Lori Wilde - Smooth Sailing

“I came here with the Red Cross and I stayed to work. I have scrubs and jeans and that’s it.”

“Ah.” Ahmaya’s eyes glistened. “But I have party clothes. My sister sent me a big box of them last month.”

“You wear a size four.”

“You’re not that much bigger than me. I bet we can squeeze you into my blue Ann Taylor Loft spaghetti strap. Ann Taylor sizes run big, and blue is your color.” Ahmaya dug in her closet, found the dress, tossed it to Haley. “The dress is a little bland for my taste anyway. Should be right up your alley.”

“I’m not much for florals. Too girly.”

“No excuses. Try it on.” Ahmaya sank her hands on her hips.

Reluctantly, Haley stripped off her scrubs and put on the dress. It hugged her curves and the hem fell halfway up her thigh. Hello, where’s the burlesque stage? Gypsy Rose Lee is in the house . She tugged at the bottom of the dress, trying to lengthen it. “It’s too short.”

“You’ve got dynamite legs. Why are you so scared to show them?”

“I’m not scared. Just not interested in looking like a hoochie mama.”

“You’re saying I’m a hoochie mama?”

“The dress isn’t snug on you and you’re two inches shorter than I am.”

“Celebrate your curves, Haley. I’m jealous.”

“It’s too tight in the boobs.”

“It’s perfect. That’s the way a sexy dress is supposed to fit.”

“I’ll need a strapless bra.”

Ahmaya’s eyes danced mischievously. “Go braless.”

“My nipples will show.”

“I have Nippies you can wear. No more excuses.”

“What are Nippies?”

“Gawd, do you live under a rock? They’re nipple covers.”

“I live on a hurricane-devastated island. My concerns run more toward basic human necessities than fashion.”

“You can say that again. Can you for once not be a Debbie Downer?”

That startled her. “Am I really a killjoy?”

“Yeah, kinda. Not everyone lives by your work-work-work credo, and you know, sometimes people need something fun to take their minds off the bad things that have happened. Jeb totally gets that.”

Her friend’s comment stopped Haley in her tracks. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that she was too focused on hard work and doing things by the book. Did everyone think she was a hard-ass? Yes, she was very careful by nature and thorough in forming her opinions, and she had high principles. Why was that a bad thing? Why did she so often feel out of step with others her age?

“Haley, if you’re not perfect every minute of the day, the world won’t come to an end,” Ahmaya said, her voice softening. “Please just try to have fun tonight. Will you promise me that?”

She really did want to fit in. Wanted people to like her. “I’ll try, but the main reason I don’t want to go is that Jeb Whitcomb will be there.”

“Of course he’ll be there. It’s his party.”

“He’s just so cocky. He thinks that all women want to fall at his feet.”

“Most of them do.”

“Not me.”

“Do you really want to make him suffer?”

That intrigued her. “How would I do that?”

“Show up looking gorgeous. Let him see what he’ll never have. Rub it in.”

Hmm. She liked that. Little Miss Sadist. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Yay.” Ahmaya clapped. “Now, will you let me do your makeup?”

Haley started to resist—Ahmaya had a tendency to overdo makeup application—but she quickly thought better of it. She was determined to prove she could be a party animal just like everyone else, even if it killed her.

But most of all, she wanted to give Jeb Whitcomb a good-riddance send-off he wouldn’t forget.

Luff— The flapping motion of the sailcloth when a sail is undertrimmed

JEB WAS IN HIS ELEMENT. He loved throwing parties, loved crowds. Having people around amped him up, fed his energy.

It wasn’t even sunset and the party was already rocking. Wang Chung was urging “Everybody Have Fun Tonight” from the sound system. People were bobbing and weaving to the beat. The bartender he’d hired was imitating Tom Cruise moves from Cocktail . The yacht overflowed, people spilling out onto the gangplank and dock. The caterers dished up delectable canapés—prawn spring rolls, Thai chicken skewers, langoustine pastry puffs, smoked-salmon crisps, mini Yorkshire pudding with roast beef and horseradish, and mushrooms stuffed with lump crab meat. Japanese paper lanterns and flickering citronella candles provided intimate lighting. The air smelled salty and calm.

He stood smiling, dressed in a blue button-down silk shirt, chino slacks and deck shoes without socks, a tumbler of finely aged Scotch and water in his hand. Great turnout. Then again, the turnout for his parties was always great.

But one person was missing. The person he most wanted to see.

You really didn’t think she’d show, did you?

No, he hadn’t. Why did she snub him so vigorously? Why did he care so much to begin with? He was supposed to resist the allure of other women so he could win Jackie back. His ex-girlfriend would have to be impressed with all he’d accomplished on St. Michael’s. He’d proven he wasn’t a dilettante and that he was serious about helping others.

The hospital administrator came over to thank him again for his contributions. Jeb leaned in, pretended to listen intently, but his gaze kept straying to the dock, watching the arriving guests.

No Haley.

What was the big deal? He should be happy to have that contentious female out of his life for good. He would be on his way home to Florida tomorrow. He should be thinking about Jackie. She would be so surprised to see him.

Yes! Going home. He missed Miami and he was turning flips at the thought of seeing Jackie again and showing her how he’d changed, but he couldn’t help wishing he could have said goodbye to Haley. He would miss the way she challenged him at every turn. Not too many people did that to him.

Jackie did.

It had just been so long since he’d seen Jackie that he was imbuing Haley with his ex-girlfriend’s traits. That was all this was. That was all it could be, because he’d given up being a ladies’ man and he was damned proud of his restraint.

A year.

It had been a year since he’d been with a woman. His longest record since he’d lost his virginity at sixteen. See, Jackie, I have changed!

The governor and his wife joined Jeb’s conversation with the hospital administrator. Jeb winked at the wife, a dumpy woman in her mid-fifties wearing a colorful muumuu. “You’re looking beautiful tonight, Mrs. Freemont.”

She blushed like a girl and ducked her head. “You’re such an outrageous flirt.”

From eight to eighty, most women were so easy to charm. Look them straight in the eye, pay them a compliment and mean it. That was the essential part. You truly had to love women. Add a conspiratorial wink and they were putty.

All except for Jackie.

And Haley.

“You don’t have drinks,” Jeb said to the Freemonts. “Let me rectify that right now.” He motioned for one of the waiters roving through the crowd with trays of hors d’oeuvres to come over. He gave their order to the waiter, turned back to pick up the thread of the conversation when his attention was immediately snagged by a leggy honey-blonde sauntering up the gangplank.

She wore a skimpy little blue dress with tiny white flowers scattered over the material, and her breasts moved with such a pert bounce he had to assume she was not wearing a bra.

Instantly, his body lit up.

His gaze trailed from the blue four-inch stiletto sandals on her delicate little feet, up the length of those amazing calves and back to the nip of her narrow waist to the boldly unharnessed breasts, and finally, he glanced at her face.