The Devil and the Deep - By Amy Andrews Page 0,36

when she greeted him and pretty soon the awkwardness would pass.

The memory would be emblazoned on her frontal lobe for ever but the awkwardness would pass!

‘Hey,’ she said to Rick as she wandered into the galley fifteen minutes later. He was sitting at the dining table poring over charts. Fully clothed. She looked away as he looked up at her.

Rick forced himself not to smile like a Cheshire cat, but just give a normal everyday hey kind of a smile. Which was kind of difficult when greeted with another pair of brief shorts and some kind of strapless shirt, leaving her shoulders bare and her cleavage...enhanced.

‘Morning,’ he said. You saucy little pervert in barely any clothes. ‘Sleep well?’

He assumed she’d had a pretty fitful sleep if that damn bell jingling was anything to go by.

Stella steeled herself to look at him again and gave a non-committal shrug. ‘Fine,’ she murmured.

Rick stifled a smile as she looked away. Liar. Good, now they were even. Between the damn book, that silly little bell and an array of teeny tiny clothes, sleep had become a rare commodity.

‘You were in bed early last night,’ he mused, because he just couldn’t resist teasing her a little as she had done over their flirting bet last night. ‘Everything okay?’

Stella’s breath hitched as she popped two pieces of bread in the toaster. ‘Fine,’ she replied, her gaze planted firmly on the job at hand.

Rick suppressed a chuckle at her monosyllabic replies. He’d have loved to tease her some more, hell he could have done it all day, but the weather wasn’t the best out there and they should be getting under way.

He picked up his plate and glass and headed towards the galley, squeezing behind her to get to the sink. He felt her stiffen a little as he caught a whiff of browning toast and coconut. Her hair sat in a messy ponytail on top of her head, leaving her neck exposed, and he had the craziest urge to slip his arms around her waist and nuzzle into it.

He stepped away from the temptation—teasing her was one thing, acting as if they’d set up house was another. He placed his plate in the sink and downed the last of his orange juice in one gulp. ‘It’s going to be a bit choppy out there today so I’ll get us under way,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ Stella said again, keeping rigidly still until he’d safely disappeared up the stairs. When the toast popped thirty seconds later she realised she’d been staring out of the porthole thinking about him naked.

Oh, brother! Would she ever be able to act normally around him again?

As it turned out Rick was fully engaged in keeping control of the boat in the worsening swell so there was no time for conversation, awkward or otherwise. The sky was grey and the wind was brisk, keeping him on his toes. It was far from dangerous but it did require his attention.

She sat up front and worked on her laptop for a bit, but trying to type with the horizon undulating drunkenly played havoc with her equilibrium and wasn’t very productive. Even reading through her previous day’s work for editing purposes proved impossible to her constitution.

Stella had always possessed an excellent set of sea legs but they’d obviously become rusty from lack of use as nausea sat like a lead sinker in her stomach.

Which at least wiped away the images of Rick showering in the moonlight.

She gave up on the book, shutting her laptop lid.

‘Do you want to go down and make sure everything’s secured properly below deck?’ Rick called out an hour later as she sat very still, keeping her gaze fixed on the horizon, and concentrated on deep breathing.

Stella stood. Good idea. Something to do to keep her mind off the unsettling up and down of the boat.

It started to rain lightly as she passed him and she shivered as the breeze cooled the water droplets on her skin. He’d taken his shirt off at some stage and his chest was speckled with sea spray.

It reminded her of the way water droplets had clung to his naked skin last night and she wondered if they were cool on his skin too. Whether they tasted of salt or of man.

Or some heady mix of both.

If she hadn’t felt so rough, she might have been tempted to try. ‘Do you want your spray jacket?’ she asked, not quite meeting his eyes.

Rick nodded, examining her face. It had gone