Tempted

Hailee

I didn’t realize the press had followed us to Alex’s cottage. When the car picked us up and we exited the gate towards Mann’s Harbor, a half dozen men with cameras were snapping pictures, calling out our names, and walking backwards, halfway in the path of the car, like absolute morons.

I thought some skiff was going to come ashore to the beach and take us to a boat already on the water. So I’m even more surprised when the Mercedes pulls into the little marina I was at yesterday.

The small number of paparazzi have followed us in a couple cars but keep their distance.

Alex and I get out of the back seat at the same time and go around to the small gate at the marina entrance.

While the little marina was a bit of a shock, I’m not taken aback when I see which boat is Alex’s.

It’s the twenty-foot sailboat with the navy-blue hull and beautiful teak wood deck.

A man with a black mustache wearing a sailor’s cap peeks his head up from the cabin as he hears our footsteps clacking down the dock.

“You’re all rigged, Alex! I stocked the fridge, too.” He walks to the back of the boat and takes a lunging step onto the dock.

“Thanks, Al.” Alex digs into his pocket and hands him a hundred-dollar bill.

“You couldn’t ask for better weather. The wind has died down some. Enough for fun, but nothing out of control.”

“We’re looking forward to getting away,” Alex says as he glances up at the cameras that are snapping our picture as he speaks.

“I gotta get back to the office.” Al gives us both a little wave as he walks towards the marina’s only building that rests at the top of a set of stone stairs.

Alex helps me aboard. So, this is what Alex does up the coast. He sails.

His tan suddenly makes a whole lot more sense. I’m trying to picture him with a glob of sunscreen on his nose and a big orange life vest ballooning on his chest. Somehow, I don’t think that’s how Alex Blackwell sails.

“I didn’t think you had hobbies,” I say teasingly as Alex climbs around the mast to inspect the rigging.

“There are a lot things I don’t let people know about me. Do you know boats?”

“Not at all.”

“Bow.” He points to the front of the boat. “Stern.” He points to the back.

“I know that,” I say, partially lying. I know the terms, but I didn’t really know which was which.

“Port.” He gestures left while facing the bow. “Starboard.” He moves his arm right. He points out the winch and the mast, the boom and the backstay. It’s like I’m meeting a group of a dozen people and getting their names all at once.

Luckily, Alex knows it’s a lot. Or can tell from the terror on my face. “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to remember it all. But I’ll walk you through it.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I try to catch Alex’s eye, but he’s already untying the boat from the cleats. “Am I watching you sail or helping?”

“You think this is a free ride?”

“Whoa. Hey.” I follow him down the deck, where he unties the ropes by the… stern. No bow. This is going to end poorly.

“I don’t know a thing about sailing. I’ll get you killed.”

“I’m kidding. I’ll ask for a thing or two, but you’re not going to be tying figure-eights. You can relax. Check out the cabin.” He nods backwards.

I’m extremely unsteady on deck, and we’re not even moving. I listen to Alex and go into the cabin. It feels better inside. It smells like coffee and all the beautiful, stained wood. There’s a tiny kitchen, tinier bathroom, and a big bed built into the triangle that makes up the bow. I hear a motor start, and I go back out on deck.

Alex is at the giant steel wheel. He’s using the motor to maneuver us out of the marina.

I’m quiet as the wind picks up as we leave the break walls made of giant stacks of boulders. There’s a gap between the two ends, and in that gap is a giant expanse of empty blue ocean.

There’s that rollercoaster feeling again. Tick, tick, ticking towards the top. To be fair, I don’t think there is anyone else in the world I’d feel more comfortable with at the helm than Alex. Confident. Stoic. Smart. I think so long as there’s no hurricane, we’ll be fine. Still, all that blue water and us in one tiny boat…

I find the ocean terrifying. Not the beach or blue coral reefs in the Caribbean. But the ocean. You know, miles of water beneath you. The water deep navy, almost black if you squint. I thought I’d be in the cabin of a yacht. Maybe even sipping champagne in a hot tub. The only good news is that it has warmed up. By noon it should be nice and toasty.

We get out of the harbor a hundred yards, and Alex lets the sail out. The white sheet is massive, and I feel the wind begin to tug on the boat. “We’re going to move with the wind and current. Stay on deck, too, and you shouldn’t get seasick.”

I nod and shout over the wind, “Sounds good!” Shit. I didn’t even think of that. Seasick. Turning green and puking over the railing doesn’t sound like a day well spent.

Alex tells me to hold the wheel straight for a minute as he goes into the cabin. He comes back with a green water wicking jacket and one life vest.

“Put these on.”

I hold up the jacket. “Is it going to rain?” I don’t know why I asked. The sky is blue from horizon to horizon.

“No. It’s for spray.”

“Right.” At this moment, there is no spray. The boat just bounces lightly atop the water. I put on the jacket and buckle my life vest over it. Alex mans the wheel again and elects to stay in nothing but light wash jeans, black aviators, and his white tee.

I sit down on the padded seats near the stern and watch Alex at the wheel. He’s only a few feet ahead of me, but we still have to raise our voices to be heard.

We head a little farther out to sea before he cranks the wheel so we’re facing southwest with the wind squarely at our backs.

I feel the boat build speed. Alex takes his hands from the wheel, and I watch him deftly tie a knot before turning back to me. “You want this to be fun?”

“Sure!” I shrug. I’m not sure how fun this could possibly be. Right now, this just seems like a fancy way to get harassed by the wind.

“Hold on to that railing,” Alex says, nodding toward the rail.

I grip the metal and feel a similar tightness in my butt as I pucker.

Alex walks forward and shifts the boom, and suddenly, the boat leans heavily on its port side. We pick up speed.

The water went from being a few feet away to what feels like a few inches. My stomach lurches as we gain even more speed. How fast can we even be going? Twenty miles per hour?

Soon it feels like three times that.

I keep my grip on the railing and lean forward as we skim over the waves. We’re flying, and I’m smiling. How have I never heard of this? The bow hits a wave, and a huge spray of saltwater flies, splattering over the deck.

When I’m done spitting out water, I hear myself yell. “Woo! Yeah! Do it again!”

Alex looks back at me. He’s got a look of amusement from my sudden enthusiasm. He faces forward again and cranks the wheel to hit the next wave. The bow sinks before launching up with a whish and ka-thunk. Water crashes over the deck, and I’m laughing.

Okay, this is fun. Ridiculously fun. I don’t know why I thought Alex’s sailboat wasn’t going to be fast. We’re maneuvering like a bird.

He turns back so we run over the waves. If the shore wasn’t in sight, I’d probably be terrified. But it’s right there. Just a few hundred yards out.

Alex’s shirt is soaked from the sea spray, and my brow raises a little as I watch him hold his arms up and pull it off. He balls it up and tosses it into the cabin.

I didn’t realize a man’s back could be just as sculpted as his front. His muscles are wide and visible underneath the skin. I can see them tense and flex as he steers.

Now who’s tempting who? I may be reading into this too much. This is Alex’s natural habitat, and I’m the one who has invaded it. I can see him doing this alone. Escaping from the city in his helicopter to go do something with his hands.

Something that makes him feel alive that doesn’t involve shaking hands or sitting at a computer.

And my God, his hands.

He turns around so he’s facing me and starts tying a knot on the boom. His tanned abs show like sharp stones and contrast against the light denim of his jeans. I can see the bulge of his soft cock and have to force my eyes north to watch his hands work.

But watching his hands might even be sexier.

He ties the knot quickly, moving his fingers swiftly like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before. I bet that knot tying is a skill he makes handy in the bedroom. I can’t stop these thoughts.

This man is art. Who cares if there’s lust involved in my admiration? Right now, I truly believe that the human body is one of the greatest things we can marvel at.

At least with Alex.

He sails for close to an hour, and I alternate between whooping and hollering as we crash over the waves and staring at his back.

We arrive at a sheltered cove, and Alex drops anchor. He goes into the cabin and comes out with turkey sandwiches and pinot served in coffee mugs.

With the wind calmer, I feel like we can talk. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know… Some yacht.”

“Big yachts need crews. I don’t come out here to be in the company of others.”

“I could tell. So, thanks for bringing me .”

“Do you want to take a spin when we go back out?”

I glance at the silver steering wheel. The thing has to be forty inches across and rises up higher than my chest.

“It’s not that hard. I’ll be right behind you.”

I smile and look at Alex. The wind plays with his hair gently. His cheeks are rough with a few days of stubble. I look into his eyes for a little longer than what is appropriate, but he holds my gaze just as intensely.

“I’ll give it a whirl.”

He nods, satisfied, and then we both look to the cabin as someone is squawking his name over the radio.

He stands up and ducks inside. I can’t hear the entirety of the conversation, but there’s some kind of problem.

Alex comes back out with a scowl and scans the horizon. I follow his eyes. A small boat is approaching from the entrance to our cove.

“We should get moving again.” He steps onto the bow and starts pulling the anchor up hand over hand.

“What is it?”

“That was the marina. Apparently one of the paparazzi paid a guy to take him out and follow us.”

“Shit. Are we going to be able to outrun a motorboat?”

“No. But I don’t want us sitting still for pictures. I don’t plan to give them the pleasure.”

The boat is only a hundred yards away by the time Alex gets us moving, but with the light wind in the shelter of the cove, we’re not moving fast.

It’s hard to explain the feeling of having the paparazzi approach. I’ll go with extreme annoyance. I hate the lack of consent with this. If I have a wardrobe malfunction, it’s their win. There’s nothing I can do. No amount of politeness could get them not to sell the photo. It’s the concept of that, the rudeness of it, that makes my blood begin to boil.

The motorboat slows, and I look to see Alex opening a bright orange box he’d pulled from a compartment under the seat.

“Alex! ! Got anything you’d like to say about this fun date?” This paparazzi is about forty, fat and goateed. He raises his camera and clicks a few pictures.

I look back to Alex as he loads a wide green shell into a… Wait… I move my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose. Is that a flare gun?

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Like you’re about to shoot this guy with a flare gun.”

“Precisely.”

Alex clamps the gun shut with a smooth flick of his wrist and starts to raise his arm. I don’t think flare guns are lethal, but is he seriously about to light this guy on fire?

I step in front of him and put a firm hand on his elbow. “Alex, you can’t just go shooting people with flare guns.”

“Out of the way, rabbit. He’ll be fine.”

“Have you done this before?”

Alex looks down at me. “Maybe.”

“Let’s just get going to sea. Please? For me.” I really don’t want to be an accessory to murder, and I’m not current on my maritime law, but we are most definitely not in international waters.

He eyes the paparazzi for another several seconds before putting his flare gun away and climbing back into the rigging while I hold the wheel. Soon, the wind takes the sail, and we cruise out of the cove and back into choppy water.

We’re traveling somewhat against the breeze to head back to the marina, and it takes about twice as long. With the wind and motorboat humming behind us like a wasp at a picnic, we can’t have much of a conversation.

Maybe I should’ve let Alex shoot that guy with a flare gun. There’s something very parasitic about the feeling of this smaller boat shadowing ours.

I need to not get in some ultra-rich mindset myself. This guy was just trying to make a living. But come on… Become a mailman. Something honorable. I shouldn’t be so nice, because our lovely outing feels a little spurred.

I’m more upset than I really ought to be. I guess I wanted to spend more time out here. I’m staring at the teak deck when Alex whistles to get my attention. He pats the wheel and starts to crank it so we have the wind at our back.

“Come on, rabbit.”

My nerves start firing again. I feel little pistons chugging away under my skin as I stand and grip the wheel.

“Now just give it little movements. We’re going with the wind, so try to keep her steady. Don’t jerk the wheel. Stay nice and easy.” His voice is almost a shout over the wind. There’s an urgency in the air that feeds my anxiety.

Alex hasn’t positioned the boom yet in the way that makes the boat lean and skim close and fast over the water.

“I’ll be right here.” He positions himself inches behind me so his arms can reach out to secure both me and the wheel if need be.

I just nod. My throat is too dry for words. Alex moves forward, and I realize I’m closing my damn eyes. I open them just as I feel the wind begin to take the sail. There’s that lurch that shakes me all the way down to my feet and then the tilt of gravity as the boat leans.

The first two minutes, my ass is clenched hard enough to chop carrots. Or maybe it was only twenty seconds. But I loosen up quickly as I feel control of the wheel as I steer.

“Aim into that one.” Alex’s tan arm comes out in front of me. I’m too busy staring at a vein, running bulging and blue down his forearm, to follow his finger.

But I turn the wheel. There’s a trough before a wave of perhaps five feet, and we dip into it before we splash up with a crash.

I’m laughing hysterically before I know it.

We find wave after wave and put the bow through them and make the sea spray over the deck. I’m soaked, and so is Alex. His chest is pressed against my back, and he’s gripping the wheel for support. Another five minutes is all I can take before I steer the wheel on my own so we’re facing the shore and the wind feels more placid.

I look up and over my shoulder at Alex. His hair is dark brown from being wet, and drops of water run down his face.

He smiles at me. “You’re a natural.”

He puts his hand on my chin and rubs his thumb just below my bottom lip. I can feel my heartbeat tickle in my ears.

Is he going to kiss me? I look from his lips to his eyes, and just as I think I’m about to close my eyes, the spell is broken.

“! Alex! How’s the date going!” Click, click, click.

I turn to see the motorboat pulling up right next to us. They’re close enough to board us. The paparazzi is standing precariously on the bow with his legs widespread for balance.

I sigh in frustration. I can’t even tell this guy off, or he’ll get an angry picture of me in return.

That’s the thing with the paparazzi. They’re not model photographers. They’re hoping to snap just as many pictures of you looking your worst as they are your best.

Alex pushes me forward gently. He takes the wheel and gives it a slight tug to port, towards the motorboat. His eyes are squinted. Calculating.

He moves forward to the mast. “Duck,” he murmurs to me.

I don’t duck. I’m too busy watching what he’s doing with his hands. He unties the boom, pulls on the wheel again, and I hit the deck as the long metal arm flies out over the water.

It hits the paparazzi square in the chest. I watch his arms flail as he tries to stay upright, but it’s not enough. He falls into the water with his camera in a great big splash.

He surfaces right away with his lank hair now glued over his face.

“You’re not supposed to get this close to other boats in rough weather,” Alex says and returns to the helm. “It’s dangerous.” He pulls me with him, so I return to my spot at the wheel.

I must admit I’m smiling.

He puts his hands on top of mine to steer the boat back to the marina. I think we both want a dry change of clothes.

When we reach the gap between the break wall, I see that the paparazzi who remained on shore are perched on the boulders.

“How about we reward them for at least pretending to care about privacy. And this way we won’t have to hold hands,” Alex says as we get closer.

“What do you mean?” I look over my shoulder again to see those eyes brighter than the sea staring down at me. He holds my face with one hand and moves his mouth to mine. I feel his warm lips, salty from sea, explore mine.

I kiss him back, my heart on the verge of exploding.

He pulls away. I wanted to feel his tongue press into my mouth. He leaves me with a smile. I’m left stunned and blinking as I hear the paparazzi shouting.

“I figure that’s worth a couple weeks of hand holding. Fair?”

“Fair,” I somehow manage to say.

“Besides, you’re soaking wet.”

“Yes,” I say, nodding. Not referring to the ocean water I’m soaked in. “Yes, I am.”