Passionate Choice

Chapter 8.8

   A Mystic was tied to with other dinghies at the end of the wharf and they climbed down an iron ladder set into the wall to reach it. Selena was glad she was wearing trousers. Soon, they were zooming across the greyish brown water where all sorts of debris floated. The outboard engine roared, yachts were passed, spray flew. Looking ahead, Selena saw a silvery grey yacht growing bigger and bigger as they approached it. From the stern of it, water spouted, indicating that its engine was going. On its foredeck, a man in shorts but no shirt was pulling in on the anchor line. His bronze curls blowing in the strong breeze were haloed with sunshine. Then the Mystic was swerving under the stern of the yacht and turning to nudge against the port side.

   "Up with you," ordered Emilio. "Go on, jump aboard."

   "But—" began Selena. The dinghy was bouncing up and down on the waves and so was the yacht. It was going to be tricky getting aboard. Timing would be everything.

   "Go on, quickly," tired Emilio, who was obviously used to getting his own way.

   She stood up, put her hands on the rail of the yacht and heaved herself up until she was able to stand on the rail. Then she swung one leg over the life lines and the. The other and stood on the deck. She looked down at the dinghy but it had gone, was rushing round to the bow of the yacht. Holding on to mast shrouds, she hurried forward. Keith had stopped hauling on seeing Emilio in the dinghy and was yelling something to the Spaniard who yelled something back. Emilio waved his hand, and the Mystic zoomed off away from the yacht. Selena rushed over to the other side.

   "Emilio, come back. Come back," she yelled, but he only grinned and zoomed on.

   "What the hell are you doing here?" said Keith behind her, and it seemed to her that every word he spoke clinked with ice.

   She turned to him slowly. He was standing in typical pose, hand on hips. He was bare footed and bare chested. His eyebrows slanted in an angry frown and his eyes, ice blue, appraised her through half-closed lids.

   "I have something to tell you. I... I wouldn't have come out here, only Emilio made me come." She glanced over her shoulder to the speeding dinghy but it was out of sight although she could hear the roar of its engine.

   "Well, now you're here, you can help," said Keith coldly and authoritatively. "Go aft and out the engine in forward gear. I'll have to motor up to the anchor to break it out."

   "But I haven't come to help. Oh, please re-anchor and take me ashore in your dinghy."

   "No. I've cleared customs and the officials are on the wharf there watching and making damned sure I leave."

   "Surely you could explain to them that you had to put me ashore before you could leave," she argued, pushing her hair from her face.

   "What do you have to tell me?" He asked abruptly.

   "Just that I've made a choice and I felt you had to know."

   He was very still. Only his eyes moved as they searched her face.

   "So?" he queried.

   She caught her hair with both hands pressing it down against her head so that it wouldn't stream across her face. The deck heaved under their feet, the engine throbbed, the wind whined in the rigging, and waves slopped against the smooth hull of the yacht. She licked her lips and drew a deep breath.

   "I'm not going to marry Ben Hunt," she whispered. "Now, will you please re-anchor and take me ashore?"

   "No."

   He spun on a heel and went back to the cockpit, pushed a lever beside the wheel and the tube of the engine changed. Leaping from the cockpit, he went forward again, avoiding her by going along the port-side deck and began to haul on the anchor rope as the boat moved gently forward. When the chain appeared, he ran aft, took the engine out of gear, went forward again and pulled up the rest of the chain. The anchor clanked as it came up against the steel roller on the bow.

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