Page 18 of A Star is Scorned

“You, you, you could’ve broken something. Or been seriously injured.”

He shrugged. “But I wasn’t.” In fact, now that he’d escaped with nothing more bruised than his reputation as a sailor, he’d say that had been rather fun. Somewhere along the way he’d lost his hat, and he noticed it discarded near the helm at Olivia’s feet. “Shall we share the wheel?”

He scooped up the hat and placed it on her head, pressing against her and slipping his arms around her to help her hold the helm in place. With his shirt still hanging from the pulley above, he could feel the sinuous shape of her, even beneath the bulk of the life preserver.

But before he knew it, she was gently elbowing him. “I’ve got it.”

He chuckled and took a step back. “One successful rescue of the Sea Monkey and its captain, and now you’re an expert?”

She twisted her head around to stick her tongue out at him. Christ, she was adorable with the brim of his hat sitting low on her brow. With every passing moment, he was less annoyed that Harry had chosen her for this charade. “No, but…I think we can still win this race.”

She nodded in the direction of the Santa Guadalupe.

In the flurry of fighting to keep the ship upright, he hadn’t noticed Weissmuller’s boat had hit the same rogue wave that they had.

Somehow the Sea Monkey had pulled ahead, and the crew of the Santa Guadalupe was still getting their boat back on track.

By George, Olivia was right. The finish line was in sight.

He grinned at Olivia. “Stay there.” Flynn sprinted to the front of the boat, where Rex was deftly handling the jib.

“Rex, we’re in the lead.” Flynn was breathless with excitement and felt like a boy again.

Rex looked over his shoulder at the Santa Guadalupe and gave Flynn a shit-eating grin. “That we are.”

“Think we can do it? I had to tie the sail back to the frame.”

Rex craned his head up to look at the top of the mainsail, studying Flynn’s handiwork. “Those are good, strong knots. They should hold.”

Excitement sparked in Flynn’s belly. He hated losing. At anything. Cards. Horse racing. Women. But he especially hated losing out here on the water, a place that felt like his second home. “Let’s go for it.”

Rex smiled and turned the jib more sharply to the port side. The sail caught a fresh wind, gaining speed in the water.

Flynn whooped and hollered, sprinting back toward the helm. “Olivia, keep her steady, we’ll do the rest.”

She bit her lip and gave him a tight nod.

He ran to the rigging lining the side of the cabin on the port side, loosening it so that the mainsail billowed and ballooned with the force of the wind, once again picking up speed.

He grabbed hold of the rigging and leaned over the side of the boat, looking toward the finish line.

He raised his fist in the air and cheered, knowing in his bones that this was it.

“Flynn, look out!” He turned at the sound of Olivia’s voice, only to see the Santa Guadalupe gaining on them. Weissmuller was leaning off his own rigging, giving Flynn a wicked grin and brandishing a cutlass as if he was mocking him.

If he wanted to make fun of Flynn’s swashbuckling ways, so be it. Flynn would earn the title all the more by besting the ape-man in this race.

Olivia seemed to read his mind. “Flynn, we need to pull to the left.”

“What? No, that will put us in danger of capsizing again.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” She winced as the wheel of the ship tugged her arms to the right and she fought to hold it steady. “But if you want to win, your only chance is pulling to the left.”

He looked back, studying the narrowing distance between him and the Santa Guadalupe, and the Sea Monkey’s path if they did as she said. Damn it, she was right. But what she suggested was madness. He’d done it only once. In a movie. He had no idea if it would actually work in real life.

Rex looked back at them both and called out, “Mate, you can’t seriously be considering that. It’s potential suicide. The sail might not hold with that kind of wind pressure.”

Flynn looked up at the knots he’d tied, the ends of the sail starting to fray. They only had a couple more miles to go. They could make it. They had to.

“What should I do?” yelled Olivia, a steely determination in her gaze.

“Pull to the left.” He heard Rex swear loudly as he leapt from the rigging and crouched to the deck, allowing the boom and the mainsail to swing back to the port side of the Sea Monkey.

He worked swiftly, retying the knots he’d only just undone and racing to the starboard side to undo the rigging there and change the direction of the wind in the sail. It was riskier with the current.

Olivia was pressed against the wheel, using all her weight to hold it steady. “It’s too heavy.”

“It’s only a few more minutes.” He stood. The Santa Guadalupe had stopped in the water. It had worked. They’d cut off the other ship’s wind power with their sail.

They raced ahead as the crew of the Santa Guadalupe struggled to pivot, their sails flat and lifeless. Flynn crowed with excitement and extended a two-finger salute in Weissmuller’s direction as the Sea Monkey made a swift clip through the water, drawing ever closer to the isthmus.

“Flynn,” Olivia gasped. He looked over to see her bent over the wheel, her toes lifting from the deck.

He ran to her, placing his hands over hers and wresting the helm into place. “Hold on,” he gritted out. She nodded and he felt her fingers tighten under his.

He heard a ripping sound and their heads snapped up to see the sail tearing from the makeshift knots he’d made. Shit. He looked ahead to the finish line; they were so close.

“I don’t think we can make it,” Olivia hissed. Her eyes widened as the next knot tore from the metal rung holding it in place. There were four more knots and they had a mile to go.

“We can make it. Just, whatever you do, don’t let go of this wheel.” They were committed now. It was too late to turn back. They’d all be pitched into the sea if they didn’t stay the course.

Another tear, and Flynn watched in horror as one of the metal rings broke away from the frame of the sail and plunked into the ocean. Three more. There were still three more knots.

He looked out across the water. A half mile now. The Santa Guadalupe had gotten underway again, but if the Sea Monkey kept going, they had a comfortable lead.

He pressed against her more firmly, and she squeaked at the feel of him against her backside.

“This isn’t the time to be priggish,” he growled.

She didn’t answer but squeezed herself ever closer to the wheel, putting space between them again.

He could see her knuckles under his, white and straining with the tension of keeping the wheel in place.

But she didn’t let go. Instead, as another knot tore and the top of the sail began to flutter, she held on even more tightly.

Suddenly, she screamed as a buoy appeared out of nowhere in front of them, and she yanked the wheel to the right instinctually.

Flynn swore as everything on the ship lurched to the starboard side, including Rex, who wobbled and slid across the deck, struggling to keep his balance. Only Olivia and Flynn, clinging to the helm with all their strength, did not move.

He was about to scold her for her inability to control her shock when he looked up and watched as the port side of the Sea Monkey barely skirted the buoy that Olivia had spotted.

She had saved them from almost certain shipwreck.

If they’d held their course, they would’ve collided head-on with the buoy, and he didn’t want to know what kind of damage that would’ve done to the hull.

He watched open-mouthed as the sail, seeming to understand its work was done, tore through its final two knots and fluttered down to the deck just as they crossed the finish line.

A small dinghy containing two men erupted into applause and cheers of “Congratulations.” Flynn realized they were the line judges, there in the event of a photo finish. But they weren’t necessary. The Sea Monkey had won handily, because of Olivia—her bravery and her quick thinking. He was stunned.

“Flynn, we won,” Olivia murmured, clearly not sure of herself.

“We won.” He said the words, scarcely believing them, letting the enormity of the moment sink in.

Even with Dash onboard in a previous year, they had not managed to snag first place.

But this woman—Olivia Blount, Liv De Lesseps, his phony girlfriend—had done it.

Not only that, but she’d snatched victory from the jaws of potential disaster.

He erupted into loud cheers. “We! Won! We did it!” Flynn stood on an apple crate behind Olivia and whooped.

He smiled at her. “You won, Olivia! You saved us all!” Her pink lips, which had become thin white lines in the anxiety of the final minutes of the race, were glistening and plump once more as she broke into a broad grin and crowed with delight.

“I did, I really did it!” She lifted her arms. “Whoooo-hoooo!” She ran to him, and before he knew what was happening, she leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. “We won!”

He fumbled to catch her, palming the curve of her ass and clinging to her to keep her from falling in excitement.

He couldn’t help it; he broke out into peals of joyous laughter.

He quite liked this, the feel of her wrapped around him, her dainty hands clutching at his bare back.

He liked it perhaps a bit too much. He suspected that, in spite of her ribald sense of humor, she was something of an innocent—and imagining her hands clutching at his back in a more horizontal position was not the direction his mind should be going.

He didn’t romance girls like Olivia Blount.

For a host of reasons. But she felt so deliciously wonderful in his arms as he twirled her in a circle, both of them giggling with carefree abandon.

She kissed him on the cheek and then shrieked in exuberant surprise. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

“I can’t either,” he quipped, continuing to spin her, the loose curls of her raven hair streaming behind her.

He saw the spark of a flashbulb and noticed that there was a second dinghy, a larger one, that held the crop of reporters who had greeted them on the dock this morning.

The press had sailed ahead, and now they were capturing his and Livvy’s victory.

Briefly, he thought how this photo would please Harry.

It would really sell the supposed budding romance between him and Livvy.

But truthfully, Flynn didn’t much care. This wasn’t like the lunch date the other day with its staged, ridiculous setup.

This moment of unfettered joy was utterly and entirely real.

And it surprised him that the notion made him absurdly happy. Because he realized that ever since he’d hopped into the back seat of Olivia Blount’s car, one thing was true—he was no longer bored.