Distracted √

Distracted: Chapter Eight

"We don't sail through the night?" Erin asked.

"No. Not unless you want to stay up all night and keep watch. We're not in a hurry; you only sail at night when you're making passage. I set the autopilot and we've been heading for a small harbor I know. We'll be there soon and set the anchor."

"Do you need help? What should I do?"

"I'll need you when we take down the sails and set the anchor."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. "Tell me what to do, though. I've only sailed small dinghies, remember?"

He patted her knee. "Don't worry. By the time we're done, you'll be able to handle this boat all by yourself."

"I don't think so, but thanks for the vote of confidence."

She handed him her empty wine glass then stood up. She swayed a bit in the webbing, then grabbed the wire rigging for support. Spence watched from his position on the trampoline, admiring her long legs and the small indentations made by the web.

He followed her to the cockpit and checked the chart plotter. He turned off the autopilot, steering a course towards the dark coastline. Soon he turned on the diesel engines. "Keep its nose into the wind while I lower the sails," he said, stepping away from the wheel.

"Where's the wind?"

"I've got it pointed into the wind already, but you see those little strips of yarn on the rigging? Those are tell-tales. They tell you which way the wind is blowing. Just keep your course steady and your eye on the tell-tales. They should be flapping toward the stern of the boat."

"Okay." Recalling the basics of wind direction from sailing dinghies on the lake, she hiked up onto the seat, resting her hands on the wheel.

Spence went forward and furled the jib, tucking the sheets into cam cleats and tying new stopper knots. Then he pressed a button and the mainsail furled into the mast. He checked that all the other lines led back to the helm or were coiled on the deck.

"Put her in neutral," he called to Erin.

She looked at the two-lever throttle control.

"Which one do I use?" She yelled.

"Both," Spence replied loudly. "They operate both the port and starboard engines."

She stood on the chair's footrest to see over the cabin roof. She could see Spence bend over the bow, an anchor held lightly in one hand and its chain in the other. He dropped the heavy steel plow anchor into the water, paying out the chain rode, then the line attached to it. She heard the motor whirl of the electric windlass. He stood and checked to make sure no other boats were nearby. "Put her in reverse. Go slow."

Erin slid the handles into reverse. The sound of the big diesel engines changed as they slipped from neutral into reverse.

Spence watched the anchor line then held up a fist. "Okay, stop."

She put the controls back into neutral.

Spence knelt on the bridge deck and tugged on the line that led into the ocean. "One more time. Back up slowly, then stop."

Erin did as he asked, repeating the process twice more before Spence was satisfied that the anchor was set. He tied a bridle leading from the port and starboard hulls onto the anchor rode after sliding a heavy, lead kedge down the line. "That should keep us from sashaying tonight," he said.

Returning to the cockpit, he turned off the engines and set the GPS anchor alarm. If the boat moved more than usual as it swung on the anchor, then the crew would be alerted. No captain wanted to sleep through the predicament of a dragging anchor.

Erin moved from the helm to the cockpit door.

"It's late. I guess I'll get ready for bed."

Spence nodded, still reviewing his navigation screens.

"I'll wrap things up here. You head on in."

She went down in to the port hull and gathered her bath supplies. She took a quick, cramped shower, then dressed in a T-shirt and pair of panties. She'd packed quickly and under pressure, leaving most of her clothes at Spence's house. She didn't even pack a bra.

After she had curled in the berth, she realized she had nothing to read. She tucked the quilt around her and called out.

"Spence? Are you there?"

"Yes," he said, his head and shoulders appearing in the passageway. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. But I need something to read. I didn't pack anything except my laptop and I've left it in the saloon. Can you bring it to me?"

"Sure." He reappeared with her briefcase. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure. I don't have many clothes on, and I don't want to parade around your boat half-dressed. Thank you," she said primly, taking the briefcase and unzipping it. She flipped open the screen and looked at him. "Thank you," she repeated.

"You're welcome," he said, a wicked grin on his face. He flopped beside her and tugged at her quilt. "You don't have any clothes on?"

"I said I don't have 'many' clothes on. Of course I'm wearing clothes. Now get out of here." She kicked at him, a feeble effort under the fluffy spread.

"Whatcha working on?" he persisted, stroking her covered knee.

"Go away," she gritted between clenched teeth. "You're dismissed. Shoo."

"I thought you wanted to work on the book. Isn't that what you're being paid to do?"

"Yes, I am," she retorted. "But not at night and in my bed. Quit teasing me, Spence."

His gaze settled on her breasts and as if magnetized, he raised a hand towards them. Then he glanced into her face, noted her red-stained cheeks and brilliant eyes and decided to retreat.

"Babe, I would never tease you," he drawled, dropping his hand. "Good night. If you need anything, just yell."

He was gone. Erin couldn't hear his footsteps; her heart was pounding and blood roared in her ears. She didn't know if she should be angry or frightened, then she realized she was neither. She was excited and a flame licked through her chest. She wanted Spence to touch her, to stroke her breast the way he stroked her knee. She hid her face in her hands, blotting out a vision of him lying on her bed. Her computer slid off of her lap, unnoticed.

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