I flush under his heated stare, and my pulse quickens. Really? Another first.He pulls

me into his arms, his fingers tangling in my hair, and kisses me, long and hard. We’re both

breathless when he pulls away.

“Might have to christen this bed,” he whispers against my mouth.

Oh, at sea!

“But not right now. Come, Mac will be casting off.” I ignore the stab of disappointment

as he takes my hand and leads me back through the saloon. He indicates another door.

“Office in there, and at the front here, two more cabins.”

“So how many can sleep on board?”

“It’s a six-berth cat. I’ve only ever had the family on board, though. I like to sail alone.

But not when you’re here. I need to keep an eye on you.”

He delves into a chest and pulls out a bright red lifejacket.

“Here.” Putting it over my head, he tightens all the straps, a faint smile playing on his

lips.“You love strapping me in, don’t you?”

“In any form,” he says, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

“You are a pervert.”

“I know.” He raises his eyebrows and his grin broadens.

“My pervert,” I whisper.

“Yes, yours.”

Once secured, he grabs the sides of the jacket and kisses me. “Always,” he breathes,

then releases me before I have a chance to respond.

Always! Holy shit.

“Come.” He grabs my hand and leads me outside, up some steps, and onto the upper

deck to a small cockpit that houses a big steering wheel and a raised seat. At the prow of

the boat, Mac is doing something with ropes.

“Is this where you learned all your rope tricks?” I ask Christian innocently.

“Clove hitches have come in handy,” he says, looking at me appraisingly. “Miss Steele,

you sound curious. I like you curious, baby. I’d be more than happy to demonstrate what I

can do with a rope.” He smirks at me, and I gaze back impassively as if he’s upset me. His

face falls.

“Gotcha.” I grin.

His mouth twists and he narrows his eyes. “I may have to deal with you later, but right

now, I’ve got to drive my boat.” He sits at the controls, presses a button, and the engines

roar into life.

Mac comes scooting back down the side of the boat, grinning at me, and jumps down

to the deck below where he starts to unfasten a rope. Maybe he knows some rope tricks,

too. The idea pops unwelcome into my head and I flush.

My subconscious glares at me. Mentally I shrug at her and glance at Christian—I

blame Fifty. He picks up the receiver and radios the coastguard as Mac calls up that we are

set to go.

Once more, I am dazzled by Christian’s expertise. He’s so competent. Is there nothing

that this man can’t do? Then I remember his earnest attempt to chop and dice a pepper in

my apartment on Friday. The thought makes me smile.

Slowly, Christian eases The Graceout of her berth and toward the marina entrance. Be-

hind us, a small crowd has gathered on the dockside to watch our departure. Small children

are waving, and I wave back.

Christian glances over his shoulder, then pulls me between his legs and points out vari-

ous dials and gadgets in the cockpit. “Grab the wheel,” he orders, bossy as ever, but I do

as I’m told.

“Aye, aye, captain!” I giggle.

Placing his hands snugly over mine, he continues to steer our course out of the marina,

and within a few minutes, we are out on the open sea, slap into the cold blue waters of

Puget Sound. Away from the shelter of the marina’s protective wall, the wind is stronger,

and the sea pitches and rolls beneath us.

I can’t help but grin, feeling Christian’s excitement—this is such fun. We make a large

curve until we are heading west toward the Olympic Peninsula, the wind behind us.

“Sail time,” Christian says, excited. “Here—you take her. Keep her on this course.”

What?He grins, reacting to the horror in my face.

“Baby, it’s really easy. Hold the wheel and keep your eye on the horizon over the bow.

You’ll do great; you always do. When the sails go up, you’ll feel the drag. Just hold her

steady. I’ll signal like this”—he makes a slashing motion across his throat—“and you can

cut the engines. This button here.” He points to a large black button. “Understand?”

“Yes.” I nod frantically, feeling panicky . Jeez—I hadn’t expected to do anything!

He kisses me quickly, then he steps off his captain’s chair and bounds up to the front of

the boat to join Mac where he starts unfurling sails, untying ropes, and operating winches

and pulleys. They work well together in a team, shouting various nautical terms to each

other, and it’s warming to see Fifty interacting with someone else in such a carefree man-

ner. Perhaps Mac is Fifty’s friend. He doesn’t seem to have many, as far as I can tell, but

then, I don’t have many either. Well, not here in Seattle. The only friend I have is on vaca-

tion sunning herself in St. James on the west coast of Barbados.

I have a sudden pang for Kate. I miss my roommate more than I thought I would when

she left. I hope she changes her mind and comes home with her brother Ethan, rather than

prolong her stay with Christian’s brother Elliot.

Christian and Mac hoist the mainsail. It fills and billows out as the wind seizes it hun-

grily, and the boat lurches suddenly, zipping forward. I feel it through the wheel . Whoa!

They get to work on the headsail, and I watch fascinated as it flies up the mast. The

wind catches it, stretching it taut.

“Hold her steady, baby, and cut the engines!” Christian cries out to me over the wind,

motioning me to switch off the engines. I can only just hear his voice, but I nod enthusiasti-

cally, gazing at the man I love, all windswept, exhilarated, and bracing himself against the

pitch and yaw of the boat.

I press the button, the roar of the engines ceases, and The Gracesoars toward the

Olympic Peninsula, skimming across the water as if she’s flying. I want to yell and scream

and cheer—this has to be one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life—except per-

haps the glider, and maybe the Red Room of Pain.

Holy cow, this boat can move! I stand firm, grasping the wheel, fighting the rudder, and

Christian is behind me once more, his hands on mine.

“What do you think?” he shouts above the sound of the wind and the sea.

“Christian! This is fantastic.”

He beams, grinning from ear to ear. “You wait until the spinney’s up.” He points with

his chin toward Mac, who is unfurling the spinnaker—a sail that’s a dark, rich red. It re-

minds me of the walls in the playroom.

“Interesting color,” I shout.

He gives me a wolfish grin and winks. Oh, it’s deliberate.

The spinney balloons out—a large, odd elliptical shape—putting The Gracein over-

drive. Finding her head, she speeds over the Sound.

“Asymmetrical sail. For speed.” Christian answers my unasked question.

“It’s amazing.” I can think of nothing better to say. I have the most ridiculous grin on

my face as we whip through the water, heading for the majesty of the Olympic Mountains

and Bainbridge Island. Glancing back, I see Seattle shrinking behind us, Mount Rainier in

the far distance.

I had not really appreciated how beautiful and rugged Seattle’s surrounding landscape

is—verdant, lush, and temperate, tall evergreens and cliff faces jutting out here and there.

It has a wild but serene beauty on this glorious sunny afternoon that takes my breath away.

The stillness is stunning compared to our speed as we whip across the water.

“How fast are we going?”

“She’s doing 15 knots.”