Chapter 4

The mainsail was down and draped over the boom. The Genoa was furled around its stay at the bow. The engine was running on idle in forward as he searched for the right depth on the sounder. He pulled the gear lever back to neutral and let the boat coast toward shore. They were a hundred meters or so from the pebbles on the beach. The sounder reading flicked between five and six fathoms and he pulled the gear lever briefly into reverse to bring the boat to a stop.

He walked forward and took the anchor out of its mount on the superstructure. Lowering it over the side he let it go, watching it sail toward the bottom. He walked back to the wheelhouse and popped the gear into reverse and backed the boat up for a couple of seconds until the he saw the anchor line and chain move out in front.

Back in neutral, he could feel the anchor take its set and switched off the engine. It was very quiet. The little bay was near the houses on shore, and yet nicely out of sight. It was early in the season and few boats were anchored in the popular bay.

Ingrid had gone below to the stateroom. She was now uncomfortably warm in her turtleneck and she needed to change. There was no need for the 'floater vest' since they were at anchor in shallow water.

She pulled off the sweater and looked at herself in the small dresser mirror. She wore a pale blue sleeveless, v-neck top with a very deep 'V' and, as planned, no bra. She pulled off the baggy gym pants, revealing a pair of skimpy, snug white shorts. She took off her canvas shoes and socks and slipped on a pair of flip-flops she had stuck in her ski jacket pocket. Looking in the mirror, she smiled.

While she had gone below, Steve was setting up a table for lunch. The picnic basket was pulled out from the lower cabinet, but had been slipped under the bench seats at the stern.

She took a deep breath, opened the door of the stateroom and walked right into him. She heard his sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes widen as he stepped back, mumbling his apology.

"Holy cow!" was all he could come up with. For a guy who apparently didn't swear, it was the needed compliment. Ingrid put her hands on her hips and turned, first left, and then right, her breasts now swaying to their own rhythm.

"You like?" she asked cheekily.

"Ahmmm ... ah, what can I say. It's not what I expected," he said, his eyes glancing at her breasts that she deliberately kept in motion. "I guess you took my suggestion about loose fitting clothes to heart."

He had his hands up in front of him as if he were surrendering. His eyes seemed to be the size of dinner plates and his jaw had dropped to the point he was in danger of dislocating it. After another long pause and a particularly provocative look from Ingrid, he found his voice.

"My god, Ingrid, what are you trying to do to me?"

"Well, I though first, I might get your attention. Then, I thought I might be able to seduce you. I case you haven't noticed Mr. Inhalt, I have been trying to get you into bed with me. I want you to make love to me. Or maybe, I want to make love to you. I don't care which. It may kill you and it may disappoint me, but I'm damn well going to try.

"Do you find me attractive Mr. Inhalt?" she asked with a demanding tone, her fingers still gripping the side of his arm.

Steve was struggling to regain his composure. She had him completely upside down. She might have felt sorry for him, but it didn't show. He had no experience with someone like her. She had him at her mercy and right now, she wasn't in a merciful mood.

She moved closer to him and pressed her breasts against his chest. She squirmed against him, knowing full well that his reaction would be predictable. She wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him tighter against her. She heard him moan and felt his erection against her lower abdomen.

"Score one for Ingrid," she smirked. "The ball's in your court, Mr. Inhalt, in more ways than one!"

"You ... Ms. Solberg, are a temptress," he finally mumbled. "You are taking advantage of me. What am I to do?"

"First you feed me. I've been very busy this morning and we Vikings need nourishment. Then we'll talk about further nourishment I require. Understood?"

She pulled him close again and they kissed again. It was a passionate, fire-breathing, all-consuming kiss. His hands ran over her perfect derriere. He kneaded the wonderfully rounded cheeks and pressed his rigid manhood against her. She lost track of how many kisses and how long they lasted. It must have been some time. He loosened his arms and leaned back to look in her eyes.

"I understand you like my cooking," he said quietly with a smile.

"I told you I'm starved. How many hints do you need?" she smirked.

"OK, have a seat and be prepared to be dazzled," he said, regaining some composure.

They returned to the afterdeck and Steve pulled the picnic basket out from under the bench and with a theatrical flourish, opened it. Inside, folded on top, was a classic red and white checkered tablecloth. He pulled it out with a snap and floated it down on the wooden table in corner-to-side fashion. Next he produced the plates, but not just any plates. These were Royal Doulton fine china with an elegant gold leaf border and a beautifully rendered script 'Matron of the Sea' around the edge. Then he extracted the side plates, also in the boat's name.

Then, genuine silverware with a MS overlapping script engraved in the handle. Finally, two elegant crystal champagne flutes. From the bottom of the basket, he produced a half bottle of Moet. It was already sweating from the warm air and the cold contents. He opened it, removing the wire cap holder and working the cork out slowly until the last millimeter when it produced the mandatory loud 'pop' and sailed overboard. He picked up the champagne flutes and poured two glasses of the famous sparkling white wine and presented one to Ingrid.

"To a lady who only deserves the best!" he exclaimed, offering his glass to her. They clinked. Steve was hopeful he had reclaimed a lot of lost ground in the past few minutes.

They sipped the cold wine and he fashioned a smile that melted Ingrid. She was back to that euphoric mood she had experienced when handling the boat. She was giggling to herself at the effect her simple outfit had produced in Steve. She pulled her now bare feet up on the bench seat, folded her knees up almost to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on one knee. She was looking out over the still water of the little cove and admiring the scenery, the warmth of the sun and the happy feeling inside her.

The rollercoaster of moods she traveled through had taken a lot of energy, and she was glad to be back on emotional level ground. She thought that Steve was probably even more grateful for the declared truce. She had shamelessly used her body to change the tide in him. She was more confident now. After all, they had gone from holding hands to passionate kisses.

She was still trying to understand how all this had happened in only five days. It was crazy for her to be so demanding of him in this short period. She had long since forgotten their employer-employee relationship. That was no longer a rational accord.

Steve rose, leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Lunch is about to be served."

He disappeared down the companionway and she heard the movement of plates and cupboard doors and utensils. He was in his domain and she had no intention of invading it.

In a couple of minutes, he rose from the companionway with a silver platter and a beautifully artistic arrangement of small cone-shaped sandwiches, cheeses, and pickles. In a small, two cell, silver dish were pates with an assortment of crackers along side. He placed the trays on the side bench within reach of both of them. He then took a dark green cloth from his arm and created a tent cover for the food to prevent the sun from drying it out.

This man could seduce her with food! What would it take for him to learn to seduce her with himself? Her mood was too good for anything to spoil it. She ate the sandwiches enthusiastically and complimented him. He had made them the night before he said. The same for the pates. They were fantastic. Despite the diminutive size, the lunch, combined with the champagne, produced a satisfied feeling.

Steve sat beside her, close enough that their legs had touched several times. He had changed to shorts and a golf shirt and it showed off his trim body. He didn't have much of a tan, but neither had she. She was conscious that the sun was on them and she should think about protecting her skin.

She went below and retrieved her bottle of sun block. He was watching her as she came up the stairs through the companionway. They had finished the food, and were relaxing with the last of the champagne.

"Steve, would you put some of this on me? I'm sure I'll burn quickly if I don't," she smiled coquettishly.

"Of course! Where would you like me to start?"

"Why, where would you like to start, sir?"

It became a game. His erection was back and he had difficulty trying to hide it. He moved closer to her.

"You know, I would hate to stain this lovely t-shirt Ingrid. Perhaps I should move the shoulder straps before I start," he said innocently.

"That's very considerate of you, sir," she said in a little-girl voice.

He gently pushed the straps from her shoulders. She was facing away from him, her back towards him. He poured some lotion in his hands and rubbed them together before gently placing his hands on her back, near the nape of her neck. He began to slowly and rhythmically rub the lotion into her back. He noticed that the freckles which he loved so much were scattered on her upper back. He wondered how far down they went. When he had finished his thorough application on her back, his hands moved up to her shoulders. She responded by moving her shoulders in a rotation and moving her head from side to side. He put more lotion on his hands and applied it to her upper arms.

Then, in a moment of incautiousness, he began to apply it to her throat and upper chest. Her head came back slowly and he could see her eyes were closed. He was reveling in the moment when she raised her hands up and took his in them, slowly lowering them to her breasts. The front of the t-shirt fell away and he was massaging her breasts in the same, slow, rhythmic fashion. Her nipples became erect and he let the palms of his hands run across them in careful, soft, circular motions.

Her head remained resting on his shoulder, her eyes still closed. He heard her moan quietly. His hands slid under their rounded fullness and cupped them. His thumbs gently stroked her nipples and she moaned once more. He leaned forward and kissed the side of her forehead. He could taste the salt in her perspiration and he thought it was easily as lovely as the champagne. It was an idyllic scene and he thought he could stay here forever. He looked down at her breasts. They were almost free of freckles.

"Too bad," he thought. "I was hoping there would be more. They are so beautiful and that would be so sexy. They just need a bit more sun."

Ingrid was on fire. He had brought her to the edge of orgasm simply by tenderly rubbing lotion on her back, shoulders and finally, her breasts. She had achieved her goal. He was completely in her power. She felt comfort and happiness. He was so gentle. There were times when she wanted a powerful man to dominate her, but this was bliss.

The day had been saved, she thought. The warm sun, the gentle touch of a man, fine food and champagne. What more could she ask for? She knew the answer, but now she knew there was no rush. Her eyes blinked open at the realization. This was the foreplay, and god what wonderful foreplay.

She knew now that they would make love soon. Perhaps today, but if not, soon. She closed her eyes again and leaned her head back against his shoulder. She moaned her appreciation as he continued to lovingly caress her breasts. "Paradise," she thought.

Steve stirred against her. He too had closed his eyes and as his hands had slowly moved across her body, he was aware something had changed. He opened his eyes and blinked into the brilliant sun. They had taken their sun glasses off and it took him a few seconds to get orientated again.

The boat had swung on its anchor and was facing toward the west as it should. In addition, the tide was running in and its strength had caused the boat to drag anchor.

Steve squeezed her arm and said as calmly as possible, "Ingrid, I think we have a problem."

Ingrid sat upright quickly and looked around. As her eyes adjusted, she could see that they were much closer to the shore than they were when they anchored. "What's happened?" she asked, slightly alarmed.

"We've swung around and dragged anchor, and we're in shallow water. Shallower than I want to be in."

Ingrid realized she was naked to the waist and quickly pulled her shoulder straps up and stood up. Steve quickly assessed their situation while starting the engine. Almost as soon as it caught he pushed the lever into forward and felt the boat sluggishly move ahead.

He kept his fingers crossed that they wouldn't scrape bottom or worse, get hung up on a reef. Luck was with him and the boat moved forward steadily. He had turned on the sounder and watched the bottom fall away and the depth increase.

He let out his breath. He wasn't sure how long he had held it. He pulled the gear lever back to neutral briefly as the anchor chain approached vertical. The boat slowed, almost stopping.

"Ingrid, I'm going forward to raise the anchor. If I give you a horizontal wave like this, I want you to pull this lever back to the middle, neutral position. If I give you a forward sign like this, push the lever forward for five or so seconds and then pull it back to the middle. Understood?"

"Yes, understood," she replied seriously. His mood had changed dramatically and she could see he was both intense and angry.

He slipped the gear lever forward, gave her a more serious 'thumbs up' and quickly made his way to the bow. He opened the small, forward hatch and inspected the anchor line. She heard a whirring sound every few seconds. He didn't seem to be doing anything but watching the line.

Then, she heard and soon saw the anchor chain smoothly wrap over the bow roller. It stopped as he peered further over the bow of the boat. He gave her the horizontal wave and she pulled the gear level back to centre. The forward movement of the boat slowed quickly. She heard the whirring sound start immediately and it stayed on continuously.

Steve gave her the forward sign and she pushed the lever forward and slowly counted to five before pulling it back to center. She felt the boat move forward briefly then stop. She kept her eyes on Steve. Somehow, he was controlling the motor that wound in the anchor. In a minute more, he signaled again for forward and she repeated the previous procedure.

Soon she heard a clanking sound and the whirring motor stopped. The anchor was up and Steve quickly snapped it into its holder on the deck, turned, and walked rapidly back to the wheelhouse. He said nothing, but pushed the gear lever forward and turned their heading to the south west. He put his hands on the dashboard beside the wheel and let his breath out again. His face was beet red and she could see his jaw was clenched. He was clearly very angry.

"Are we OK, Steve?" Ingrid asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, we're OK. No thanks to me. Stupid bastard! Damn it!" he spat. She had never heard him swear and had never seen him angry. It was a new side of him and it was good to see that there was passion inside that cool exterior.