Woo her?
But if it included the way he was looking at her, the way he cupped her face in his hands and softened his voice, she’d be okay with a little wooing.
“In fact, I’ll wait until you’re sure, and I’ll ask you again.”
He would?
“And this time, I’ll do it right. Because you’re my future, Jess Tagg.”
Then he smiled, leaned down, and kissed her again, this time so achingly soft, she wanted him to be her future too.
Right?
6
MAYBE IAN SHOULD HAVE taken Sierra up on her offer to leave twenty-four hours ago when she’d found him in the galley.
He hadn’t meant to be quite so flippant with his greeting. “Hey, Sierra. Ready for our three-day tour?” The look on her face didn’t exactly give itself to joy.
For the first time since getting on the plane, since racing down to Galveston to not only intercept her but with the apparently vain hope of helping her, he considered walking away.
Because Sierra was right. She didn’t need his help.
Except, it was his boat. And his crew. And his friends. And frankly, the fact that she so easily dismissed him tied him into a frustrating knot.
The knot inside only tightened when she put her hands on her hips, set her jaw, and practically glared at him in a way he’d never seen before.
Not just angry, but annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
And it hit him again, painfully, that Sierra no longer worked for him. More, nothing remained of the shadow of guilt and shame that usually hued her expression. Nothing but a downright vexation at the fact that he’d had the audacity to crash her party.
On his boat, no less.
So he said something even more stupid. “I’m here because I own the place.”
Her mouth clamped shut, and she closed her eyes, as if conceding.
And he’d turned into a jerk. So, “And I just wanted to make sure everyone was on their best behavior . . . for you.”
A pansy save, but she opened her eyes then, an enigmatic look on her face. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He’d glanced then at the bosun, a strapping ex-Marine who came with the crew. He stood just a little back from Sierra, as if ready to protect her.
His posture reminded Ian that yes, he did need to be here, making sure everyone was, well, on their very best behavior.
Sierra had let out a sigh and come into the galley, extending her hand to the chef, a woman with short blonde hair and thick arms. She wore a chef’s coat and met Sierra’s grip. “I read over the menu you sent,” Sierra said. “Did you get my allergy and palate recommendations?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the chef said, glancing quickly at Ian.
“Can you explain to me the change in orders, then?” Sierra asked.
“That was my fault, Sierra. I just know that Hayes likes red snapper, and Dex is a fan of Kobe beef, so I upgraded a few choices.”
She kept her smile but grabbed him by the elbow. “A word? On the deck?”
He’d never seen her this way, and he couldn’t avoid the sense of being dressed down as she hiked out of the galley, across the dining room, through the sitting area and the double doors to the deck.
Out of earshot, where the sky arched dark and wide, the glittering lights of Galveston in the distance. The scent of brine and seaweed lingered in the air, and the heat, tempered by the cool sea breezes, warmed his skin.
Sierra stood in the moonlight, the glow of the ship illuminating her expression, the wind catching her dark hair and whipping it around her face. She pulled a strand out of her mouth, pushed it behind her ears.
She was still wearing her traveling clothes, a sleeveless shirt, leggings, and flip-flops.
For a brief, unbidden moment, he wondered if she’d brought a bikini.
Oh boy, maybe his presence on this trip was a bad idea.
“Ian,” she said in a tone that sounded very reminiscent of the days when she’d tried to talk sense into him, “once upon a time, you trusted me. You let me into every corner of your life, let me plan it, anticipate your needs. You thought I was capable.”
Oh no. “Sierra, of course I think you’re capable.”
“Well, then, why are you here? I can only believe that you don’t think I’ll treat your friends well.”
“What? Hardly. In fact, I’m here because—”
And, full stop. Because the next few words out of his mouth would only confirm for her—and frankly, him—how desperate this trip south suddenly appeared.
What did he think, that she’d fall madly in love with Hayes and suddenly appear in the wives section of the Texas Thunder stadium?
Okay, maybe.
Or that Dex Crawford might unleash his cowboy charm on her and . . .
Oh boy. Yes, indeed, Ian was a desperate, even jealous man.
Sierra was staring up at him, her gaze accusing as he stumbled into the silence.
“Yes?”
“I just . . . I just want to make sure the yacht . . . runs well.”
This seemed to appease her because Sierra caught her lip between her teeth, as if assessing him. Her voice softened. “Nothing’s going to happen, Ian. We’re going to be fine. This isn’t Gilligan’s tour—we’re not going to encounter a rogue storm, go down in the middle of the Caribbean, and end up on a desert island.” She wore a smirk.
“Funny. I know, I just . . .”
Her smile fell. “I promise you, I have my entire life riding on this gig. I’ve thought of everything—from food to sleeping arrangements to activities. Every detail is mapped out, and nothing bad is going to happen. Please, go home.”
He felt like a cad. So what if Hayes tried to charm her with his football stats. She barely watched the game. And as for Dex, well, she knew his best friend pretty well. Knew Dex’s charming, playboy reputation.
Yes, Sierra was much smarter than he’d given her credit for. “Sierra, I know you can do this—”
“No, Ian, you don’t understand. I’m going to get this funding, no matter what it takes. Which means I’m going to treat your friends like royalty.”
Her words, however, wavered.
Huh.
As if she knew it, she folded her arms across her chest.
It was the telltale swallow that rattled him.
“Sierra, are you okay?” Because it appeared like she might be about to . . . cry?
She looked away.
What? And worse, did he cause this?
He softened his voice, took a step toward her. “Sierra, I’m not here to make a mess of your plans. In fact, I want to help. Let me be your assistant.”
The words sounded funny, even to him, and she reacted the same way, her eyes growing big.
“No, that’s not a good . . . No.”
And because he had her flustered, and blinking away any hint of tears, he pressed it.
“Why not? It’ll be fun. You be the boss this time. Tell me what to do. I’ll even call you sir.”
“I never called you sir.”
“A few times, yes.”
“No—”
“You did. And Mr. Shaw, even after I begged you not to, Miss Rose.”
And finally, finally, the smallest of smiles edged up her face. She shook her head.
“What?”
“You’re going to put on an apron, carry out caviar on a tray?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”
“Help Dexter clean the fish he catches?”
“Into perfect steaks.”
“Swab the deck?”
“What does that mean, anyway? Swab.” He’d taken another step toward her until he was so close . . . wait. Her eyes glistened again, and she suddenly looked away and wiped a finger under them. He couldn’t seem to get anything right. “Sierra,” he said again softly. “What’s the matter?”
She drew in a breath. “Nothing. I’m just being silly.”
He stifled the urge to tuck his hand under her chin, turn her
to face him. Oh, baby. “You are not silly.”
Her gaze hung on him and he swallowed, his chest thundering because her eyes were so amazingly beautiful. Still possessed the power to haunt him.
“Remember when you asked me to stay and watch the sunset, so many years ago?” she said.
Vividly. He nodded.
She looked away, just as he’d nearly surrendered to thumbing away the wetness under her eyes. “That’s when I thought, maybe, we had more than just a working relationship. That we could be real friends.”
“We . . .” He took a breath. “We were.”
She swallowed.
“I’m still your friend, Sierra,” he said, his throat suddenly thick. “I know I’ve been a pretty lousy one, though. But I do care about you.”
And that sounded so thin and paltry compared to the wave of feelings in his chest.
She smiled, however, and he held back.
“I just . . . oh, I don’t know. There’s so much riding on this, and I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed. I mean, PEAK could very well go under, and with Jess’s near disaster, on top of my house burning—”
“Your house burned?”
She made a face. “I had it burned—you know, to save costs on cleanup. I’m underwater at the bank. But I don’t know . . . something about watching it burn. Memories, you know, just . . . gone.”
He did know, because he had memories of that house too. Sitting with her on her front porch, nearly declaring how he felt about her after kissing her the night before. Instead, he’d apologized. Promised that it would never happen again.
He couldn’t count how many times he had returned to her front porch in his mind for a different ending to that scene.
“I’m sorry, Sierra. That’s . . . that’s rough.”
“It wasn’t like the house was repairable. But it’s so final. And now with Willow and Sam getting serious . . . My mother thinks he’s going to propose.”
Clearly Ian had been too wrapped up in his own problems to notice.
“I’m super happy for her,” Sierra continued. “It’s just that everyone has someone—even Jess has Pete. Or hopes to.”
Wow, he needed to catch up.
“And I have PEAK. That’s it. Just the team. And if I don’t raise this money, then . . . well, we’re running on fumes anyway.”
They were? “Just how in the hole is PEAK?”
Sierra had walked out to the railing and stood gripping it as she stared into the water. “Enough that Sam is thinking of absorbing the team into the Mercy Falls EMS system.”
No more PEAK. And just like that, Ian saw his legacy vanish.
He swallowed past the boulder in his throat.
“We can’t let that happen,” he managed.
She looked up at him then, and a smile tugged at her mouth, found her eyes. “Really? We?”
Anything for the way she looked at him. And right then, he realized.
He could fix this. Yes, save PEAK, but more importantly, become real friends with Sierra, the kind who weren’t obstructed by a boss/employee relationship. Where she depended on him, laughed with him.
Let him back into her world. Maybe even stood at the rail and watched the sunset with him, not because he’d asked but because she wanted to be with him.
So, he ducked his head, saluted, and offered a slow, easy grin. “You’re the boss, baby. Call me first mate.”
Words that just might get him into trouble now twelve hours later, because here he was about to step out of line as their first guest, his old pal Hayes Buoye, came aboard.
If possible, Hayes had doubled in size. In bulk, arm girth, and presence. His charm hadn’t dimmed, either. He was just as handsome, with his mocha skin and his dark brown eyes.
His voice was smooth, nauseatingly charming as he said, with a touch of Southern twang, “Why, Sierra Rose, you’re looking every bit as beautiful as your name. As usual.”
Then he leaned over and gave Sierra a hug.
Ian stood there, wanting to shove a hand between them. Maybe remind Hayes whose ship he’d stepped onto.
Especially when Sierra hugged him back, then turned to Ian. “Would you carry Hayes’s luggage to his stateroom, Ian?”
That was what they had Kelley for. The comment nearly broached Ian's lips. Instead, he managed an “Aye, aye” and chased it with a tight smile.
But when she met his smile . . . okay, yes. He’d play nicely.
For Sierra.
Sierra longed to believe that Ian meant his words from last night.
“You’re the boss, baby.”
They found her tender places, lit a long-simmering hope that yes, maybe someday they might find equal footing.
Even a way to be friends again.
She probably shouldn’t have treated him quite so harshly, but the fact that the man had flown down from Montana to babysit her—it felt like a slap.
Five years she’d worked for him. Dotted his i’s, crossed his t’s, and generally polished every corner of his life until it shone. She knew how to cater to the ultra-wealthy, how to disappear into a corner, reappear when needed.
And sure, these were Ian’s friends. All of them, at one time or another, had visited Ian on his ranch or met him at some gala event, during which they’d met Sierra.
She’d talked to them on the phone, written emails to their assistants, and probably knew their preferences better than Ian did.
Of course she could handle this, and his weird pause after she’d reminded him of that fact had her unnerved.
What did he think she’d do—beg his friends for help?
Okay, if it came to that, but . . .
And then she’d done the unthinkable and unraveled in front of him. Oh, how she wanted to rewind that moment, push pause, pull herself together. But he’d been standing there looking so determined to help her.
His softly spoken words didn’t help, either. “We can’t let that happen.”
We. He’d lumped them together, like a team.
Ian and Sierra.
It stirred up every forbidden hope, every errant dream.
He only added fuel when he suggested she call him first mate.
Um, never. Because despite Ian’s eagerness to help—from arranging flowers in the staterooms to showing up like Johnny-on-the-spot to greet his guests and carry luggage, she knew he was only playing a game.
But he played the game very, very well. Like his quiet acquiescence when she suggested he carry Hayes’s bags.
Or later when he and Kelley did a maintenance overview of the fuel and oil levels on the Jet Skis, then checked on the life raft, tucked inside a square box in the stern.
Admittedly, Sierra had allowed herself a moment of appreciation as Ian worked. He wore a baseball hat backward, a pair of aviator sunglasses, a loose tank, and a pair of cargo shorts. Just another deckhand, his arm muscles flexing as he moved equipment.
He’d looked up once, grinned, offered a thumbs-up.
Okay, this might work.
Sierra pushed her way into the kitchen where “Cat” Cordello was just plating the apple chutney and baked Brie appetizer. “This smells delicious. What’s the ETA? The guests are assembling for a toast before we’re away.”
She liked Cat. The cook had taken Ian’s upgraded changes and woven them into Sierra’s menu without a fuss.
Probably because she also secretly knew who was in charge.
That put a fine point to the charade. What was he doing here? Ian was no more her first mate than she was Captain Hook.
And really, he wasn’t her friend, either. Could never be because, well, she would never be in Ian’s league no matter how much she longed for it. He simply looked at life differently. Money and opportunity came to him as natural as breathing.
While she was really one bad turn of luck away from living in her car.
Besides, with friends like Noelly Crawford in his airspace, Ian would never take a second look at her. It just took his reaction when Noelly followed Dex
aboard for Sierra to realize that truth. In fact, it suddenly became abundantly, painfully clear just why Ian had changed his mind and headed south.
Or maybe all his rich friends greeted each other with a kiss on the lips.
Although Vanessa hadn’t exactly popped him a full-on kiss, had she? She’d simply kissed his cheek.
She’d done the same to Hayes, who’d changed and was lounging on the top deck near the whirlpool in his deck shorts and a tank that did little to hide his magnificent football physique.
Noelly had all but ignored Sierra when she stepped onto the boat—with Kelley’s help. Not Dex, however, who made her feel as if he were actually glad to see her.
Sierra wasn’t sure if Noelly would join them, her invitation extended through Dex. But she’d prepared her a room anyway, knowing that anywhere Ian would be, Noelly would probably also show up. Sierra would simply have to avert her eyes to Noelly’s flirting.
Ian had carried Dex’s suitcase to his room but hadn’t returned.
Probably changing into his lounge clothes, ready to assume his place with his friends. After all, it was his boat, as he’d pointed out.
Oh, what was her problem that she expected so little from Ian?
Cat handed her the tray of Brie. “You’re all set. I’ll send Kelley and Erica to the deck with drinks.”
“Thanks,” Sierra said and headed out to the back deck.
She stood for a minute, however, at the double doors, just assessing the group.
Ian Shaw possessed a magnificent and generous bunch of friends. Not only wealthy, but beautiful.
Vanessa White, the head of the White Group, a charity conglomerate that ran the funds of some of the biggest corporations in the world, wore a white sundress, a stunning contrast to her dark skin. Half Asian, half Puerto Rican, Vanessa bore the exotic beauty of an international model, her lean body nearly as tall as Hayes’s.
Seated on the bench, her legs curled up under her, blonde and model-gorgeous Noelly listened to Hayes talk. A smile played on her lips, and she curled a finger around a lock of her blonde hair that was tied up in a messy bun. She’d changed into linen pants and a bikini top.
Dex stood at the rail, his phone out. He lifted it to take a picture, and Vanessa waved, leaning in, her hand touching Hayes’s shoulder. Dex Crawford could make a girl stop in her tracks, handsome with his dark blond hair, the perfect length of golden five-o’clock grizzle, and pale green-blue eyes. He’d honed his body like a man with a trainer, and his open shirt revealed six-pack abs. He too wore linen pants, cinched at the waist, and tucked a bare foot onto the railing for balance.
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