“Can’t. Chris has meetings tonight with sponsors and he has to be at the yacht club early in the morning to prep for the race. I’d just be in the way.”
“I doubt that.”
“Anyway, there’s work to be done here.” She scooted her chair up to the desk, determined to actually work now. “I’ll try to keep the mooning to a minimum.”
“Yes, please do try.” Molly shot her a mocking smile before turning her attention back to her own keyboard.
The concentration lasted for only a few minutes before her cell phone rang. Chris’s ringtone—he’d downloaded it himself on Wednesday night while they’d eaten pizza on the floor of her living room. She glanced up at Molly as she answered and saw her eyes roll.
“Hey.”
“Hey, yourself. Any chance you can sneak out early today and come on up?”
“Molly just asked me the same thing. I thought you were busy tonight.”
“Technically, I am. But I’ll make time for you.”
A warm glow settled in her stomach, followed quickly by that need to pinch herself again. Molly waved for her attention from her desk, and when Ally made eye contact, Molly mouthed the word, “Go.”
“I guess I can get away.”
“I’ll send Victor down to get you. What time?”
The thought of flying in that tiny helicopter made her feel queasy—as if the morning sickness was coming back. “I’ll just drive, if that’s okay.”
Chris made an exasperated sound.
“One step at a time. We’re not all daredevils like you.”
“It’d be easier my way, though. Faster, too. Plus, you don’t know where you’re going.”
“I’ll get a map.”
Thankfully, Chris didn’t push and instead agreed to e-mail directions to her. She told him she’d call when she was on the road, hung up and started shutting down her computer.
“I’ll make this up to you, Molls,” she promised as she headed toward the door, mentally reviewing her packing list as she walked.
“Like you’ll ever have the time.” Molly waved goodbye. “Drive carefully and I’ll see you Monday.”
Molly’s parting words bothered her as she threw her clothes and toiletries in a bag, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
She finally shrugged it off as yet another side effect of pregnancy brain—right up there with her new case of forgetful-ness—and simply enjoyed the drive up to Charleston, singing along with the radio.
It wasn’t until late that night, as Chris curled around her in bed, his hand absently stroking across her stomach as he dozed, that she realized what Molly’s words meant.
No matter what happened with Chris, things would never go back to “normal.”
The man was an absolute god. Neptune, Poseidon and Chris Wells. Mercy.
Ally’s eye hurt from peering through the telescope for so long, but she couldn’t pull away from the sight of Chris, two miles out at sea and rounding the second buoy.
She’d known the water was his element, but a simple day sail on a borrowed catamaran hadn’t prepared her for this. Watching Chris skipper his seven-man crew…damn.
Although the water was choppy, sending up spray as the boats moved through the waves, Chris stood sure-footed at the helm, moving in perfect harmony with the boat—as though it was an extension of his body instead of an inanimate object. The wind whipped through his hair and fluttered the sails. When he shouted an order across the decks, men scrambled. Then Chris was working the winch, drawing her attention to the movement of back and arm muscles outlined under the shirt the wind nicely plastered to his skin. Her mouth went dry.
“Taylor’s hoisted a flag.” The words came from beside her, and Ally snapped her attention to the man who’d been her tutor for the day. Carl Michman held the impressive title of vice-commodore of the racing association, but as far as Ally could tell, his main job today seemed to be to keep an eye on her and explain what was going on.
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