by Jill Shalvis
Becca moved to the window and watched their shadows have a huddle in the predawn light. This time, unfortunately for her, the window was closed. Still, their body language was fascinating. They stood close—no avoiding eye contact. Clearly they knew each other well enough to get in each other’s faces without worrying about the niceties.
Becca’s inner circle consisted of family, her mom, dad, and brother, and they were pretty laid-back, go-with-the-flow kind of people. They’d rather pull their own teeth than have a confrontation or hurt anyone’s feelings.
Especially Jase’s. Her brother was the desperately yearned-for son, the prodigy, the wonder child. He had to be protected and coddled and taken care of, at any cost. Always and forever. Becca had been tasked with this, and she’d done her best, even through his stress and anxiety and ultimate pain pill addiction. She’d done everything she could for him, until it had cost her.
Big time.
She’d left to save herself, and there’d been no fight about it. No discussion at all, really.
Unbelievably, the silhouettes of the three big tough guys didn’t fight, either. They stepped back from each other and . . . began a game of . . . rock paper scissors?
Less than a minute later Sam strode back in.
“You won,” Becca said, surprised.
He gave her a long look. Nope, he hadn’t won.
He’d lost.
Chapter 11
I called your references,” Sam said.
Becca sucked in a breath. She’d known he would, because no matter what their appearances, he and his partners were not just three fun-loving guys. They were also sharp businessmen and smart as hell. “And?” she asked.
“You were widely beloved at your last job, and everyone was sorry to see you go.” He paused and gave her a long, speculative look. “In such a hurry.”
Her heart skipped a beat.
“Care to explain the hurry?” he asked.
“No.”
“There was a rough situation with your brother.”
She felt herself go still. “What?”
“One of your references mentioned it. Said you were resilient, though, and that I’d be lucky to have you.”
Becca closed her eyes.
“Is he the one who hurt you?”
She opened her eyes and met his, and the concern in them. “I never said anyone hurt me.”
“But someone did.”
“Jase wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said.
Sam didn’t point out that she’d just given him a non-answer, but it was in his gaze as he poured a mug of coffee, then surprised her by handing it over.
She took it, then began to add creamer and sugar. Sam poured another mug and leaned back to watch her add more sugar to hers. “So you take a little coffee with your sugar then?”
Grateful for the subject change, she shrugged. “I like it sweet.”
He drank from his steaming mug. “I like it hot.”
She got all tingly, damn it. No more tingling for him! Feeling very warm suddenly, she unwrapped the scarf from her neck.
Sam remained silent, but his lips tipped at the corners.
She tugged off her gloves as well.
“Déjà vu,” he said.
At the mention of her striptease in her bathroom, she felt herself blush. “It’s cold here in the mornings. Very cold.”
“Bird bones,” he said.
She opened her mouth and then shut it. “Okay, I’m trying to drum up some outrage at being compared to a bird,” she finally said. “But I have to admit, it’s better than some other things I’ve been told about myself.”
“Such as?”
“I once had a date mention something about a Butterball turkey.”
Sam went still. “Did you kill him?”
Becca knew she wasn’t heavy, but she was curvy. She used it to her advantage when she dressed. It was only in her . . . undressed activities that sometimes her insecurities came out. “No.”
“Want me to kill him?”
“No!” she said on a laugh. “It can be true, from certain angles.”
“Bullshit.” He didn’t make a move toward her, didn’t touch her with anything but his eyes, which were flashing temper now. “You’re perfect.”
She laughed again, and he smiled. “Your body,” he clarified. “Your body’s perfect.”
“But the rest drives you crazy,” she reminded him.
“Everything about you drives me crazy.” He drank his coffee and set down the mug. “So. You’ve made a choice.”
“Actually, that was you,” she reminded him. “I’m not on board with the whole having-to-choose thing. At all.” Deciding to let him digest that, she took a moment to look around.
The hut had a front counter, several stools in front of it, a love seat, and a small refrigerated drink display and snack shelf. One entire wall was taken up with a display: scuba gear, snorkel gear, a paddleboard, a kayak, paddles, and more. “So what’s the routine?” she asked.
“No routine, every day’s different.” He walked with her behind the counter. “But this is where you’ll be most of the time.” He unlocked a drawer and pulled out a laptop. “The schedule’s here, but there’s a problem. It’s never up to date because we end up just scratching stuff down whenever and wherever we answer the phones.”
She looked at the stack of notes on napkins, scribbled on paper bits, and even on a piece of wood.
“Yeah,” he said to her unspoken question. “Asinine, we get that. But the Internet is painfully slow—Cole’s working on that—and in the meantime, this is our way of dealing with it.”
“Because you’re guys?”
He lifted a broad shoulder. “What can I say, we’re messy and unorganized.”
“Which is how both you and Cole showed up for the same job this morning,” she said, boggled at the chaos.
“Actually, no. Cole’s a cheat, and can be bought by a pretty face.”
“A pretty face?”
“The client’s an LA print-ad model whose parents live here in Lucky Harbor. She’s home for a short visit, and as she always does, she’s taking her brothers and dad out fishing.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Which is why you and Cole were fighting for the job.”
“Actually,” he said, “all three of us fought for it, but Tanner won.”
“Fought?”
“We raced to the end of the harbor and back for it.”
“Tanner’s the fastest runner?”
“Swimmer.”
Her eyes bugged out. “You guys swam from here to the end of the harbor and back?”
Sam shrugged. “Even with his bad leg, Tanner’s a fish; no one can catch him. But then the client added four friends, so Tanner needed an assist.”
“And you wouldn’t have minded . . . assisting.”
He shrugged again, which translated—in guy speak—to no, he wouldn’t have minded assisting.
“Men are annoying,” she said.
He didn’t look bothered by this blanket assessment of his species. “We don’t do the clientele.”
“Or the employees,” she said.
“Or the employees.” He pointed to the phone. “That’s going to ring all day. People call for information. They ask questions or want to see about booking a trip. We’ve been trying to build a mailing list, so when the calls come in, we’ve been gathering contact info for a database.”
He was standing close. He didn’t have much of a choice; the space behind the counter was tight, and he was big. Normally, she really liked her own space bubble, and in fact got claustrophobic without one, but with his hair still damp and curling around his ears from a recent shower, and his warm, strong bod so close they kept brushing together, claustrophobia was the last thing she was feeling.
“The gist is this,” he said, either ignoring their chemistry or no longer feeling it. “We have a fifty-foot Wright Sport boat. We’re available for hire for just about anything. Cruises, deep-sea fishing, whale-w
atching, snorkeling, scuba diving—novice or expert. Tanner handles most of the planning and charting of the scuba, snorkeling, and fishing expeditions. He’s lucky as hell and can always find the sweet spot. Cole’s the captain of the boat, and our mechanic.”
“And you?” she asked. “What is it you bring to the table?”
He met her gaze. “I’m the people person.”
She laughed, and he actually flashed a smile at her. “Okay,” he said. “That might be a little bit of a stretch.”
“You do okay,” she said softly.
Their gazes locked, and then his dropped to her mouth. “I have my moments.”
His voice gave her a rush of warmth, but before she could say anything else, the phone rang. Sam gestured for her to sit at the stool and answer. As she picked up the receiver and said “Good morning, Lucky Harbor Charters,” Sam pulled over the second stool. Their thighs brushed, his hard and muscled.
The space behind the counter seemed to shrink even farther.
“Hi,” the caller said in her ear. “I heard you guys might have a big summer bash, complete with fireworks. Is that true?”
Becca looked at Sam.
Sam shook his head.
Becca put the call on hold.
“It’s something we talked about,” Sam said. “A sort of customer-appreciation thing. But no one has time to even think about it.”
“I can do it for us,” she said.
He went brows up at the us, but he shook his head again. “It’s too much work, the organization of the party, and fireworks and—”
“What do you have against fireworks?”
His look said he realized she wasn’t referring to actual pyrotechnics, but the hot sparks between the two of them. “No fireworks,” he said. “Besides, none of us is certified to do a fireworks show.”
“I thought all males knew how to blow stuff up.”
“I didn’t say we don’t know how. I said we’re not certified.”
“So we hire someone.” She tapped the computer. “Show me your schedule for August.”
Sam leaned in, and his fingers worked the keyboard. Their thighs were still touching, and so were their upper arms. He was big and toasty warm, and he smelled good enough to lick, but she controlled herself.
He’d chosen.
And then she’d chosen.
Sam showed her the screen and then didn’t move back, which she found interesting.
And arousing.
Their August schedule was indeed already busy. Plus, she had to take into account all the trips that hadn’t made it onto the calendar yet because they were still floating around as scribbled notes, but there was still room. “You have the beachfront, right?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So let’s throw that customer-appreciation bash,” she said.
He just looked at her.
“You have me now,” she said, and felt herself blush again. Why was everything sounding sexual? “I can help with the planning and the work.”
He just looked at her some more.
“Okay, I’ll plan all of it,” she said. “Your clients will love it.”
“Are you always this relentless?”
“Yep. Stubborn as hell, too. Sorry, I forgot to put that on my job application.” And then, sensing his acquiescence, she leaned in and kissed his firm, hard mouth. She’d meant it to be just a quick peck to soften him up, but that’s not what happened. In fact, it was the opposite of what happened, because he hauled her off her stool and onto his lap.
One of his warm, hard arms banded around her hips, the other hand cupping the back of her head, tilting it to the angle he wanted. And then he claimed her mouth like he meant it. In less than two heartbeats, he’d made her forget her own name, that she had a caller on hold, and what day of the week it was. When he was done—and he took his sweet-ass time about it, too—he lifted his head and surveyed her expression, his own a lot more mellow, his eyes heavy-lidded and sexy.
Clue one that she wasn’t the only one affected. Clue two was currently poking her in the butt. She had one arm tight around his neck and the other hand fisted in his hair, holding on. That was all she could ever do when he got up in her space like this—hold on for dear life.
With one last indiscernible look, he dropped her back into her chair.
“We having fireworks or what?” she managed.
“Shit,” he said, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. We’re having fireworks. More than I realized, apparently.”
With a smile, she picked up the phone. “Yes,” she said to the waiting customer. “We’re having a bash complete with fireworks. If you leave your information, I can make sure you’re in our system, and that way you’ll get our invite.”
Sam shook his head when she’d hung up. “Hope you can pull this off,” he said.
“I can.” With her eyes closed. She was good at organizing and planning. Really good. “What else do I do?” she asked.
Sam showed her a list of services and prices so that the next time someone called, she’d be prepared to book a trip. “Stick to what we’ve got listed here,” he said. “Don’t add anything new unless you check with one of us. If anyone needs something you can’t answer, Cole or Tanner are on radio.”
“But not you?”
“I don’t typically spend a lot of time in here,” he said.
“Because using your people skills is really hard on you?”
“Yeah,” he said drily, “and because if I’m not out on the water, then I’m in the shop working on the financials, or building a boat.” He stood up. “Another thing you’ll do is check out our rental equipment. Snorkel gear, paddleboards, kayaks. . .” He moved to a door behind her and opened it up to a back room.
Sam led her in there and flicked on the light. There were no windows here. The place was tight quarters and filled to the gills with gear and equipment on racks that looked well taken care of and perfectly organized. One wall was lined with a huge industrial sink.
“The cleaning tank,” he said. “We bleach the rental gear between uses to hotel standard code.”
She nodded but took in the dark, closed-in feel of the room. The claustrophobia was relatively new, as far as her neuroses went, and even as she thought it and remembered what had caused it, the air was sucked from her lungs. “You need a bigger hut,” she whispered.
“Undoubtedly,” he said, his back to her as he eyed the shelves. “You ever snorkel? Paddleboard? Kayak?”
She swallowed hard. “Not a lot of that where I came from.”
He laughed quietly, and she might have reveled in the deep, masculine sound, but she was starting to sweat. The walls were closing in on her; she could feel them. “Um, I need to. . .” She gestured to the door, and practically leapt back to the front room.
She thought she’d covered her tracks pretty well as she leaned casually against the front counter and managed to stay still while