Twelve Nights of Temptation

by Barbara Dunlop

  * * *

  They’d brought Orca’s Run back to the marina, arriving late in the evening.

  Tasha had spent the night and half of today attempting to purge Matt’s kiss from her mind. It wasn’t working. She kept reliving the pleasure, then asking herself what it all meant.

  She didn’t even know how she felt, never mind how Matt felt. He was a smooth-talking, great-looking man who, from everything she’d seen, could have any woman in the world. What could possibly be his interest in her?

  Okay, maybe if she’d taken her mother’s advice, maybe if she’d acted like a woman, dressed like a woman and got a different job, maybe then it would make sense for Matt to be interested. Matt reminded her so much of the guys she’d known in Boston, the ones who’d dated her sisters and attended all the parties.

  They’d all wanted women who were super feminine. They’d been amused by Tasha. She wasn’t a buddy and she wasn’t, in their minds, a woman worth pursuing. She hadn’t fit in anywhere. It was the reason she’d left. And now Matt was confusing her. She hated being confused.

  So, right now, this afternoon, she had a new focus.

  Since she’d been promoted, she had to replace herself. Matt employed several general dock laborers who also worked as mechanical assistants, and they pulled in mechanical specialists when necessary. But one staff mechanic couldn’t keep up with the workload at Whiskey Bay. Matt owned twenty-four boats in all, ranging from Monty’s Pride right down to a seventeen-foot runabout they used in the bay. Some were workboats, but most were pleasure craft available for rental.

  Cash flow was a definite issue, especially after Matt’s divorce. It was more important than ever that the yachts stay in good working order to maximize rentals.

  Tasha was using a vacant office in the main marina building at the edge of the company pier. The place was a sprawling, utilitarian building, first constructed in 1970, with major additions built in 2000 and 2010. Its clay-colored steel siding protected against the wind and salt water.

  Inside, the client area was nicely decorated, as were Matt’s and the sales manager’s offices. But down the hall, where the offices connected to the utility areas and eventually to the boat garage and the small dry dock, the finishing was more Spartan. Even still, she felt pretentious sitting behind a wooden desk with a guest chair in front.

  She’d been through four applicants so far. One and two were nonstarters. They were handymen rather than certified marine mechanics. The third one had his certification, but something about him made Tasha cautious. He was a little too eager to list his accomplishments. He was beyond self-confident, bordering on arrogant. She didn’t see him fitting in at Whiskey Bay.

  The fourth applicant had been five minutes late. Not a promising start.

  But then a woman appeared in the doorway. “My apologies,” she said in a rush as she entered.

  Tasha stood. “Alex Dumont?”

  “Yes.” The woman smiled broadly as she moved forward, holding out her hand.

  Tasha shook it, laughing at herself for having made the assumption that Alex was a man.

  “Alexandria,” the woman elaborated, her eyes sparkling with humor.

  “Of all people, I shouldn’t make gender assumptions.”

  “It happens so often, I don’t even think about it.”

  “I hear you,” Tasha said. “Please, sit down.”

  “At least with the name Tasha nobody makes that mistake.” Alex settled into the chair. “Though I have to imagine you’ve been written off a few times before they even met you.”

  “I’m not sure which is worse,” Tasha said.

  “I prefer the surprise value. That’s why I shortened my name. I have to say this is the first time I’ve been interviewed by a woman.”

  Alex was tall, probably about five foot eight. She had wispy, wheat-blond hair, a few freckles and a pretty smile. If Tasha hadn’t seen her résumé, she would have guessed she was younger than twenty-five.

  “You’re moving from Chicago?” Tasha asked, flipping through the three pages of Alex’s résumé.

  “I’ve already moved, three weeks ago.”

  “Any particular reason?” Tasha was hoping for someone who would stay in Whiskey Bay for the long term.

  “I’ve always loved the West Coast. But mostly, it was time to make a break from the family.”

  Tasha could relate to that. “They didn’t support your career choice?” she guessed.

  “No.” Alex gave a little laugh. “Quite the opposite. My father and two brothers are mechanics. They wouldn’t leave me alone.”

  “Did you work with them?”

  “At first. Then I got a job with another company. It didn’t help. They still interrogated me every night and gave me advice on whatever repair I was undertaking.”

  “You lived with them?”

  “Not anymore.”

  Tasha couldn’t help contrasting their experiences. “I grew up in Boston. My parents wanted me to find a nice doctor or lawyer and become a wife instead of a mechanic. Though they probably would have settled for me being a landscape painter or a dancer.”

  “Any brothers and sisters?”

  “Two sisters. Both married to lawyers.” Tasha didn’t like to dwell on her family. It had been a long time since she’d spoken to them. She stopped herself now, and went back to Alex’s résumé. “At Schneider Marine, you worked on both gas and diesel engines?”

  “Yes. Gas, anywhere from 120-horse outboards and up, and diesel, up to 550.”

  “Any experience on Broadmores?”

  “Oh, yeah. Finicky buggers, those.”

  “We have two of them.”

  “Well, I’ve got their number.”

  Tasha couldn’t help but smile. This was the kind of confidence she liked. “And you went to Riverside Tech?”

  “I did. I finished my apprenticeship four years ago. I can get you a copy of my transcript if you need it.”

  Tasha shook her head. “I’m more interested in your recent experience. How much time on gasoline engines versus diesel?”

  “More diesel, maybe seventy-five/twenty-five. Lots of service, plenty of rebuilds.”

  “Diagnostics?”

  “I was their youngest mechanic, so I wasn’t afraid of the new scan tools.”

  “You dive right in?” Tasha was liking Alex more and more as the interview went on.

  “I dive right in.”

  “When can you start?”

  Alex grinned. “Can you give me a few days to unpack?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Both women came to their feet.

  “Then, I’m in,” Alex said.

  Tasha shook her hand, excited at the prospect of another female mechanic in the company. “Welcome aboard.”

  Alex left, but a few minutes later, Tasha was still smiling when Matt came through the door.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What?” she returned, forcibly dampening her exhilaration at the sight of him.

  She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this. They had an employer-employee relationship, not a man-woman relationship.

  “You’re smiling,” he said.

  “I’m happy.”

  “About what?”

  “I love my job.”

  “Is that all?”

  “You don’t think I love my job?” She did love it. And she had a feeling she’d love it even more with Alex around.

  “I was hoping you were happy to see me.”

  “Matt.” She put a warning in her voice.

  “Are we going to just ignore it?”

  She quickly closed the door to make sure nobody could overhear. “Yes, we’re going to ignore it.”

  “By it, I mean our kiss.”
>
  She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a glare. “I know what you mean.”

  “Just checking,” he said, looking dejected.

  “Stop.” She wasn’t going to be emotionally manipulated.

  “I’m not going to pretend. I miss you.”

  “There’s nothing to miss. I’m right here.”

  “Prepared to talk work and only work.”

  “Yes.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Fine. Okay. I’ll take it.”

  “Good.” She knew with absolute certainty that it was for the best.

  He squared his shoulders. “Who was that leaving?”

  “That was Alex Dumont. She’s our new mechanic.”

  Matt’s brows went up. “We have a new mechanic?”

  “You knew I was hiring one.”

  “But...”

  Tasha couldn’t help an inward sigh. She’d seen this reaction before. “But...she’s a woman.”

  “That’s not what I was going to say. I was surprised, is all.”

  “That she was light on testosterone?”

  “You keep putting words in my mouth.”

  “Well, you keep putting expressions in your eyes.”

  He opened his mouth, but then he seemed to think better of whatever he’d planned to say.

  “What?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “Nothing.” He took a backward step. “I’m backing off. This is me backing off.”

  “From who I hire?”

  Matt focused in on her eyes. His eyes smoldered, and she felt desire arc between them.

  “I can feel it from here,” he said, as if he was reading her mind.

  Her brain stumbled. “There’s...uh... I’m...”

  “You can’t quite spit out the lie, can you?”

  She couldn’t. Lying wouldn’t help. “We have to ignore it.”

  “Why?”

  “We do. We do, Matt.”

  There was a long beat of silence.

  “I have a date Saturday night,” he said.

  A pain crossed her chest, but she steeled herself. “No kidding.”

  “I don’t date that much.”

  “I don’t pay any attention.”

  It was a lie. From the staff quarters, she’d seen him leave his house on the hill on many occasions, dressed to the nines. She’d often wondered where he’d gone, whom he’d been with, how late he’d come home.

  And she’d watched him bring women to his house. They often dined on the deck. Caterers would set up candles and white linens, and then Matt and his date would chat and laugh the evening away.

  She’d paid attention all right. But wild horses wouldn’t drag the admission out of her.

  * * *

  So Saturday night, Matt had picked up the tall, willowy, expensively coiffed Emilie and brought her home for arctic char and risotto, catered by a local chef. They were dining in his glass-walled living room to candlelight and a full moon. The wine was from the Napa Valley, and the chocolate truffles were handcrafted with Belgian chocolate.

  It should have been perfect. Emilie was a real estate company manager, intelligent, gracious, even a little bit funny. She was friendly and flirtatious, and made no secret of the fact that she expected a very romantic conclusion to the evening.

  But Matt’s gaze kept straying to the pier below, to the yachts, the office building and the repair shop. Finally, Tasha appeared. She strode briskly beneath the overhead lights, through the security gate and up the stairway that led to the staff quarters. Some of his staff members had families and houses in town. The younger, single crew members, especially those who had moved to Whiskey Bay to work at the marina, seemed to appreciate the free rent, even if the staff units were small and basic. He was happy at the moment that Tasha was one of them.

  He reflexively glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. Even for Tasha, this was late.

  “Matt?” Emilie said.

  “Yes?” He quickly returned his attention to her.

  She gave a very pretty smile. “I asked if they were all yours?”

  “All what?”

  “The boats. Do you really own that many boats?”

  “I do,” he said. He’d told this story a hundred times. “I started with three about a decade ago. Business was good, so I gradually added to the fleet.”

  He glanced back to the pier, but Tasha had disappeared from view. He told himself not to be disappointed. He’d see her again soon. It had been a few days now since they’d run into each other. He’d tried not to miss her, but he did. He’d find a reason to talk to her tomorrow.

  Emilie pointed toward the window. “That one is huge.”

  “Monty’s Pride is our largest vessel.”

  “Could I see the inside?” she asked, eyes alight. “Would you give me a tour?”

  Before Matt could answer, there was a pounding on his door.

  “Expecting someone?” she asked, looking a little bit frustrated by the interruption.

  His friends and neighbors, Caleb Watford and TJ Bauer, were the only people who routinely dropped by. But neither of them would knock. At most, they’d call out from the entryway if they thought they might walk in on something.

  Matt rose. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure.” Emilie helped herself to another truffle. “I’ll wait here.”

  The date had been going pretty well so far. But Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled with the touch of sarcasm he’d just heard in Emilie’s voice.

  The knock came again as he got to the front entry. He swung open the door.

  Tasha stood on his porch, her work jacket wrinkled, a blue baseball cap snug on her head and her work boots sturdy against the cool weather.

  His immediate reaction was delight. He wanted to drag her inside and make her stay for a while.

  “What’s up?” he asked instead, remembering the promise he’d made, holding himself firmly at a respectful distance.

  “Something’s going on,” she said.

  “Between us?” he asked before he could stop himself, resisting the urge to glance back and be sure Emilie was still out of sight.

  Tasha frowned. “No. With Pacific Wind.” She named the single-engine twenty-eight-footer. “It’s just a feeling. But I’m worried.”

  He stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

  She glanced down at her boots.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I have a cleaning service.”

  “A cable broke on the steering system,” she said.

  “Is that a major problem?”

  He didn’t particularly care why she’d decided to come up and tell him in person. He was just glad she had.

  It was the first time she’d been inside his house. He couldn’t help but wonder if she liked the modern styling, the way it jutted out from the hillside, the clean lines, glass walls and unobstructed view. He really wanted to find out. He hadn’t been interested in Emilie’s opinion, but he was curious about Tasha’s.

  “It’s not a big problem,” she said. “I fixed it. It’s fixed.”

  “That’s good.” He dared to hope all over again that this was a personal visit disguised as business.

  “Matt?” came Emilie’s voice.

  He realized he’d forgotten all about her.

  “I’ll just be a minute,” he called back to her.

  “You’re busy,” Tasha said, looking instantly regretful. “Of course you’re busy. I didn’t think.” She glanced at her watch. “This is Saturday, isn’t it?”

  “You forgot the day of the week?”

  “Matt, honey.” Emilie came up behind him.

  Honey? Seriously? After a single date? />
  Not even a single date, really. The date hadn’t concluded yet.

  “Who’s this?” Emilie asked.

  There was a dismissive edge to her voice and judgment in her expression as she gave Tasha the once-over, clearly finding her lacking.

  The superior attitude annoyed Matt. “This is Tasha.”

  “I’m the mechanic,” Tasha said, not seeming remotely bothered by Emilie’s condescension.

  “Hmph,” Emilie said, wrinkling her perfect nose. She wrapped her arm possessively through Matt’s. “Is this an emergency?”

  Tasha took a step back, opening her mouth to speak.

  “Yes,” Matt said. “It’s an emergency. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our date short.”

  He wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by his words, Emilie or Tasha.

  “I’ll call you a ride.” He took out his phone.

  It took Emilie a moment to find her voice. “What kind of emergency?”

  “The mechanical kind,” he said flatly, suddenly tired of her company.

  He typed in the request. He definitely didn’t want Tasha to leave.

  “But—” Emilie began.

  “The ride will be here in three minutes,” he said. “I’ll get your coat.”

  He did a quick check of Tasha’s expression, steeling himself for the possibility that she’d speak up and out him as a liar.

  She didn’t.

  He quickly retrieved Emilie’s coat and purse.

  “I don’t mind waiting,” Emilie said, a plaintive whine in her voice.

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He held up the coat.

  “How long do you think—”

  “Could be a long time. It could be a very long time. It’s complicated.”

  “Matt, I can—” Tasha began.

  “No. Nope.” He gave a definitive shake to his head. “It’s business. It’s important.” It might not be critical, but Tasha had never sought him out after hours before, so there had to be something going on.

  “You’re a mechanic?” Emilie asked Tasha.

  “A marine mechanic.”

  “So you get all greasy and stuff?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “That must be awful.” Emilie gave a little shudder.