“True.” She hesitated. “But isn’t dry land the best cure for seasickness?”
“Usually.” Javi paused, trying to ascertain her mood. She appeared worried, or maybe that was frustration. Or fatigue. He still couldn’t read her. Most likely she wanted stable land under her feet, too.
“If you want to stay in Alice Town, dockage will run you several hundred dollars a night,” he said.
She raised her sunglasses onto her head, revealing those startlingly emerald eyes. “That much?”
He nodded. “Marinas charge transients by the foot.”
She looked around the harbor. “What about a mooring?”
“I doubt if there’s one available, but we still need to leave here. My friend is anxious for Spree to vacate this spot so he can make money.”
He watched with interest as she nibbled on her bottom lip. Damn, but she had an intriguing mouth. He definitely needed to catch some shut-eye if he was imagining a charterer’s mouth on various parts of his anatomy.
Apparently out of arguments, she nodded. “Can I help with the fueling?”
“Well, I’ll need a credit card.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, right.”
When she emerged from below and handed him a card, he asked, “Do you want to top off the water tanks? That way you won’t have to be so careful with showering and cleaning.”
“I suppose we have to pay for water, too?”
“You have to pay for everything. Even to dump the trash.”
She sighed. “Fortunately, we don’t have much trash yet. Do it. Deb and Joan are going to want showers when they wake up—even if the water is cold.”
Fifteen minutes later, with Spree’s tanks full of water and fuel, Cat cast off the bow line. Javi placed the engine in Reverse and backed away from the dock. Heath waved as they motored away, obviously glad to see them go.
A sixty-five-foot motor yacht squeezed into their space as soon as they vacated.
“Do you want me to get on the radio and find a place to spend the night?” he asked.
Frowning, Irish looked toward the cabin. “I wish I knew what they’d want to do.”
“Wake them up and ask.”
“I tried. They’re both out of it from sedatives.”
Javi shrugged. That’s one way to cure seasickness. “I thought the vote was for serenity.”
“Yeah, but that was before they became violently ill.”
“So it’s up to you, Irish. What do you want to do?”
“How far to an anchorage?” she asked. “The closest place to allow us to get some sleep.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, but with our depth Gun Cay is the closest safe anchorage. That’s a three-hour sail.”
She nibbled on her lower lip again, a sign she was deep in thought. At least he’d learned something about her. He needed to forget the idea of learning more.
Another Jet Ski roared by them, forcing Irish to grab hold of the wheel to keep her balance.
“Let’s stick to the original plan,” she said. “I vote for calm.”
“You got it,” he said.
* * *
FOUR HOURS LATER, with the sun well on its way toward the horizon, Cat stood behind the wheel and motored Spree toward Gun Cay. She’d expected a protected cove of some sort, but apparently they were going to anchor offshore where the land blocked the action of the wind and waves.
On the bow, having already secured the sail, Javi hoisted an anchor from a storage compartment onto the deck and returned to the cockpit. Using the binoculars, he surveyed the area around them.
“I don’t see anyone else anchored.” He handed her the binoculars and took over at the wheel.
Cat scanned the area through the lenses. As predicted there were no other boats—the reason they’d made that crazy crossing. So why did Javi look uneasy? Maybe he was worried about the depth. Maybe he always looked worried. For a sail bum, he never seemed to relax.
“This is good,” he said with a nod at the depth finder. “See the difference in the color of the bottom?”
Cat nodded, noting the water surrounding them in places appeared lighter, other spots darker.
“The lighter color means sand, which allows the anchor to dig in better than sea grass. After I drop the hook, shove the engine into Reverse and give it a little gas until I signal to stop.” He held up a clenched fist to demonstrate.
Within minutes, Javi had dropped the anchor overboard. She set the hook by backing up, forcing the tines to dig into the sandy bottom.
When he gave her the signal, she placed the engine in Neutral and moved to the bow. Looking over with Javi, she gasped at the clarity of the water. It was impossible to tell the depth, but she could see everything on the seafloor, including their anchor on the bottom maybe sixty feet away.
Javi still looked worried, though.
“Best to visually check it,” he said.
Before she could respond, he’d yanked off his shirt, revealing the flat abs and muscular chest that sparked a tug of temptation every time she got a glimpse. Without another word, he moved to the stern, flipped down a ladder she’d never noticed and dove into the ocean. He swam in the direction of the anchor. With a furious kick, he submerged, came up once to take a huge gulp of air and then dove again.
He surfaced again and used the ladder to climb into the boat. Water sluiced over every visible muscle, pooling in the cockpit at his feet. Cat swallowed and forced herself to avert her gaze.
“It’s holding,” he announced.
She remained on the bow, checking out Gun Cay, waiting for the engine to go silent. She released a relieved breath when it did. In less than a day, she’d grown to hate the sound of boat motors. Now all she could hear was the sound of the wind gently clanging the rigging on the mast, the squawk of an occasional bird and the slap of water against the side of the boat, the tide either going out or coming in.
She couldn’t make out anything on land, just a green hump on the horizon, probably trees or mangroves. She looked forward to exploring tomorrow.
Leaning against the bow support, staring at the incredibly clear blue-green water around her, Cat again marveled at how alert she remained. She ought to long for sleep, but had no desire to climb into her bunk. She suspected Javi had already collapsed in his without bothering to tell her. If she was tired, he had to be beyond exhausted, although he didn’t act it. The man was like that battery-operated rabbit that never stopped. Good thing, too.
She and her friends had been nuts to insist on this anchorage.
This whole journey had been so new, so challenging, so completely different from anything in her past, that she didn’t want to—then she heard a distinctive new sound. But one she knew well.
The pop of a cork releasing from a bottle of champagne.
Was the captain celebrating their safe arrival?
She hurried to the cockpit and found Javi—still bare chested, but with a towel around his neck—pouring wine into two of the plastic flutes they’d used for mimosas yesterday morning. Was that really just yesterday morning?
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” she said as she accepted the champagne and sat facing him across the cockpit, pushing up sunglasses that were no longer necessary.
“I’m