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“Yes.” The wind snatched the word away. He shifted closer, leaning as he tacked; she moved nearer the better to hear.
    “I’ve always loved the feeling of running before the wind, when the sail fills and the hull lifts, then slices through the water. You can feel the power, you can harness it, but it’s not something you can control. It always feels like a blessing, whenever I’m out here on a day like this.” He met her eyes. “As if the gods are smiling.”
    She smiled back, restraining her whipping hair as they reached the end of their eastward leg and he shifted to tack. And then they were racing away again, faster, farther. She leaned back and laughed, looking up at the clouds that careened overhead, then gasping as a larger wave struck and they jolted, then flew anew.
    The gods continued to smile for the next hour.
    Again and again, she found herself gazing at Charlie, a silly smile on her lips as she drank in the sight of him, his hair whipped wild, gray eyes narrowed against the spray, shoulders flexing, arms powerfully bracing as he managed the tiller; never before had she seen the Viking side of him more transparently on display. Time and again she’d catch herself mooning and look away, only to have her eyes drift back to their obsession.
    At first she thought her awareness was one-sided, then she realized that whenever she moved to assist with the sail, his gaze traveled over her, lingering on her breasts, her hips, her legs as she stretched and shifted. That gaze felt strangely hard, possessive; she told herself it was her imagination running wild with thoughts of Vikings and plunder, yet she couldn’t stop a reactive shiver every time he glanced at her that way. Couldn’t stop her nerves from tightening in expectation each time he gave an order.
    Luckily, he knew nothing of that, so she felt free to let her nerves and senses indulge as they might, while she pondered the implications.
    They fell into an easy partnership; she did, indeed, remember enough to act as crew, ducking low when the boom passed overhead, deftly taking in slack in the appropriate ropes.
    By the time Charlie turned the bow for the pier, she felt wrung out yet exhilarated. Although they’d spoken little, she’d learned more than she’d expected; the day had revealed aspects of him she hadn’t known were there.
    The boat was gliding toward the pier on a slack sail when, leaning back against the side and looking up at the town, she noticed a gentleman with another man on the shelf of land where Charlie was proposing to build his new ware house. Shading her eyes, she peered. “Someone’s looking over your land.”
    Charlie followed her gaze. He frowned. “Who is he—the gentleman? Do you know?”
    She stared, taking in the neat attire, the fair hair. She shook her head. “He’s not anyone local. That’s Skilling, the land agent, with him.”
    Charlie was forced to shift his attention to the rapidly nearing pier. “I bought the land through Skilling, so he knows it’s mine.”
    “Perhaps the other gentleman is looking to build ware houses, too?”
    Charlie shot a narrow-eyed glance at the mysterious newcomer. He and Skilling were now leaving the vacant land, heading not to the wharves but into the town. “Perhaps.”
    As he guided the boat into her mooring, he made a mental note to ask Skilling who the gentleman was. A nonlocal gentleman—if Sarah didn’t know him at least by sight he was definitely not local—who happened to have an interest in land and/or ware houses in Watchet was someone he needed to identify, to know about.
    Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to speak with Skilling now; the sun was already slanting low. He needed to get Sarah home before the light faded.
    He leapt up to the pier and lashed the craft securely. Sarah finished furling the sail, then reached up and gave him her hands. He lifted her easily, balancing her until she steadied, her soft curves pressing fleetingly against him.
    Desire