it lasted—Erin couldn’t stay mad at her forever, Steven would do something else stupid soon enough, and she’d be back in the mix. Plus, with two new babies in the family…
She shook her head to clear it and reopened the file from earlier. Focus. It took her another hour to find the mistake, and she was relieved to see it was the client’s error, not one caused by her inattention.
When the phone rang, she jumped on the distraction eagerly.
“Hi, Ally.” Her heartbeat accelerated at the sound of that now-familiar baritone, before she reminded herself she didn’t need to panic. She only needed to humor him.
She tried for an upbeat, noncommittal tone. “Hi, Chris. What’s up?”
“I’m done for the day and should be headed that way in another hour or so. Can you be ready by six?”
“Six?” She nearly choked on the word. “Ready for what?”
“Dinner.”
“You want to go to dinner?” Her voice sounded strangled and Molly looked over, eyebrows raised in question.
Chris chuckled, and the sound did strange things to her already confused insides. “I’d heard forgetfulness was a side effect of pregnancy, but really, Ally. I told you I’d call and we’d go to dinner.”
“I didn’t know you meant tonight.” Every other male on the planet waits at least a week before they call—if they call at all.
“Do you have other plans or something?”
Lie. Tell him you’re busy. “Um, well…”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at your place at six. Bye, Ally.”
She was still sputtering her refusal when the line went dead. She placed the phone in its cradle and buried her head in her hands.
“What was that about?”
Ally didn’t bother to look up. “He’s taking me to dinner tonight.”
She heard something that sounded suspiciously like a snort from Molly. “So much for staying below the radar.”
“Molls…” Lifting her head, she saw a smirk playing at the corners of Molly’s mouth. “This is not good.”
This is not good was rapidly becoming her mantra. She left work a little early and took a nap, waking up still groggy an hour later. Cold water splashed on her face helped wake her up a bit, but the fatigue still grabbed at the edges of her mind.
Molly’s lecture about the importance of appearing keen on Chris’s ideas—for the time being, at least—echoed in her head as she pulled on a simple skirt and a sleeveless silk shirt. After clipping her unruly hair at the nape of her neck, she tried to add some color to her pale face. Deciding it wasn’t going to get much better, she took one last critical look in the mirror before turning off the bathroom light.
She still had a few minutes before Chris was due to arrive, so she booted up her laptop and took it to the couch. She typed Chris’s name into the search engine, but hesitated over the enter key.
Part of her still didn’t want to know. She’d convinced herself weeks ago that the less she knew about Chris the better off she’d be. But that had backfired in her face. Molly had been more than willing to play research assistant, but Ally had held her off, still undecided about how much she did want to know. Even last night, after she’d returned from Charleston, she’d purposefully left the computer turned off, willing to just ride this out. But now, with Chris headed to her door, seemingly serious about this get-to-know-you game, she had no choice but to learn everything she could about him.
Taking a deep breath she hit Enter, and seconds later Google returned its list.
The impressiveness of Chris’s accomplishments floored her. From his earliest races when he was still in his teens to his most recent win, Chris had racked up an impressive résumé around the world. It didn’t seem to matter where or what kind of boat he raced, he rarely lost, and never finished lower than third place. It seemed Wells Racing had several teams, and while Chris captained their most successful one, he also oversaw the entire racing operation.
OWD Shipyard built a variety of yachts—not just the ones Chris sailed—and their designs were popular all over the world. From what she could find, Chris had his hands in that aspect of the business, as well.
Oh, and here was a mention of Chris meeting with the OWD stockholders in his grandfather’s place. And look, he ran summer camps for inner-city kids to learn sailing, and donated huge chunks of cash to environmental causes.
Good God, when did the man sleep? How on earth had he found the time to go to Tortola and sail the Circe home? Of all the men in the world she could have hooked up with, how had she, of all people, found the one who just happened to be the world’s only zillionaire businessman/champion racer/philanthropist paragon? It boggled the mind.
Remembering their discussion yesterday, she added “world solo record” to her search terms to narrow the results. Google returned very few this time. While several sites speculated Chris would one day attempt to do it—and most likely break the record in the process—none seemed to know that plans were in the works to do just that.
The last link on the page had a very odd headline, and Ally clicked through. The Charleston Gazette must have put all of their archives online because the date on the article was close to twenty years ago. She scanned the first few lines quickly and almost closed the window before the impact of the words sunk in. Carefully, she started over again.
After an intensive nine-day search, rescuers have located the boat of missing sailor Paul Wells floating abandoned ten miles off the coast of Darwin, Australia. Based on the heavy damage to the hull, rescuers believe Wells, who was attempting to break the solo circumnavigation world record, perished in recent storms in the Timor Sea. Wells was a native of Charleston and is survived by his father, Porter Wells, and his eleven-year-old son, Chris.
A rock landed in her stomach. Chris wanted to attempt the same stunt that had killed his father? Was the man insane?
Wait, hadn’t Chris told her before that sailboat racing wasn’t all that dangerous? “It’s hard to kill yourself,” he’d said. She changed her search terms to give her more information about solo circumnavigation, and from the results it seemed it wasn’t all that hard to die after all.
Great. The father of her child had a death wish. Maybe that’s why he was so keen on claiming this baby—he’d have a piece of immortality in case his boat sank in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
That thought made her a little sick.
The doorbell rang and she quickly shut down the laptop before she went to answer it. Taking a deep breath to prepare herself, she opened the door to Chris.
Who looked so good the air in her lungs came out in a painful rush.
With the sun behind him, he seemed surrounded in a golden glow. A black T-shirt hugged those strong shoulders and skimmed over the planes of his chest before disappearing into the waistband of low-slung faded jeans. He grinned, and her heart melted a little as her senses sprang to life. This was the Chris she’d flipped for, and her body definitely remembered him. He leaned in to give her an innocent peck on the cheek in greeting, but even that brief touch of his mouth burned her.
“Come on in.” Ally stepped back to allow him to pass as she tried to compose herself. How different this time was from Monday when he’d been here, so angry the air around him had nearly burned from the heat. Today he seemed comfortable, almost relaxed.
Well, at least one of them should be, and it wasn’t shaping up to be her. With a sigh, she closed the door behind him.
“You look great, Ally. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.” Amazingly enough, she was, but she would’ve lied if necessary. Her living room usually seemed open and spacious, but Chris seemed