Page 17 of A Star is Scorned

A fresh wave of sea spray hit Flynn in the face, and he licked at the salt water at the edge of his mouth.

He felt the best he had in days, on the water with the wind on his back.

Out here, his troubles melted away, and it was as if he were Long John Silver or Jim Hawkins embarking on a grand adventure.

It had been that way since he was a boy, since his mother had first read him Treasure Island and his father had allowed him to learn to sail on a tiny skiff on the estate pond.

He craned his head to the side. They were neck and neck with the boat in the lead—the Santa Guadalupe, a schooner that belonged to Johnny Weissmuller, the former Olympian who had found fame starring as Edgar Rice Burroughs’s jungle hero in a series of films. Flynn would not be bested by bloody Tarzan.

He’d been racing in the Catalina Regatta since he’d bought the Sea Monkey, and he had never won.

Weissmuller had always beaten him. But not today.

Especially not since Livvy had boasted to the reporters that he was going to win.

It was cute, really, that she was so confident in him. He couldn’t disappoint her.

He could see the isthmus of Catalina Island in the distance.

At most, they had about ten miles to go.

They were over halfway, and they’d maintained a steady pace in second place.

But if they could overtake the Santa Guadalupe in the last leg, they could eke out a win (and he could save face with the press pool).

“Tack her to the left,” Flynn bellowed. Rex quickly let out a string of rope to change the direction of the jib sail and let the wind flow to the opposite side.

“Olivia, tack the boom!” Flynn called. The girl furiously pulled at the tiller, and the boom swung across.

She ducked and the sail flew clear over her back.

He’d been right; she was a natural. It didn’t matter that she’d never sailed before.

She instinctively understood what to do.

He never would’ve pegged her for it the first night they’d met, but she kept surprising him.

First, with her fencing skills; then, her ribald sense of humor; and now, with her ability to take to sailing like a duck to water.

She looked back at him, making sure she’d done it right, and he gave her a huge smile. “Perfect!”

Her face lit up with pride, which made his stomach do something squiggly. Or maybe it was the choppy surf. It was particularly rough today. That must be it, because his stomach had never once somersaulted over a woman. The mere idea was absurd.

To be honest, he’d only invited her to join him because he was going to race regardless.

No matter what Harry Evets or the Legion of Decency wanted, he would not have missed the Catalina Regatta.

It was the biggest race of the year, and with the upgrades he’d made to the Sea Monkey over the last few months, he knew he had a real shot at winning.

So, he’d told Harry that Olivia could come along if she liked, and they’d be sure to smile nice for the cameras.

If Harry was going to foist dates on him for the next three months, Flynn wasn’t going to skip out on any of the pleasures in his life, including sailing.

He was certain the Legion of Decency would prefer he spent his weekends in self-flagellation, but that had never been his style.

Life was meant to be savored, and he’d never had any hesitation about showing up to the banquet of existence and gorging himself.

Some might call that indulgent, even gluttonous.

But what was it all for if not to be enjoyed?

His mother had taught him that lesson. One he’d watched her learn the hard way.

Part of him had hoped Olivia would decline his invitation.

Women were supposed to be bad luck onboard a ship, and in his experience, Hollywood dames preferred ballrooms to poop decks.

Flynn knew this PR relationship was important, and he would’ve made up for it by taking her out every night the next week.

But Olivia had agreed. And now he was glad she was here.

The bow of the Sea Monkey caught a surging wave, and the boat careened sharply to its starboard side. Shit, he hadn’t been paying close enough attention. The wheel of the helm jerked in his hands and the sail swung in the wind.

“Watch out!”

The boom was careening backwards, straight in the direction of Olivia’s temple. Flynn leapt without thinking, knocking her from the chair and tackling her to the deck.

“Oof!” She looked up and her eyes widened in terror as she watched the heavy metal pole pass directly over them, narrowly missing the curve of Flynn’s back.

He didn’t have time to enjoy the feel of her slight curves underneath him, because the next thing he knew, the mainsail tore from its riggings, fluttering in the wind.

Forget winning the race. At this point, Flynn was more concerned about staying afloat. He looked toward the bow and watched as Rex valiantly wrestled with the jib, keeping the Sea Monkey from going entirely horizontal into the waves.

Flynn rolled off Olivia and leapt up. He put his feet on the metal rungs along the bottom of the mast and started climbing. He needed to fix the sail. He was scrambling for purchase when he felt a sharp tug between his shoulder blades.

Olivia called out, “Flynn! The pulley.”

He craned his neck and noticed that the back of his shirt had wedged itself into one of the gears they used to hoist and maneuver the sail. He swore loudly and strained upward, trying to free himself in vain. His eyes darted between Olivia and the ragged sail.

He had to fix this. To hell with it.

He clung to the mast with his legs and one arm, while he used the other to pull the shirt over his head.

Now shirtless, he finally reached the top of the mast and grabbed for the sail that had torn from the top side of the rigging.

A gust of wind blew it from his grasp and the boom swung yet again, the force of its motion nearly knocking him from the mast.

He fought to right himself and looked down to see Olivia clambering over the midsection of the boat, crawling over the raised roof and skylight that covered the central cabin.

What was the girl doing? She was going to get herself killed.

And good luck to Harry Evets if he had to explain that to the press and the goddamn Legion of Decency.

But Olivia maneuvered herself to the front end of the boom. She grabbed hold of it with both her hands and, with what looked like an immense strain, held it in place.

“I’ll keep her steady,” she called. “Fix the sail.”

He’d be damned. Olivia Blount, newly minted sailor, was saving his arse. And the mainsail of the Sea Monkey at that. He admired the way the sunlight caught her dark hair, how her violet eyes flashed with the intensity of her efforts. She was a sight to behold, a pirate queen if there ever was one.

“Stop ogling me and go!” she cried through gritted teeth.

Right, yes—their romance might be fake, but their current situation was all too real.

Shaken from his temporary brush with insanity, Flynn pushed himself forward to the sail and managed to grip the black fabric in his hands.

It had torn loose from the rungs that attached it to the metal arc of the frame.

He worked swiftly to tie it back together, using a halyard hitch to hold it taut.

The entire thing would have to be refitted, but for now, this would have to do.

He hung from the top of the sail, finishing the last knot with one hand as he held himself to the frame with both legs and the other arm. Now who was the bloody sea monkey? But the sail swung wildly again, throwing Olivia back against the roof of the cabin and leaving him dangling from one arm.

He knew the moment Olivia saw him because she screamed. That caught the attention of Rex, who called out, “We need to tack the boat to the leeward side.”

Flynn cursed, fumbling uselessly at the sail with his legs, trying to find some foothold. But he was hanging from the middle of the sail with a few feet of fabric between him and the mast. Olivia had no clue what tack or leeward side meant—he’d bet the Sea Monkey on it.

“Olivia!” he called out. She looked up at him. “Grab the helm and turn the back of the ship toward the wind!”

She nodded and ran for the wheel, which was spinning wildly without him there to captain it. Olivia twisted the helm sharply to her left and the sail swung to the right, leaving Flynn now hanging over open water.

“Not that way!” he yelped. She swore and turned it back to the right, bringing him back over the boat. “Now, hold it steady.”

She did as she was told, grimacing as the force of the water and the wind fought against her. The bow of the boat turned into the wind, and the Sea Monkey righted itself, resuming a smooth sail now that its keel was once again aligned with the current.

Flynn breathed a sigh of relief and looked down. He was just above the roof of the cabin; if he timed it right, he would only fall a couple feet. It wouldn’t be a soft landing, but it was better than staying stuck up here. He swung himself back and forth.

“What are you doing?” Olivia shrieked. The note of concern in her voice was adorable. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had cared much whether he lived or died. In fact, they seemed to usually advocate for the latter after about twenty-four hours.

He didn’t answer but pulled his knees up and let go of the mast with both hands.

His stomach swooped as he plummeted through the air, but he managed to land mostly on his feet, bracing himself with his hands to help him find his center of gravity.

He then slid off the side of the cabin and back down to the deck.

Olivia was gaping at him, still holding the helm tight as Rex continued to man the jib at the bow. “What on earth were you thinking?”

“That my arms were getting tired holding onto that sail.”