Maurice had been talking to the man, but he faltered when he realised he wasn’t being heard, and turned to find what had caught the other man’s attention. Reba was oblivious to more than one head turning, and only jolted out of the trance she appeared to be in when someone sniggered. Realising she was now the focus of everyone’s attention, a hot tide of embarrassment coloured her cheeks. Her heart was thumping fit to burst, and she glanced down quickly at her feet, trying to regain her composure. What on earth had just happened?
‘How sweet,’ Magda drawled snidely. ‘I do believe Reba has just fallen in love with the deck-hand!’
A jolt of shock ran through Reba at those words. Fallen in love? But she couldn’t have! Could she? Yet what else could explain this strange excitement inside her? The fizzing of her blood which made her feel more alive than she had ever been in her life?
Was this love?
‘You’d better snap out of it, Reba. Maurice looks like he’s going to throw a fit,’ Linda hissed in her ear, and Reba started, realising that they were the only two still left on the jetty. Everyone else was waiting on board, showing various degrees of impatience.
‘Sorry,’ Reba apologised, commanding her legs to move her forwards. She could feel eyes on her, but only one pair counted. A hand appeared to help her aboard, and she took it automatically, gasping as a frisson of electricity shot up her arm, and once more she met those incredible eyes.
‘Welcome aboard,’ he said easily, but there was a husky note to it, as if he had had trouble forcing the words out.
All her composure seemed to leave her in a flash. Her smile was wobbly, and her eyes questioned his, receiving an almost solar flare of emotion in return. Exhilarated and afraid all at once, she pulled free. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered, moving away, although it seemed incredibly hard to do.
‘Hi, I’m Linda,’ she heard the other girl say from behind her. ‘In case you’re interested, her name’s Reba.’
The man’s laugh was throaty and appreciative, and turned Reba’s stomach into knots. ‘Thanks, Linda. Hunter Jamieson.’
Hunter. She liked the sound of that. It suited him. Hunter…She daydreamed, and, for once in her life, the preparations for setting sail failed to hold her attention. In fact the whole day’s shooting became something of a dream. The man called Hunter never spoke to her, nor she to him, but she was vitally aware of his presence moving around the boat. It was as if she had suddenly become attuned to his frequency, and she didn’t have to look at him to know where he was.
She couldn’t concentrate properly, but must have done all that was expected of her because Maurice didn’t throw a tantrum. Yet it was hard to look at the camera when her eyes constantly wanted to stray. When they did, they clashed with blue ones intent on the same thing.
At the end of the day it was hard to leave the yacht, for it felt as if she were leaving part of herself behind. She had never felt this way before, and when she looked in the mirror in the privacy of her hotel room she found her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittering. She saw a creature she no longer recognised. Every feature was the same, and yet not the same.
Of course it was impossible to sit still, and she went through the motions of preparing for dinner. She showered and washed her hair, slipping into a full-skirted, halter-necked sundress and comfortable espadrilles. However, she didn’t go down to the restaurant. Her stomach was churning too much for food. Something was calling to her, something stronger than any other need. As the sun began to set, she grabbed up her purse and a thin shawl and left, obeying an instinct as old as time itself.
The harbour was still alive with people, but as she made her way through the marina she met fewer and fewer. Most were out enjoying themselves, probably having dinner, and for a moment her heart failed her as she realised Hunter might not be on the yacht. Yet she need not have worried, for as she approached the boat she saw that there was light in the cabin, and as she came alongside he appeared on deck. Without a word he held out a hand, and she put hers into it and allowed him to help her aboard.
There was a moment when they simply gazed at each other, then Hunter smiled, and used his free hand to brush away a strand of hair which the impish breeze had blown across her face.
‘I knew you’d come,’ he said softly, yet with a certainty she couldn’t question.
‘Yes,’ she breathed, unable to deny it. Her eyes drank him in. Incredible to think they had only met hours ago, and yet it felt as if she had never belonged anywhere else. This evening he had changed into white chinos and a short-sleeved shirt, but they didn’t disguise the powerful body beneath.
He didn’t seem to mind her looking, nor did he release her hand. He studied her face as if he was imprinting it forever in his memory. ‘You have amazing eyes.’
‘So do you,’ she returned inanely, and flushed when he laughed. Yet there was no unkindness in it, more a release from the same tension that gripped her.
‘You don’t act like a model.’
Reba smiled up at him. ‘That’s what I do, not who I am.’
A strange light flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘And who are you, Reba?’
‘Just a woman,’ she told him simply, and watched fascinated as his mouth curved seductively as he smiled.
‘Oh, I’ll most definitely agree with that. You’re very much a woman,’ Hunter concurred huskily. ‘Have you eaten?’
The prosaic question made her realise that now she was quite incredibly hungry. ‘No.’
His fingers tightened on hers. ‘Good. I hope you like fish.’
Belatedly she became aware that behind him a table had been set for two, and from down below came the mouth-watering aroma of cooking. ‘I love it.’
Hunter dragged a hand through his hair, lips curving. ‘Somehow I knew you would,’ he said oddly, shaking his head before smiling again. ‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a moment.’
Reba caught her breath. So he felt it too, this knowing. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Everything’s under control. Don’t run away,’ he cautioned as he headed for the steps.
She wouldn’t. She didn’t think she could. And even if she did, something told her she would have to come back. A cliché, but true: home was where the heart was, and her heart was here. The admission didn’t sound crazy or ridiculous, it just sounded right. Incredibly, amazingly right.
It was a feeling which grew all through the beautiful dinner Hunter had prepared. Someone could have dropped a bomb and it wouldn’t have penetrated the cocoon which surrounded them. The outside world had ceased to exist. They talked as if it were going out of fashion. Hunter seemed to have an unquenchable need to know everything there was to know about her. She found herself telling him things she hadn’t thought about for years. Afterwards, as they sipped at glasses of wine, he held her hand across the table, toying with her fingers, caressing them and twining them with his. She knew from his handling of the yacht that he was strong, yet his touch was gentle, almost as if he was afraid she would break.
Reba sighed. ‘Do you realise we’ve talked and talked, and yet I don’t even know if you have a mother?’
‘I did have, but both my parents are dead now. I’m thirty-three years old, have no brothers or sisters, and I mess about with boats for a living. Your turn.’
‘I’m a model, and twenty-three years old. I have a mother, but no father, and a brother and sister younger than me.’
‘So your mother had to work to raise you?’
Reba nodded. ‘Until she became ill. She’s something of an invalid now, but she has the most amazing courage.’ She hoped he wouldn’t ask her more, because Harriet