Reviewing restaurants is normally a safe pursuit, but Lorne and Catherine face torture and death when they try to unravel organised crime's infiltration of the fine dining scene.
Their longstanding friendship deepens when they meet again seven mont...
The alarm sounded at 0630, and Lorne untangled an arm to reach the snooze button, then turned back to kiss Catherine good morning. The fifteen-minute snooze alarm began harmonising with the deep throated tones of their orgasms, and they allowed it to continue sounding as they calmed.
"You can say good morning to me this way as often as you wish," she said as she stroked his cheek. "As many times a day as you want." She let out a deep moaning sigh. "Come! Up and at 'em, the tides won't wait."
They were soon up, showered, dressed and sailing slowly through the bay in the morning breezes toward South Entrance. "I never saw Dad do that. He always used the engine when weighing. You make it seem so simple."
"What, sailing off the anchor? That's how they did it for millennia if the air was moving at all, long before there were engines. It's a simple thing to do. I find it less complex than using the engine. I'll explain it for you the next time."
"Nobody seems to do it anymore. I've only ever seen it done twice. Yesterday and this morning." She smiled at him. "You do things your own way, don't you?"
"Yeah, guess I do. It's part of what happens doing things on one's own. Funny, I was thinking a couple of days ago that I had convinced myself I was happy living alone."
"Weren't you? You always seemed happy when I saw you at functions. Always upbeat."
"A lot of that was because you were there. You always lifted my happy level. Boosted it way up."
She moved behind him as he stood at the port helm, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts into his back. "I don't want you ever to be unhappy again." She pressed into him, and he moved his back against her to expand the contact.
"I wish the breeze would stiffen as quickly as I am. God, you rouse me." He reached around and squeezed her bum. "Once we clear the point, I can set-up the vane and relax from the helm. Too fickle yet for autopilot. Another ten or twelve minutes."
"Everyone else is motoring out."
"They're rushing to wait."
"Rushing to wait?"
"Most seem to head toward the passes early and sit outside waiting for predicted slack water. We'll continue sailing, take advantage of the last of the ebb and wash through Gabriola running with both the current and the breeze. Betcha we'll be well into Trincomali before they motor past us. The sailboats will then fumble in our bows to set their sails. Betcha."
"I'd be stupid to bet on that one. Dad always laughed at it." She gave him another squeeze. "Breakfast? When can I start on that?"
"We'll be tacking in a few minutes, so there's no sense starting before we've settled. You could start with coffee, though. I'd love a double espresso."
"I watched you the last couple of days. Give me a quickstart."
"The water feed is direct. Switch the machine on and let it heat. The hopper should have enough beans, the grinder button's obvious. The big portafilter, just rounded, second pressure setting on tamp, there's no need to change settings. You know where the cups are." He reached around again to squeeze her bum.
She disappeared and was back in the cockpit with two cups four minutes later. He took a sip. "You pull a great espresso."
"I had a great instructor." She winked at him. "I cheated. I have the same make at home, but a different model."
They had an easy passage through the narrows, two gybes in the following light breeze, while they enjoyed large ham, mushroom and red pepper three-egg omelettes and more espressos. He looked up from his plate. "You do a wonderful omelette." He winked at her. "Is the ham kosher?"
She laughed. "We stopped that when we were still on Cypress. Mum thought it was archaic. Following instructions which made sense millennia ago in completely different circumstances. She thought it would be stupid to continue them."
"Religious traditions certainly are stupid, aren't they? Like, try to rationalise things such as burkas, hajibs, halal, circumcision, kosher, subincision, female genital mutilation, turbans, kirpans, nun's habits, tonsures, celibacy, abusive priests..." He gave her his crooked smile. "Back to more sensible things, light things. Great omelette. You beat a dash of water into the eggs, didn't you? So fluffy and light."
The cockpit clock showed 0812 when Lorne rose to tack Tastevin between DeCourcy and Ruxton. Once through, he set a course down Stewart Channel to take advantage of the slowly building easterly sea breeze as Vancouver Island warmed to starboard.
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A while later, after he had done a horizon and instrument scan, Lorne resumed his cuddle on their starboard settee. "This is our third day out, and so far we've burnt less than a litre of diesel getting out of the marina. Everything else has been solar and wind. I don't even think the propane kicked in for the hot water with all our showering."
"Even your tender's motor is electric," she said as they shifted into sitting spoons on the settee. They continued watching ahead and monitoring the chartplotter with AIS and radar overlays. She felt him swelling against her back. "What's up? — That's silly, isn't it? I know what's up. Why's it up?"
"I'm thinking of this position, visualising. This will allow me to spray your cervix."
"Yes, this would be one of the easier positions." She mashed her back into him. "How much longer?"
"This is as long as it gets." He chuckled.
"Silly man. I meant time-wise."
"Just joshing. A little under an hour with this wind."
She wiggled her back into him and moaned. "We need more wind."
