Serenade ran before the wind, picking up speed and leaving the pelicans behind. The wake spilled into a frothy V.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s great.”
“Now do you trust me?”
A shiver crept along her spine. “What do you mean?”
“About the boat not capsizing.”
She nodded. Trusting him as an accomplished skipper was one thing. Trusting him not to scramble her emotions was another.
Cash tipped his head to the side. “That’s not what you’re concerned with right now, is it?”
“Answering that question could get me into trouble.”
“If you won’t talk, there are other means of communication.”
His mouth brushed the side of her face. Startled, she stepped away. He reached for the lapels on her jacket and brought her back to him. The air whipped her hair and the taste of salt was on her tongue. The heat of his hand tracing the outline of her face was like a dynamite charge, and her earlier chill flew away. She was prepared for the kiss that was sure to come.
The boat suddenly rocked precariously. The sails snapped like rifle shots and the boom shuddered. Serenade lurched and Christie lost her footing. Cash held her arm to prevent her from falling against the gunwale.
“We’ve lost the wind.” His voice was husky. “If I don’t concentrate on skippering this baby, we’ll end up on the rocks. Hold the wheel steady while I trim the sails.”
He cranked the winches until the jib and mainsail had the proper alignment and the boat slipped into the breeze once more. After he took over the helm, Serenade gathered speed. Christie gripped the deck railing, more to steady her nerves than her body.
Approaching the harbor, Cash dropped the jib, pulled in the mainsail, and switched to diesel. Serenade coasted until it neared the dock. Cash maneuvered the boat into its slip, then jumped onto the dock and wrapped the lines around cleats.
Back on board, he lashed the boom to the stern cleats. Christie helped haul the sails and sheath them in blue-canvas covers. She responded to his instructions slowly, dexterity gone; her fingers were cold and her nerve endings raw.
“I told you I’d include dinner in the evening cruise,” he reminded her. “How about Houlihan’s?”
“You mean you’re not going to play chef and demonstrate the efficiency of that copper galley?” she teased.
“If you’d rather…”
“I’m kidding. Houlihan’s sounds great.”
“And provides neutral ground?” He chucked her under the chin and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes.
“I thought you were an attorney, not a psychic.” A restaurant was definitely safer than the privacy of a small cabin and the intimacy of candlelight.
“I’d prefer a cozy scene on Serenade, but I don’t want to spook you.”
“You don’t want to spook me? Or the cupboard is bare?”
A flush crossed his face.
“You’re terrible.” Christie shook her head. “Trying to soften me up with a pretense of considering my feelings, when in reality you don’t have the wherewithal for a love tryst.”
“Guilty as charged. Let’s get a table at Houlihan’s before I change my mind and make a quick stop at a Speedy Mart.”
They walked across the wharf to the restaurant. The hostess’s effusive greeting intimated that Cash was a regular customer. Without delay she led them to a booth overlooking the water and the San Francisco skyline on the far side of the bay.
The decor was nostalgic. Decades-old photographs of movie stars, athletes, and advertising slogans covered the walls. A hand-carved carousel horse, its paint chipped and faded, was perched on a brick divider surrounded by cascades of greenery. The room vaguely resembled a cluster of garden gazebos.
“The size of this menu is staggering,” Christie said.
“The Polynesian kabob is always a good choice.”
“You saved my life! I thought I’d die of starvation before I could decide what to have.”
Cash shook his head. “You are one crazy lady.”
Christie was determined to keep the conversation light. They ordered dinner and a carafe of wine. Ten minutes later, the waitress brought the wine and salads.
“How long have you been sailing, Cash?”
“Since I was a kid. We lived near a lake, and my dad was an avid sailor. On vacations we trailered our boat to the coast. You know how ranchers put their kids on a horse before they can walk? My dad had me hauling sails while I was still in diapers. At least, that’s the story my mother tells.
“Besides recreational sailing, my dad and I raced together. Later I became interested in solo competition. I still race occasionally. I maintain a membership at the St. Francis Yacht Club and that gives me an opportunity to crew now and then.”
“I’ll bet you picked up a good share of trophies over the years.”
“If I admit you’re right, I’ll sound conceited.”
“If you don’t I’ll consider it false modesty.”
“Either way, I lose.”
“You can’t tell me that you’re not able to come up with a bright remark that will make you sound modest, competitive, and…”
“A winner?”
“Yes.”
“I only care if I’m a winner with you.”
“Darn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been trying to keep the conversation impersonal, and I walked right into that. Set myself up.”
“You seem frightened of me. Or rather, of us. Why?”
She considered the question before answering. “The situation is quixotic. We’re professional associates. I’ve worked on two cases for you, and I hope you’ll throw more business my way in the future. Intermingling business with…” She groped for the right word.
“Pleasure?” he said.
“That wasn’t quite how I was going to express it, but, yes, pleasure—it can become a destructive combination. If our relationship crashes and burns, it will be awkward working together. It would be prudent to keep business in the forefront to avoid complications.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. And that’s the problem. I enjoy being with you, and I had a great time on Serenade today.”
“I enjoy your company, too. Why fight it? I’m not the type to kiss and tell. Besides, we haven’t gotten that far…yet.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. He angled his head forward.
“We’re both mature enough to handle this. The attraction between us is undeniable. Why not allow it to evolve without putting barricades in the way?”
The waitress’s arrival with their entrées interrupted the conversation. Christie was relieved to have the topic temporarily suspended. She did not want to explore her feelings further right now. It was too risky. While casually dating an associate was socially benign, her attraction to Cash involved more than chemistry. His presence in her life had been swift as an arrow shot from an archer’s bow. If her emotions continued to catch fire and his did not, it could be disastrous.
Later, after the dessert dishes were cleared, they dawdled over coffee.
“I spoke to Hal about your report on Elliot’s signature. He isn’t completely convinced. He doesn’t want to be, of course. He can’t fathom Elliot selling family stock. I’m going to Arizona tomorrow to meet with him. I’d like you to come along and deliver your findings in person. I know I’m putting you on the spot, but if Hal meets you, he’ll be more positive about your ability. Until now he never knew that questioned document examiners existed, much less that he would employ one.”
“I don’t know if I can clear my desk on such short notice.”