Up Too Close Read online

  She pushed him away with a skeptical look. “Just what would you get out of that arrangement?”

  “A first mate, of course,” he said, without the good grace to quit grinning. “When you rescued me, I saw how you handled yourself. You’d make a good deckhand.”

  CeCe couldn’t deny how taken she’d been with the Tourbillon. Wood and sea, wind and sail, she imagined herself working on such a vessel, actually getting her hands dirty. The past called to her, the feel of rough lines, tying knots, watching the weather and judging the wind. Silently, she cursed her mother. She’d given her such dreams, and CeCe had followed them around the world. Yes, she’d supported herself with massage over the years, but at heart, she was a sailor.

  If she could keep the Frenchman at bay, his offer of work would solve her problems.

  “This has to be a strictly working proposition,” she snapped. “No sex, no sharing a cabin, no …”

  “I get it,” he said. “I get it. Strictly professional.” Then he added with a wink, “Not even a freebie massage now and then?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her fist in his face, “I plan to start a new life. From here on, my only goal is to stand on my own. No more kept woman. No more mistress bullshit. You see before you the new CeCe. You think I’d be a pushover, slash easy cabin-mate,” she added with a glare.

  He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay. No hanky-panky. Over seven-thousand kilometers as a good guy, all the way.”

  “Really?” she huffed. “You think you’re capable of going that long without turning into a shit?”

  René said nothing but grabbed the check and laid down some cash on the table. “I think we’re done here.”

  * * *

  A shadow loomed, and when René looked up, one of the British captains anchored off the marina had closed in over CeCe.

  “It’s been a long time,” he said, and smiled, grasping the back of her chair with a tanned arm. His smiling blue eyes settled on CeCe with a little too much of a proprietary gleam.

  She turned and smiled back. “Captain Plummer,” she gushed. “It has been a long time. Are you still with the Bentons?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ve thrown in with Yachts International, on their newest three-level. Just commissioned her out of France.” His smile intensified, and he moved so close he could plant a kiss on her neck. “You know, we have the head stew slot open if you’re looking to trade up.” He punctuated the offer with a condescending look at René.

  At that, René scraped his chair back and stood. He nodded at the other captain and gave CeCe an intense stare. “So not all men are as intolerable as Frenchmen?”

  CeCe lowered her eyes and then stared back, her look a challenge. “Tell me I’m wrong about you.”

  “Non, you are not wrong about me, but about all men? Maybe yes. But consider this. Perhaps all that negativity does not come from us, Cherie. Maybe a little comes from you.”

  When CeCe sucked in a sharp breath, he stomped away only to halt after a few steps and turn around. “Suit yourself,” he said. “My offer still stands. I’ll be getting ready to leave for the next few days. You know where I’ll be. If I don’t hear from you by tomorrow at ten, I’ll find another first mate.”

  He walked away without looking back in what he hoped would be a dignified exit.

  Unfortunately, the same freckled little brat he saw before took that moment to pinwheel backwards into the water.

  “He can’t swim!” a woman’s shriek ripped through the cafe.

  René didn’t pause. He took three great running steps and dove into the water. He hooked an arm around the small body and pulled him to the surface.

  After handing the little guy up to his mother at the dock ladder, René climbed out and picked up a wad of napkins. He sopped his hair and face dry and sauntered out into the hot, tropical sun.

  * * *

  CeCe shook her head at the spectacle. René dove in without a second thought even though this was the same kid who nearly spilled his beer. And the mother wasn’t showing much gratitude, either.

  Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

  CeCe still mulled over his comments about her negative attitude toward men. Was she taking out her ire on all men when only Jerome Carrothers deserved her hatred? Had her suspicions about men turned into a self-fulfilling prophecy?

  When she turned back to Captain Plummer, he’d scooted a chair close and moved his arm near her shoulders. He chatted on about the requirements and perks of the head stew job, but his gaze was not on her face. His charming blue eyes had lasered onto her breasts. And now the hand at the end of the arm around her shoulder sneaked closer to one of her boobs. His first contact was just a feathering, but then he settled into a tentative squeeze.

  CeCe jumped from her chair and gave him a slap that echoed throughout the café. Everyone stopped eating and stared. She thought about giving him a piece of her mind, but then gave herself a mental head-smack and raced out of the restaurant.

  When she cleared the front door, René was walking back toward his slip. She ran to catch up and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  Chapter Two

  12.0550ºN, 61.7488ºW

  Day One, Late Afternoon

  Aboard Tourbillon, Secret Harbour Marina

  Still out of breath from chasing René, CeCe turned him to face her when she caught up and said, “I’m so sorry. You were right. I had no business giving you a hard time for what Jerome Carrothers did to me. Can we start again? I really need that job as your first mate. There aren’t that many rides heading back up the Atlantic this early in the season.”

  René gave her a long look and in a move she hadn’t noticed before in the cafe, he looked into her eyes, not at her chest, when he repeated his earlier offer.

  “Ms. Ahlstrom,” he said, “you are hired. But I have certain requirements you should consider before making your final decision.”

  She frowned and thought, Great, here it comes. I’ll have to sleep with him too.

  “I expect you to share round-the-clock watches and galley duties. You’ll need to help with provisioning and general ship’s maintenance and cleaning. I hope you have sailing skills, because we’re both going to have to share helm time and haul and trim sails. A sixty-foot wooden sailing ship can be hard to sail and steer, especially in stormy conditions.” He paused for a moment but maintained steady eye contact. “Do you have any questions?” he continued.

  “No,” CeCe said. “I grew up on an island, and my mother taught me to sail before she left, so I’m pretty good with hauling, trimming, and the wheel.”

  “All right, then. If you’re sure, Ms. Ahlstrom, then I have some personal requirements as well. Just so there will be no misunderstandings going forward, I am going to envision you as a six-foot-four Turkish sailor, very bulky, with a beer gut. And hairy. Lots of hair, chest hair, and a bushy beard.”

  “Why?” CeCe asked, puzzled.

  “That, Ms. Ahlstrom, is how I will keep this working relationship professional. And don’t give me that innocent, dewy-eyed stare. You know the effect you have on men. I am here to tell you there is zero tolerance for ‘hanky-panky’ on the Tourbillon.” He stopped for a few minutes, his gaze still locked on hers. “Are you still interested, and will you abide by the captain’s rules?” he finally asked.

  “Of course,” CeCe said. They’d walked and talked to the point that they’d arrived at Tourbillon’s slip.

  This time she noticed the faded, peeling white paint on the hull, the weathered gray boards on the deck, and the ragged canvas sail covers. None of that mattered. “Such a classic,” she finally said. “Reminds me of a Danish gaff ketch.”

  She turned toward the ship’s boarding plank and said, “Please show me the ship’s layout and where my quarters will be, Captain Baudoin.”

  * * *

  René let out a huge sigh while he followed the Swedish massage therapist aboard the ship. Laying down the law to CeCe had been one of the most difficu
lt speeches of his life, but his mind was made up, in stone. No more listening to her berate him for being a despoiler of women and general shit. He’d gotten the message, loud and clear. She blamed all men for what Carrothers had done. At some point she’d heal from that horror show. Until then, he had no intention of being her punching bag.

  But he needed a first mate, and that tanned, lithe body of hers … No! Think six-foot-four hairy Turk. A hairy Turk. This was going to be a very long passage.

  Once on deck, he stopped for a moment to enjoy what comforts he could. The blue-green water of the marina harbor danced and bobbed with boats. Humid sunshine slickened his skin and salt air, fuel, food cooking, the movement of bodies, the tang of sunscreen, all mingled in a comforting smell, like his grand-mere’s baking when he was a boy.

  Ahead of him, CeCe stepped up to the helm where she’d be completing her watches once they were under way. She let out a gasp. “The compass. It’s beautiful.” The bronze-trimmed, ornate compass, sat atop a wood binnacle pillar at the wheel at the stern.

  “It’s the only thing that really works on this wreck,” René said.

  A sharp pain stabbed at his gut when he thought about taking on CeCe as crew. He knew she hated him, but fortunately, she seemed to love the despicable boat.

  However, he convinced himself, the way she felt about men had nothing to do with him. Carrothers hadn’t just treated her poorly, he’d tried to kill her. Maybe she hadn’t loved the guy to begin with. After all, the jerk had been obscenely wealthy before he began to steal from his partner. No matter what their relationship, his actions must have devastated CeCe.

  René knew what it was like to be looking for passage home from a foreign shore. CeCe needed his help, but he needed hers more. He didn’t want to sail the Tourbillon alone, and CeCe had ocean experience on the Bonnie Blue as well as many other yachts. If he had to hire extra crew, the wages would eat into his final payout at the end of the delivery.

  But how well did he know CeCe Ahlstrom?

  He didn’t. What started out as flirting was on the verge of becoming an odd partnership. He still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to come with him. But then, that showed how desperate she was. Kind of sad. This time, though, René swore he would be a good guy. Like he promised.

  She’d moved on toward the bow and leaned over the lifelines, staring down into the clear Caribbean depths.

  Even though he’d meant every word of his “professional” speech, he couldn’t help hoping a bit. Six-foot-four hairy Turk! Maybe the close quarters would make her change her mind about entanglement. René knew he was the perfect rebound relationship: lots of sex, not a lot of emotional attachment.

  Like with Margot, his first choice for first mate. That hadn’t ended well. Not his fault. The South African woman had expected way too much of him, and there was the problem with the boat.

  He was just glad Margot was gone. That kind of baggage he didn’t need.

  The sun had drooped toward the horizon, so he took off his Cartier sunglasses and let them hang from the custom-made leather strap that kept them from going overboard.

  CeCe turned back toward him and was about to say something when the companionway doors burst open. An angry, gorgeous, dark-skinned woman appeared and demanded, “René, where are my earrings? You’ve taken them, haven’t you?”

  René hung his head. Margot.

  * * *

  CeCe should have known. However, the intensity of the strange woman’s ire still surprised her. Margot flung her hands up, ranting, and raging, like a vengeful goddess. “I’m gone five minutes, and already you have someone else? Oh, Monsieur René Baudoin, very impressive. I’d call you ‘captain,’ but then a real captain wouldn’t have lied to me about his boat. Or stolen my earrings. Or have been a general asshole.”

  “Pirates can be captains, and they do all those things,” René said. His smug smile made CeCe want to join forces with Margot and keel-haul him.

  Not what Margot wanted to hear. Fresh hellfire filled the woman’s eyes.

  René’s smile faded, and his sunglasses were back in place in spite of dusk rapidly setting in, so CeCe couldn’t be sure what he was feeling. A normal person might be embarrassed, but René? He’d made a pirate joke.

  The vengeful goddess turned on CeCe. “Let me warn you. He is not to be trusted. I don’t know what lies he’s told you, but if I were you, I would run, far and fast. You don’t want to get involved with him.”

  “Not involved. I’m just the first mate. CeCe Ahlstrom, by the way.”

  “Uh huh,” the woman said. “Working on this tub is not a good idea. You won’t make it out of the Caribbean. Has he told you about all the water in the bilge?”

  Again, someone bad-mouthing the Tourbillon. Poor thing. CeCe was starting to feel sorry for the old wooden ship. “Water in the bilge? Are you sure?”

  “Don’t take my word for it,” Margot said. “Go check for yourself,” and she swept an arm toward the companionway.

  René patted the front pockets of his shorts, felt at the breast pocket of his shirt, and then reached for the back pocket.

  He frowned.

  CeCe was both repulsed and fascinated. Was he looking for the earrings?

  “This thing leaks like a colander,” Margot said. “I had another job all lined up, but he convinced me to cancel it, to sail with him up the Atlantic. Then he leads me back to this wreck. I have to say, at night it didn’t look so bad, and I was a little drunk, and then …” The woman stopped talking, probably aware she might be spewing too much information. “Anyway, my earrings, René. I’m not leaving without them.”

  He nodded. “I think I know where they are.”

  He shuffled past them, down the companionway and out of sight.

  CeCe cringed because - hello - now she was alone with the seething goddess. What could she possibly say? The awkward silence was bone-breaking. “Well, sorry, um, about everything.”

  The woman arched her eyebrows. “So now you’re apologizing for him? Don’t start. It will never end.” Before CeCe could answer, she went on. “What are you doing with him? You don’t look stupid.”

  CeCe felt a weird need to defend herself, the boat, and even in a strange way, René, but then she stopped. No, this wasn’t her fight, and if this woman wanted her story, she’d give it to her.

  CeCe struggled to keep her smile polite. “I need to get to Portugal, and René is my ticket there. Now, I might not look stupid, but I am very stupid when it comes to a certain type of man. I think they’re called alpha males now. Not to get too personal, but I was involved with a married man. He tried to murder me, his wife, and a whole yacht full of people. It was all very dramatic. Machine-guns, explosions, I was drugged, blah, blah, blah. He’s gone for good, and I’m glad to be rid of him.”

  The woman blinked.

  “And René showed up with Alton Maura. He’s the celebrity chef from ‘Kitchen Gods.’ Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

  More blinking.

  “They saved us. I’m alive, and I’ve learned my lesson. No more alpha males for me. A near-death experience makes for a great teacher, gives you a different perspective.”

  Less blinking, more head-tilting.

  CeCe widened her smile. “You and René hate the Tourbillon, and yes, I’m sure there are issues with her, but maybe she is like us. Maybe she is strong, despite being battered about by men, the world, and the cruel hand of fate. I want to see if she can get me up the Atlantic. I think she can. In fact, I’m looking forward to betting my life on her.”

  The head-tilting ended in a blank, open-mouthed stare.

  René tromped up from below, pushed two diamond studs into Margot’s hand, and then backed away. Like he was afraid she’d rake her nails across his face.

  “Are we settled, then?” René asked.

  “Yeah, yeah we are,” the woman said.

  Suddenly, CeCe knew why the woman’s name was familiar—Margot Blomkempt, a competent sailor with a good reputation, w
ho worked for sea captains up and down the Caribbean. Big ocean, but a small world. She thought she might have even met her once before on a cruise, probably with Carrothers.

  CeCe had made a big speech about trusting the Tourbillon, but if Margot had second thoughts, maybe she should too.

  And there was René to consider. CeCe trusted the ship far more than she trusted the Frenchman. The boat might fail her, but she would be damned if she’d give René the chance to let her down.

  * * *

  Once René returned topsides, he noticed a change in Margot. Her face reflected shock, and she looked almost faint. More leg-shaky than fist-shaking.

  What could CeCe have said to her about him?

  The South African woman took two steps, turned, opened her mouth, closed it, and then walked off.

  “What happened?” René asked.

  CeCe closed her eyes, sighed, and clenched her jaw.

  René smiled. “And now you are going to punish me with a long speech about what kind of animal I am. Or maybe you are sad you weren’t my first choice, or maybe you are mad because I should have told you about Margot in the first place.”

  CeCe walked calmly past René, opened the companionway, and yelled down the stairway. “Any other women here? Anyone else missing earrings, or underwear, or their self-respect?”

  “No, no others,” René said, grinning.

  She turned to him. “Good. You do realize Margot did us at least two favors, don’t you?”

  René raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

  “She reinforced my resolve. You and I will never sleep together. Ever. You were looking for her earrings in your pockets, weren’t you?”

  René nodded and said, before he could really think about it, “When I find earrings in my bunk, I put them in my pocket.”

  “To sell?” her lips curled into a snarl. “Is this like a side business? Lure unsuspecting women back to your lair, shake off their jewelry, and then sell it on the open market?”

  “No, I give everything back.” René said, feeling a little sheepish against his better judgment.

  “So, thanks to Margot, I know exactly what kind of man you are.”