepped to the middle of the
boat and held out his hand, beckoning Sabrina.
She gingerly took his fingertips in hers,
then stepped onto the seat cushion. The boat rocked and she grabbed
his arm with both hands. Jay pulled her towards the middle of the
cockpit and the rocking motion stopped.
"You've never sailed before?"
"I told you I hadn't. This is a small boat,
isn't it?"
"Yes, but it's fast and easy and fun. I
promise you won't go for a swim tonight."
"I'd better not," she warned, sitting on the
cushion and placing her purse beside her. She shrugged out of her
coat, the movement again catching Jay's eye as her shirt stretched
across her breasts.
He looked away, then reached out of the boat
and released the lines from the pier. He pulled in the fenders and
stowed them in the small cabin. Using the boat hook, he shoved the
dinghy away
James Holland
Erika Bradshaw
Brad Strickland
Desmond Seward
Timothy Zahn
Edward S. Aarons
Lynn Granville
Kenna Avery Wood
Fabrice Bourland
Peter Dickinson