gear and become the adventure she’d always dreamed of.
Because it just had.
“Peter Wells? How soon can I leave?”
TWO
Dorie had done it. She’d packed a suitcase-okay, two-and flown for a day and a half, first to Australia (ohmigod, Australia!) then onward to Fiji, specifically Viti Levu, and the international airport there.
She got off the plane and into a bright green taxi without windows. On the console sat a humongous parrot, singing along in falsetto to Cher’s “Do You Believe in Life after Love,” the warm, salty breeze ruffling its feathers. Dorie joined in, and at the harbor, got out and stood on the dock, grinning from ear to ear at the beauty around her. Let the adventure begin!
More of that light wind rolled over her, rustling the stiff fronds of coconut palms edging the streets and beach. There were people everywhere, in all colors and sizes, speaking a myriad of gorgeous-sounding languages with delightful accents.
She’d wondered if she’d fit in, and she had to say, she did. She was wearing one of her own designs, a white sundress, with brand-new heeled sandals-her cruise splurge-which gave her more height and confidence than practicality. But she figured the confidence was more important at this point.
At anchor on the bay sat a dozen gleaming sailboats, their hulls slashes of white on a backdrop of startling blue so bright it almost looked like a painting.
So hard to believe, and she took a moment to soak up the ambiance. That, and the fact that this whole Kicking Life into Gear thing felt good, really good. Following the directions she’d been sent, she walked to a slip at the north end of the docks, where she stared up at a very large sailboat. A very large sailboat that looked like something right out of one of the history books she’d done her best not to read while in school; tall, proud, and… sinkable.
The
She knew from the info that Peter had sent her that the sailing yacht had been made in France, was eighty-two feet long, and was a ketch, whatever that meant. The exterior was made out of welded aluminum alloy, which sounded good and well and extremely water worthy, but it was nice to see the safety raft strapped to the side in case of emergency.
Although come to think of it, she didn’t know if she wanted to think
That, and to not think of Mr. Stryowski, or her slowly wasting away life… not once.
The plank to get on board was flat and wide enough, assuming she was very careful, and she planned to be very,
Or maybe it was the king-size candy bar she’d consumed on the plane over here. As she stood there, frozen by her own shortcomings, she contemplated the plank, and how long it seemed. From above, what seemed like miles of white sails seemed so pristine against the azure blue sky.
“Helluva lot of sheets up there, huh?”
At the southern drawl, Dorie turned in surprise and got an even bigger one. A man stood next to her. Correction, a magnificent Adonis of a man.
He was dressed in clothes he definitely hadn’t bought at Shop-Mart. Nope, she recognized those pants and shirt as Hugo Boss, and the fashionista in her sighed. There was nothing more attractive than a man who knew how to dress.
Not even a Nordstrom’s sale.
His pants were khaki, his shirt a stark white linen, artfully shoved up at the elbows. His luggage-a gorgeous leather saddlebag-hung off one seriously broad shoulder. So broad that he nearly blocked out the sun. He had sun- kissed blond hair and stunning warm hazel eyes, topping about six feet of solid hard body, the kind one got from a most earnest commitment to the gym.
Unlike her own, not-so-earnest commitment.
Turning his head, he looked at her. “A real beauty, don’t you think?” he asked in that Texas accent.
She tried to respond, but her tongue was swelling. Good to know she was still a socially challenged idiot. Any second now she’d start drooling-an unfortunate side effect of the swollen tongue.
“Hello?”
Heat zoomed up her face to the tips of her ears, undoubtedly lighting her up like a Christmas tree.
He smiled, and the sheer wattage nearly knocked her to her knees, but she did her best to return the smile. Given her nerves, and the fact that she’d stopped breathing the moment he’d started talking to her, she probably only bared her teeth.
He pulled a pair of designer sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, covering up those decadent eyes. “You going on board, too?”
“Yes.” Assuming she managed to cross the plank.
“Excellent.” He held out a big, strong hand. “Andy Hutchinson.”
“Dorie Anderson.” His hand, warm and callous, swallowed hers whole. She was so distracted by his hotness factor, she almost missed the fact that he was looking at her, clearly waiting for a reaction.
“Baseball,” he drawled, and did the big wattage smile thing again.
She really needed to get on board and away from him so she could commence breathing before brain damage occurred, but she was nothing if not polite. “Baseball?”
“You’re wondering where you know me from. I play for the Astros. First base.”
She thought maybe he paused there for adoration, but he was wasting his time, because all she knew about baseball was that the players looked cute in their tight uniform pants.
Besides, she already adored him.
From far above, up on the ship, voices rang out, and then laughter. Baseball Cutie looked up, clearly eager to board. “You ready?”
“Oh. Sure.”
He gestured for her to go first.
“Uh…” Once again, she eyed the plank, then let out a nervous laugh. “You know what? I’ll just…” She took a step back to make room for him. “Meet you up there-”
Only she never got to finish that statement because she tripped over her luggage, still on the ground behind her, and went ass over kettle right there on the dock, hitting hard enough to rattle her teeth.
Sprawled flat on her back with her legs draped over her own two suitcases, she stared up at the brilliant blue sky with the solitary white puffy cloud shaped like a pair of lips grinning down at her, and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment.
“Jesus. You okay?”
Was she? Well, that depended on his definition of
