Blogger Bundle Volume VIII: SBTB's Harlequins That Hooked You

by Jennifer Crusie

  “I hate to delay your trip to visit your friends.” Annie got up, made her way down from the bridge and onto the deck.

  “Another day won’t matter.”

  “If we’re stuck with each other until tomorrow, then why don’t we just go ahead and sail off to—what’s the name of the place where your friends live?”

  “Their island is called Le Bijou Bleu,” Dane said. “It’s about an hour and half from here.”

  “They have their own island? Must be nice.” Annie sighed dramatically. “If you don’t think your friends would mind my staying overnight—”

  “Actually, your coming with me to Le Bijou Bleu is a good idea,” Dane said. “Whoever’s after you won’t be looking on Sam Dundee’s private island. You’d be relatively safe there. I could have Matt meet us in Biloxi. It’s a fairly short boat ride from the island to Biloxi.”

  “Then call your agent back and tell him to fly into Biloxi instead of here,” Annie said.

  If we go to Le Bijou Blue, we’ll be in the company of other people, Annie thought. She and Dane wouldn’t be spending the night alone together if they were in his friends’ home. She would be safer on the island, not only from her would-be killer, but from Dane.

  “Matt will have to bring you back to Point Clear,” Dane said. “You’ll have to start the investigation here before y’all head to Florence.”

  “I don’t mind retracing my steps,” Annie said.

  Once again, as if he’d read her mind, he responded to her thoughts. “You think it’s worth going a little out of your way in order not to have to spend the night alone with me.”

  She glared at him, her nose crinkling, her lips curving upward. “You’re the one who said I’d be safer on Le Bijou Bleu.”

  “Safer from whoever wants to kill you.” He eased his aviator sunglasses down his nose, just enough so that she could see his sky-blue eyes. “But not necessarily safer from me…or from yourself.”

  An hour later Annie balked when Dane insisted on familiarizing her with certain pertinent facts about the yacht. She knew the basics. What more did she need to know?

  “This is the VHF radio.” Dane showed her, then went on to explain how to turn on the set and dial in channels 16 and 9. “The calling sign numbers for the Sweet Savannah are taped right here on top of the set, along with a description of the boat.”

  Annie nodded. “Got it, Captain.”

  “Look, Miss Smarty Pants, if we’re out at sea and something were to happen to me, you’ll need this information in order to call for help and other information in case you need to take over for me.”

  Feeling duly chastised, she hung her head and looked as humble as she knew how to look. “You’re right, Dane. Please continue.”

  “I’ll write down the loran coordinates and compass headings and put them here near the VHF. Just in case.”

  “What are the odds that I’ll have to call for help or wind up piloting this cruiser?” Annie asked. “You don’t happen to have any medical problems you haven’t told me about, do you?”

  “As far as I know, I’m as healthy as a horse,” he said.

  Imagining just how healthy and strong his body was sent her mind off into the danger zone. When she felt her cheeks warm, she prayed they hadn’t turned pink. She wasn’t a woman who blushed easily, but her thoughts about Dane were down and dirty enough to make a sailor blush.

  Annie laughed. Dane stared quizzically at her.

  “Is this all?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you how to start the engines and—”

  “I’m sure I know how to do that.”

  “All right. Do you know how to parallel the batteries, make sure the drive is down, and how to check that the kill switch lanyard is installed?”

  “Oh, sure,” Annie quipped. “Those three little items are part of my daily itinerary.”

  Dane smiled at her and her stomach did a silly somersault. Oh, God, she was in big trouble with this man. He was as wrong for her as Preston had been. Do you hear me? she silently asked her body. You may want him, you may even think he’s good for me, but you’re not going to get what you want. He’s wrong for me. W-r-o-n-g.

  “Did your father ever let you play skipper?” Dane asked.

  “You’re kidding, of course. Earl Harden would never allow a woman to pilot his yacht.”

  “Well, you should know that handling a boat is not like driving a car. I’ll go over the basics. All you really need to know is enough to aim the boat toward shore.”

  “I think, with a little instruction, I could manage that.”

  “And I suppose you already know how to use the head properly, since you did spend time on a boat as a kid.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Annie saluted him.

  “You’ve got a smart mouth on you, Miss Annie.”

  She slipped her arm through his and smiled devilishly at him. “Come on, Captain, and show me where the life-jackets are stowed, and the flares, the fire extinguishers and the first-aid kit.”

  He did just that. And when he had completed his instructions and the tour, he led her up to the helm and asked her to start the engines.

  “You want me to… Is this a test?” she asked.

  “Not a test, just thought that, being the bossy, independent type, you might want to take us out to sea.”

  “You’re going to let me take over the helm?”

  “Weigh anchor and start the engines,” he said.

  She did. “Now what?”

  He placed her hands on the wheel, positioned himself directly behind her, slipped his arms around hers and covered her hands with his. “Now we sail to Le Bijou Bleu.”

  Annie loved the new experience, the exhilaration of being at the helm as well as the sweet torture of being wrapped in Dane’s arms. And even though it was Dane’s knowledge that actually maneuvered the Sweet Savannah out of the harbor and into Mobile Bay, Annie didn’t care. He had included her. Had instructed her in a task some thought was a man’s domain. And he had respected her intelligence.

  “There’s something you might want to think about the next time you compare me to your father and your ex-husband,” Dane said.

  Cocking her head to one side to see Dane’s face, Annie asked, “What’s that?”

  “Your father never taught you how to handle his yacht, did he? And I’ll bet, if you ever sailed with your ex-husband, he never let you even touch the helm.”

  The truth of his statement jarred her like a sudden stop on a Ferris wheel. She felt suspended high in the air, rocking precariously back and forth, waiting for the downward spin to plunge her back to earth.

  But for now she was safe. Safe in Dane’s arms. Or was she?

  Chapter 5

  “Things didn’t go as planned,” he told his superior. “I’m afraid our man in Point Clear has let Ms. Harden escape, and the police are now involved.”

  “Is he in police custody?”

  “No, he’s too smart to get caught. I told him to get out of town and wait for further instructions.”

  “Did he find out how much she knows and just what she told the police?”

  “No.” He felt as if somehow this was his fault. That he shouldn’t have sent a subordinate, no matter how capable, to dispose of Ms. Harden.

  “Do we know where Annie is?”

  “No. But we do know that she isn’t alone,” he said.

  “What do you mean? She traveled to Point Clear alone, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, but it seems she’s hooked up with some man. The same man who rescued her on the beach last night. He thwarted the second attempt to dispose of Ms. Harden, and it’s my guess that he’s the one who figured out there was an explosive device rigged to her car.”

  “Find out who this man is!” Several deep breaths. Fury subsided. Calm returned. “Be discreet, as always.”

  “Leave everything to me,” he said, trying to be as reassuring as possible. He knew how much was at stake, how much they had to lose. “From here on out, I’ll
take care of this matter personally.”

  Annie Harden was a beautiful woman, Dane thought. No doubt about it. Her spirit was as beautiful as her physical attributes, and those were numerous. Shiny, black silk hair framed a face of striking, well-proportioned features. Expressive brown eyes and thick, dark lashes. A nose perfect in shape and size. And a mouth so ripe and full and alluring that Dane’s gaze lingered on the sweet temptation more often than it should have while they talked.

  He enjoyed watching her, the wind in her hair, the sun on her face. He liked her laughter. Loud and throaty and genuine. She seemed totally carefree here on the Sweet Savannah, as if she didn’t have a worry in the world. He was glad she had this chance to escape from the nightmare her life had suddenly become. He had intentionally said nothing about her situation during their cruise, wanting to give her these few stolen moments away from reality. But she had to know, as he did, the seriousness of her problems. The thought that someone was intent on killing Annie brought out the most primitive emotions in Dane. Feeling that protective, on a personal level, of a woman who was a client, albeit a temporary client, could lead to serious trouble—for Annie and for him.

  Being such an independent little cuss, Annie no doubt liked to think of herself as totally self-sufficient. If he told her how possessive and protective he felt, she’d probably laugh in his face. She would assume his show of concern was some sort of macho come-on. Or even worse, just another of his Southern gentleman traits, for which she would condemn him.

  It shouldn’t bother him so much that she scorned him for being the kind of man he was. He’d always been rather proud of being raised with the values his father and all his predecessors had lived by. Generations of Carmichael men had set great store in honesty, loyalty and service to their country. And they had treated their women with the utmost respect, putting them on pedestals as objects to be honored and protected.

  Perhaps the notion that a man should take care of his woman was a little outdated in this day and age, when many women were financially independent. But taking care of a woman meant a lot more than providing for her. It meant loving her, treasuring her, sharing with her and guarding her from all harm. And if necessary, it meant dying for her.

  He’d been called a gentleman many times, by many people, and he’d always known they meant it as a compliment. Most women seemed fascinated by his good manners and protective attentiveness. Then again, Annie wasn’t most women, a fact she’d made perfectly clear.

  “How much farther to Le Bijou Bleu?” Annie asked.

  “Are you sure you don’t need anymore sunscreen?” Dane picked up the plastic bottle, doused a quarter-size blob in his hand and spread the white cream over his bare arms and face.

  “No, thanks. I don’t burn easily.” She had inherited her deep olive complexion from her Italian paternal grandmother and from the Cherokee Indian ancestry, that, until recently, when it had become quite fashionable to have Native American blood mixed with good Scotch-Irish, her maternal side of the family had long denied.

  She wondered about Dane’s ancestry. His eyes were the bluest blue she’d ever seen. His skin was as dark as hers, but she suspected that beneath his tan he was much fairer. From the sun streaks in his hair and the depth of his tan, she imagined he spent quite a lot of time outdoors.

  “Do you spend most of your free time on the Sweet Savannah?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I haven’t had this yacht out to sea in a long time.”

  “Then where did you get your tan?”

  He hesitated momentarily, then said, “Working outside helping build houses.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  He cleared his throat. “Dundee employees support the Habitat for Humanity and volunteer some of their time to help build houses.”

  “Why did you hesitate to tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want you to think I was trying to impress you.”

  “Hmm, modesty. An admirable trait for a gentleman.”

  Dane cut his eyes in her direction, trying to discern whether she was mocking him or giving him a compliment. From the expression on her face—a rather sweet, happy smile—he couldn’t tell.

  “We should arrive at Le Bijou Bleu in ten or fifteen minutes,” he said.

  “Are you sure your friends won’t mind my staying overnight?”

  “Sam knows that you’re a client.” Dane brushed some flyaway strands of hair from her face. “And Jeannie is the consummate hostess. She’ll welcome you with open arms and… You’ll love Jeannie. Everyone does.”

  “And just what does Mr. Dundee think about you and everyone else loving his wife?” Humor curled her lips into a warm smile.

  “Sam’s used to it by now.” Dane grasped Annie’s hand and pulled her toward the wheel. “Want to take us into Le Bijou Bleu?”

  Grinning like a child who’d just been offered all the candy she could eat, Annie caressed the wheel, then gave Dane a gentle shove. Instead of swapping places with her, he pulled her over onto his lap. Squealing and squirming, she gave him a dirty look. He shrugged as if to say “I’m innocent.” She knew she should scold him and get out of his lap immediately, but for the life of her, she could do neither. Dane could have spent the past hour reminding her of how much trouble she was in, how serious the threats on her life had been, but instead, he’d made their sail from Point Clear to the Dundee’s island hideaway an adventure. He’d been funny and flirtatious and downright charming.

  Annie settled onto Dane’s lap, totally aware of the intimacy of her bottom nestled against his groin. The moment she stilled, she felt the bulge of his arousal. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, then warned herself that she was a fool to give in to her feminine needs. She shouldn’t be enjoying this—knowing how much Dane wanted her and well aware that he wouldn’t make another move without her consent.

  Dane struggled to control his traitorous body. He’d thought that the minute Annie became aware of how hard he was, she’d jump out of his lap and let him have it with both barrels. But she didn’t. Instead, she settled against him and took charge of the helm.

  Maybe she was trying to torment him. Maybe she was delighted by his discomfort. But maybe, just maybe, she liked turning him on because she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  He longed to caress her hips, to slide his hands around and dip them between her thighs. Just the thought of touching her in that way hardened him even more. Think about anything except making slow, sweet love to Annie, he told himself.

  He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I hope you like children,” he said.

  “What? Why?” The blood pounding in her ears obliterated every other sound. What reason did he have to ask her if she liked children?

  “Because Sam and Jeannie have two kids. A three-year-old daughter and a two-month-old son.”

  “Oh, I like children just fine,” Annie assured him. As long as they belong to other people. One of the problems early on in her marriage to Preston had been his insistence that they have a child right away. She had thought she’d made it perfectly clear to him, before their marriage, that she didn’t want to start a family for several years. She wanted to get her career off the ground first, before she tried to juggle a job and motherhood. Preston hadn’t been understanding. In fact, he had used her reluctance to have a child against her every time they had an argument, thus turning any dispute, even those caused by his philandering habits, into a battle over parenthood.

  “Do you like kids?” she asked Dane.

  “Yeah, I like kids a lot.”

  “You don’t have any, do you?”

  “No, I don’t have any,” he said.

  She wanted to ask him why not, after all, he’d been married. But if she asked him, then he’d have every right to ask her, and that was one discussion she’d prefer not to have.

  “What about brothers and sisters?” Annie asked, turning the subject away from why neither of them had any offspring.

  “T
wo younger sisters,” Dane said. “Both happily married, with two children each. What about you?”

  “I was an only child.”

  Her mother had gone through five agonizing miscarriages, each one more emotionally difficult than the last. She’d never understood why her mother had put herself through the torment, time and again. Not until, after the last miscarriage, Annie had overheard her father and uncle talking. She was twelve years old when she’d learned to what lengths some men would go to have a son.

  “If only she hadn’t lost this one,” Earl Harden said. “It was a boy, you know. My son.”

  Royce placed his hand on Earl’s shoulder in a consoling gesture. “I’m sorry, Earl. So sorry.”

  “The doctors say that we shouldn’t try again. Jennifer’s not up to another pregnancy, either physically or emotionally.”

  “Be thankful that you have Annie,” Royce said. “Some people, like Vera and I, aren’t blessed with even one child.”

  “I wanted a son. Why couldn’t the one child who lived have been a boy?”

  Earl Harden cried. His big shoulders shaking as he mourned the loss of his most treasured dream.

  That had been the one and only time Annie had ever seen her father cry. He had never known that she’d been standing just outside the partially closed door of his study the day he shared his grief with his brother-in-law.

  Shaking off the painful memory, Annie turned her face to the sun. She loved being outdoors, and suddenly realized how much she missed spending time on the water. Maybe when she got home she’d talk to her mother about bringing her father’s old boat out of dry dock and—

  What was she thinking? When she returned to Florence, it would be with a bodyguard in tow and a would-be killer on her trail.

  “Dane?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Is Matt O’Brien very good at what he does?”

  Dane ran his hands up and down Annie’s arms. “If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have hired him in the first place. We employ only the best. Dundee agents are the cream of the crop.”

  “That’s good to know.”