Children of Dynasty by Christine Carroll Page A

lazy circles while Mariah laid out bread, cheese, and wine. Going below, she located stemmed glasses wrapped in dishtowels to keep them from breaking in rough seas, and brought them on deck.
    “Too deep to drop anchor.” Rory steadied the wheel with his knee while he pulled the cork.
    Mariah took the bottle from him, catching a whiff of the wine’s sharp-edged bouquet, and poured. The first glass she handed to Rory. The second she filled and took into her hand.
    “To Charley,” Rory said before she could.
    “To Charley.” She swallowed the tart crimson liquid around the lump in her throat.
    Reflected in Rory’s sunglasses, Mariah saw herself pour wine into a third glass. He came to her and wordlessly put his hand over hers on the stem.
    Was that an echo of Charley’s laugh or a sea bird’s cry? In her mind’s eye, her friend appeared once more, long limbs, freckled face, and mischievous eyes. A vivid image that time must inevitably fade.
    In fitting farewell, she and Rory poured wine upon the water.

     
    On the sail back, Rory kept the boat close-hauled against the wind, showing Mariah what it could do. He brought a yellow foul weather jacket from below for her, but even with the coat on her face and hair were soon dripping from the spray. He liked that rather than complaining or flinching, she laughed with each dousing.
    His sense of exhilaration lasted almost all the way to the marina. Then he began to have the sense of time running out. Just before they pulled into the quiet water of the harbor, he lost a battle with himself and leaned over to kiss her. The quick buss tasted of salt on their chilled lips, but it was also a memory. He’d also kissed her on that perfect long-ago sail with Charley, before bringing the boat to the dock.
    When he nosed the Pearson into its slip, it was nearly four o’clock. The sun shadow of the hill above Sausalito covered the harbor as Rory and Mariah worked together to put everything back in its place. With the sails covered, life vests and cushions back below, they washed the salt from faces and hands and dried their briny hair on thirsty cotton towels.
    Even without makeup, with her hair brushed back and caught in a clip, Rory thought Mariah looked wonderful. In an effort to prolong the afternoon, he suggested another trip to the Italian market, this time for a warming cappuccino.
    When they approached the counter, the proprietor recognized them and asked how was their sail. With a wink, he told Rory his “missus” was “most beautiful.” Mariah immediately appeared engrossed by the tubs of gelato in the freezer case.
    Rory reached for his wallet and counted out bills. The man’s innocent assumption burst the fragile bubble he’d constructed around him and Mariah today, reminding him that despite a raging obsession there could be nothing for them. No normal progression from an afternoon sail to dating on the town, no getting down on one knee with the diamond ring … he’d tried all that with Elizabeth and ended up in divorce court.
    Their drinks in hand, Rory led the way to a table on the exterior patio where they were the only customers. Sipping hot sweet coffee, he studied Mariah and found that despite his resolve to avoid getting burned again, he was once more playing “what if.” With her hair drying from dark gold to wheat and her cheeks sun-warmed, she made him want to protect her from the roving press, from sorrow over Charley. The last thing he wanted was to take her back to the city.
    “Drive down the coast with me,” Rory decided aloud. “We’ll spend the weekend at Big Sur.”

     
    Mariah gasped. “I can’t,” she said automatically. “Dad expects me at the Nikko.”
    Rory unclipped his cell phone from his belt and held it out. Her own was in her purse in the Porsche’s front luggage compartment, the charger at home on her bedroom dresser. “Tell him you’re with a friend,” he said. “He’ll be glad you have something to take your mind off