Smooth Sailing

She hesitated. Ha! He had her.

“You’re already dressed to impress. Why waste it?” he cajoled.

“I don’t know why I’m even considering this.”

“’Cause part of you doesn’t really want to spend tonight all alone washing your hair.”

“I don’t mind being by myself.”

Man, she was a hard nut to crack. “Okay,” he said. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.” Taking a calculated risk, he turned to go.

“Wait.”

He grinned, stopped, but did not turn back around. “Yes?”

“I am pretty hungry. I’ll stay for a bite to eat.” The sound of her mincing down the metal stairs in her stilettos rang out into the twilight.

He bent his arm at the elbow, signaling for her to take it. To his surprise, she did.

“Only because I’m wearing high heels,” she said, reading his mind as she slipped her arm through his.

Her touch ignited a firestorm inside him. Jeb gulped. Good thing he was sailing out tomorrow—one more day around Haley and there was no telling what might happen.

HALEY HAD NO IDEA WHY she’d allowed smooth-talking Jeb Whitcomb to coax her into coming back to his party.

Partially, it was true that she was hungry and hated to cook for just herself, plus, there was her promise to Ahmaya, but there was another part of her that she didn’t really want to poke. The part that liked being around Jeb.

The minute they reached the deck of his sailing yacht, Haley let go of his arm. She was disturbed to find herself breathless.

“What would you like to drink?” Jeb asked.

“You don’t have to get my drink.”

“It’s no problem.” He lifted a finger at a white-gloved waiter waiting at the ready.

Haley supposed a lot of women fell for the master-and-commander routine. Your every wish was his command. Seductive, for sure, but she mistrusted anything that wasn’t hard-won.

The waiter appeared at his side.

“Could you please bring Miss French a…” Jeb looked at her expectantly.

“Diet cola.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Not ever?”

“Rarely. New Year’s Eve. Wedding toasts. That kind of thing.”

“This is my going-away party.”

“So?”

“You’re not going to toast my journey?”

“I can toast with diet cola.”

He got a knowing look on his face. “Aha.”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“The ‘aha’ meant something.”

“It’s not important.”

“Then why did you say it?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I’ve figured out something about you.”

She pulled her lips downward. “And what is that?”

“You’re afraid of losing control.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I never said anything was wrong with it. Just had a lightbulb moment.”

“I like to keep my wits about me.”

“Make an exception,” he said.

“You want me witless?”

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“To prove you can let your hair down.”

“I don’t have to prove a thing to you.”

He leaned closer. “No, but wouldn’t it be fun to stop thinking so much for once and simply let go?”

“Five minutes ago you were telling me you needed someone who knew how to luff a sail.”