“Watch.”

He moved gracefully over the deck, working the lines. Then suddenly the sails rose, snapped in the wind, filled with it. Her heartbeat skipped and scrambled, and her fingers tightened once more on the bench.

No, she’d been wrong, she saw that now. This was nothing at all like a car. It was primitive and beautiful and thrilling. The boat no longer seemed small, or fragile, but powerful, just a little dangerous. And breathtaking.

Very much like the man who captained her.

“It’s lovely from down here.” Though she kept her hands firmly locked on the bench, she smiled over at Phillip. “They always look pretty when I watch from the window. But it’s lovely to see the sails from below.”

“You’re sitting,” Phillip commented as he took the wheel. “And you’re enjoying, but I don’t think you’re relaxing.”

“Not yet. I might get there.” She turned her face to the wind. It tugged and teased at her hair, trying to free it from the band. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

Her smile warmed and widened. “I rarely have a chance to go there.”

She hadn’t smiled at him just that way before, Phillip thought. Without thinking, without weighing. He doubted she realized how that easy smile transformed her coolly beautiful face into something softer, more approachable. Wanting to touch her, he held out a hand.

“Come on up here, check out the view.”

Her smile faded. “Stand up?”

“Yeah. There’s no chop today. It’s a smooth ride.”

“Stand up,” she repeated, giving each word separate weight. “And walk over there. On the boat.”

“Two steps.” He couldn’t stop the grin. “You don’t want to just be a bystander, do you?”

“Actually, yes.” Her eyes widened when he stepped away from the wheel. “No, don’t.” She stifled a scream when he laughed and snagged her hand. Before she could dig in, he’d pulled her to her feet. Off balance, she fell against him and held on in terror and defense.

“Couldn’t have planned that one better,” he murmured and holding her, stepped back to the wheel. “I like getting close enough to smell you. A man has to get almost right here . . .” He turned his head, nuzzled his lips on her throat.

“Stop.” Thrills and fears raced through her. “Pay attention.”

“Oh, believe me”—his teeth caught and nipped her ear-lobe—“I am.”

“To the boat. Pay attention to the boat.”

“Oh, yeah.” But he kept one arm snug around her waist. “Look out over the bow, to port. The left,” he explained. “That little swash there goes back into the marsh. You’ll see herons and wild turkey.”

“Where?”

“Sometimes you have to go in to find them. But you can catch sight of them now and then, the herons standing like a sculpture in the high grass or rising up from it, the turkeys bobbling their way out of the trees.”

She wanted to see, she discovered. She hoped she would see.

“In another month, we’ll have geese flying over. From their view this area wouldn’t look much different from the Everglades.”