Macy Beckett: Make You Mine

Marc turned from a crate of cargo, dark eyes smiling from beneath the bill of his hat. “Two things, Mauvais.”

She gave her best soldier’s nod. “First?”

The pages tacked to his clipboard ruffled in the breeze as he pointed it at the boat. “This isn’t a naval vessel.”

Of course it wasn’t, but in his gallant uniform, Marc reminded her of Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman . He’d even donned white gloves. It was a side of him she’d never seen before, and her tummy had fluttered when she’d caught a glimpse of him earlier that morning. Now she couldn’t stop imagining herself as Debra Winger being scooped into his arms and carried off to his bed.

“And second?” she asked, corralling her imagination.

He flashed a smirk. “Allison Catrine?”

“Yeah.” She folded her arms and stared him down. “What’s funny?”

“Sugar, with that name, you leave me no choice but to call you Allie-Cat.”

She smiled, not at the mocking nickname, but at the sugar casually tossed into the mix. Whether Marc realized it or not, his guard was slipping.

“I’ve been called worse,” she told him.

Just like that, his smile vanished. An expression she couldn’t place, hard and reflective, crossed his features, and she worried she’d said something wrong.

Nodding at the boat ramp, he ordered, “Go find my brother Alex—he’s the personnel manager. He’ll give you a staff shirt and take you to your room. I’ll need you back out here in about thirty minutes to greet guests.”

“Okay.” She grabbed her luggage. “And thanks, by the way.”

“It’s just business.” The warmth in his voice was gone, making her wonder what had happened. “I should be thanking you .” But he didn’t. Instead, he turned his attention to his clipboard, effectively dismissing her.

Allie refused to let his mood change bring her down. She had two weeks to chip away at Marc’s shell, and contrary to what she had told her sister, the boat wasn’t that big. Raising her chin, she clattered across the metal ramp and onto Belle ’s main deck, then began searching for Alex.

She thought she’d spotted him through one of the dining hall entrances, but when she made her way inside, she discovered it was his twin brother, Nick. His blue eyes widened a fraction when he saw her approaching, followed by a face-splitting grin.

“Well, hey there, Allie,” he drawled, taking in her suitcase. “You staying with us?”

Finally, a Dumont who wasn’t terrified of her. “Yep. I’m your new pastry chef. You know where Alex is? He’s supposed to show me to my room.”

“Right here, hon.” He hooked a thumb at himself and offered to take her bag, all the while looking her up and down like a hungry dog at the butcher store window. “I’ll get you settled in, snug as a bug in a rug.”

“Nice try, Nicky,” she said. “Where’s your brother?”

He wrinkled his mouth in disappointment. “Shoot. How’d you know?”

It was easy. Even as a kid, Nick had carried himself with more confidence than Alex. It was the slight arrogance in his gaze and the cocky tilt of his head that gave him away. That, and the name tag affixed over his left breast.

“You really have to ask?” she said. “I’m a Mauvais, baby. Now quit messing around and help me find your brother.”

“All right, all right.” He pulled out his cell phone, fingertips flying over the screen as he typed a text. “I told him to meet us at your room. C’mon.” He pocketed the phone, grabbed her luggage, and took off across the room in long strides that had Allie jogging to catch up.

“Wait!” she called. “How do you know where my room is? Until ten seconds ago, you didn’t even know I was here.”

He pulled open the stairwell door and held it for her. “Easy. If you’re taking the other guy’s place, you’re taking his room, too.” Nodding ahead, he said, “Third floor. I’ll follow.”

She climbed the first flight, feeling his eyes on her caboose. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed it.

“You’re lucky,” Nick said, not bothering to avert his gaze. “The pastry dude was some big shot, so he scored a suite next door to the head chef. The rest of us bunk three to a room down below.”

“Lucky me,” she said without a trace of sarcasm. She’d toured this boat years ago during a seventh-grade field trip, and she remembered how tiny the rooms were. “Sounds like you’re on top of each other.”

“You offering to share your room?” he asked. “’Cause I’d rather be keeping you company than one of my brothers.”

They reached the third floor and stepped into a red-carpeted hallway that reminded her of an old horror movie she couldn’t quite place. “Not happening.” She pointed to her left and asked, “Which way?”

He dipped his head in the opposite direction. “313, the unluckiest number on the boat.”

“That’s all right. I make my own luck.” Allie crossed the hall, glancing at each room placard as she passed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Fire away,” came the reply. She was pretty sure he was still watching her butt.

“How come you’re not bothered by the Mauvais-Dumont curse? I think sleeping with me is supposed to make your heart implode, or something.”

Nick snickered. “You’ve got to admit, it’d be a pretty sweet way to go.”

“So you’re not afraid?”

“Honey, the only thing that scares me is a broken condom.”

She wondered if Nick’s bravery came from knowing he didn’t stand a chance with her. Not that it mattered, because she had no intention of testing that theory. When she reached her door, she noticed Alex striding down the hall toward them. Unlike his twin, Alex kept his distance and ogled with his eyes, not his mouth.

“Hey, Allie.” He gestured at the doorknob and waited for her to back up a step before moving in to unlock it for her. His fingers trembled, fumbling with the key while he darted glances up and down the hall. When he noticed her puzzled expression, he said, “We’ve got to hurry up and get you inside before Pawpaw sees.”

“Oh, shit,” Nick said from behind. “He’s gonna blow a brain vein.”

“Not if he doesn’t find out.”

“You’d better break it to him soon,” Allie said, “because Marc wants me on the welcome line in thirty minutes.”

Alex got the door open and ushered her inside a room the size of a generous walk-in closet. When the twins followed behind and shut the door, Allie inched along the double bed to give herself some space, which was in short supply.

She took in the slim dresser, each drawer cleverly latched to survive the rocking motion of the boat, and admired the netted shelves built into the wall. They’d forgone televisions and iPod docking stations in favor of a single digital alarm clock with AM-FM radio. She wasn’t sure if the goal was to save money or maintain the historical feel. Maybe both. She made a mental note to ask Marc how they generated electricity on board.

A glance to her right revealed the bathroom, where beyond a tiny sink sat a plastic commode . . . smack-dab in the middle of the shower stall. She hadn’t noticed that on the field trip. Allie blinked a few times to make sure she hadn’t imagined it.

Nope, that was really a toilet. In the shower.

“There’s something fundamentally wrong with doing your business while washing your hair,” she said. And where did they keep the toilet paper—under the sink?

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Nick said. “At least you’re not sharing it three ways.”

“True.” Not even a night with Marc Dumont was worth that. Which reminded her—“Hey, Alex, I’m supposed to ask for a staff shirt.”