Barbara Dunlop - Twelve Nights Of Temptation

The yacht was rocking up and down on six-foot swells, and rain clattered against the windows. He couldn’t find her on the upper decks, so he took the narrow staircase, making his way to the engine and mechanical rooms. Sure enough, he found her there. She’d removed the front panel of the generator and was elbow deep in the mechanics.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She tensed at the sound of his voice. She was obviously remembering their kiss. Well, he remembered it, too, and it sure made him tense up. Partly because he was her boss and he felt guilty for letting things get out of hand. But partly because it had been such an amazing kiss and he desperately wanted to do it again.

“Maintenance,” she answered him without turning.

He settled his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Can you elaborate?”

“I inspected the electric and serviced the batteries. Some of the battery connections needed cleaning. Hoses and belts all look good in here. But it was worth changing the oil filter.”

“I thought you would sleep.”

This was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone. He’d known Tasha was a dedicated employee, but this trip was teaching him she was one in a million.

She finally turned to face him. “I did sleep. Then I woke up.”

She’d found a pair of coveralls somewhere. They were miles too big, but she’d rolled up the sleeves and the pant legs. A woman shouldn’t look sexy with a wrench in her hand, a smudge of oil on her cheek, swimming in a shapeless steel gray sack.

But this one did. And he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her. He mentally shook away the feelings.

“If it was me—” he tried to lighten the mood and put her at ease “—I think I might have inspected the liquor cabinet.”

She smiled for the briefest of seconds. “Lucky your employees aren’t like you.”

The smile warmed him. It turned him on, but it also made him happy.

“True enough,” he said. “But there is a nice cognac in there. Perfect to have on a rainy afternoon.” He could picture them doing just that.

Instead of answering, she returned to work.

He watched for a few minutes, struggling with his feelings, knowing he had to put their relationship back on an even keel.

Work—he needed to say something about work instead of sharing a cozy drink.

“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.

She didn’t pause. “Yes.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Good.”

“You should stop working.”

“I’m not finished.”

“You’re making me feel guilty.”

She looked his way and rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“Then what?”

“The maintenance needed doing. I was here. There was an opportunity.”

He fought an urge to close the space between them. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, überindustrious?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He did move closer. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring up their kiss. But he desperately wanted to bring it up, discuss it, dissect it, relive it. How did she feel about it now? Was she angry? Was there a chance in the world she wanted to do it again?

“It’s an unnerving thing,” he said.

“Then, you’re very easily unnerved.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her comeback. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Well, that’s a waste of time.”

“I realize I don’t know you well.”

“You don’t need to know me well. Just sign my paycheck.”

Well, that was a crystal clear signal. He was her boss, nothing more. He swallowed his disappointment.

Then again, if he was her boss, he was her boss. He reached forward to take the wrench from her hand. “It’s after five and it’s a Saturday and you’re done.”

Their fingers touched. Stupid mistake. He felt a current run up the center of his arm.

Her grip tightened on the wrench as she tried to tug it from his grasp. “Let it go.”

“It’s time to clock out.”

“Seriously, Matt. I’m not done yet.”

His hand wrapped around hers, and his feet took him closer still.

“Matt.” There was a warning in her voice, but then their gazes caught and held.

Her eyes turned moss green, deep and yielding. She was feeling something. She had to be feeling something.

She used her free hand to grasp his arm. Her grip was strong, stronger than he’d imagined. He liked that.

“We can’t do this, Matt.”

“I know.”

She swallowed, and her voice seemed strained. “So let go.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

“It’s a bad idea.”

“You’re right.” His disappointment was acute. “It is.”

She didn’t step back, and her lips parted as she drew in a breath. “We need to keep it simple, straightforward.”

“Why?”

“The signature on my paycheck.”

“Is that the only reason?” It was valid. But he was curious. He was intensely curious.

“I’m not that kind of girl.”

He knew she didn’t mean to be funny, but he couldn’t help but joke. “The kind that kisses men?”

“The kind that randomly kisses my boss—or any coworker for that matter—while I’m working, in an engine room, covered in grease.”

“That’s fair.”

“You bet, it’s fair. Not that I need your approval. Now, let go of my hand.”

He glanced down, realizing they were still touching. The last thing he wanted to do was let her go. But he had no choice.

She set down the wrench, replacing it with a screwdriver. Then she lifted the generator panel and put it in place.

He moved away and braced a hand on a crossbeam above his head. “The storm’s letting up.”

“Good.” The word sounded final. Matt didn’t want it to be final.

He was her boss, sure. He understood that was a complication. But did it have to be a deal breaker? But he wanted to get to know her. He’d barely scratched the surface, and he liked her a lot.

* * *

They’d brought Orca’s Run back to the marina, arriving late in the evening.

Tasha had spent the night and half of today attempting to purge Matt’s kiss from her mind. It wasn’t working. She kept reliving the pleasure, then asking herself what it all meant.

She didn’t even know how she felt, never mind how Matt felt. He was a smooth-talking, great-looking man who, from everything she’d seen, could have any woman in the world. What could possibly be his interest in her?

Okay, maybe if she’d taken her mother’s advice, maybe if she’d acted like a woman, dressed like a woman and got a different job, maybe then it would make sense for Matt to be interested. Matt reminded her so much of the guys she’d known in Boston, the ones who’d dated her sisters and attended all the parties.

They’d all wanted women who were super feminine. They’d been amused by Tasha. She wasn’t a buddy and she wasn’t, in their minds, a woman worth pursuing. She hadn’t fit in anywhere. It was the reason she’d left. And now Matt was confusing her. She hated being confused.

So, right now, this afternoon, she had a new focus.

Since she’d been promoted, she had to replace herself. Matt employed several general dock laborers who also worked as mechanical assistants, and they pulled in mechanical specialists when necessary. But one staff mechanic couldn’t keep up with the workload at Whiskey Bay. Matt owned twenty-four boats in all, ranging from Monty’s Pride right down to a seventeen-foot runabout they used in the bay. Some were workboats, but most were pleasure craft available for rental.

Cash flow was a definite issue, especially after Matt’s divorce. It was more important than ever that the yachts stay in good working order to maximize rentals.