“I’m eligible now,” he said.
The rich part was also debatable. He hadn’t had enough money to satisfy his ex-wife. And now that they’d divorced, he had even less. He’d borrowed money to pay her out, and he was going to have to work hard over the next year or two to get back to a comfortable financial position.
“And so are you,” he said to Tasha. “You’re intelligent, hardworking and pretty. You should definitely be out there dating.”
He couldn’t help but compare her with the women he’d met lately. The truth was, they couldn’t hold a candle to her. There was so much about her that was compelling. Funny that he’d never noticed before.
“Dazzle them with your intelligence and hard work.”
“Can we not do this?” she asked.
“Make conversation?”
“I’m a licensed marine mechanic. And I want people to take me seriously as that.”
“You can’t do both?”
“Not in my experience.” She slipped down from the high white leather chair.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He didn’t want her to leave.
“I’m going to take your advice.”
“What advice is that?”
“I’m going to lie down and rest.” She glanced at her watch. “You think two hours?”
“I didn’t mean to chase you away.”
“You didn’t.”
“We don’t have to talk about dating.” But then he took in her pursed lips and realized he still wanted to kiss them. Where was this impulse coming from?
“I have work to do when we get there.”
He realized he’d be selfish to stop her. “You’re right. You should get some sleep.”
As she walked away, he considered the implications of being attracted to an employee. He couldn’t act on it. He shouldn’t act on it.
Then he laughed at himself. It wasn’t like she’d given him any encouragement. Well, other than saying he was good-looking.
She thought he was good-looking.
As he piloted his way along the dark coastline, he couldn’t help but smile.
* * *
Tasha’s problem wasn’t dating in general. Her problem was the thought of dating Matt. He wasn’t her type. There was no way he was her type. She knew that for an absolute fact.
She’d dated guys like him before—capable, confident, secure in the knowledge that the world rolled itself out at their feet. She knew all that. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from dreaming about him.
They’d arrived off Tyree and boarded Orca’s Run shortly after dawn. Tall and confident, he’d greeted the clients like he owned the place—which he did, of course.
Tasha had kept to the background, making sure her toolbox was moved discreetly on board, while Matt had charmed the family, apologizing for the delay in the trip, offering Monty’s Pride as a replacement, explaining that the larger, faster yacht would easily make up the time they’d lost overnight.
It was obvious the client was delighted with the solution, and Tasha had turned her attention to the diesel engine. It took her over an hour to discover the water separator was the problem. In an unlikely coincidence, the water-in-fuel indicator light bulb had also broken. Otherwise, it would have alerted her to the fact that the water separator was full, starving the engine of fuel.
The two things happening together were surprising. They were more than surprising. They were downright strange.
From their anchorage in Tyree, Matt had taken the launch and run for parts in the small town. And by noon, she’d replaced the water separator. While she’d worked, she’d cataloged who’d had access to Orca’s Run. Virtually all the staff of Whiskey Bay Marina had access. But most of them didn’t know anything about engines.
There were a couple of contract mechanics who did repairs from time to time. And there were countless customers who had been on the property. She found her brain going in fantastical directions, imagining someone might have purposely damaged the engine.
But who? And why? And was she being ridiculously paranoid?
She had no idea.
While she’d worked, diesel fuel had sprayed her clothes and soaked into her hair, so she’d used the staff shower to clean up and commandeered a steward’s uniform from the supply closet.
After cleaning up, her mind still pinging from possibility to possibility, she made her way up the stairs to the main cabin. There she was surprised to realize the yacht wasn’t yet under way.
“Did something else go wrong?” she asked Matt, immediately worried they had another problem.
He was in the galley instead of piloting the yacht. The deckhand had stayed with Monty’s Pride, since the bigger ship needed an extra crew member. Matt and Tasha were fully capable of returning Orca’s Run to Whiskey Bay.
“It’s all good,” Matt said.
“We’re not under power?” Her hair was still damp, and she tucked it behind her ears as she approached the countertop that separated the galley from the main living area.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, placing a pan on the stove.
She was starving. “Sure. But I can eat something on the way.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
He extracted two cups from a cupboard and poured. “Monty’s Pride is headed south. Everyone seems happy.”
“You were right,” she admitted as she rounded the counter. “Bringing Monty’s Pride was a good idea. I can cook if you want to get going.”
He gave a thoughtful nod. “This charter matters.”
“Because it’s a German client?”
“It’s the first significant booking out of the fall trade show. He’s a prominent businessman with loads of connections.”
“I’m sorry I argued with you.” She realized her stance had been about her pride, not about the good of the company.
“You should always say what you think.”
“I should listen, too.”
“You don’t listen?”
“Sometimes I get fixated on my own ideas.” She couldn’t help but revisit her theory about someone tampering with the engine.
Matt gave a smile. “You have conviction. That’s not a bad thing. Besides, it keeps the conversation interesting.”
He handed her a cup of coffee.
She took a sip, welcoming the hit of caffeine.
He seemed to ponder her for a moment. “You definitely keep things interesting.”
She didn’t know how to respond.
His blue eyes were dark but soft, and he had an incredibly handsome face. His chin was square, unshaven and slightly shadowed, but that only made him look more rugged. His nose was straight, his jaw angular and his lips were full, dark pink, completely kissable.
Warm waves of energy seemed to stream from him to cradle her. It was disconcerting, and she shifted to put some more space between them. “The engine was interesting.”
Mug to his lips, he lifted his brow.
“The odds of the water separator filling and the indicator light going at the same time are very low.”
His brow furrowed then, and he lowered the mug. “And?”
“Recognizing that this is my first idea, and that I can sometimes get fixated on those, it seems wrong to me. I mean, it seems odd to me.”
“Are you saying someone broke something on purpose?”
“No, I’m not saying that.” Out loud, it sounded even less plausible than it had inside her head. “I’m saying it was a bizarre coincidence, and I must be having a run of bad luck.”
“You fixed it, so that’s good luck.”
“Glass half-full?”
“You did a good job, Tasha.”
“It wasn’t that complicated.”
“The cause was peculiar.” She could have sworn she’d just serviced the water separator. “The repair was easy.”
Their gazes held, and they fell silent again. Raindrops clattered against the window, while the temperature seemed to inch up around her. Her dream came back once again, Matt cradling her, kissing her. Heat rose in her cheeks.
She forced herself back to the present, trying to keep her mind on an even keel. “It could have been excess water in the fuel, maybe a loose cap. I did check it. At least I think I checked it. I always check it.” She paused. “I hope I checked it.”
He set down his mug. “Don’t.”
She didn’t understand.
He took a step forward. “Don’t second-guess yourself.”
“Okay.” It seemed like the easiest answer, since she was losing track of the conversation.
He took another step, and then another.
Inside her head, she shouted for him to stop. But she didn’t make a sound.
She didn’t want him to stop. She could almost feel his arms around her.
He was right there.
Thunder suddenly cracked through the sky above them. A wave surged beneath them, and she grabbed for the counter. She missed, stumbling into his chest.
In a split second, his arms were around her, steadying her.
She fought the desire that fogged her brain. “Sorry.”
“Weather’s coming up,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear and vibrating her chest, which was pressed tight against his.
“We won’t be—” Words failed her as she looked into his blue eyes, so close, so compelling.
He stilled, the sapphire of his eyes softening to summer sky.
“Tasha.” Her name was barely a breath on his lips.
She softened against him.
He lowered his lips, closer and closer. They brushed lightly against hers, then they firmed, then they parted, and the kiss sent bolts of pleasure ricocheting through her.
She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. A rational part of her brain told her to stop. But she was beyond stopping. She was beyond caring about anything but the cataclysmic kiss between them.
It was Matt who finally pulled back.
He looked as dazed as she felt, and he blew out a breath. “I’m...” He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know what to say.”
She forced herself to step back. “Don’t.” She had no idea what to say either. “Don’t try. It was just...something...that happened.”
“It was something,” he said.
“It was a mistake.”
He raked a hand through his short hair. “It sure wasn’t on purpose.”
“We should get going,” she said, anxious to focus on something else.
The last thing she wanted to do was dissect their kiss. The last thing she wanted to do was admit how it impacted her. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she saw him as a man, more than a boss.
She couldn’t do that. She had to stop doing it. In this relationship, she was a mechanic, not a woman.
“We’re not going anywhere.” He looked pointedly out the window where the rain was driving down.
Tasha took note of the pitching floor beneath her.
It was Matt who reached for the marine radio and turned the dial to get a weather report.
“We might as well grab something to eat,” he said. “This could last awhile.”
Two
Waiting out the storm, Matt had fallen asleep in the living area. He awoke four hours later to find Tasha gone, and he went looking.
The yacht was rocking up and down on six-foot swells, and rain clattered against the windows. He couldn’t find her on the upper decks, so he took the narrow staircase, making his way to the engine and mechanical rooms. Sure enough, he found her there. She’d removed the front panel of the generator and was elbow deep in the mechanics.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She tensed at the sound of his voice. She was obviously remembering their kiss. Well, he remembered it, too, and it sure made him tense up. Partly because he was her boss and he felt guilty for letting things get out of hand. But partly because it had been such an amazing kiss and he desperately wanted to do it again.
“Maintenance,” she answered him without turning.
He settled his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Can you elaborate?”
“I inspected the electric and serviced the batteries. Some of the battery connections needed cleaning. Hoses and belts all look good in here. But it was worth changing the oil filter.”
“I thought you would sleep.”
This was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone. He’d known Tasha was a dedicated employee, but this trip was teaching him she was one in a million.
She finally turned to face him. “I did sleep. Then I woke up.”
She’d found a pair of coveralls somewhere. They were miles too big, but she’d rolled up the sleeves and the pant legs. A woman shouldn’t look sexy with a wrench in her hand, a smudge of oil on her cheek, swimming in a shapeless steel gray sack.
But this one did. And he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her. He mentally shook away the feelings.
“If it was me—” he tried to lighten the mood and put her at ease “—I think I might have inspected the liquor cabinet.”
She smiled for the briefest of seconds. “Lucky your employees aren’t like you.”
The smile warmed him. It turned him on, but it also made him happy.
“True enough,” he said. “But there is a nice cognac in there. Perfect to have on a rainy afternoon.” He could picture them doing just that.
Instead of answering, she returned to work.
He watched for a few minutes, struggling with his feelings, knowing he had to put their relationship back on an even keel.
Work—he needed to say something about work instead of sharing a cozy drink.
“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.
She didn’t pause. “Yes.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Good.”
“You should stop working.”
“I’m not finished.”
“You’re making me feel guilty.”
She looked his way and rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
“Then what?”
“The maintenance needed doing. I was here. There was an opportunity.”
He fought an urge to close the space between them. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, überindustrious?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He did move closer. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring up their kiss. But he desperately wanted to bring it up, discuss it, dissect it, relive it. How did she feel about it now? Was she angry? Was there a chance in the world she wanted to do it again?
“It’s an unnerving thing,” he said.
“Then, you’re very easily unnerved.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her comeback. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“Well, that’s a waste of time.”
“I realize I don’t know you well.”
“You don’t need to know me well. Just sign my paycheck.”
Well, that was a crystal clear signal. He was her boss, nothing more. He swallowed his disappointment.
Then again, if he was her boss, he was her boss. He reached forward to take the wrench from her hand. “It’s after five and it’s a Saturday and you’re done.”
Their fingers touched. Stupid mistake.
He felt a current run up the center of his arm.
Her grip tightened on the wrench as she tried to tug it from his grasp. “Let it go.”
“It’s time to clock out.”
“Seriously, Matt. I’m not done yet.”
His hand wrapped around hers, and his feet took him closer still.
“Matt.” There was a warning in her voice, but then their gazes caught and held.
Her eyes turned moss green, deep and yielding. She was feeling something. She had to be feeling something.
She used her free hand to grasp his arm. Her grip was strong, stronger than he’d imagined. He liked that.
“We can’t do this, Matt.”
“I know.”
She swallowed, and her voice seemed strained. “So let go.”
“I want to kiss you again.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“You’re right.” His disappointment was acute. “It is.”
She didn’t step back, and her lips parted as she drew in a breath. “We need to keep it simple, straightforward.”
“Why?”
“The signature on my paycheck.”
“Is that the only reason?” It was valid. But he was curious. He was intensely curious.
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
He knew she didn’t mean to be funny, but he couldn’t help but joke. “The kind that kisses men?”
“The kind that randomly kisses my boss—or any coworker for that matter—while I’m working, in an engine room, covered in grease.”
“That’s fair.”
“You bet, it’s fair. Not that I need your approval. Now, let go of my hand.”
He glanced down, realizing they were still touching. The last thing he wanted to do was let her go. But he had no choice.
She set down the wrench, replacing it with a screwdriver. Then she lifted the generator panel and put it in place.
He moved away and braced a hand on a crossbeam above his head. “The storm’s letting up.”
“Good.” The word sounded final. Matt didn’t want it to be final.
He was her boss, sure. He understood that was a complication. But did it have to be a deal breaker? But he wanted to get to know her. He’d barely scratched the surface, and he liked her a lot.
Twelve Nights of Temptation Page 2