If only Diana was psychic, then she could tell Athena whether or not she was making another mistake and whether her sisters’ arrival would be too late to save her.
CHAPTER
On Sunday the cab driver stopped several yards away from the entrance to the Belmont branch of the Chicago Yacht Club.
“This is as close as they let us get.”
Athena sat in the back seat, staring out the window toward the lake and the floating gray New England clapboard Yacht Club. She literally could not move, torn between cold, solid self-preservation, the status quo, and hot, fluttering eagerness to live dangerously. Could Drew be her destiny like Fred was Dottie’s? Or more likely, would Drew rip out her heart and this time she’d never recover?
“This is the place you wanted to go.” The cab driver’s impatient tone caused her to look up and catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. He didn’t look happy.
“This is the place you wanted to go,” he repeated louder, like she hadn’t heard him the first and second times.
If she hadn’t really wanted to come, she’d have stayed in bed with the covers pulled over her head the way she’d been doing for the past several months.
“Yes, this is the place. Thank you.” She paid the meter and threw in an extra five dollars for sitting like a lump, wasting his time.
The cab screeched away, merging onto Lake Shore Drive.
Still, Athena stood where he’d dropped her, clutching her canvas tote. If she and Drew were part of some grand Greek epic, or star-crossed lovers, best to get it over with instead of standing here getting sunstroke.
She meandered along the picturesque waterfront with docks holding boats, some old and classic, others new and sleek. On her right, the dry sail area looked like giant ship models on stands, waiting to be taken down and sailed away.
Now she could see the entrance with the guard dressed in white nautical gear.
Drew burst past him, running toward her. His blue polo shirt and swimming trunks made him look tan and fit.
Damn! He looks too adorably hot. But forbidden.
She clutched the tote to her chest like an anchor keeping her grounded. “Am I late?”
“No, you’re right on time.” Grinning from ear to ear, his eyes squinting nearly shut from the bright sunlight, he grabbed one of her hands, twining their fingers together. “C’mon, I moved my boat to the edge of the clubhouse.”
It seemed rude to insist unhand me. But serious self-preservation made her dig in her espadrilles. The whitecaps on the lake looked huge.
“The Skokie Lagoons are one thing. Fun. Great. But isn’t your Penguin awfully small for Lake Michigan?”
His genuine amusement made her smile back. “Yeah, way too small. We’re taking my Wally 80. C’mon, I’m double-parked.”
A huge, extremely modern, incredibly sleek boat took up all the parking spaces.
“It’s a yacht!”
“Yeah, remember, I race them.” He pulled her up the gangway onto a deck of teakwood big enough for a game of ping-pong.
He led her two steps down into the cockpit with a control panel of switches, dials, and gauges, and lined on two sides with wide, heavily padded blue leather benches.
“There are two staterooms and three heads, and that’s the owner’s aft cabin.”
Down a short hall and through an open door she saw cherry paneling and a wall-to-wall bed draped in Clayworth signature blue.
“Did you bring a bathing suit?” he asked, still holding her hand and her still letting him.
What am I doing!
She pulled her hand free of his warm, smooth fingers and shrugged. “I’m wearing it under my clothes. Only a precaution after getting wet last time we sailed. It’s too cold to swim in Lake Michigan yet.”
“We’ll see,” he said cryptically, like he had a secret. “C’mon back up.”
She followed and watched him toss blue cushions on the teak deck.
“Sit here and relax. I’ll motor out of the harbor before I hoist the sail.”
Relax? What am I doing here? This is impossible. I’m so wound up if I let go I’ll spin right off this boat.
Panic made her grab his arm. “Wait! You said you wanted to talk. Can’t we do it here? Not out there.”
“We’ll talk once we get out of the harbor. Relax,” he ordered again.
Recognizing his stubborn locked-jaw look, she faked indifference, dropping down and leaning one elbow on the cushions, like she had nothing better to do than watch him looking like the movie star Makayla called him, standing at the wheel of his ship, sailing off into adventure. Like Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean.
No. Not like Jack Sparrow. Love Johnny. Hated the gold teeth.
To keep her sanity, or at the very least maintain her nonchalant attitude, she dropped her eyes to watch the way the bow sliced through the lake. The fine bubbles and sizzle as the water passed the bow congealed into seahorses playing in the foam.
Fantasy. Like this.
But the past was no fantasy. It had helped to define her. And that fantasy needed to be put in its place once and for all. Tonight the past needed to be put to rest. And there could be no future, because of her dad.
So why did I come here tonight?
As they passed one big bulky boat in the harbor, three teenage boys, one with a blue Mohawk haircut, and a slightly older young man who seemed to be in charge, shouted and waved to them.
Drew waved back. “That’s my dad’s old Morgan 46. That’s Jeff and the kids from the Youth Center I’m teaching to sail. We were out earlier today. It’s a tub to sail. I think you’ll like this better.”
His smile was real. Not the surface charm he gave the world. It was like the moment he’d let her in at the museum.
I came here to finish what we started there. I came to make love with Drew. No promises. No future.
Instead of being stunned by her hot epiphany, she felt her body truly relax, relieved to let go of the entire pretense.
Maybe her longing could be labeled sexual attraction. After all, what did she really know about this adult Drew except what she’d learned secondhand from her dad and others, and, of course, from his public life as a retail mogul and his reputation as one of the most eligible men in town.
Maybe the Fates were actually doing her a favor. Maybe having sex with him would cure her. He might be a terrible lover. Selfish. Clumsy.
The memory of his kisses swept over her, leaving her weak in their wake.
Okay. Not clumsy. But probably selfish. Wanting everything his way. After all, he was a Clayworth, accustomed to getting what he wanted.
As soon as they cleared the harbor, he hoisted the sail and she felt the boat come alive beneath her.
A few minutes later he motioned her toward him. “Here, take the wheel.”
Shocked, she put her hands behind her back. “I don’t know how.”
“I’ll help you.”
The boat seemed to be in a rhythmic pattern of rolling and bouncing. To steady herself, she grabbed his outstretched hand and let him settle her between his body and the wheel.
She concentrated so hard on keeping her hands on the wheel she no longer felt the heaving beneath her. She forgot everything but the wind and Drew, warm and strong, looming at her back.
The farther out they went, the calmer the lake became, and the boat sailed smoothly across it.
“There, all right now,” he said softly above her right ear.
“You kept me busy so I wouldn’t notice the chop.”