Barbara Dunlop - Twelve Nights Of Temptation

And she’d watched him bring women to his house. They often dined on the deck. Caterers would set up candles and white linens, and then Matt and his date would chat and laugh the evening away.

She’d paid attention all right. But wild horses wouldn’t drag the admission out of her.

* * *

So Saturday night, Matt had picked up the tall, willowy, expensively coiffed Emilie and brought her home for arctic char and risotto, catered by a local chef. They were dining in his glass-walled living room to candlelight and a full moon. The wine was from the Napa Valley, and the chocolate truffles were handcrafted with Belgian chocolate.

It should have been perfect. Emilie was a real estate company manager, intelligent, gracious, even a little bit funny. She was friendly and flirtatious, and made no secret of the fact that she expected a very romantic conclusion to the evening.

But Matt’s gaze kept straying to the pier below, to the yachts, the office building and the repair shop. Finally, Tasha appeared. She strode briskly beneath the overhead lights, through the security gate and up the stairway that led to the staff quarters. Some of his staff members had families and houses in town. The younger, single crew members, especially those who had moved to Whiskey Bay to work at the marina, seemed to appreciate the free rent, even if the staff units were small and basic. He was happy at the moment that Tasha was one of them.

He reflexively glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. Even for Tasha, this was late.

“Matt?” Emilie said.

“Yes?” He quickly returned his attention to her.

She gave a very pretty smile. “I asked if they were all yours?”

“All what?”

“The boats. Do you really own that many boats?”

“I do,” he said. He’d told this story a hundred times. “I started with three about a decade ago. Business was good, so I gradually added to the fleet.”

He glanced back to the pier, but Tasha had disappeared from view. He told himself not to be disappointed. He’d see her again soon. It had been a few days now since they’d run into each other. He’d tried not to miss her, but he did. He’d find a reason to talk to her tomorrow.

Emilie pointed toward the window. “That one is huge.”

“Monty’s Pride is our largest vessel.”

“Could I see the inside?” she asked, eyes alight. “Would you give me a tour?”

Before Matt could answer, there was a pounding on his door.

“Expecting someone?” she asked, looking a little bit frustrated by the interruption.

His friends and neighbors, Caleb Watford and TJ Bauer, were the only people who routinely dropped by. But neither of them would knock. At most, they’d call out from the entryway if they thought they might walk in on something.

Matt rose. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Emilie helped herself to another truffle. “I’ll wait here.”

The date had been going pretty well so far. But Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled with the touch of sarcasm he’d just heard in Emilie’s voice.

The knock came again as he got to the front entry. He swung open the door.

Tasha stood on his porch, her work jacket wrinkled, a blue baseball cap snug on her head and her work boots sturdy against the cool weather.

His immediate reaction was delight. He wanted to drag her inside and make her stay for a while.

“What’s up?” he asked instead, remembering the promise he’d made, holding himself firmly at a respectful distance.

“Something’s going on,” she said.

“Between us?” he asked before he could stop himself, resisting the urge to glance back and be sure Emilie was still out of sight.

Tasha frowned. “No. With Pacific Wind.” She named the single-engine twenty-eight-footer. “It’s just a feeling. But I’m worried.”

He stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

She glanced down at her boots.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I have a cleaning service.”

“A cable broke on the steering system,” she said.

“Is that a major problem?”

He didn’t particularly care why she’d decided to come up and tell him in person. He was just glad she had.

It was the first time she’d been inside his house. He couldn’t help but wonder if she liked the modern styling, the way it jutted out from the hillside, the clean lines, glass walls and unobstructed view. He really wanted to find out. He hadn’t been interested in Emilie’s opinion, but he was curious about Tasha’s.

“It’s not a big problem,” she said. “I fixed it. It’s fixed.”

“That’s good.” He dared to hope all over again that this was a personal visit disguised as business.

“Matt?” came Emilie’s voice.

He realized he’d forgotten all about her.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he called back to her.

“You’re busy,” Tasha said, looking instantly regretful. “Of course you’re busy. I didn’t think.” She glanced at her watch. “This is Saturday, isn’t it?”

“You forgot the day of the week?”

“Matt, honey.” Emilie came up behind him.

Honey? Seriously? After a single date?

Not even a single date, really. The date hadn’t concluded yet.

“Who’s this?” Emilie asked.

There was a dismissive edge to her voice and judgment in her expression as she gave Tasha the once-over, clearly finding her lacking.

The superior attitude annoyed Matt. “This is Tasha.”

“I’m the mechanic,” Tasha said, not seeming remotely bothered by Emilie’s condescension.

“Hmph,” Emilie said, wrinkling her perfect nose. She wrapped her arm possessively through Matt’s. “Is this an emergency?”

Tasha took a step back, opening her mouth to speak.

“Yes,” Matt said. “It’s an emergency. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our date short.”

He wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by his words, Emilie or Tasha.

“I’ll call you a ride.” He took out his phone.

It took Emilie a moment to find her voice. “What kind of emergency?”

“The mechanical kind,” he said flatly, suddenly tired of her company.

He typed in the request. He definitely didn’t want Tasha to leave.

“But—” Emilie began.

“The ride will be here in three minutes,” he said. “I’ll get your coat.”

He did a quick check of Tasha’s expression, steeling himself for the possibility that she’d speak up and out him as a liar.

She didn’t.

He quickly retrieved Emilie’s coat and purse.

“I don’t mind waiting,” Emilie said, a plaintive whine in her voice.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He held up the coat.

“How long do you think—”

“Could be a long time. It could be a very long time. It’s complicated.”

“Matt, I can—” Tasha began.

“No. Nope.” He gave a definitive shake to his head. “It’s business. It’s important.” It might not be critical, but Tasha had never sought him out after hours before, so there had to be something going on.

“You’re a mechanic?” Emilie asked Tasha.

“A marine mechanic.”

“So you get all greasy and stuff?”

“Sometimes.”

“That must be awful.” Emilie gave a little shudder.

“Emilie.” Matt put a warning tone in his voice.

She crooked her head back to look at him. “What? It’s weird.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It’s unusual,” Tasha said. “But women are up to nearly fifteen percent in the mechanical trades, higher when you look at statistics for those of us under thirty-five.”

Emilie didn’t seem to know what to say in response.

Matt’s phone pinged.

“Your ride’s here,” he told Emilie, ushering her toward the door.