Karen Rock - His Last Defense

“Two Jim Beams, Sheryl,” she called to an approaching waitress, forcing herself to look away. Act unaffected. She cracked open a peanut, tossed it in the air and caught it neatly in her mouth.

She needed to stop her runaway thoughts of Dylan. The devastating effect of his arousing kiss yesterday hadn’t lessened. Not a bit. In fact, it’d seemed to intensify as she’d lain awake in her small apartment over her cousin’s garage, staring at a neighbor’s blinking Christmas lights, imagining him in bed beside her, distracting her troubling thoughts in the most erotic way possible.

And now that he sat only feet away from her, the effect was devastating. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. Recalling the strong feel of them on her yesterday in the clinic. His lips on hers. Electric. She’d thought the sensual side of her had died when he left Kodiak. But apparently he was the only man she’d met who could light that particular spark for her. Turned out, she’d missed it.

Warm, she stood and pulled off her fleece. When her head emerged, she caught Dylan staring at her, his eyes intent. His body still. Her jeans had ridden a little down her hip, revealing a small red-white-and-blue anchor tattoo.

“When’d you get that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Without taking his eyes off it, he raised his glass and bolted back the rest of his drink.

“You like it?” She arched an eyebrow at him and sat again, enjoying the normally übercontrolled man’s discomfort. Besides, it distracted him from any proceed-with-caution speech he looked like he’d been about to make. Tonight, riding high on her newly resuscitated career, she didn’t want doom and gloom to rain on her parade. “I’ve got a couple more you might appreciate.”

“I—I—” He swallowed hard, reminding her of that serious, earnest boy she’d met on Bill’s boat who’d rarely spoken a word to anyone, who’d never smiled or joked around, but worked like a man possessed.

It’d become her mission to break his concentration back then, to make him laugh, get him riled, just feel something. Her daredevil antics had finally worn him down until he’d loosened up, then opened up, prompting her to lower her guard, too.

The old wound on her heart throbbed, a phantom pain, like a missing limb. It’s not there, she reminded herself. Those feelings. Gone now. Poof.

“What’s going on, Nolee?”

“Dunham Seafoods is giving me another boat.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop along to the beat of the band’s Lynyrd Skynyrd cover and raised her chin a notch.

He frowned. “They just happen to have one they hadn’t bothered putting out this year?”

She shrugged, looking as unconcerned as possible. “It needs a few repairs.”

“How many?” he asked heavily.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, unable to hold out when he looked at her so directly.

He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her that squinty look she’d always found so sexy. “You have no idea how much work the boat needs to be seaworthy?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll know tomorrow when I inspect it.”

“So you just accepted, sight unseen?”

“Yes.” She stabbed the cherry in the bottom of Bill’s glass with a toothpick.

“Why would you do that, Nolee?”

Sheryl returned with their drinks. At the shake of Dylan’s head, she trotted off with a quick wave, leaving Nolee’s money on the table.

“Because I’m a captain minus a boat,” Nolee insisted. “In case you forgot.”

“How could I?” His eyes searched hers and she dropped her gaze, uncomfortable with all that worry. “Look, you could work for my uncle. Take a breather. Figure things out. You’re a first-time captain. You shouldn’t be taking a boat out unless it’s been proven.”

“I’ll get it up to code.” She raised her glass, refusing to let his worries get into her head when she had enough of her own. “Cheers.”

“By when?” he asked, ignoring her toast. Placing his elbows on the table he leaned closer and his distinctive, clean male scent, a blend of soap and sea, sand and sun, rose around them. She breathed deep. After he’d left Kodiak, she’d fallen asleep clutching one of his old hoodies, her nose buried in the worn fabric, until eventually his smell had disappeared.

Not so her attraction, it seemed.

“The regular season starts in twelve days.” He swirled his whiskey.

“I know,” she said, firm, not letting his doubts burst her bubble. Or the tantalizing nearness of him sway her. “But I’ve got to fill my quota.”

“What is it?” he asked, sounding wary. A throaty howl rose from the game-watching crowd at the bar, accompanied by a hail of insults for the Seahawks’ opponents.

“Four hundred K.”

Dylan leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the top of a leftover beer bottle. He shook his head. “That was taking into account the preseason. Your time’s cut by a third.”

“I’ll make it.”

“Be reasonable, Nolee. Who are you going to hire this late in the season?”

“My crew.” Though, oddly, four of her six men hadn’t returned her calls today when she’d checked in to see how they were doing.

“Bill told me he’d heard some of them got hired already. You know experienced hands are hard to come by.”

She blinked at him, thoughts scrambling. “Oh.” To cover her confusion, she gulped her drink and fought off a cough when the back of her throat caught fire.

“Right.” He raised his voice when a pack of boisterous locals swarmed close to play darts. “You don’t have enough help.”

“I’ll hire some.”

One of the players landed a bull’s-eye and a deafening roar erupted.

“This late in the season?” Dylan asked once the noise died down. “The only guys you’ll get won’t have much experience, or references. Going out to sea, this time of year, with a green crew, is suicide.”

“Cod season’s over.” She drained her glass, needing the boost. “Some of those guys might be looking for work.” Dylan had a point, not that she’d heed it. Catching fish instead of crab wasn’t the same thing at all. Not even close.

“Why are you doing this? Taking these chances?”

She shrugged. “It’s not chance when you know what you’re doing.” All the confidence she’d gained from her accomplishments filled every syllable, full and weighty. She wasn’t the same woman he’d left nine years ago, not that he seemed to recognize that.

“You shouldn’t have been out in that storm yesterday.”

“Weather reports didn’t predict it’d jog that far west.”

“You gambled.”

“To get ahead, you have to.” Seeing him revert back to the by-the-books, all-work-no-play guy bugged her. “You know, you and I aren’t that different,” she added, when he didn’t speak. There was a brief silence. She looked at him, but was discomfited by the intensity of his gaze.

“What do you mean?” Their fingers brushed each other as they searched for unshelled peanuts in the bowl, the contact making her skin tingle in awareness.

“We both like living on the edge—we just went after that in different ways.”

He stared at her for such a long moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. The crowd around the dart game swelled and a few pressed close to their table, jostling Dylan’s elbow, making his drink slosh onto the surface.

He threw a couple of twenties on the table, stood and extended a hand.

“Let’s go,” he said. It was more a command then an invitation. Maybe his sense of humor had slipped lately, but not that air of authority, that strength that’d always drawn her. Challenged her. Turned her on.

She jammed on her knit cap, slipped a hand in his and let him lead her through the crowd, the group parting, making way for his broad-shouldered march. “Where?”