Chapter Nine
Megan
I stared out the window of the cab as we approached the marina, my eyes widening and gently shaking my head as I took in the class of boats docked there. Within the slips floated a number of different types of boats—from speedboats to massive yachts that looked like miniaturized versions of oceangoing vessels that people took to go whale watching up and down the coast from as far south as Baja up to Alaska. Some of them could probably venture to Hawaii and beyond, perhaps the Fiji Islands or as far as Australia. Why, some of these magnificent boats could probably circumnavigate the globe.
I shivered. I wasn’t that brave. It had taken enough courage for me to even accept this invitation. I loved the beach. I didn’t necessarily like to swim in it. In fact, I didn’t like boats, that feeling of being surrounded by the deep expanse of ocean, not knowing how deep it was, at the mercy of the waves…
I dug into my beach bag and pulled out the bottle of Dramamine I had bought earlier, and read the instructions again. Take one thirty minutes to an hour before starting activity. I took one and swallowed it dry, my heart thudding just a little harder the closer we got to the marina. The pill was supposed to last twenty-four hours. I thought about it for a minute and then took another one, just to make sure it worked.
I couldn’t help but be a bit wary and more than a little confounded by Kristin’s invitation for me to join her and Scott on his yacht on this beautiful, crisp Saturday morning for a day of sailing. She had called me last night—a first—and I had been about to gently and politely inform her that unless it was an emergency, like someone bleeding kind of emergency, that I was not ‘on-call’ 24/7, when she surprised me with the invitation for today.
Over the past few weeks it had seemed, to me at least, that Kristin barely tolerated my presence. So why invite me to spend the day with her and her fiancé? Not once since I had started working for her had Kristin even broached a conversation that ventured beyond our professional relationship. She didn’t ask me anything personal. She didn’t know if I was single or married, where I lived, or whom I lived with. She didn’t seem to care.
Maybe she was making an effort to be a little friendlier, but I didn’t really think so. Not Kristin. I wasn’t sure whether to look forward to spending some time with Scott—even if it was in Kristin’s presence—
or dread it. I would have to be supremely careful not to say anything or do anything that might expose our past relationship with each other.
When the cab pulled up at the marina, I pulled out a twenty and gave it to the driver, then stepped outside into the warm sunshine, automatically lifting a hand to settle my broad brimmed straw hat on my head to keep it from blowing away.
I gazed over the expanse of boats bobbing up and down, amazed at the different sizes, shapes, and colors. The slight stench of greenish harbor water, fish, and, oddly enough, hot dogs, wafted into my nostrils. From my other pocket, I pulled a piece of paper which told me which dock and slip I would find Scott’s boat. Kristin told me to meet them here between nine o’clock and half past. It was nine-fifteen. I figured it was safe to split the difference. I determined which way I needed to go and walked about fifty feet down the boardwalk, my tennis shoes padding softly against roughhewn, weathered planks. From the main dock, numerous smaller, floating dock-like boardwalks extended from the marina, each of them harboring a minimum of six boats on each side. Each berth or whatever you called it had a stenciled letter-number combination on the dock in front of it.
The sound of seagulls screeching overhead fighting for scraps of food, of water lapping gently against fiberglass hulls, the creaking of ropes hitched to iron cleats, and of course, the slight ripples of water meeting the platform foundations, elicited within me a twinge of uncertainty. I shivered, grimacing. I should have declined. Inhaling deeply, I gradually made my way down the floating dock, feeling a bit off-balance, warily eyeing the water as I also looked for the right slip number. Some of the boats were docked nose in, while others had docked themselves motor in.
When I found the right slip number and then looked up, I frowned. This couldn’t be right. Could it? Oh my God. I saw a multi-deck, canopied job that was at least seventy-five feet long, berthed sideways in a large slip. The fiberglass exterior was painted a brilliant white, its trimmings were highly glossed oak. I was sure I had the wrong boat. Maybe I had misread the slip number—
“Megan!”
I glanced up, and there, half hidden under the canopy, waving, stood Scott. My heart skipped a beat and heat flooded my loins. Sounds corny I know, but that’s what happened. He wore a pair of beige khaki shorts, deck shoes, and a sky-blue polo tucked into his shorts. Wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes, but his smile was unmistakable. And then, as he stepped slightly to the side, I saw another shape, another man. He turned from Scott to face me. I immediately felt uncomfortable. Was he the captain, or had Kristin invited more guests. I felt self-conscious as I glanced down at my simple sundress, bare legs, and sandals. I wore an old bikini underneath, not terribly faded, but not exactly hot off the racks. Target, actually. If I had known there would be others aboard, I would’ve taken more care in my choice of clothing. Then again, who was I trying to impress?
I pasted a smile on my face and waved.
“Hold on, Megan, let me help you.”
I paused on the floating walkway as Scott quickly disappeared into the interior, emerging several moments later near the rear of the boat, which had a swing-around waist-high door that offered easy access to and egress from the boat nearer to water level. A few square porthole-style windows were spaced along the hull of the boat near water level, and then toward the bow, a few more situated higher up. A lounging deck was covered by an overhead fiberglass canopy, providing shade. Toward the bow, a bank of wraparound windows encompassed the front of the boat, another overhang, protecting the helm from weather. Behind the helm, a row of large glass windows, probably the sitting area of the interior, beckoned. Behind the windowed compartment rose yet another short deck, fitted with a wraparound all season bench and glossy wood table for outside dining. On top of that, a sun deck, fitted with benches and yet another wraparound table that much looked like a bar. On the highest level above the helm rose antennae, and what I could only assume was sonar or radar equipment.
I was stunned, doing my best to keep my expression blank as Scott emerged on the lowest deck, extended a hand toward me, and helped from the short gangplank onto the stern of the boat, near water level. I spied the small set of stairs leading up to the next level.
“Welcome aboard the Getaway,” he said.
I enjoyed the feel of his large, strong hand wrapped around mine. I gazed at his sun-bronzed hand in my smaller, paler one, wishing… he relinquished my hand at the voice emerging from the interior.
“I’m glad you decided to join us today,” he said, gesturing me inside. Just like I had at his house, I had to struggle to keep my amazement hidden. Like this was nothing new to me. A step-down living area of the yacht looked like a real living room. It was spacious, with a wraparound couch, two reclining leather easy chairs, a coffee table, and a luxurious low pile rug that covered most of the dark mahogany floorboards. Beyond the living space, surrounded by those large windows and two steps up, was the helm. Just behind the helm to the starboard side of the boat rose another short set of stairs to the upper deck. On the opposite, port side of the stairs stood a kitchen or galley, complete with wraparound marble countertops and an island for food preparation. A stovetop was imbedded into the countertop at the far end and below it an oven. At the end of the countertop near the sink, a microwave flush with glossy oak cabinets. It was like an entire home on the waves.
Two people emerged from that upper deck. First, Kristin, wearing a loose flowing floral skirt and a pale pink linen blouse, not a wrinkle to be seen. As usual, jewelry dangled from her earlobes and her wrists, perfect makeup, hair pulled back into an elegant French braid. Behind her came a man who looked to be about Scott’s age. He wore an easy grin, and to my dismay, eyed me with what I could only gauge as interest.
“Megan Bryan, I’d like you to meet Craig Bresson,” Scott made the introductions. “We go way back, and have been friends since junior high.”
I glanced at Scott, and then nodded politely to Craig, extending my hand in greeting. I couldn’t remember if I’d met him before. It was possible, but—I almost asked if Craig had gone to the same private high school as Scott and I had but caught myself just in time. “Nice to meet you, Craig.”
“Well, don’t you two make a cute couple,” Kristin said. “I figured we could double date.”
I hid my frown and annoyance at Kristin and then risked a glance at Scott, but I couldn’t tell what he might be thinking. Had he been part of this? I felt a sinking feeling, especially when I glanced at Craig and saw the way his gaze lingered on my breasts. Once again, I glanced at Scott, who had positioned himself slightly behind Kristin. This time, he mouthed an apology.
My annoyance grew. How dare Kristin set me up! And on a blind date, no less? I was her personal assistant, not her friend, not even close.
“Megan, did you bring a bathing suit?” Kristin asked, eyebrows lifted.
I nodded. “I’m wearing it under my sundress.” Although, uncomfortable at the way Craig studied me, I felt hesitant to display it.
“Good, then let’s go topside, have a glass of champagne, and you and I can discuss some details of the engagement party while we’re soaking up the rays.”
I said nothing, wishing that I could get off this boat and go back home. It was going to be a long day. As I walked through the living area toward the stairs that led topside, following Kristin, Craig brushed against me and placed a hand on my shoulder. As politely as I could, I moved away from the touch, glancing up at him in question. He merely grinned at me. On the way up the stairs, I felt him right behind me. His knee brushed against my thigh. I turned around with a frown. “Can you give me a little more elbow room, please?”
He merely winked, paused long enough to allow me to get one step ahead of him, and then followed, his eyes lingering on my ass. I sighed. When we got top side, Kristin quickly removed her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the skimpiest bikini I’ve ever seen in my life. A small triangle of fabric covered the tips of her breasts and not much else. Those breasts looked like cantaloupes and by their shape, I knew they were implants. The patch of triangular fabric of the bikini bottom was just about as skimpy. While Scott had told me that his fiancée was pregnant, she didn’t show, not even a little bit. Figures. She was one of those women who could get pregnant, have a baby, and then returned to her pre-pregnancy weight and shape without any effort.
Topside, I followed Kristin to the bow but hesitated before unbuttoning my sundress. While my bikini wasn’t nearly as skimpy Kristin’s, I felt uncomfortable baring myself not only in front of Scott, but Craig. The both of them stood behind the glass windows of the helm as Scott prepared to take the yacht out to sea.
“What are you waiting for, Megan?”
I turned to watch Kristin drape herself on one of the lounges, obviously attempting to appear sexy and voluptuous by the way she arranged her body. I glanced at the windows of the helm, saw the mere shadow of the guys inside, one of them waving. Had to be Craig. I couldn’t avoid him all day and decided to do my best to ignore him and Scott as I turned toward the sea, the boat slowly making its way through the marina and parallel to the breakwater, the engines thrumming beneath my feet that I felt all the way up to my teeth.
“I just love this old boat, don’t you?” Kristin asked, eyeing the helm. “It’s one of our finest possessions.”
I nodded and climbed out of my sundress, carefully folding it and then placing it on top of my hat on a deck chair. As if she’d bought the thing, I thought, hiding a smirk. I sat down on a lounge beside Kristin. “It is a beautiful boat,” I acknowledged.
“Yes, one of the nicest yachts I’ve ever seen,” Kristin continued. “It’s eighty-two feet long, a twin diesel. You wouldn’t believe how much it costs.”
She wasn’t even trying to hide the boastful tone. “Probably quite a bit—”
“Nearly four million!” she exclaimed.
I barely controlled a wince as I sat down, adjusting my position on the lounge so that I sat comfortably but didn’t expose any private parts in the direction of the helm.
“She’s fully customized, right down to the interior decor. It’s got all kinds of state-of-the-art techno and navigation stuff in it,” Kristin continued. “Scott told me it costs nearly a quarter of a million to do that.”
“Impressive,” I said, staring out to sea, the early-morning sunlight glinting off the ocean, shimmering into the distance. I loathed such blatant conceit. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk plans.”
Kristin said nothing about engagement party plans, though. No, she went on and on about the boat, the costs, all of it; I was sure, as yet another way to put me in my place. Why, I don’t know, but some people were just like that.
Several hours passed. After I had baked myself in the sun long enough, and not wanting to risk a painful sunburn, I retreated toward the shade provided by the overhang. Kristin did the same, both of us now sitting on the fabric cushions of the wraparound bench at the stern. After stopping the engines and releasing the anchor, Scott suggested lunch. I had seen him glancing my way more than once over the past few hours, his gaze sweeping down my body. Every glance elicited tingles. While he and Kristin retreated to the galley to prepare lunch, I was left with Craig for a few minutes. Several minutes that became excruciatingly long, as far as I was concerned.
Suffice it to say that Craig had roving hands, continually coming up with excuses to brush against me, to touch my hair, a shoulder, and one point, my thigh, way too close to my private parts for comfort. At that point, I excused myself, retrieved my sundress, and then went below decks, where I found two small bedrooms, one with a full-sized bed, the other with twin bunks, each bedroom equipped with a small bathroom, complete with toilets, glass shower stall, teak wood paneling, and marble countertops.
By the time I emerged topside, the table had been set and lunch served. Water or wine. I chose water. Sushi or cheese and sausage plate. I chose the cheese and sausage, not trusting my stomach with anything more than nibbles. I had to admit that while I was impressed, I was also growing increasingly irritated. As we dined to Kristin’s inane chatter about the yacht, the upcoming wedding, and the outrageous costs of each, I caught Scott stealing glances at me every once in a while. Those glances were the only redeeming aspects of the afternoon. Trying to keep my mouth shut with Kristin’s constant bragging and boasting and Craig’s touchy-feely crap, I was ready to go home.
As the afternoon waned, I found myself retreating, at least mentally. I smiled politely and nodded when Kristin asked me something, even though I had the impression she didn’t really care about anything I had to say, and avoided Craig’s proximity as best I could. It wasn’t that he was a pervert or anything like that. He seemed like a nice guy and was good looking. He and Scott had an easy-going relationship, their camaraderie undisputable. It’s just that I wasn’t interested. I barely had enough free time in my life for myself, let alone a relationship. While I was flattered by Craig’s obvious attraction to me, I wasn’t planning on reciprocating. Not to mention the fact that I had been blindsided by Kristin, trying to set me up with a guy. Of all the gall!
At least the Dramamine had worked. By the time the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, Scott turned the yacht back toward shore. Kristin was talking about dinner plans, but I nixed her inclusion of me in them by explaining that I had made arrangements with my mom to have dinner with her and one of her best friends.
Kristin certainly didn’t need to know that my mom was pulling the evening shift tonight and wouldn’t be home till eleven o’clock. Craig expressed his genuine disappointment, but Scott said nothing.
By the time he pulled his yacht back into the slip and Craig tied the boat off, I was ready to jump ship. Literally. Scott had called ahead for a cab to be waiting for me at the entrance to the marina. I appreciated his thoughtfulness as I bid my goodbyes and thanked Scott and Kristin for their hospitality and the pleasure of the day to the three of them. I allowed Craig to give me an arm off the yacht onto the floating dock, and then I quickly excused myself and headed for the main gate.
The minute I got into the cab, I leaned back and heaved a sigh of relief. The ride back home just managed to beat the evening rush hour traffic, and I was in our apartment in about an hour. Mentally exhausted, I took a shower, donned a comfortable pair of terry shorts and a T-shirt, and sprawled on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
It was much later when I woke up to darkness. I must’ve fallen asleep. Just as I sat up, lifting the covers to climb inside, my cell phone dinged an incoming text message. Blinking to clear my vision, I glanced at it, thinking that it was my mother, telling me that she had just left work and would be home soon. To my surprise however, I saw that it was only nine-thirty. It was a text message from Scott, asking me to meet him at a coffee shop in the morning.
Surprised, I automatically text back that I would. I wouldn’t turn down a chance to spend some alone time with Scott. I couldn’t help it, but my imagination ran a bit wild and my skin tingled with excitement. I had no idea what he wanted to talk about, or why he wanted to meet in secret, but I wasn’t complaining. I had been looking forward to such an opportunity since that moment I had walked into his office weeks ago.
I had seen the glances he had given me throughout the day when he was sure Kristin wasn’t looking. That made me feel a little guilty, but it wasn’t as if he was seducing me. Maybe he just wanted to catch up. Maybe…
“Admit it, Megan,” I scolded myself. If he wanted to do more than catch up, what would I do?