by JoAnn Ross
“Oh? Are you saying you don’t want to sleep with me?”
“Of course I do.” This time it was an aha! look that flashed in her remarkable eyes. “A man would have to be cold stone dead for a week of Sundays not to want to tangle the sheets with you, Grade. But that’s not the reason I took this job.”
“It isn’t?”
“Hell, no.” He flashed her a grin. “I took the job because I thought, since I have every intention of marrying you, it might be a good idea to keep you alive to walk down the aisle.” Knowing how traditional women could be when it came to weddings, Lucas decided to save the idea of getting married on the Rebel’s Reward for later.
She stared. “Ms. Spade really should have mentioned you were crazy.”
Unoffended, he shrugged. “Not crazy. Just traditional.”
“You consider it traditional to propose within two days of meeting a woman?”
“Not just any woman. The Right Woman. It’s a family tradition. My father proposed to my mother the day his plane crashed on the beach right outside her family’s vacation home.” He smiled as he thought about the story that had been woven into the fabric of family legend. “He always said that he fell for her. Right out of the sky.”
“Isn’t that clever,” Grace said dryly.
She was, Lucas allowed, a tougher nut to crack than she’d appeared at first glance. Reminding himself that he’d always been a man to enjoy a challenge, he plowed forward. “Apparently my mama thought so. They were married three days later. They celebrated their thirty-fifth anniversary this June.”
“That’s nice,” she said.
“We think so.” Lucas considered thirty-five years with this woman a good start. “My grandpappy Virgil was a bit slower. It took him a week to talk my grandma Fancy into running off with him against her daddy’s wishes. She came from a rich planter’s family who didn’t think a man who sailed the seven seas was good enough for their only daughter, the belle of Raintree County.
“After they eloped, she was cut off from her family. Her name was even crossed off the family Bible. I’ve seen it,” he added, in case Grace might think him guilty of embellishing.
As he’d hoped, the story of forbidden love was too rich for her romance writer’s heart to ignore. “Did her parents ever relent?”
“Oh, sure. When my daddy was born nine months to the day after their wedding. They might have been stubborn, and they might not have approved of Fancy’s choice, but they were too tickled about bein’ grandparents to keep a decent pique going.”
She smiled at that. “That’s nice.”
“We’ve always thought so.” He switched lanes, then glanced in the rearview mirror again. “We Kincaid men always know the right woman when we see her,” he explained. “It’s a knack. Fancy says it’s a kind of second sight we brought with us from Scotland. Along with our determination. And, of course, our devastating good looks.”
“Not to mention your humility.” Her tone was cool, but amused.
“That, too,” he agreed good-naturedly. “The thing is, I’m a patient man, Gracie. I’m wilin’ to wait until you realize I’m right about us being a perfect match.”
She shook her head again, but her lips quirked in a way that suggested she was fighting back a reluctant smile. “You’re definitely not like any other man I’ve ever met.”
“You hit that nail on the head. But, of course, I could tell you were a clever woman the minute I walked into the oyster bar.” Actually, her mind hadn’t been the first thing that had attracted him to her, but Lucas saw no reason to complicate matters by quibbling over unimportant details. He reached out, captured her hand and held it between them. “Now that you’ve figured out that I’m one of a kind, falling in love with me is going to be as easy as falling off a log.”
She tugged her hand loose. “Into a pit of alligators.” Not a man to be easily deterred, or offended, he laughed.
“I’ve already been married,” she commented.
“Hey, I’m not going to hold that little mistake against you.” He shrugged. “At my age, I can’t expect a virgin bride anyway. If I wanted one. Which I don’t.”
“Well, that certainly comes as a relief.” They were approaching the soaring orange span of the Golden Gate Bridge. “So, how much sexual experience should your ideal female have?”
“Since my daddy taught me that a gentleman never kisses and tells, it follows that I don’t have any business asking a woman about her past dalliances. What you did before you met me doesn’t count, Grace. Because we’re both starting fresh right here and now.”
“There’s something you need to understand. This is a difficult time for me….”
“I can understand that,” he said helpfully. “After all, it’s got to be upsetting, worrying about some crackpot taking potshots at you. But believe me, Grade, I’m not going to let that happen.”
“That wasn’t what I was talking about…. Well, that, too,” she admitted, in what seemed to be an afterthought. “But what with the divorce, and losing my editor, the court battle over my name, not to mention beginning contract negotiations, I have neither the time nor the inclination for an affair.”
“Okay.” He surprised her by agreeing easily. “How about a three-night stand?”
“What happened to marriage?”
“Oh, that’s still on the drawing board. But since you have so many distractions right now, I figured the idea might be less threatening if you thought of it as merely sex.”
For not the first time since meeting this man, Grace found herself smiling at his easygoing attitude. “You really are impossible.”
“And right,” he said, taking her hand again and lifting it to his lips. Heat shot from her fingertips all the way to her toes.
“I don’t believe in love.” And hadn’t for a very long time.
“Liar,” he countered without heat as he laced their fingers together and rested their joined hands on his thigh. “It’s obvious from your writing that you’re a card-carrying romantic, sugar.”
“You read one of my books?” Pleasure mixed with anxiety born from a disconcerting need to know what he thought caused a tremor in her stomach.
“Last night. I had a bellman go buy one at the hotel gift shop. The one about the outlaw.”
“Desperado.”
“Yeah. I liked it. A lot, actually. It was an exciting story and you hooked me from the first line.”
She could feel herself beaming. There was no other word for it. And although once again Grace told herself that a compliment from this man should not mean so much, it did.
“You’re a romantic, Gracie,” Lucas repeated, nodding to himself. “And since meeting you, I’ve realized that I am, too.” Which had come as a surprise. “That’s why we’re destined for one of your happily-ever-after endings.”
The idea, as fantastic as it was, proved frighteningly appealing. As they crossed over the bay, Grace sternly reminded herself that a sensible woman, a woman who’d already been burned once by her emotions, could not possibly fall in love in two short days.
Beside her, Lucas looked out at the sun-spangled blue ocean and imagined making love to his new bride beneath an Alaskan midnight sun.
CHAPTER 8
SAUSALITO, located just across the Golden Gate Bridge, was a charming little Mediterranean-type village nestled along the shoreline, reminding Grace of the French Riviera. Rustic houses, quaint Victorians and soaring homes of redwood and glass crowded the hillsides, cascading down steep slopes to the sparkling blue bay. Grace was immediately charmed.
“Oh, it’s lovely,” she said as Lucas drove past the restaurants and shops lining Bridgeway Avenue. A sign at the marina declared the town to be a Nuclear Free Zone. In a bit of whimsy, another beside it announced it was also a Cholesterol Free Zone.
“It’s definitely more laid-back than the city.” He pulled the Porsche into the parking lot of the yacht club.
“Which is why it appeals to you,” she guessed.
> He shrugged. “I suppose cities have their appeal. And San Francisco is definitely one of the most appealing. If you like the fast life.”
“Which you don’t?” A man who enjoyed life in the urban fast lane probably wouldn’t be heading off to watch whales in Alaska.
Although her tone was casual, Lucas had the feeling that her reason for asking was more serious. Which is why he decided to answer honestly. “I’d rather be sailing.”
Her smile was quick and warm and pleased. “Me, too.”
That hurdle behind him, Lucas took their bags out of the car and began walking down the dock. The breeze blowing off the bay carried the scent of the sea, of salt and seaweed and exotic, faraway places.
In the distance, across the water, San Francisco gleamed golden in the sunshine like a grand dame wearing her best jewels. Moorings creaked as the boats bobbed on the water. Gulls whirled overhead, searching out fish or a tourist who’d prove generous with his french fries.
It was a perfect day. Almost too nice for thoughts of murder. It occurred to Lucas that he’d spent his entire adult life thinking about death. How to avoid his own, how to dispatch an enemy and then, during those days in that rat-infested Caribbean prison, how to stay out of the clutches of the grim reaper one day at a time.
Even the past eighteen months had focused on keeping clients from getting murdered. Even more reason, Lucas considered, why, after this conference was over, the closest he wanted to come to death would be a James Patterson thriller.
The Rebel’s Reward was berthed at the end of the dock. As he approached, Lucas felt that now familiar surge of pleasure at the sight of her sleek white hull.
He’d come a long way since the twenty-four-foot sloop he’d picked up at a bargain-basement price from a former SEAL living in Hawaii, whose wife had decided that the growing family needed a minivan more than a sailboat. The boats may have gotten bigger and more expensive, but Lucas’s love of life on the water hadn’t changed.
“Oh!” Grace drew in an appreciative breath as Lucas stopped in front of the ketch. “She’s absolutely gorgeous!”
Her honest, open appreciation assured him that he’d chosen exactly the right woman to fall in love with. “I like her,” he said mildly, not fooling either of them with his false modesty.
As he helped her onto the gleaming teak deck, Grace tried to match this boat, which must have cost a fortune, with the laid-back bodyguard whale watcher, and failed.
“What did you do?” she asked, running a hand over the gleaming brass rail, “discover a lost treasure ship? Or win her in a high-stakes poker game?” Now that she could imagine.
“It was a game, all right. But the computer kind. Virtual reality, actually. I invented one.”
“You invented a computer game?” She was discovering facets she never would have imagined. But then again, she’d only met him yesterday. “Like kids play in an arcade?”
He shrugged. “It didn’t start out that way. I originally developed the program for the Pentagon.”
“I see.” She shook her head and stared at him. “No, actually, I don’t. In fact, I’m having difficulty understanding what a man who could develop computer software for the Pentagon would be doing playing bodyguard to a romance writer.”
“Not just any romance writer,” he reminded her. “I told you, the minute I saw you—”
“I know. You fell in love.” As flattering as it was, as often as she’d written about love at first sight, Grace still wasn’t sure she believed in such a thing.
He rubbed his jaw and gave her a slow, measuring look. “Well, to be perfectly honest, it was probably more lust at first sight. But by the time I was lying on top of you in the Golden Gate Ballroom, I was definitely smitten.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. “So, why did you become a bodyguard in the first place?”
Another shrug. “Eighteen months ago I was out of work when I got a phone call from Samantha Slade. She was looking to expand her bodyguard agency and a friend had recommended me. Since I’d just gone off the wagon and was looking for a new direction in my life, I accepted her offer. Our deal allowed me to take only as many clients as I wanted, which left time to work on my program.”
“The Pentagon software.”
“Yeah.”
“Can you talk about it? What does it do?”
“It’s kind of complicated to explain, but I suppose you can say it’s an antiterrorist game. The government paid handsomely enough for it, but then, by one of those funny quirks of fate, it fell into the hands of an admiral whose daughter just happens to be the head of a gaming software company based in Menlo Park. She asked me to come up with a consumer version, and, as they say, the rest is history.” He glanced around the ketch with unmistakable pride.
“So now you’re rich.”
“Filthy. Is that a problem?”
“Are you kidding?” She laughed. “I’ve already been married to one man who only wanted my money….” Her voice drifted off as she realized what she’d been about to say. “Not that I thought you were anything like Robert.”
“I appreciate that greatly, darlin’.” His lips quirked as he tugged on a tawny strand of hair that had escaped today’s tidy knot.
“And I’m not in the market for marriage.”
“That’s all right,” he agreed easily. “You’ve had a lot on your mind the past couple days, so I won’t push. For now, at least. Then, after the conference wraps up, I’ll have all the way to Alaska to change your mind.”
“What makes you think I’ll even sail to Alaska with you?”
It was not an outright refusal. Lucas figured he was definitely making headway. “Because you can’t resist my Southern charm?” His fingers trailed down her cheek. “Because you tremble when I touch you?” Around her lips, which parted instinctively at the butterfly-light touch. “Because you want me as much as I want you?”
He lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers in a brief whisper of a kiss. “Because you can’t resist the idea of taking this sleek lady out onto the high seas and racing wherever the wind blows?”
Her lips softened beneath his; her bones felt as if they were melting in the summer sun. “Is this a multiple choice test?”
“In a way.” His lips plucked at hers. Teasing, tasting, tantalizing. He’d somehow managed to rid himself of the cases he’d been carrying beneath his arm and gathered her closer, so she could feel his warmth. “Pick an answer, Gracie.” His hands were kneading her waist “Any answer.”
If she were to be totally honest, she’d have to choose them all. “I’ll think about it,” she whispered instead against his mouth.
He lifted his head and smiled down at her. “That’s my girl.” Then his head swooped down again, like a seabird crashing into the surf.
Desire rose, a soaring tide in a storm-tossed sea. Her mind fogged as she dung to him while the ketch bobbed gently on the water. The mooring ropes made a low moaning sound as they rubbed against the dock. Rigging creaked, the wheeling gulls continued to cry, but with her blood roaring like the crash of waves in her ears, Grace could hear none of those familiar, beloved sea sounds.
Her response was as it had been before—hot and fast. And gloriously sweet Lucas had already grown accustomed to wanting her; he figured he’d still feel this grinding, delicious need when they were in their nineties. But because the need was threatening to swamp the desire, because he was tempted to drag her down onto the deck he’d spent days sanding and polishing, he managed, just barely, to once again back away from the edge.
He’d spent nearly his entire adult life on boats, but never had he felt as if the deck was tilting so dangerously beneath his feet. The only other time he’d felt like this was when he’d been deep-sea diving off the coast of New Zealand and had surfaced too fast from fathoms below. “One request.” He skimmed a not-very-steady finger down her nose. “Think fast.”
Emotions and words tangled in Grace’s throat, preventing speech. All she could do was
nod.
To her relief, the sexual tension eased for the time being as Lucas gave her a tour of the sixty-foot ketch. She did not have to pretend to be impressed as she oohed and aahed over the three staterooms; two heads, one with a tub and shower, the other with a shower; a spacious salon with an entertainment center; and galley complete with refrigerator-freezer, propane stove with eye-level oven, and microwave. There was even a washer and dryer and, amazingly, a diesel fireplace in the main stateroom.
“It’s nice on cold, rainy nights,” Lucas explained when she expressed surprise.
“I can imagine.” Too well, she discovered, as she pictured herself lying in that wide king-size berth with Lucas, while the rain pelted the overhead deck and a warm fire blazed. “She truly is a marvelous boat, Lucas.”
She dragged her gaze from that all-too-enticing bed and looked around the room. The wide windows allowed the daylight in, avoiding any submarine feeling; sunshine made the hand-rubbed cherry interior gleam like glass.
“My father always wanted a ketch like this,” she said.
“He used to talk about it a lot. We had a twenty-five foot sloop we’d take out on the Chesapeake, and I’d fantasize about the day I became a bestselling author and would be able to buy him his dream boat.”
“You knew that young that you wanted to write?”
“I think I was born a writer. My mother thought I should study something safe, to have a job to fall back on, like teaching, or something in the medical or computer professions. But I was always afraid I’d get stuck in a rut. Or worse yet, become comfortable there.”
“I’ve always thought safe was a close cousin to boring,” Lucas agreed. Even the debacle in the Caribbean hadn’t changed his mind about that.
Because her scent, which had blossomed in the close quarters, was already beginning to drive him crazy, and the nearby bed was proving too tempting, Lucas decided the time had come to put some distance between them. He touched his knuckles to her cheek. “I’ll let you unpack.”
How did he do it? Grace wondered yet again. How was it possible that all he had to do was to touch her, or even look at her in that warm, bone-melting way, to cause her mind to go as clear as glass? Because she wanted to cover his hand with hers, because she wanted to grab hold of him and pull him down onto that inviting bed, she backed away ever so slightly.