From Waif To His Wife. Lindsay Armstrong
have fallen asleep.’
‘You mean you broke into the cabin!’ he fired back at her.
‘I didn’t! It wasn’t locked, so—’
‘Oh, yes, it was!’
‘No, it wasn’t,’ she insisted. ‘Do I look like the kind of girl who goes around breaking locks?’
‘You look like,’ he paused and scanned her, ‘heaven knows what! How on earth could I tell…’ He stopped impatiently then frowned. ‘Maybe not. You look about sixteen but I suppose you could have taken to a life of crime early!’
But Maisie was now looking at him in something like horror. ‘Who—who are you?’ she stammered.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he rasped. ‘How did you get in?’
‘Well,’ she swallowed convulsively, as her mind did cartwheels, ‘um—the door wasn’t locked. Maybe you had a delivery and someone from the marina office brought it on board and forgot to lock the door behind them?’
She stopped and flinched inwardly as she thought belatedly of Travis, the last person she wanted to blame, especially as she might have distracted him herself.
‘I…’ He paused. ‘I did have a catering package delivered and a new gas bottle,’ he said almost to himself, then shrugged. ‘That still gives you no right to be on my boat. Here, take the bloody wheel,’ he added roughly. ‘You may have all but drowned me, you may have tried to knock me out, but you’re not going to finish me off with pneumonia. Red to starboard, green to port,’ he said, indicating the channel markers.
‘I kn-know that,’ Maisie said a little shakily as she stepped up to the wheel, ‘but shouldn’t we be turning back?’
‘Like f…Like hell we should,’ he amended, still blazingly angry as he started to pull off his sodden sweater.
‘You don’t have to not swear on my account, if it makes you feel better,’ she said nervously as she took over the steering. ‘I’ve probably heard it all before.’
‘I doubt it. But just in case you haven’t seen it all before you might like to keep your eyes ahead.’
Of course, she turned to look a question at him automatically, only to see that he’d stripped and was pulling a towel out of his bag.
‘Oh,’ she said, and felt her cheeks start to burn as she switched her gaze to dead straight ahead. For, whoever this was, he was superb. Streamlined, finely muscled with compact hips, a washboard stomach, long legs—he’d be an artist’s dream model, not to mention the answer to most girls’ prayers.
Nor did it escape her attention that his naked body had caused a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach, which caused her serious consternation and disbelief…
‘Oh?’ he echoed.
‘I didn’t realise that’s what you meant, that’s all. Sorry.’
He growled something unintelligible and presently came back into sight, dressed in dry clothes, to take the wheel from her.
‘Now, ma’am, miss, boat burglar or whatever you are, we need some hot coffee.’
Maisie hesitated. ‘I really do think we should turn around—’
‘Then you shouldn’t have sneaked aboard,’ he said drily, ‘because I planned to sail to Horseshoe Bay on Peel Island this morning, I’ve invited two couples from other boats aboard for lunch and that is still my intention. Off you go!’
Maisie went. She had no idea what else she could do at that moment.
Under normal circumstances, unless your mind was going round in circles, it would have been a pleasure to make coffee aboard the Mary-Lue.
The sumptuousness of the main cabin was revealed in all its glory in daylight. The mellow rich gleam of New Guinea rosewood was polished to perfection. The navy cut-velvet upholstery was lifted with turquoise scatter cushions and turquoise carpeting, and a brass lamp with a gold foil shade stood on the bar.
There was a built-in chart table and a duplicate set of controls, a radar, GPS and plotter, plus a variety of marine radios. You could go anywhere on the Mary-Lue, she thought.
The galley was spotless and had every mod con including an ice-maker. No plastic glasses and mugs—instead she found crystal glasses and a set of fine china coffee mugs that echoed the décor in their pattern of navy, turquoise and gold.
She could only find instant coffee, however, but when she opened the fridge for milk it was to see it was stocked with pâtés and exotic cheeses, smoked salmon and oysters, a lobster salad, strawberries, six bottles of champagne and much more. She assembled the coffee on a tray and bore it carefully up the stairs.
The man at the wheel bent down to take it from her, and she emerged into the cockpit to see he’d taken the waterproof covers off the seats.
His short, thick hair had also started to dry, so she could see it was dark blond; ditto, she thought. Height? About six feet four—ditto, she thought again—and grey eyes, but it was definitely not the same man, with a very different aura.
She closed her eyes in confusion then opened them to notice the sky hadn’t cleared completely, so there was patchy sunlight, and it was still cool. What breeze there was was errant so that the surface of the water was glassy and reflecting the sky, then lightly ruffled.
Peel Island, coming up on their port bow, was low and green compared to the bulk of North Stradebroke behind it. There was not much activity on this part of Moreton Bay on this chilly Saturday morning.
‘Sit down,’ he ordered, ‘and start talking.’
Maisie did everything she knew to compose herself in what was not only a mystifying but also a dreadfully embarrassing situation.
She took some deep breaths then remembered she was still wearing her beanie. She took it off and ran her fingers through her hair and the breeze lifted her curls, causing her companion to narrow his eyes as he studied her.
Finally, she wrapped her hands around her mug. ‘W-would you please tell me who you are first? I do—really—need to know.’
‘Rafe Sanderson,’ he said curtly. ‘More to the point, who are you?’
‘No, you’re not.’ The words slipped out before she could help herself but she meant them.
He looked at her ironically. ‘I can assure you I am.’
‘But I happen to know you’re not!’
‘Now look here—how?’ He changed tack slightly. ‘I can guarantee we don’t know each other from a—the proverbial bar of soap.’
‘That’s just it,’ she cried and lost all caution to the wind. ‘I—I had an affair with Rafe Sanderson, if you could call it that. I’m pregnant with his baby, but it would appear he’s—he doesn’t want anything more to do with me.’
He was stunned into silence for a good minute. Then he put the motor into Neutral, then Reverse, and as the boat stopped moving he let out the anchor chain with a touch of a button on the console.
And Maisie continued a little desperately, ‘At first I thought you were him, and now I see you’re not, but it’s the same name so I—I’m terribly confused.’
‘Some girls are easy to confuse,’ he said then with a hard little glint in his grey eyes. ‘Go on.’
‘You don’t believe me,’ Maisie said and gestured. ‘To be honest, neither do I. Not that it didn’t happen but I don’t believe I could have let it—’
‘Were you coerced?’ he asked abruptly.
‘No.’ And suddenly the fact that she’d had no one to confide in claimed her and