Kitabı oku: «Twelve Nights Of Temptation»

One

A banging on Tasha Lowell’s bedroom door jarred her awake. It was midnight in the Whiskey Bay Marina staff quarters, and she’d been asleep for less than an hour.

“Tasha?” Marina owner Matt Emerson’s voice was a further jolt to her system, since she’d been dreaming about him.

“What is it?” she called out, then realized he’d never hear her sleep-croaky voice. “What?” she called louder as she forced herself from beneath the covers.

It might be unseasonably warm on the Pacific Northwest coast, but it was still December, the holiday season, and the eight-unit staff quarters building had been around since the ’70s.

“Orca’s Run broke down off Tyree, Oregon.”

“What happened?” she asked reflexively as she crossed the cold wooden floor on her bare feet. Even as she said the words, she knew it was a foolish question. Wealthy, urbane Matt Emerson wouldn’t know an injector pump from an alternator.

She swung the door open, coming face-to-face with the object of what she suddenly remembered had been a very R-rated dream.

“The engine quit. Captain Johansson says they’re anchored in the bay.”

This was very bad news. Tasha had been chief mechanic at Whiskey Bay Marina for less than two weeks, and she knew Matt had hesitated in giving her the promotion. He’d be right to hold her responsible for not noticing a problem with Orca’s Run’s engine or not anticipating some kind of wear and tear.

“I serviced it right before they left.” She knew how important this particular charter was to the company.

Orca’s Run was a ninety-foot yacht, the second largest in the fleet. It had been chartered by Hans Reinstead, an influential businessman out of Munich. Matt had recently spent considerable effort and money getting a toehold in the European market, and Hans was one of his first major clients. The last thing Whiskey Bay Marina needed was for the Reinstead family to have a disappointing trip.

Tasha grabbed the red plaid button-down shirt she’d discarded on a chair and put it on over her T-shirt. Then she stepped into a pair of heavy cargo pants, zipping them over her flannel shorts.

Matt watched her progress as she popped a cap on top of her braided hair. Socks and work boots took her about thirty seconds, and she was ready.

“That’s it?” he asked.

“What?” She didn’t understand the question.

“You’re ready to go?”

She glanced down at herself, then looked back into the dim bedroom. “I’m ready.” The necessities that most women carried in a purse were in the zipped pockets of her pants.

For some reason, he gave a crooked smile. “Then let’s go.”

“What’s funny?” she asked as she fell into step beside him.

“Nothing.”

They started down the wooden walkway that led to the Whiskey Bay Marina pier.

“You’re laughing,” she said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re laughing at me.” Did she look that bad rolling straight out of bed? She rubbed her eyes, lifted her cap to smooth her hair and tried to shake some more sense into her brain.

“I’m smiling. It’s not the same thing.”

“I’ve amused you.” Tasha hated to be amusing. She wanted people, especially men, especially her employer, to take her seriously.

“You impressed me.”

“By getting dressed?”

“By being efficient.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t quite sexist...maybe...

She let it drop.

They went single file down the ramp with him in the lead.

“What are we taking?” she asked.

“Monty’s Pride.”

The answer surprised her. Monty’s Pride was the biggest yacht in the fleet, a 115-footer, refurbished last year to an impeccably high standard. It was obvious what Matt intended to do.

“Do you think we’ll need to replace Orca’s Run?” She’d prefer to be optimistic and take the repair boat instead. Monty’s Pride would burn an enormous amount of fuel getting to Tyree. “There’s a good chance I can fix whatever’s gone wrong.”

“And if you can’t?”

“What did the captain say happened?” She wasn’t ready to admit defeat before they’d even left the marina.

“That it quit.”

It was a pathetic amount of information.

“Did it stop all of a sudden?” she asked. “Did it slow? Was there any particular sound, a smell? Was there smoke?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“You should have asked.”

Matt shot her a look of impatience, and she realized she’d stepped over the line. He was her boss after all.

“I’m just thinking that taking Monty’s Pride is a whole lot of fuel to waste,” she elaborated on her thinking. “We can save the money if I can do a quick repair.”

“We’re not even going to try a quick repair. I’ll move the passengers and crew over to Monty’s Pride while you fix whatever’s gone wrong.”

Tasha hated that her possible negligence would cost the company so much money. “Maybe if I talk to the captain on the radio.”

“I don’t want to mess around, Tasha.” Matt punched in the combination for the pier’s chain-link gate and swung it open.

“I’m not asking you to mess around. I’m suggesting we explore our options. Monty’s Pride burns a hundred gallons an hour.”

“My priority is customer service.”

“This is expensive customer service.”

“Yes, it is.”

His tone was flat, and she couldn’t tell if he was angry or not.

She wished she was back in her dream. Matt had been so nice in her dream. They’d been warm, cocooned together, and he’d been joking, stroking her hair, kissing her mouth.

Wait. No. That was bad. That wasn’t what she wanted at all.

“I want Hans Reinstead to go back to Germany a happy man,” Matt continued. “I want him to rave to his friends and business associates about the over-the-top service he received, even when there was a problem. Whether we fix it in five minutes or five hours is irrelevant. They had a breakdown, and we upgraded them. People love an upgrade. So much so, that they’re generally willing to gloss over the reason for getting it.”

Tasha had to admit it was logical. It was expensive, but it was also logical.

Matt might be willing to take the financial hit in the name of customer service, but if it turned out to be something she’d missed, it would be a black mark against her.

They approached the slip where Monty’s Pride was moored. A crew member was on deck while another was on the wharf, ready to cast off.

“Fuel?” Matt asked the young man on deck.

“Three thousand gallons.”

“That’ll do,” Matt said as he crossed the gangway to the stern of the main deck.

Tasha followed. Monty’s Pride’s twin diesel engines rumbled beneath them.

“Is my toolbox on board?” she asked.

“We put it in storage.”

“Thanks.” While they crossed the deck, she reviewed Orca’s Run’s engine service in her mind. Had she missed something, a belt or a hose? She thought she’d checked them all. But nobody’s memory was infallible.

“It could be as simple as a belt,” she said to Matt.

“That will be good news.” He made his way to the bridge, and she followed close behind.

She had to give it one last shot, so as soon as they were inside, she went for the radio, dialing in the company frequency. “Orca’s Run, this is Monty’s Pride. Captain, are you there?”

While she did that, he slid open the side window and called out to the hand to cast off.

She keyed the mike again. “Come in, Orca’s Run.”

Matt brought up the revs and pulled away from the pier.

* * *

Matt knew he had taken a gamble by using Monty’s Pride instead of the repair boat, but so far it looked like it had been the right call. Two hours into the trip down the coast, even Tasha had been forced to admit a quick fix wasn’t likely. She’d had Captain Johansson walk her through a second-by-second rehash of the engine failure over the radio, asking him about sounds, smells and warning lights. Then she had him send a deckhand back and forth from the engine room for a visual inspection and to relay details.

He’d been impressed by her thorough, methodical approach. But in the end, she concluded that she needed to check the engine herself. There was nothing to do for the next three hours but make their way to Tyree.

It was obvious she was ready to blame herself.

But even if the breakdown turned out to be her fault, it wasn’t the end of the world. And they didn’t even know what had happened. It was way too early to start pointing fingers.

“You should lie down for a while,” he told her.

She looked tired, and there was no point in both of them staying up all night.

“I’m fine.” She lifted her chin, gazing out the windshield into the starry night.

There were clusters of lights along the shore, only a few other ships in the distance, and his GPS and charts were top-notch. It was an easy chore to pilot the boat single-handed.

“You don’t have to keep me company.”

“And you don’t have to coddle me.”

“You have absolutely nothing to prove, Tasha.” He knew she took pride in her work, and he knew she was determined to do a good job after her promotion. But sleep deprivation wasn’t a job requirement.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. Did you get any sleep at all? Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine.” He knew she was perfectly capable of piloting the boat, but he’d feel guilty leaving all the work to her.

“No need for us both to stay awake,” she said.

“My date ended early. I slept a little.”

Since his divorce had been finalized, Matt and his friend TJ Bauer had hit the Olympia social circuit. They were pushing each other to get out and meet new people. They met a few women, most were nice, but he hadn’t felt a spark with any of them, including the one he’d taken out tonight. He’d come home early, done a little Christmas shopping online for his nieces and nephews and dozed off on the sofa.

“You don’t need to tell me about your dates,” Tasha said.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Her tone was lighter. It sounded like she was joking. “It might help pass the time.”

“Sorry,” he said lightly in return. “I wish I could be more entertaining. What about you?” he asked.

As he voiced the question, he found himself curious about Tasha’s love life. Did she have a boyfriend? Did she date? She was always such a no-nonsense fixture at the marina, he didn’t think of her beyond being a valued employee.

“What about me?” she asked.

“Do you ever go out?”

“Out where?”

“Out, out. On-a-date out. Dinner, dancing...”

She scoffed out a laugh.

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

“Why not?” Now he was really curious. She might dress in plain T-shirts and cargo pants, but underneath what struck him now as a disguise, she was a lovely woman. “Don’t you like to dress up? Do you ever dress up?”

He tried to remember if he’d ever seen her in anything stylish. He couldn’t, and he was pretty sure he’d remember.

She shifted on the swivel chair, angling toward him. “Why the third degree?”

“Since stories of my dates won’t distract us, I thought maybe yours could.” He found himself scrutinizing her face from an objective point of view.

She had startling green eyes, the vivid color of emeralds or a glacial, deep-water pond. They were framed in thick lashes. Her cheekbones were high. Her chin was the perfect angle. Her nose was narrow, almost delicate. And her lips were deep coral, the bottom slightly fuller than the top.

He wanted to kiss them.

“Nothing to tell,” she said. Her voice jolted him back to reality, and he turned to the windshield, rewinding the conversation.

“You must dress up sometimes.”

“I prefer to focus on work.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s satisfying.” Her answer didn’t ring true.

He owned the company, and he still found time for a social life. “I dress up. I date. I still find time to work.”

She made a motion with her hand, indicating up and down his body. “Of course you date. A guy like you is definitely going to date.”

He had no idea what she meant. “A guy like me?”

“Good-looking. Rich. Eligible.”

“Good-looking?” He was surprised that she thought so, even more surprised that she’d said so.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not me, Matt. The world thinks you’re good-looking. Don’t pretend you’ve never noticed.”

He’d never given it much thought. Looks were so much a matter of taste. He was fairly average. He’d never thought there was anything wrong with being average.

“I’m eligible now,” he said.

The rich part was also debatable. He hadn’t had enough money to satisfy his ex-wife. And now that they’d divorced, he had even less. He’d borrowed money to pay her out, and he was going to have to work hard over the next year or two to get back to a comfortable financial position.

“And so are you,” he said to Tasha. “You’re intelligent, hardworking and pretty. You should definitely be out there dating.”

He couldn’t help but compare her with the women he’d met lately. The truth was, they couldn’t hold a candle to her. There was so much about her that was compelling. Funny that he’d never noticed before.

“Dazzle them with your intelligence and hard work.”

“Can we not do this?” she asked.

“Make conversation?”

“I’m a licensed marine mechanic. And I want people to take me seriously as that.”

“You can’t do both?”

“Not in my experience.” She slipped down from the high white leather chair.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He didn’t want her to leave.

“I’m going to take your advice.”

“What advice is that?”

“I’m going to lie down and rest.” She glanced at her watch. “You think two hours?”

“I didn’t mean to chase you away.”

“You didn’t.”

“We don’t have to talk about dating.” But then he took in her pursed lips and realized he still wanted to kiss them. Where was this impulse coming from?

“I have work to do when we get there.”

He realized he’d be selfish to stop her. “You’re right. You should get some sleep.”

As she walked away, he considered the implications of being attracted to an employee. He couldn’t act on it. He shouldn’t act on it.

Then he laughed at himself. It wasn’t like she’d given him any encouragement. Well, other than saying he was good-looking.

She thought he was good-looking.

As he piloted his way along the dark coastline, he couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

Tasha’s problem wasn’t dating in general. Her problem was the thought of dating Matt. He wasn’t her type. There was no way he was her type. She knew that for an absolute fact.

She’d dated guys like him before—capable, confident, secure in the knowledge that the world rolled itself out at their feet. She knew all that. Still, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from dreaming about him.

They’d arrived off Tyree and boarded Orca’s Run shortly after dawn. Tall and confident, he’d greeted the clients like he owned the place—which he did, of course.

Tasha had kept to the background, making sure her toolbox was moved discreetly on board, while Matt had charmed the family, apologizing for the delay in the trip, offering Monty’s Pride as a replacement, explaining that the larger, faster yacht would easily make up the time they’d lost overnight.

It was obvious the client was delighted with the solution, and Tasha had turned her attention to the diesel engine. It took her over an hour to discover the water separator was the problem. In an unlikely coincidence, the water-in-fuel indicator light bulb had also broken. Otherwise, it would have alerted her to the fact that the water separator was full, starving the engine of fuel.

The two things happening together were surprising. They were more than surprising. They were downright strange.

From their anchorage in Tyree, Matt had taken the launch and run for parts in the small town. And by noon, she’d replaced the water separator. While she’d worked, she’d cataloged who’d had access to Orca’s Run. Virtually all the staff of Whiskey Bay Marina had access. But most of them didn’t know anything about engines.

There were a couple of contract mechanics who did repairs from time to time. And there were countless customers who had been on the property. She found her brain going in fantastical directions, imagining someone might have purposely damaged the engine.

But who? And why? And was she being ridiculously paranoid?

She had no idea.

While she’d worked, diesel fuel had sprayed her clothes and soaked into her hair, so she’d used the staff shower to clean up and commandeered a steward’s uniform from the supply closet.

After cleaning up, her mind still pinging from possibility to possibility, she made her way up the stairs to the main cabin. There she was surprised to realize the yacht wasn’t yet under way.

“Did something else go wrong?” she asked Matt, immediately worried they had another problem.

He was in the galley instead of piloting the yacht. The deckhand had stayed with Monty’s Pride, since the bigger ship needed an extra crew member. Matt and Tasha were fully capable of returning Orca’s Run to Whiskey Bay.

“It’s all good,” Matt said.

“We’re not under power?” Her hair was still damp, and she tucked it behind her ears as she approached the countertop that separated the galley from the main living area.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, placing a pan on the stove.

She was starving. “Sure. But I can eat something on the way.”

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

He extracted two cups from a cupboard and poured. “Monty’s Pride is headed south. Everyone seems happy.”

“You were right,” she admitted as she rounded the counter. “Bringing Monty’s Pride was a good idea. I can cook if you want to get going.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “This charter matters.”

“Because it’s a German client?”

“It’s the first significant booking out of the fall trade show. He’s a prominent businessman with loads of connections.”

“I’m sorry I argued with you.” She realized her stance had been about her pride, not about the good of the company.

“You should always say what you think.”

“I should listen, too.”

“You don’t listen?”

“Sometimes I get fixated on my own ideas.” She couldn’t help but revisit her theory about someone tampering with the engine.

Matt gave a smile. “You have conviction. That’s not a bad thing. Besides, it keeps the conversation interesting.”

He handed her a cup of coffee.

She took a sip, welcoming the hit of caffeine.

He seemed to ponder her for a moment. “You definitely keep things interesting.”

She didn’t know how to respond.

His blue eyes were dark but soft, and he had an incredibly handsome face. His chin was square, unshaven and slightly shadowed, but that only made him look more rugged. His nose was straight, his jaw angular and his lips were full, dark pink, completely kissable.

Warm waves of energy seemed to stream from him to cradle her. It was disconcerting, and she shifted to put some more space between them. “The engine was interesting.”

Mug to his lips, he lifted his brow.

“The odds of the water separator filling and the indicator light going at the same time are very low.”

His brow furrowed then, and he lowered the mug. “And?”

“Recognizing that this is my first idea, and that I can sometimes get fixated on those, it seems wrong to me. I mean, it seems odd to me.”

“Are you saying someone broke something on purpose?”

“No, I’m not saying that.” Out loud, it sounded even less plausible than it had inside her head. “I’m saying it was a bizarre coincidence, and I must be having a run of bad luck.”

“You fixed it, so that’s good luck.”

“Glass half-full?”

“You did a good job, Tasha.”

“It wasn’t that complicated.”

A teasing glint came into his eyes. “You mean, you’re that skilled?”

“The cause was peculiar.” She could have sworn she’d just serviced the water separator. “The repair was easy.”

Their gazes held, and they fell silent again. Raindrops clattered against the window, while the temperature seemed to inch up around her. Her dream came back once again, Matt cradling her, kissing her. Heat rose in her cheeks.

She forced herself back to the present, trying to keep her mind on an even keel. “It could have been excess water in the fuel, maybe a loose cap. I did check it. At least I think I checked it. I always check it.” She paused. “I hope I checked it.”

He set down his mug. “Don’t.”

She didn’t understand.

He took a step forward. “Don’t second-guess yourself.”

“Okay.” It seemed like the easiest answer, since she was losing track of the conversation.

He took another step, and then another.

Inside her head, she shouted for him to stop. But she didn’t make a sound.

She didn’t want him to stop. She could almost feel his arms around her.

He was right there.

Thunder suddenly cracked through the sky above them. A wave surged beneath them, and she grabbed for the counter. She missed, stumbling into his chest.

In a split second, his arms were around her, steadying her.

She fought the desire that fogged her brain. “Sorry.”

“Weather’s coming up,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear and vibrating her chest, which was pressed tight against his.

“We won’t be—” Words failed her as she looked into his blue eyes, so close, so compelling.

He stilled, the sapphire of his eyes softening to summer sky.

“Tasha.” Her name was barely a breath on his lips.

She softened against him.

He lowered his lips, closer and closer. They brushed lightly against hers, then they firmed, then they parted, and the kiss sent bolts of pleasure ricocheting through her.

She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. A rational part of her brain told her to stop. But she was beyond stopping. She was beyond caring about anything but the cataclysmic kiss between them.

It was Matt who finally pulled back.

He looked as dazed as she felt, and he blew out a breath. “I’m...” He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know what to say.”

She forced herself to step back. “Don’t.” She had no idea what to say either. “Don’t try. It was just...something...that happened.”

“It was something,” he said.

“It was a mistake.”

He raked a hand through his short hair. “It sure wasn’t on purpose.”

“We should get going,” she said, anxious to focus on something else.

The last thing she wanted to do was dissect their kiss. The last thing she wanted to do was admit how it impacted her. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she saw him as a man, more than a boss.

She couldn’t do that. She had to stop doing it. In this relationship, she was a mechanic, not a woman.

“We’re not going anywhere.” He looked pointedly out the window where the rain was driving down.

Tasha took note of the pitching floor beneath her.

It was Matt who reached for the marine radio and turned the dial to get a weather report.

“We might as well grab something to eat,” he said. “This could last awhile.”