“You know the rules, Russ. If we agree to have my client take a lie-detector test, it will be administered in my office, not downtown with your boys. I’m not fool enough to toss him into a lion’s den with an intimidating police polygraph technician!” Cash ran a finger inside his shirt collar, loosening his tie into lopsided disarray. “You’re darn right you’ll probably never see the results. I’m not on your team. My only concern is my client’s welfare. Nothing more to talk about, Russ. Good-bye.”
Returning the receiver to its cradle, Cash turned his attention to Christie, then self-consciously tried to repair the alignment of his tie.
“You don’t have to tidy up for me.” She smiled. “I’m only going to be a minute. I brought the report on Elliot Parker’s handwriting.”
She leaned across the desk to give Cash the folder, and he made a quick move to receive it. Their foreheads almost collided, and Christie was jolted by the zesty aroma of Chaps or Stetson, or some such scent that accompanied boots and cowboy hats. She jerked away and the edge of the seat jabbed the backs of her knees. Tottering precariously, she tilted forward to regain her balance. Reaching for the desktop in an effort to gain purchase, her fingers splayed across the oak. Her hands rested on the flat surface while she caught her breath, and then tried to reseat herself with aplomb.
“What was that all about?” Cash asked. His grin was a concession to an obvious struggle to repress laughter.
“My heel caught in the rug.”
Cash looked down at the floor and Christie understood the transparency of her white lie: the Berber carpet was so tightly woven it would accommodate even the worst klutz’s misstep.
“Aren’t you going to at least scan the report? You appeared anxious to receive it as soon as possible.”
“Hey, take it easy. I didn’t trip you.”
“I told you…”
“Your heel, yes, of course.”
“I’m sticking to my story.” She smiled, acknowledging the humor in the mishap.
Cash sat down, removed the papers from the folder and quietly read them. When he was finished, he formed a steeple with his fingers. He studied the structure before addressing Christie.
“I don’t know how Hal and Margo are going to receive this information. I’m going to phone them, wind up a few other things, and then call it a day. Why don’t you join me in a sail? I’ll even throw in dinner.”
An instant replay of the previous night’s electric current flashed through Christie’s mind. She could not underestimate the emotional risk she would face on board Cash’s boat, even if he was busy hauling sails and manning the wheel. But she wanted to be with him, so why refuse?
“It sounds like fun,” she said, knowing that was an understatement. “I’ll wait for you downstairs in the coffee shop. I could use an afternoon shot of caffeine.”
Thirty minutes later they were on the road to the marina.
“This vehicle does suit you, Cash,” Christie said.
“What brings you to that conclusion?”
“The interior is so masculine. A sports car would be almost feminine in comparison to the steel and saddle leather of this baby. You drive like you’re riding herd on cattle. A cowboy belt with a silver trophy buckle would make the picture complete.”
“If it would enhance my image, I’m sure I can find just the thing tucked away in the dark recesses of a footlocker on Serenade.”
“I have no doubt.”
Traffic was stalled on the Golden Gate Bridge. The cars inched along at a snail’s pace and Cash impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Would you consider it rude if I make a business call while we’re trapped in this bottleneck?”
“Not at all.”
“Whenever my schedule allows, I take the ferry into the city. It’s better than getting caught up in this mess.”
He spoke some numbers into his cell phone and in a few seconds a man’s voice answered. Christie turned toward the side window, attempting to look disinterested in the conversation. When she heard him ask, “Where did you locate him?” she assumed he was talking to a private investigator. The call ended a couple of minutes later.
“You could teach time management, Cash. Most drivers would have switched on the radio or inserted a CD for diversion. You weren’t kidding when you said you were a workaholic. You’re going to have an ulcer before you reach forty.” Or a heart attack, she thought glumly.
“Don’t worry. I thrive on work.”
They reached Sausalito and Cash swung the SUV into the marina’s parking lot. Christie noticed a transformation take place. His shoulders loosened and his grip on the steering wheel was no longer white-knuckle tight. He was home, and true to his word, water was his element.
On board Serenade he hurled directions at her, and she was pleased to be able to follow them with a minimum of bungling. Working together, it didn’t take much time to raise the mainsail and ready the jib.
“We make a good team,” Cash remarked as he fired the diesel engine and motored the boat out of the harbor. “You’ll find a couple of jackets inside the cabin. Slip one on. The wind is coming up; it’s going to be cold on the bay.”
Christie shrugged into a bright-yellow windbreaker, much too large to fit attractively, but she was not going to ignore his warning about the cold air. When they passed the buoy marker, Cash switched off the engine and raised the jib sail. The boat responded to the urging of the wind and heeled sharply.
“We’re going to tip over!” she screamed.
Cash reached for her and slipped his free arm around her waist. “This baby can lean even more without taking on a drop of water, but if you’re nervous, I can adjust the sails so she’ll flatten out. It will slow us down, though.”
“And you prefer speed. I don’t want to be a spoilsport.”
“That’s the proper attitude. Anyway, I’ll protect you.” He squeezed her more tightly into the curve of his arm until her head rested on his chest, and he leaned so that his chin grazed the top of her head.
She squirmed out of his grip. “I think I’ll be safer taking my chances with the pitch of the boat.”
He grinned. “What are you worried about?”
“Nothing. I think I may be better off watching out for myself.”
“Ouch! That smarts. I only want to hold onto you until you get your sea legs.”
He pulled her to him, and this time she did not resist. The outspoken way they were discussing the developing tension simply heightened it for her. A tremor whipped through her; his grip was not protective, not in the sense she needed. He might prevent her from taking a tumble as the boat shot through the water, but the greater risk was in falling headlong into a heated infatuation with him.
“We’re coming about.” Cash released her and simultaneously navigated the mainsail and wheel. The bow cut a smooth arc in response to the maneuver and they headed toward the other side of the bay.
He was completely at ease at Serenade’s helm. He shed the role of high-powered attorney and became a casual sailor enjoying an afternoon cruise. His mouth curved into a contented smile and the earlier dynamic attitude was absent from his posture.
A flight of pelicans swooped overhead and Christie watched the leader dive-bomb into the water. She kept her gaze on the ripples that fanned into a myriad of circles where the bird shattered the water’s surface. But concentrating on seabirds did not distract her from Cash’s proximity.
The sail began luffing vigorously and Cash cranked the winch a half turn to correct the flapping. His jacket was unzipped and she could see the muscles on his chest expand like a weight lifter’s.