He's No Prince Charming

by LuAnn McLane

  “Well, you screamed. Again. To me, a female scream means a cry for help. For you, a scream is normal conversation.”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” she said, and wanted to push away but knew she couldn’t hoist herself up into the boat, so she was at his mercy. “All I wanted was some peace and quiet. I love it out here on the water.” She shrugged. “I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. Now, if you would just shove me up into the boat, I’ll be on my way,” Dakota said, and wished his bare shoulders didn’t feel so good beneath her hands. He was shirtless and, she guessed, in swim trunks. With his dark hair slicked back from his face he looked starkly masculine, and the urge to pull his head down for a hot kiss made her push at him and twist from his hold. “Okay, give me a shove.” She turned and angled her butt at him.

  The thought of putting his hands on her ass made Trace so hot, he wondered why steam wasn’t rising from the water. And it sure didn’t help that Dakota’s cotton halter top molded to her like a second skin, making it obvious that she was braless.

  “Well?” she asked over her shoulder, and then said, “Oh no! My flip-flop’s floating away!” Without warning, she started swimming out into the lake.

  “Dakota, wait!” Trace saw the ridiculous flower-topped flip-flop bobbing in the water. The problem was that there were several fishing boats out, and this area was a no-swimming zone. A speedboat coming by wouldn’t be watching out for swimmers, and his heart pounded with the same fear he experienced when he saw her fall into the water.

  Truthfully, he usually made his rounds to check up on things later in the day. It had been her he was checking up on this morning. “Dakota, get back here!” Trace shouted, but she kept swimming toward the rubber shoe. With a curse, he shot out after her, but she was a strong swimmer and had a head start on him. “Dakota! It’s dangerous!” he tried to warn as he swam as fast as he knew how. Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye he saw a boat zipping toward her.

  Trace doubled his efforts while praying the driver spotted the sun glinting off of her blond head. She reached for the flip-flop, but must have heard the whine of the engine and froze for a second before turning and swimming like the hounds of hell were after her. The boat passed a good six or eight feet from Dakota just as Trace reached her side, but in his mind it was still much too close for comfort.

  “Ohmigod!” she shouted, and with wide eyes threw her arms around his neck and clung while waves from the wake washed over them.

  Trace wanted to be angry, but she shivered in his arms. “Hey, you’re okay,” he soothed, and tightened his hold on her. “Let’s get you back to the boat.”

  She nodded into the crook of his neck. “Where did he come from?”

  “He shot out of a cove over there. Dakota, Willow Creek is strictly for fishing on this side, so the boaters don’t look for anyone swimming. It isn’t a no-wake zone this far from the marina, so they tend to fly like a bat outta hell down the main channel of the lake. I should have a talk with Grady about slowing things down.”

  Dakota shook her head. “No, don’t ruin their fun on account of my stupidity.” She blew out an exasperated sigh. “I am such a train wreck!”

  “Stop saying that,” he murmured in her ear, and if they hadn’t been bobbing near the middle of the lake, he might have kissed her. “Come on, swim next to me.”

  “Okay,” she glumly agreed, and moments later they were back at the boats. “All right, toss me up there, and I swear I’ll stay out of trouble. Maybe I’ll just head back to the cabin and crawl back in bed.”

  Now, that was an image he didn’t need in his head. “No, you come with me. There’s a ladder on my boat over there,” he said, and pointed to his Sea Ray Sun Sport. “We can tow the rowboat back to shore.”

  “All right.” She reluctantly nodded, and swam over to his boat.

  Trace unfolded and lowered the metal ladder before moving to the side so she could climb up onto the swim platform.

  “Nice boat,” she commented.

  “Thanks,” Trace managed to answer, but he just about swallowed his tongue when he saw that her thin white shorts were all but transparent from being wet, allowing him to see the outline of her panties. He swallowed a groan and willed his body not to have an immediate reaction that would be embarrassing in his board shorts that laced up the front. He should have averted his gaze, but simply did not have the willpower not to keep his eyes glued to her ass.

  Trace opened his mouth to tell Dakota he was going to swim and pull her rowboat over to his when her hands slipped off the top rung.

  “Whoa!” she shouted, and her very cute butt landed on his surprised face. Poetic justice for his ogling, he supposed, as he sunk beneath the water with Dakota in tow, since for some reason he felt compelled to grab her around the waist. They surfaced together, tangled in each other ’s arms and legs.

  Trace rubbed his face. “You could have simply said ‘Kiss my ass,’ ” he said, and she giggled. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me you didn’t mean to do that,” he commented dryly.

  “No, I didn’t,” she answered. “Truly,” she whispered, and looked at him for a long moment. “But you know what?”

  “What?” he asked, and could not take his eyes off of her mouth.

  “I do mean to do this,” she told him, and then pulled his head down for a kiss.

  Trace was taken by surprise, but then again, her taking him by surprise was becoming a habit. He couldn’t, however, even begin to turn away from the feel of her soft, warm lips pressed against his mouth. She was shy at first, but then groaned and opened her mouth in sweet invitation. Trace dug deep for willpower, but when the tip of her tongue touched his, any last shred of resistance melted.

  Trace grabbed the ladder with one hand and slipped his other arm around her waist. He pulled his mouth from hers just long enough to whisper hotly in her ear, “Wrap your legs around me.” When she complied, he cupped one hand around her ass and then crushed his mouth to hers while kissing her with a passion he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  The water lapped sensuously against them, cool and silky against warm skin. Trace moved his mouth from her lips to her neck and started a hot trail downward to her cleavage. He licked the warm, soft skin and dearly wanted to untie the knot around her neck, but was afraid that someone would see them, and so he pulled back and rested his forehead on hers while trying to regain his composure. “Dakota, I’m going to tug the rowboat back to shore and then you can go on my rounds with me, if you want to. I’ll show you some coves and secluded places where you can go for real peace and quiet.”

  She nodded and gave him a shy smile. “That sounds lovely.”

  “Good,” he said, all the while wondering why he was inviting her along with him when he had vowed to keep his distance. “You’ll find towels down in the cabin,” he offered.

  Dakota looked at him in surprise. “Cabin?”

  Trace nodded. “It’s small, just a weekender, but serviceable. There’s a head, if you need it too.”

  “Nice,” she said, and made her way up the ladder, this time without mishap.

  “Toss me a rope,” Trace requested when she was inside the cockpit.

  “Here you go,” she said, and disappeared from view.

  Trace swam over and secured the rowboat to his Sea Ray, climbed up the ladder and folded it back into place. A moment later, Dakota, wrapped in a towel, emerged from the cabin.

  “It’s nice down there. Bigger than I thought,” she said. “Having a bathroom is sweet.”

  “You mean a head.”

  “Right. There’s even a kitchen.”

  “Galley,” he corrected her with a grin. “Get with the program, Princess.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain,” she said, and gave him a sharp salute.

  “Now, that’s more like it,” Trace responded, and almost grinned again. “You may own the marina, but I’m the boss of this boat.”

  Dakota laughed. “Agreed,” she said, and sat down in the passenger
’s seat across from Trace. She snuggled in the soft beach towel while they made their way back to the dock. Although the distance was fairly short, it was slow going with the rowboat in tow, but Dakota didn’t mind. She entertained herself pretending to enjoy the passing scenery when she was really observing Trace from behind her sunglasses. His long hair blew in the wind, and in his blue board shorts and mirrored Oakleys, he appeared young and carefree—and he should be, she thought with a touch of sadness.

  He stood up in front of the driver ’s seat and carefully drove at the required idle speed past boat slips and over to the side of the dock near the kitchen. Gil, who was lapping up water from a big bowl, barked in greeting as he ran over to meet them. A moment later, Sierra came out the back door with her hands on her hips.

  “Gil, what the hell you barkin’ about?” she shouted, but then waved in their direction. “What are y’all doin’?” she asked, and walked over to Trace’s boat. She looked at the rowboat that Trace was tying up and then at Dakota, who remained wrapped in the beach towel. “Don’t tell me you fell in the lake.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you,” Dakota replied, but felt heat creep into her cheeks.

  Sierra turned her attention to Trace. “Will you tell me what happened?” she asked in her usual no-nonsense tone, but Dakota noticed, with some satisfaction, that Sierra looked cute in her shorts and tank top. While her hair was in her customary ponytail, she had styled it artfully sloppily, and she also wore some subtle pink lip gloss and mascara. “Well?” She raised her arms in the air and looked at him expectantly. “This is gonna be good. I can tell.”

  While absently petting Gil, Trace said, “She leaned over and fell in.”

  “What? That’s it?”

  Dakota stood up and came to the side of the boat. “Now, wait a minute. A bird pooped on me, for heaven’s sake! While I was leaning over cleaning it off, Grady went flying by in his fishing boat and then I fell in,” she clarified, and gave Trace a look warning to not tell the flip-flop story. “Do not laugh,” she warned Sierra. “Or I’ll kick your butt.”

  Sierra rolled her eyes. “You gotta say it like you mean it, Dakota. And say ass, not butt.”

  “Okay, how’s this?” She cleared her throat and stood up straighter. “Don’t you dare laugh, or I’ll kick your ever-lovin’ ass!” She jutted her chin in the air for good measure.

  “Should I ask what’s going on here?” Trace inquired with a slow shake of his head.

  “No,” Sierra answered firmly.

  “Then that means you two are up to no good,” he replied. Gil put his paw on Trace’s leg, begging for more, when Trace paused from scratching his ears. But Trace straightened up from his kneeling position and absently rubbed his thigh. Dakota had noticed, though, that he seemed to be walking a bit better, but she wasn’t about to ask or comment on it.

  “Lucky you happened to be out on the lake and spotted Dakota floppin’ around in the water.”

  “I wasn’t flopping around,” Dakota protested, but it was now pretty obvious that Trace was out watching after her and not on his regular rounds. She knew he wouldn’t like it if she called him on the fact, but felt another shot of warm fuzzies that he cared enough to take the time to keep her safe. He continued to be her reluctant hero, but was her hero yet again, like it or not.

  Ever since her career went down the toilet, she had gotten used to no one caring. Sure, her mom and dad called, and she visited them in Florida when she could. They cared, but after that, the list was rather short. Caring, she decided as she looked over at Trace, was pretty damned sexy.

  “Hey, Sierra,” Trace said, “I’m going to show Dakota around the lake. Is there something in the kitchen you can toss us together for lunch?”

  “Sure, I just made a batch of potato salad, and I’m having cold cuts, and cookies for dessert if Grady hasn’t eaten them all. Sound good?” Sierra asked.

  “Perfect,” Trace answered. “A jug of sweet tea would be great too. That okay with you, Dakota?”

  “Sure,” she answered, “but are you sure about leaving your office? I don’t want you to have a mountain of work staring you in the face on my account.”

  “I’m caught up,” he promised her. “And I’ll have my phone on, if anyone needs me. By the way, here’s your tote bag from the boat,” he said, and handed it to her. “I think I heard your phone ring.”

  “Thanks. I almost forgot about it!”

  “I’ll be back with your lunch in a few minutes,” Sierra said, and when Trace tuned his back, she gave Dakota a thumbs-up, widened her eyes, and wiggled her eyebrows. When Trace turned back around, she schooled her face back into a serious expression.

  Dakota covered her mouth to hide her smile and thought how much fun it was to have a girlfriend again. Her circle of friends from her singing days disappeared when her career took a tumble, and she missed female companionship. In a very short time, this little marina was beginning to feel like home more than L.A. ever did.

  “Dakota, I’m going to pop in my office and check my e-mail while Sierra’s packing our lunch. You need anything else?”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ll just dry off here in the sunshine,” she said with a smile.

  Trace didn’t smile back, but she did get a brief nod. She had the feeling he wanted to spend some time with her, but then again was kicking himself in the butt—ass—for asking her to go on the cruise around the lake. She wasn’t about to let him get out of it, though, and vowed that before the day was over, she would wrangle another smile from her cranky but oh-so-very-sexy cowboy.

  And maybe a kiss or two as well.

  16

  Dakota Dunn’s Day Off

  “Don’t do this to yourself, Trace,” Sierra said as she handed him the big bag of food.

  “Do what to myself?” he asked in a short tone.

  Sierra pointed to his face. “Fret, worry. Turn that frown upside down.”

  “You did not just say that.”

  “Apparently, I’ve been hangin’ around the princess too much. Listen, just enjoy an afternoon on the lake. The weather is amazing.” Sierra put a hand on his arm. “The two of you need this.” Need each other hung silently in the air.

  “Right, I need this like I need another hole in my head,” Trace grumbled, but took the bulging bag and thanked her. But as he walked down the dock to his boat, he racked his brain for a reason to back out. Not only did he have a hard time keeping his hands off Dakota, but also he was beginning to care way too much for his comfort. Taking her out on the water and into secluded coves like he promised spelled trouble. So when he approached her, Trace was prepared to tell her he had too much work to do after all.

  But then she looked up from petting Gil and smiled.

  And Trace was a goner.

  “You ready?”

  “Sure!” When she nodded, he offered her a hand up and was amazed that he was affected by even that brief contact. “Okay, let’s go!” Her bright enthusiasm and eager smile lit a pilot light deep inside Trace that had gone out long ago, and he felt a sudden energy and lightness in his step.

  Gil barked his protest at being left behind, since Trace often took the dog along, but he thought he would have his hands full with Dakota.

  “Aw, Gil wants to come with us,” Dakota said, and Trace was somehow pleased at her softhearted nature toward the dog. “Does he like the water?”

  Trace nodded as he stepped onto the boat. “Yeah, I take him with me once in a while, but we’ll be tying up or anchoring, and he tends to run off to explore. Maybe next time,” he answered.

  “Okay,” she answered with a smile, and Trace could have kicked himself for mentioning a next time when he shouldn’t even be doing a this time. “Here,” she offered, and reached for the bag. “I’ll stash lunch in the fridge while you get us up and running.”

  “It’s heavy,” he warned as he handed her the big bag.

  “Got it.”

  When she disappeared into the galley below, he thought how in some
ways this felt natural and cou plelike. At times when he was with her, he totally forgot and let down his guard. He didn’t think about his scarred face or his bum leg, and actually relaxed. The water had a way of settling him down too. Once Dakota was back up in the cockpit, he maneuvered them out of the marina and into the middle of the lake.

  “You ready?”

  “You betcha!”

  “Okay, then.” Trace opened up the engines, and when the boat leveled out, they skimmed across the water. He stood up to steer while carefully watching for other traffic and occasional logs floating on the water. The wind whipped through his hair and the sunshine felt warm on his shoulders and back. After a few moments, Dakota stood up as well and smiled over at him. When he automatically smiled back, she laughed with such pure delight that he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head.

  “Woo-hoo! Dakota Dunn’s day off!” She laughed when the wind caught her hair. She twisted it around her fist and turned her face up to the sun, and Trace realized that Sierra had been right—they both needed this. He wasn’t sure about the details that brought Dakota to Willow Creek Marina, but he sensed there was stress and heartache that she was trying to escape. While he had cautioned himself not to become personally involved, if she chose to confide in him, he would listen. Trace knew full well how destructive it was to keep things bottled up inside, and he did not want that for her.

  After a while he slowed down and turned into one of his favorite coves, where the bank was jagged and steep. Pine trees seemed to defy nature and hugged the cliff, growing out of very little soil, scrawny but determined. Wildflowers added a splash of color in contrast to the vivid green trees and gray shale overlaid by limestone. The water became shallow in spots, so he navigated with caution before killing the engine.

  “This is beautiful back in here,” Dakota commented. “I seem to remember coming to this cove with my daddy.” She inhaled deeply and said, “Will you listen to that?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Silence except for the rustle of the gentle breeze tickling the leaves.”

  “Tickling the leaves?”

  Dakota laughed. “Yeah, I think I’ll jot that down. I really need to start writing some songs.”