seas³with the roiling of her stomach.
´How·re you doing?µ Maggie Berland asked sympathetical y, strol ing up to the railing to join Teal. Tanned, fit, and friendly, Maggie was in her early fifties. They·d met on the dock moments before sailing. She handed Teal an icy bottle of water.
´Thanks. Couldn·t be better,µ Teal told her cheerful y, swal owing bile. Ev en the bright tropical sun wasn·t getting rid of the cold, oily nausea persistently climbing the back of her throat.
´Keep your eyes on the horizon and take smal sips, you·l get your sea legs in no time.µ
The horizon moved, and just the thought of swal owing when what she wanted to do more than anything right then was throw up made Teal·s stomach pitch ominously. Í·d rather take cyanide.µ
´Think about something else,µ Maggie suggested, giving her a sympathetic smile. Ćome and meet everyone.µ The others had moved inside to pore over charts.
´Maybe later.µ The slight swel s didn·t seem to bother Maggie. Teal·s stomach did a double axel. She tightened her sweaty grip on the railing. She knew she only had minutes ³maybe seconds³before she embarrassed herself, and practical y launched herself away from the rail. ´Be right back.µ
Startled by Teal·s abrupt departure, Maggie took a step forward. ´Wait, where are you ³µ
Éngine room.µ The only place that never made her sick. Only the smel of diesel fuel would help.
Ćonfined space wil make it wo³µ
Teal fled, lurching like a drunken sailor, pushing through a tight group of men in the main salon. Éxcuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Sorry.µ Her mouth fil ed with saliva.
Gripping the brass handrails on either side, she took the spiral stairs three at a time.
Panicked, she scanned the smal hal way at the bottom. Which door led to the engine room?
The calming pulse of twin, V12, four-stroke diesels under her feet was the only thing holding her nausea at bay. Al she prayed for, other than a swift death, was that if she was close to an engine the smel and vibration would kick the nausea.
Or it wouldn·t and she·d be somewhere private when she hurled. In three, two ³.
´Hey, gorgeous, lost your way?µ
Teal·s eyes traveled up a clean, white T-shirt pul ed taut over rock-hard abs, up his tanned throat, climbed to his darkly stubbled chin, over his straight nose, and landed, reluctantly, on a pair of piercing, annoyingly amused, blue eyes.
Zane freaking Cutter.
God, seriously? Kill me now .
Just as he came closer, the boat pitched, tilting her off balance. She staggered, but already unsteady, couldn·t manage to right herself. It was grab at Zane to break her fal , or fal on her face. In a split second she opted for the latter.
She did not want to touch³Ah, shit! She fel against his chest.
Hard. Hot. No. No. No .
´Whoa!µ He grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her upright as if she weighed no more than a bag of laundry, so that her breasts were inadvert ently caressed by the hard plane of his chest. The contact was like an intense electrical shock that zoomed through Teal·s body and fried her brain.
She blushed like an idiot. The physical contact was too much. She couldn·t breathe, she couldn·t think. Sh e tasted his coffee-scented breath on her lips and felt the heat of his skin through his clothes as his fingers tightened on her arms.
Rattled by the contact, al she could do was blink up at him for what felt like an eternity.
He frowned down at her. Ókay?µ
Teal stood there for just a few more seconds inhaling the scent of his skin as her heart went bal istic and her brain cel s scrambled to reconnect.
His worried frown morphed into a slow smile. Annoying. Confident. Áre you ³µ
Her nausea returned ful force. Gritting her teeth she slapped her palm, hard, against his midriff, fingers splayed. Óut. Of. My. Way.µ
* * *
´They·re up there watching us, aren·t they?µ Teal asked Maggie. When she·d final y emerged from the head, Zane was³merciful y³nowhere to be seen.
´How·re you doing?µ Maggie Berland asked sympathetical y, strol ing up to the railing to join Teal. Tanned, fit, and friendly, Maggie was in her early fifties. They·d met on the dock moments before sailing. She handed Teal an icy bottle of water.
´Thanks. Couldn·t be better,µ Teal told her cheerful y, swal owing bile. Ev en the bright tropical sun wasn·t getting rid of the cold, oily nausea persistently climbing the back of her throat.
´Keep your eyes on the horizon and take smal sips, you·l get your sea legs in no time.µ
The horizon moved, and just the thought of swal owing when what she wanted to do more than anything right then was throw up made Teal·s stomach pitch ominously. Í·d rather take cyanide.µ
´Think about something else,µ Maggie suggested, giving her a sympathetic smile. Ćome and meet everyone.µ The others had moved inside to pore over charts.
´Maybe later.µ The slight swel s didn·t seem to bother Maggie. Teal·s stomach did a double axel. She tightened her sweaty grip on the railing. She knew she only had minutes ³maybe seconds³before she embarrassed herself, and practical y launched herself away from the rail. ´Be right back.µ
Startled by Teal·s abrupt departure, Maggie took a step forward. ´Wait, where are you ³µ
Éngine room.µ The only place that never made her sick. Only the smel of diesel fuel would help.
Ćonfined space wil make it wo³µ
Teal fled, lurching like a drunken sailor, pushing through a tight group of men in the main salon. Éxcuse me. Sorry. Thanks. Sorry.µ Her mouth fil ed with saliva.
Gripping the brass handrails on either side, she took the spiral stairs three at a time.
Panicked, she scanned the smal hal way at the bottom. Which door led to the engine room?
The calming pulse of twin, V12, four-stroke diesels under her feet was the only thing holding her nausea at bay. Al she prayed for, other than a swift death, was that if she was close to an engine the smel and vibration would kick the nausea.
Or it wouldn·t and she·d be somewhere private when she hurled. In three, two ³.
´Hey, gorgeous, lost your way?µ
Teal·s eyes traveled up a clean, white T-shirt pul ed taut over rock-hard abs, up his tanned throat, climbed to his darkly stubbled chin, over his straight nose, and landed, reluctantly, on a pair of piercing, annoyingly amused, blue eyes.
Zane freaking Cutter.
God, seriously? Kill me now .
Just as he came closer, the boat pitched, tilting her off balance. She staggered, but already unsteady, couldn·t manage to right herself. It was grab at Zane to break her fal , or fal on her face. In a split second she opted for the latter.
She did not want to touch³Ah, shit! She fel against his chest.
Hard. Hot. No. No. No .
´Whoa!µ He grabbed her by her upper arms, hauling her upright as if she weighed no more than a bag of laundry, so that her breasts were inadvert ently caressed by the hard plane of his chest. The contact was like an intense electrical shock that zoomed through Teal·s body and fried her brain.
She blushed like an idiot. The physical contact was too much. She couldn·t breathe, she couldn·t think. Sh e tasted his coffee-scented breath on her lips and felt the heat of his skin through his clothes as his fingers tightened on her arms.
Rattled by the contact, al she could do was blink up at him for what felt like an eternity.
He frowned down at her. Ókay?µ
Teal stood there for just a few more seconds inhaling the scent of his skin as her heart went bal istic and her brain cel s scrambled to reconnect.
His worried frown morphed into a slow smile. Annoying. Confident. Áre you ³µ
Her nausea returned ful force. Gritting her teeth she slapped her palm, hard, against his midriff, fingers splayed. Óut. Of. My. Way.µ
* * *
´They·re up there watching us, aren·t they?µ Teal asked Maggie. When she·d final y emerged from the head, Zane was³merciful y³nowhere to be seen.
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