Follow a Star by Christine Stovell Page B

jinks.’
    ‘Huh! Tell that to the Marines!’ May’s amber eyes sent gold daggers at him.
    ‘Don’t sulk, May,’ he pleaded. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’
    ‘And
I
don’t suit
you
,’ she harrumphed, folding her arms. ‘Well, honestly – I always thought that the expression about a ship coming in meant that something nice was about to happen.’
    ‘Not when it’s coming into your side, it isn’t,’ he said, hoping to sound quite stern.
    Whatever she was about to say to him was hijacked by the hiccup of laughter, she was trying to pass off as a cough.
    ‘It really isn’t a laughing matter.’
She
might be able to see the humour in a near-death experience, but
his
emotions were in tatters. He was the skipper, for crying out loud; it was his responsibility to look after
Lucille
and all who sailed in her. A moment of utter madness on his part had almost cost him Cecil’s boat – and May’s life.
    ‘I can’t believe you turned me down even though we were staring death in the teeth!’ she moaned. ‘I bet you would have kissed me if we’d been floundering around in the wreckage of
Lucille
together. You would have been so pleased to find me, you wouldn’t have wasted time shaking my hand, saying, “there you are.” Unless, of course, I’d fallen on to the propeller in which case it would have been, “there you are, and there you are and over there.”’
    Bill shook his head. Shock. That, of course, was the nub of the problem; the only reason May had ended up in his arms in the first place was because she was desperate for comfort and he was the only other living being in sight. Why else would she have turned to him? As for kissing her? ‘It’s my job to get you safely to landfall, not to snog you – quite literally – to within an inch of both our lives.’
    ‘What a way to go, though,’ May said, not quite meeting his eyes as if she was already having second thoughts about throwing herself at him. Back on dry land, he figured he’d be the kind of guy she’d pass in the street without seeing. Especially if he was mixing concrete or bricklaying. So even if the sight of her breasts rising and falling as her breath steadied was utterly spellbinding, it would be better for both of them if he concentrated on the rise and fall of the waves instead.
    As he took another glance at her, May’s shoulders started to shake until she could hold it no longer when what started off as a fit of giggles turned, as he would have predicted, into another outbreak of sobbing.
    ‘Poor little duck,’ he said, trying to sound brotherly, and using his hands to adjust a sail rather than pulling her into his arms.
    ‘God!’ She sniffed. ‘No wonder you want to avoid kissing me if you see me as a short, dumpy little thing waddling around splashing water everywhere. I’m sorry about the tears. I expect it’s just an overreaction.’ She sighed, shielding her face with her hand as she peeked up at him. ‘Either that or I’m going quackers.’
    ‘Oh no, nothing as bad as that.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’re just a bit overwrought at the moment.’
    ‘No shit, Sherlock.’ May dropped her hand and glared at him. ‘There was I thinking it might be connected with the fact that my whole life just flashed before me.’
    ‘Oh come on,’ he said, hoping to jolly her along, ‘we missed it by miles.’
    She frowned. ‘Why do men always say that?’
    Bill tweaked the helm. ‘Definitely overwrought,’ he said smugly.
    ‘On the contrary,’ May began, with a withering look. But whatever she was about to deliver died on her lips as she held his gaze. She started slightly, as if something had surprised her. Her lips opened and her pupils widened into black velvet on gold silk.
    ‘Does this mean you’ve changed your mind about that kiss?’ she whispered.
    ‘May, I’m not going to kiss you,’ he insisted quietly.
    ‘Spoilsport!’ she murmured. ‘Why not?’
    Bill sighed. ‘Because it wouldn’t be good for you.