Dark Pirate. Angela Devine

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СКАЧАТЬ right, thanks,’ she agreed, forcing herself to rise and clamber nervously across the sloping deck to join him. ‘What do I do?’

      ‘Just put your hands here on the wheel at ten to two. Then take a look straight down the centre of the ship and line up the prow with that headland over there. If she begins to fall away, turn the wheel a little to bring her back on course. Yes, that’s fine.’

      As he had spoken he had positioned himself behind her, putting his arms around her and gripping her hands so that he could guide them. Harmless invitation! thought Rose despairingly. I didn’t know he was going to do that! Her senses reeled at his overpowering nearness and her heart begun to beat in a frantic, suffocating rhythm. She was intensely conscious of his towering height, the power of the whipcord muscles in those strong tanned arms that were wrapped around her, the salty masculine smell that came off in waves from his warm body. For one insane moment she wondered what he would do if she suddenly leaned back against him. The mere thought made her go rigid with panic.

      ‘I think you can let go now,’ she said in a stifled voice.

      Greg released her, but he continued to stand just behind her so that she found it difficult to keep her attention on handling the boat. Almost before she realised it, the bow began to stray out towards the open sea and Greg had to move forward to correct their course.

      ‘I’ll just help you out as we go down the channel between this rocky island up ahead and the mainland,’ he explained. ‘It looks as though there’s plenty of space, but in fact there are some sharp reefs below the surface here. No, there’s no need for you to move. All you have to do is let yourself go and trust me.’

      But Rose had already wriggled free of his grip and was retreating to the safety of her seat in the stern. ‘You’d better do it,’ she said shakily. ‘I’m afraid of running into disaster.’

      A soft chuckle escaped him, but he did not argue with her. Rose looked out at the island looming ahead of them and tried to distract herself from Greg by examining every feature of it. It was nothing but a craggy outcrop of rock covered with bright emerald grass at the top and plummeting to wicked-looking rocky shores below. Sea-gulls whirled and shrieked above it and a mass of scudding clouds like shredded lace sent shadows chasing over its vivid green grass. Greg shaded his eyes and looked out at the restlessly heaving sea ablaze with light from the sinking sun.

      ‘Not far to go now,’ he announced in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Come by here and look. You see over there to starboard? That’s Pisky Bay, just around the headland.’

      The land began to come closer and closer and soon Rose could see a half-moon of sandy beach framed at each end by jagged cliffs. Emerald-green water rushed past her, then suddenly they were in the bay itself with the details of the land growing larger and sharper with every passing minute. Rose could not suppress a little cry of excitement as she saw a dusty road winding between hawthorn hedges, cows grazing placidly in a green field and three or four widely scattered cottages barely visible among the trees that surrounded them.

      ‘Oh, I can hardly wait!’ she exclaimed. ‘Somehow I feel exactly as if I’m coming home!’

      ‘Well, it won’t be long now,’ said Greg. ‘I’ll just take down the sails, drop anchor and I’ll have you ashore in no time.’

      He was as good as his word. A moment later the huge red mainsail came flapping down and was lashed securely around the boom, to be followed at once by the other two smaller sails. Then Greg hurried up to the bow of the yacht and there was a loud, grinding rattle as he let out the anchor chain. Then he came back along the narrow, polished deck of the yacht with the lithe tread of a hunting cat. Pausing with one hand on the entrance to the hatchway, he glanced back at Rose, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her heart beat faster.

      ‘Are you planning to offer me a cup of tea when we get ashore?’ he asked.

      That was more than Rose had bargained for. Her whole body tensed in a useless impulse to retreat. ‘I very much doubt it, I’m afraid. I have no idea of what I’m going to find once I get inside the cottage. And I haven’t any tea.’

      ‘In that case, I think I’ll bring my own,’ announced Greg, calmly disposing of her objections. ‘And a few basic supplies to see you through the night.’

      Before she could protest, he swung himself down into the cabin and reappeared a couple of minutes later with a knobbly looking old khaki rucksack slung over one shoulder. ‘Now, let’s get you into the dinghy and we’ll go ashore,’ he said.

      It was rather unnerving to scramble down into a heaving dinghy in a straight skirt, but with Greg’s as-sistance Rose managed it somehow. Instructing her to sit down in the stern, he fitted the rowlocks into their holes and shipped the oars. Then he untied the painter and, crouching low, took his place in the centre seat facing her. With a deft movement he unshipped the oars and began to row. His powerful arms sent the tiny craft skimming effortlessly across the water, but as they neared the band of white foam where the waves were breaking on the beach, a fresh difficulty presented itself to Rose.

      ‘How do we get ashore?’ she asked, glancing uneasily down at her best navy leather shoes. ‘Do we just jump into the waves and walk?’

      ‘I do,’ agreed Greg with an unholy glint in his eyes. ‘You jump into my arms and let me carry you. And no arguments, my dear.’

      Rose opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again. Obviously it was the only sensible thing to do. All the same, she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit, or, if she was, she didn’t intend to admit it even to herself. There was a sudden, exhilarating surge and they found themselves carried forward on the crest of a wave to ground on the soft sand amid a seething rush of foam. Greg jumped out, wearing his knee-high rubber fisherman’s boots, reached into the bow of the dinghy for a small anchor which he dug into the sand, then turned to Rose with a look of sly anticipation on his face.

      ‘Come on, then,’ he ordered as he held out his arms to her. ‘What are you waiting for?’ With as much dignity as she could muster, Rose crept gingerly towards him, then suddenly felt herself swept off her feet and into his arms. In spite of her resolution to remain calm, her body stiffened at his touch and she looked up at him with a flash of alarm. There was still amusement and warmth in his eyes, but there was also something else, a look of hungry, primitive desire that made her blood pause and then throb hotly and violently through her veins. For a moment their eyes met in wordless understanding and she could feel the tumultuous thudding of his heart be-neath the thin fabric of his shirt, then he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and began to stride fiercely towards the beach.

      A moment later Rose was on her feet on the white sand, although she felt oddly unsteady on her legs. Glancing back, she saw that Greg had returned to the water’s edge and was hauling the dinghy up on the sand, out of the reach of waves. She could see the lines of strain in his body as he half carried, half dragged it across the sand, and could not suppress a twinge of admiration at his strength. Then she gritted her teeth in annoyance. She must stop behaving like some ridiculous teenager! It was absurd, undignified. Deliberately turning her back on Greg, she swung round to face the emerald-green landscape that rose in front of her, so much more vividly green than anything she had ever seen in Australia. She was still gazing at it, drinking in its unfamiliar beauty, when Greg appeared beside her and put one arm casually around her shoulders.

      ‘That’s your aunt Em’s cottage up there on the right,’ he said, pointing to a gabled roof barely visible above a hawthorn hedge about two hundred yards away. ‘Your new home, Rose.’

      A shiver went through her as much at the pressure of his fingers СКАЧАТЬ