P. Alderman - A Killing Tide

He'd followed her over to the sink, and suddenly, he was standing way too close. Her already stressed system headed toward overload. "I hadn't decided yet whether I was going out," she said, stalling.

"You need to lift your pots, don't you?"

As usual, he was right. She had to get the newly strung crab pots into the water and empty and rebait the others. And it seemed that he'd come to the same conclusion she had—that they might overhear something in the fishermen's chatter that would give them some clues. Of course, the fishermen might also reveal Gary's hiding place, and with a warrant outstanding for Gary's arrest, Chapman would be obligated to tell the police anything he overheard.

"I don't take crew out with me, ever."

He frowned at her. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "Just a rule I have. It's dangerous. And newcomers don't understand what they're getting into."

"I trust you." His eyes gleamed with the irony of his statement. They both knew she was still suspicious of his motives.

She grabbed a washcloth from the sink and started scrubbing a drop of tea that had gotten spilled on the counter. "Well, you shouldn't. Trust me, that is."

He was silent for a moment. "Funny. I didn't take you for a coward."

" Excuse me?"

He leaned forward, his face only inches from hers. "You want this investigation solved, don't you? Your brother cleared?" When she didn't respond, he continued, relentless. "You'll dive into the hold of a burning boat, but you won't take me across the damn river bar. I've got news for you—no one's responsible for me but me. I'm asking you to take me out there, so I'm the one taking the risk. You're just driving the damn boat—you're not God."

He was right, and when he put it that way, she felt foolish. But he didn't know the conditions out there, so he didn't really know what he was asking. She started to shake her head.

He moved even closer, placing a hand on the edge of the counter on either side of her, caging her in. "Here's the deal. You're not going anywhere without an escort, not after what's happened today. I won't have you in danger. So if you want to get those crab pots in the water, I'm going out with you. Either that, or I arrest you as a material witness, right here, right now."

"That's blackmail," she snapped.

"Yeah. So deal with it."

She wanted to punch him, and that shocked her. She wasn't a violent person; no one had ever gotten under her skin to the point that she wanted to hit him.

"I'll work for free," he added softly.

"Damn straight you'll work for free," she said faintly, accepting that she'd been coerced—or charmed, she wasn't sure which—into agreeing to his plan. "The business can't afford to pay anyone right now, unless I send you home with a few crabs for dinner."

He smiled, satisfied with his small victory. "When do you plan to go back out?"

"I must be crazy," she grumbled. "Rule number one—don't take someone you don't trust out on the water with you."

"You trust me. You just don't want to admit it."

"You know, I really hate it when someone tells me how I feel."

He reached out and ran a finger over the bruise that was beginning to form on her temple. His touch was feather-light, but it left a trail of heat on her skin. She started to ease away, but he shifted even closer. She could feel the warmth radiating off his hard body, and she had the insane urge to cuddle against him, to soak up all that heat. She leaned away, lifting her chin.

He looked amused by her reaction. "I'll bunk down on the couch in the living room for the night." His voice had taken on a seductive quality.

It took her fogged brain a moment to process what he'd said. "You want to stay here? I don't think so."

"On the couch," he stressed, still smiling slightly. "Unless you prefer otherwise?"

"No!" She swallowed audibly, casting about for an excuse. "I'll be fine. I doubt they'll come back tonight."

He hesitated, clearly not convinced, then reluctantly nodded. "All right. But I leave Zeke here."

"Fine," she said quickly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, and her pulse headed for the stratosphere. He was going to kiss her. She couldn't decide whether the idea turned her on or terrified her.

He leaned down until his lips were only the barest whisper away from hers, then stopped, his incredible, silvery eyes locking with hers. They questioned her silently.

She used the temporary reprieve to suck in some much-needed air. Laying a hand on his chest, she pushed slightly, testing his resistance. He didn't budge. "Not a good idea." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears.

"Probably not," he murmured, "but I don't seem to be able to help myself." Sliding his warm hands under the heavy fall of her hair, he cupped the sensitive area at the base of her skull, holding her head still while he brushed his mouth gently across hers, barely making contact. His lips were warm, firm, and tasted of the herbal tea they had just drunk.

She shivered. His kiss was as light as his touch had been a moment ago, and just as devastating. Though his grip on her neck was firm and uncompromising, the kiss was an invitation rather than a demand. And that was more of a turn-on than he could possibly know.

She gripped the edge of the counter to brace herself. "Wait," she said, hearing the edge of desperation in her voice.

He trailed his lips along her jaw line to her ear, nipping the lobe and then using his tongue to sooth the small hurt. "I'll stop if you want me to," he whispered, his breath warm on her neck.

Fisting her hand in the material of his sweater, she shuddered. She didn't want him to stop—she didn't want to pull away from the seductive promise of what might be developing between them.

Reading her reaction, his eyes darkened. Placing both hands at her waist, he lifted her onto the counter, then parted her knees and stepped between them. Capturing her lips, he kissed her, hard.

The man knew how to kiss. She moaned deep in her throat and parted her lips, inviting him inside. He didn't hesitate, tasting her deeply, his tongue capturing hers and luring her into a duel that hinted of what it would be like if they were to take this to the next level.

It would be good. Incendiary.

She wanted to glue herself to every inch of him. And she wanted that devastating kiss to go on and on.

Think about Gary.

She managed to drag both hands down to his hard chest and push, her body already protesting as she did. "I want you to stop," she managed, her voice unsteady, her breath hitching with regret.

He froze for a long moment, breathing hard and staring at her. Then he sighed and leaned his forehead against hers.

"It's just chemistry," she said, trying to convince herself.

"More like a nuclear explosion," he muttered. He straightened, easing away from her slowly, grimacing at what the movement cost him. Reaching out, he rubbed her lower lip with his thumb, almost destroying what was left of her resolve. His expression was curiously sad. "But you're right—bad timing all around."

He told Zeke to stay and walked over to the kitchen door, then turned back to her, and promise lingering in his gaze. "When this is over—"

"I'll probably be going back to California," she said quickly, though the thought made her slightly ill.

"We'll talk," he said firmly. "And my name is Michael. It's time you started using it, don't you think?"

Once he was gone, she slid down the front of the cupboards until she was sitting on the floor, her knees bunched up. Zeke leaned over and licked her face, then grinned at her, his tongue lolling. Bemused, she raised a shaky hand to pat the top of his head. "I could be in a little trouble, here, Zeke."

"Rawrooo."