Up Too Close Read online

  She watched him, and he shivered. Okay, he had to put his best foot forward. “I attended the Sorbonne in Paris. But I’m afraid I missed the ocean too much to stay.”

  “I can see you at the parties. I can’t see you studying.” She sipped more of the coffee, but she wasn’t eating. She was too preoccupied delving into him with her eyes.

  “I studied,” René protested. “But I am not a scholar. I’m a sailor. I got in trouble for taking a skiff onto the Seine.”

  “They allow boats on the Seine,” CeCe said.

  “They frown on stolen boats. “René grinned. “It was a crazy night. I had a girlfriend at the time, and things were not going well. My friends took me drinking, and they said I called out, ‘My only love is the sea!’ To prove it, I stole a boat and set sail in the middle of the Paris. But you see, even then, I wanted the water. I was so drunk, when the police stopped me, I told them I was headed for le Chaine Anglaise.”

  “Problems with a girlfriend? Because you couldn’t stay faithful?” CeCe finally picked up her plate and began to eat.

  René colored. He wasn’t going to lie, though he wanted to. “Back then, yes. But now? I’m a changed man.” Because of you, he wanted to add, but wasn’t brave enough.

  “A changed man.” CeCe took a bite of the strawberries and waffle and closed her eyes in pleasure. René loved the look on her face. She opened her eyes. “Oh, René, if you will cook like this for me, I will gladly give up my humpback whale ways and we’ll get married and I can test how faithful you can be.”

  René’s mouth went dry. So she was thinking about it as well. “I would pass all such tests.”

  “Even if two women approached you?” CeCe asked, a playful note in her voice.

  René could answer that easily. “Yes. I’ve experienced such a thing. It can be awkward, and in the end, I felt a little like an outsider. They liked each other far more than they liked me.”

  CeCe’s laughter was musical. “What about twins? They say no man could resist twins.”

  “I could,” René said, “but I’d rather not deal with family drama. No, thank you.”

  “What about three women, all deeply in love with you and only you?” CeCe persisted.

  “Three?” René shook his head. “I would have to multitask. I couldn’t finish university. I am not up to the task of three women, though I would be tempted.”

  René left his coffee, his waffles, even his bacon, on his plate.

  He crawled across the blankets to CeCe, his eyes level with hers, their mouths close. “I don’t think I want other women any more, CeCe. I have found you. If you would live with me upon the sea, we could sail across the world together, and with you in my arms and the ocean beneath me, I would be more than satisfied.”

  * * *

  Well, he’s in love with me, CeCe thought. Or at least he thinks he is.

  She knew she couldn’t make any more jokes about getting married. However, she also knew for men like René, such emotions might not last once the magic of the first sex was over and life settled into the everyday.

  She kissed him, to give her time to think, but she settled him back.

  The distraction also allowed Chienne to snatch the last of the bacon off his plate. She ran off to the stern before they could stop her.

  Both she and René laughed at the thief.

  “René,” CeCe started slowly, carefully. She wanted him, but she wasn’t going to be his little wife upon the sea. And how would he feel if they added a baby to the mix? Someone else’s baby? She couldn’t imagine him agreeing to that.

  René widened his eyes. “Never has my name been said so ominously.”

  CeCe laughed at that. Then she grew serious. “Have you noticed how much I’ve been crying? Believe me, I am normally not so emotional. I am a happy person at heart, so I’ve been wondering why the tears.”

  “Yes,” René said shyly, “tears.”

  “I think I know,” CeCe said. “I was in love with Jerome Carrothers. In a lot of ways, he was like all the men I grew up with in the Azores. Powerful, confident, very male and self-assured. He and my father would have gotten along well, and I imagine my brothers would want to be just like him. I really did believe Jerome would leave his wife, and we’d have our own little family.”

  “Jerome Carrothers?” A look of disgust flashed across René’s face.

  CeCe nodded. “Yes, I know. He was criminal. I was so wrong about him, but he had such charisma, and he made me feel so special. You are similar to him.”

  René blinked. “I would never hurt you. He tried to kill you.”

  Tears filled CeCe’s eyes. “And that is why I have been crying. The man I loved tried to kill not only me but his wife. I am so hurt by it, and so, however wonderful you are, I can’t pretend to be your wife. I can’t pretend I’m not hurt. So, this is what I would like for us to do.”

  She watched him carefully. She could see he was uncomfortable with the conversation, but he needed the truth. And CeCe needed to be honest. She picked up his hand and held it tight.

  “René, I want to be your lover, your first mate, and your friend. I want us to have a wonderful adventure across the Atlantic, and I want you in every way. But I can’t commit to anything. And I can’t promise you once we reach Europe, we might not part forever. But I don’t want to think about that. I want to be with you, Chienne, the Tourbillon, now, right now. Do you understand?”

  The smile on his face was achingly wistful. “That is all I wanted at first. But I’ve changed, you’ve changed. It seems we’ve become moon-crossed lovers.”

  CeCe giggled. “Star-crossed. You should’ve done more studying and less stealing at university. It’s from Romeo and Juliet.”

  René’s smile turned playful. “You are so smart. And good for lonely sailors.”

  CeCe pulled him to her and laid her head on his chest to listen to his heart beat, to feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Can you share this adventure with me?”

  “Oui, Cherie. I will be your captain, your friend, and your lover until reach England. Then we shall see. We shall see.”

  When a gust of wind blew out of the clear sky, CeCe jerked back, lifted her face to the breeze, and sang out, “Wind, René!”

  “Wind, CeCe!” he called back. “Let us sail while we can. On to Bermuda!”

  * * *

  CeCe unfurled the sails while René took their dishes below. He wanted to check the GPS and charts to see where they’d drifted. Even though he felt as though they were a painted ship upon a painted ocean, he knew the currents still had carried them along.

  And besides, the earlier clear blue skies had begun to fill with high, feathered horsetail clouds. Something was brewing with the weather which no doubt would bring high winds, and he intended to stay several steps ahead.

  If his time with CeCe was limited, he was determined to enjoy every second loving her.

  And he couldn’t very well love her if they wound up underwater.

  On the way down, René leaned against the Tourbillon. “Help me,” he whispered. “Help me to keep CeCe safe.”

  Even if the ship didn’t hear him, he knew his pere and grand-pere did.

  Chapter Fourteen

  21.8678ºN, 61.8671ºW

  Day Eleven – Midday

  On Rhumb Line to Bermuda.

  René slapped down a metal ruler on his well-worn chart and plotted their current position at 21.8678ºN, 61.8671ºW. A little east of where they needed to be. They’d drifted farther off their rhumb line than he would have liked, but with the freshening wind, they could make up the difference and get back on course within the next twenty-four hours. He pulled the digital barometer out of his bag of navigation tools and hung the thin oblong from a hook above the table.

  He noted the numbers in a log entry and then moved to check the levels in the huge water tanks tucked beneath the galley floor. He went topsides to monitor diesel levels. And sneak another look at CeCe, but she was too far forward.

&n
bsp; After he finalized the log entry, he unpacked his sextant and went back above to do a noon sun shot. Even though the boat had electronics and both he and CeCe carried a GPS monitor, he did the noon shot each day to double-check their latitude position. Longitude took a little more work, so he took that reading only a couple of times a week, relying on the electronics the rest of the time.

  Since all seemed to be in order, he went to the deck cooler and pulled out a bottle of sparkling water for CeCe. She would be thirsty after all the work. He nearly dropped the bottle on the deck when he rounded some chests near the stern of the ship where she sat at the helm.

  Her beautiful smile was all she wore in the warming sun. He smiled at her, gave her a bottle of San Pellegrino, and dropped his pants.

  Both naked, warm, and happy under the sharp heat of the rising sun, they spent the remaining hours touching and making languid love while she completed her shift.

  * * *

  After the lazy afternoon watch of making love, CeCe opened the log book and wrote down the details of her turn at the helm. The weather, the rolling seas, and a small smiley face in the margin. After noting water and fuel numbers, she looked up at the digital barometer on the chart table wall.

  When she wrote down the number and then compared René’s earlier number, she went to the foot of the companionway and shouted up to him to come below and double-check the numbers. Either one of them had made a mistake or they were headed into some nasty weather.

  René nearly slid down the steps in his hurry to see what was wrong. In answer to the look of concern in his eyes, she said, “Ten millibars down in three hours.”

  He stood still for a moment and then motioned for her to follow him above to reef down all the sails.

  CeCe hated to shorten everything since they’d been making great time with all the old ship’s canvas raised ever since the wind had returned.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “The pressure, she falls way too fast,” he said, and scanned the horizon. “No sign of a squall line yet, but look at the waves.”

  CeCe shaded her eyes against the sun, not seeing any weather moving toward them, but heightened swells heaved the deck beneath her feet. René was right. Something was coming.

  René had her take the wheel for a slow heaving-to which backed the sails and stopped the boat long enough for him to pull down the genoa headsail and stuff the heavy canvas down the forward hatch. He replaced that sail with a small storm jib which would serve to balance the lumbering old ship during the storm.

  Both CeCe and René slung sail ties around their necks. As the unwieldy mainsail came down, they folded, flaked, and tied the canvas to the boom as they went while the helm was tied off. The small foresail flapped and cracked like gunshots as the wind continued to build.

  When they were finished, René gave CeCe an odd look before disappearing toward the stern storage lockers. He returned soon with long heavy lines which he attached to the forward and stern cleats on both sides of the ship.

  “You’re rigging extra jacklines,” she said. “You think the storm will be that bad?”

  “Yes,” he said, “and from now on no one goes above decks without a safety tether attached to either the binnacle at the helm, or the jackline if you have to leave the cockpit.”

  “I hate--”

  He cut her off. “No coming above deck without clipping in, CeCe. Promise me,” he insisted and gave her his hand.

  “I never have a problem staying on a ship,” she said.

  He kept his hand out until she clasped it and squeezed. “I don’t know how you feel,” he said, “and I’m not asking you to say it, but I love you. Now that I’ve found you, I’m not going to lose you overboard.”

  CeCe jerked back her hand as if she’d been scorched.

  “You do know if you go into the water,” René said, “the chances are bad, very bad, of my finding you in these building waves. My grand-pere was swept off this ship.”

  “Your grandfather?” A million questions bit into her brain, but now was not the time to ask them. It seemed René had learned who the true owner of the Tourbillon was.

  “Oui,” René said. “So you had better be careful.”

  “Fine. I will,” she said, angered at both his proprietary admonishments and that he hadn’t told her what he knew about the ship. “I won’t come up here without the tether.”

  Just as she turned to go back down below, a random, huge wave swept across the deck, drenching both of them. He pulled her close to keep her from losing her footing.

  When she whirled on him, he said, “See. The waves are not to be trusted,” and turned her toward the entrance to the companionway.

  Once down below again, CeCe surveyed the galley and saloon where the table and benches were securely attached to the floor. She assessed everything with a critical eye. Anything not screwed down would have to be stowed. When the wind and waves built, the things that landlubbers took for granted in their houses could become deadly missiles aboard a sailing yacht besieged in a storm.

  She made a list: two reading lamps, glass-framed nautical prints hanging from the walls, a loose coffee pot, and books. Heavens, but for someone who had trouble studying in college, the man carried a lot of books with him. They were mostly French translations of old nautical literature like Moby Dick and The Ancient Mariner.

  Her next task would be to find areas for safe stowage. She moved to the sleeping quarters. Each of the four cabins had wall lights, thank God, but the original owner had littered the shelves with tons of little tchotchkes. She’d have to find secure homes for them.

  Had the original owner been René’s grandfather? It seemed so.

  Chienne padded up to CeCe from her bed and nosed at her hand. Fortunately, the poor dog had done her business shortly before the storm began to build. With any luck she could hold her water until René could guide her to her box on the bow. When she ran her hand across Chienne’s neck, she could feel the shivers building. CeCe dropped to the dog’s level and held her close, repeating her mother’s old comforting “Min alskling. You will be fine, old friend,” she added, and the animal seemed to relax a bit. “Maybe later I’ll give that arthritic hip of yours a massage.”

  Chienne gave a little yip and moved back to her bed.

  CeCe guessed her plans for a nap between watches was not going to happen. The storm had put an end to their idyllic cruise. From now on, Tourbillon’s small crew would be getting very little sleep, or sex. Landfall in Bermuda could not come soon enough.

  The waves had grown to the point where the ship rode up the crest and then slammed down the other side. Even if you had the luxury of a nap, the frequent thuds would make sleep elusive.

  CeCe had forgotten the benefits of working on super yachts. Most of the multi-million-dollar ships she’d worked on before glided through big waves as though they were warm butter. Her days among the rich and famous were over. Oddly, the thought of such a loss felt right.

  * * *

  René had to turn off the auto-pilot and hand-steer Tourbillon through the growing waves. Electronic steering simply did not work with the uneven waves produced by a building gale. He didn’t mind. Sometimes, a sailor needed to go one-on-one with Mother Ocean to feel alive.

  He tried to ignore the flickering running lights, though. Water must be getting in somewhere and soaking the wiring. The only steady light above decks now was the light inside the compass topping the binnacle. If any light had to survive the storm, the compass light would get his vote.

  As the pressure of the wind and waves on the wheel grew and he had to apply more pressure to control their course, he thought about CeCe. Sexy, delicate CeCe. He wondered if she would be able to control the bucking yacht.

  The temptation was great to do all the steering himself, but he knew that way lay disaster. Each of them had to get rest in between bouts with the helm, because there was no way of knowing when the storm would abate. A hard week of sailing lay between them and Bermuda ev
en under perfect conditions. They had to conserve their strength.

  He’d lost track of time, and the rain that had started to fall made checking his watch difficult. Still, he felt his father’s spirit near, and with how the Tourbillon handled the waves, Grand-pere was surely around as well.

  CeCe appeared with a mug of hot, steaming coffee to relieve him. His heart lurched at the thought of leaving her alone in the storm but her smiling face betrayed no trace of fear or anxiety. This woman was a sailor, and sailors live for a good, challenging blow.

  He saw she’d dutifully attached her safety tether to her life jacket, so he bent to clip her onto the metal surrounding the binnacle. She gave him a mock salute and motioned for him to go below. By then voices couldn’t be heard above the keening of the wind, but when he took the coffee and moved away she gave him a thumbs-up with a smile. She leaned back against the stern bench locker, spread her feet wide, and gripped the wheel.

  Tourbillon was in good hands. He’d go below, check on the obnoxious Chienne, and then steal a few hours sleep.

  When he reached the galley, Chienne was still on her bed, but whining. He sighed and moved to her side with her small life jacket and tether. He might as well take her above before settling in for some rest.

  Once back out in the storm above decks, he clipped both his tether and Chienne’s onto the jackline and headed toward the plunging bow where the spoiled dog’s special pee box of grass was attached to the deck. He hoped to hell she could do her business while attached to the tether. Otherwise, he might have to explain to his grandmother why her Portuguese water dog had flown off the ship into the ocean maelstrom.

  The dog apparently had turned into a realist since she’d come aboard as part of the crew. When he lowered her so she could place her paws on the heaving deck, she gave him just one baleful look before squatting down to business. She made quick work and with a final scratching of her back feet, jumped from the box to his protection. The two of them made their way slowly toward the stern when suddenly Chienne began wild whining he could hear even above the wind. She strained against the tether and tried to race away.