"Nope." Sam reached over, realizing the lights on the radio were off, meaning he'd either neglected to turn it on or he had a problem with the radio.
"Something wrong?"
He fiddled with the buttons on the radio, annoyed when he got only static. "Looks like the radio is on the blink."
"Is that a problem?"
Again, he heard barely concealed panic in her voice. "We're fine, Tessa, relax."
"I'm trying, but the motion is making me nauseous. I wish we'd stayed at Grams's house. I don't know why I agreed to come out here."
He was beginning to wonder why he'd asked her. He'd thought she'd enjoy the sail, but she'd been tense and on edge since she'd come on board.
"We should have brought someone else to help you sail," she said.
"I don't need anyone's help," he replied with irritation. "It's a small boat, not a cruise ship, for God's sake."
"The last boat I was on was a cruise ship. We went to the Caribbean. It was beautiful and warm, and you could hardly feel the motion of the boat. I felt like I was in this big, beautiful hotel."
"But this is better, because you actually get to feel the water beneath you. That's the point of sailing."
She shrugged. "I guess." Her nonchalance vanished as the boat went up the face of a wave and down the other side, much like a roller coaster. She grabbed his arm so hard he had to fight her to regain control of the steering. "I don't like this," she said, her voice shaking.
"Talk to me, Tessa. Tell me about your life. Tell me about Jimmy," he said, trying to distract her.
"Jimmy. What—what do you want to know? He's a photographer I work with sometimes."
"He seems pretty interested in you, and not just for business purposes."
"He's a flirt," she said dismissively. "I've never seen him stick with a woman for longer than a month. I think that's the length of his attention span."
"So you two aren't dating?"
"No."
"Then why is he hanging around?"
"Well…" She seemed thrown by the question. "I don't know. I guess he considers himself a friend and he thinks I could use one right about now."
"I think he looks at you with more than friendship in mind."
"Perhaps there's a little attraction, but it's nothing serious."
"You still don't get the fact that you're every man's dream girl, do you?"
"Most of it is an illusion. You know what I really look like, Sam. The magazine covers are of some woman with not a line on her face or a blemish on her skin or an ounce of fat on her body. It takes about four people to get me to look that good. I don't think most men would like the real thing." She let out a breath as they entered the far end of the harbor, protected at last from the rising waves. "This is much better."
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He was amazed by her description of herself. "Are you kidding, Tessa? I'm looking at the real thing right now and it's pretty damn incredible."
"Then why couldn't you kiss me? Afraid you wouldn't like it or afraid you wouldn't be able to stop?"
Both, he decided. Because there was a fantasy of Tessa in his mind that he didn't want to lose, and yet here he had the opportunity to make that fantasy a reality and he couldn't seem to move forward.
"It was so good before," he muttered.
"It could be good again. Don't you think we should find out, Sam? Once and for all?"
* * *
"When I see Sam, remind me to kill him," Alli told Jimmy, who was standing on the dock taking photographs of her as she stood in the middle of a flat-bottom fishing boat next to a pile of squirming, smelly fish. She lowered her arm, encased in a yellow vinyl glove up to her elbow, and pulled out another fish and tossed it into a waiting crate.
"This is great stuff, Alli," Jimmy said. "You look terrific, your hair whipping around in the wind, your eyes on fire, your hands in a bucket of fish. I could sell this shot."
"To whom—Fisherman's Quarterly? You know, you could help."
He lowered the camera. "I don't think so. Can't mess up these lily white hands."
"You're such a hero."
"Like Sam?"
"He's not my hero," she said. "At the moment, he is lower than scum. And I plan to tell him that as soon as he gets here. If he ever gets here," she muttered, sneaking a quick look over her shoulder. She wasn't worried. She was not worried. Sam was a capable sailor. He could handle any boat. Still, the winds had kicked up and dark clouds were blowing through. The weather could change in a second on this part of the coast, and the thought of Sam getting caught out in a bad blow did nothing to ease the growing tension in her body.