Hearts on Fire: Romance Multi-Author Box Set Anthology

by Violet Vaughn

  Davis stared down the length of Reid Harbor and cut a few quick glances at the cradling, pine-carpeted arms of Stuart Island that surrounded them. It was shaping up to be a beautiful evening. The sky held a certain golden glow that promised a stunning sunset to come. At the far end of the harbor the glass-smooth water was dotted with boats at anchor, distant and small. But close at hand, the Coriolis rested alone. Its two tall masts made wavering reflections in the gently rippling water.

  “Home sweet home?” Davis said. “Aren’t we pulling into some resort town for the night?”

  “Of course not! You’re sleeping on the boat.”

  Emily, through with securing her lines, stepped down into the sunken cockpit. “You’ve got the best berth in the place—a private cabin below. The bed’s really comfortable, and you’ve got a great view through your own porthole. You’ll love it!”

  Davis’s mouth pressed into a skeptical line. “Sleeping on a boat? Who does that?”

  “We do,” Jordan said, doing her best to mask her annoyance with a smile. “And now you do, too.”

  This was the first client she’d ever had who didn’t actually want to be on a boat. She figured that was apt to make him ten times more unbearable than her usual customers. Good thing his manager paid me ten times the usual rate. But now she wondered if it would be compensation enough.

  Davis squinted at the far end of the harbor. “Is there a town down there?”

  “Nope,” Jordan said. “There’s nothing on Stuart Island but a state park and a few homes. That’s it. No town.”

  “Why?” Storm asked. “Is there something you need?”

  Davis shrugged. “I thought a bar would be nice. A few drinks, or maybe a lot of drinks. Some music. You know, a good time.”

  “We’re all from Griffin Bay,” Emily said with an apologetic laugh. “We’re practically a different species from you big-city types. I’m afraid anchoring out and sleeping on a boat is the only form of good time our species knows.”

  “Come on, you can’t really mean that.” Davis turned the full force of his charm on Emily, giving her a slow, velvety smile. His words practically purred at her, and Emily’s face flushed as red as the sunset to come. “Music makes you feel alive—gets your blood pounding. And a few drinks will let down all your inhibitions.” He left poor, flustered Emily alone and turned his smoky, smoldering stare on Jordan. “All your inhibitions. Right? Surely even you down-home Griffin Bay types know what I mean.”

  Held by his intensely blue eyes, Jordan’s stomach flopped as if she’d ridden a boat over a massive swell. Emily had chided her for being too rigidly in control, but for the briefest moment she wondered what she might do if she let all her inhibitions go—and she didn’t like what she saw in her mind’s eye. The first thing she’d do would be to run her hand along Davis’s face—feel the scratch of his overgrown stubble against her skin.

  Nope, she told herself firmly. No. Absolutely not. Not happening. Ever.

  She had a job to do. One last job. She was going to get through the next ten days with Davis on her boat, and then she’d be done—free to build a new future. She was not going to get distracted by a man. Especially not a client. Jordan was a professional—God knew she’d worked harder, doubly hard, to prove to her cynical, sometimes bigoted clients just how professional she was as a very young female skipper.

  But you haven’t had a boyfriend since high school, some sneaky little devil-voice whispered in her head.

  It was true. Once Jordan had found her focus—her dream—she’d barely had time for boys, and certainly had made no time for romance now, as a grown woman. Jordan was no virgin, but her teenage fumblings hadn’t wowed her, even back then. She had always been so driven to make her business succeed that she’d spared no thought for sex.

  But Davis, with his slow smile and resonant voice, might change all that in a blink… if she let him. If she didn’t maintain her boundaries. He embodied every stupid cliché of a rock star, she told herself angrily: cocky, self-absorbed, and unspeakably, forcefully attractive. Ugh. How unoriginal.

  Jordan climbed up out of the cockpit and busied herself with an unnecessary inspection of the lines. If she was going to keep herself aloof from Davis’s charm, she needed to maintain her annoyance with him. That shouldn’t be hard. Just remember that he’s ten times worse than your worst client. There’s nothing attractive about rich, demanding pricks.

  She began working on her defensive mantra right away. Who was this guy? Who arrived at a stunning anchorage like Reid Harbor—the kind of scenic wonderland most people only dream of visiting in person—and instantly thought of seeking out loud music and booze? Emily had chided Jordan back at the marina for her need to chill out and relax, but Davis Steen was clearly the one with the relaxation deficiency. And anybody who couldn’t slow down and appreciate the natural beauty of the San Juans was nobody Jordan wanted to waste her time or her thoughts with.

  When both her anger and her attraction were under control, Jordan straightened from the lines and said lightly to Davis, “I had quite a conversation with Tyler, your manager.”

  Davis looked up from the cockpit warily. “Oh yeah?”

  “He said he sent you on this trip so you could unwind. Get some relaxation. Find some peace and quiet so you could think clearly.”

  Davis shrugged and gave another of his low, rumbling laughs. He crossed his arms in what was probably an unconsciously defensive gesture, but somehow the posture only made him look cooler—casual and confident, his arrogant self-assurance beaming out from him like heat from the sun. Jordan couldn’t help but notice how his folded arms accentuated the shape of his muscular chest and his golden-tanned biceps.

  He really is hot, she thought dismally. Dark hair, blue eyes, a little masculine scruff around the jaw, and a strong, lean body—Davis was exactly the kind of guy she had always found attractive. Too bad he’s so revoltingly out-of-touch. I mean, really. Who gets to Stuart Island and just wants to party?

  “So I think,” Jordan continued, “you’ll have to find ways to enjoy yourself the Griffin Bay way. On a boat.”

  Davis frowned. “Hey, man. I’m a paying client. I hired you. I think that entitles me to a say in what we do and where we go.”

  “Wrong,” Jordan said. “Tyler hired me. He’s the paying client. And believe me, he paid me well to be sure you chilled out and took it easy. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Tyler—that’s none of my business. But I do know he hired me for a specific purpose: to carry you off to some peaceful places. Quiet, relaxing places. And that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Davis stepped up from the cockpit and moved close—just a little too close, so Jordan could smell his warm, spicy smell and feel the nearness of his body.

  “Well you’re very… professional,” Davis said quietly.

  Jordan’s heart pounded in her ears; she swallowed hard, and cursed herself for doing it. Davis noticed; his mouth quirked in a self-satisfied smile.

  He knows what he’s doing to me, Jordan realized. He’s trying to turn me on. On purpose! It’s all a game to him. Another box ticked on the checklist of rock star clichés: using girls and getting some kind of sick power trip out of it.

  Not me, she promised him silently, narrowing her eyes.

  If Davis thought he could crack through her single-minded focus, he was in for a real wake-up call. Jordan’s drive and professional detachment were legendary—and her commitment to running her business the right way hadn’t waned, even while she considered giving Sea Wolf up. She wasn’t going to fall into some arrogant rock star’s trap. Even if he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen—even if her hands still tingled with the desire to feel the rough scratch of his face. Davis Steen was the worst: Jordan had already decided on that, and his attempts to make her lose her head over his hotness only proved how right she was about him.

  She stepped coolly away from Davis. “I am professional,” she said. “You can ask my crew.”

 
“True,” Emily said, and Storm added quickly, “Confirmed.”

  “When I’ve been paid to do a job, I do it,” Jordan went on. “So you’re going to see some of the most beautiful sights on Earth from the deck of my boat. You’re not going to party; you’re not going to go wild. You’re going to have a relaxing vacation, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

  Davis’s slow smile curled. She wanted to jab those two intense, captivating blue eyes with the vee of her fingers. And she couldn’t look away from those eyes, either—no matter how she scolded herself to ignore his appeal.

  “Am I?” Davis asked. “Going to enjoy it?”

  Jordan glanced down at his chest, his arms, and even across the distance between them, even over the brisk, salty breeze of the harbor, she caught his intoxicating smell. She inhaled it more deeply than she’d intended.

  “Yes,” she said decisively. “Just see if you don’t.” And she made herself turn away.

  6

  Davis couldn’t deny that the sunset was stunning.

  He had toured all around the world, and had played in some of the most incredible locations—from London to St. Petersburg, from Dubai to Seoul to Bangkok. But the rushed life of a touring musician had never given him much opportunity to absorb the cultures of the places he’d visited, let alone the chance to slow down and experience their sights—the unique beauties of the cities, the stunning landscapes that lay beyond. He’d been to Australia and New Zealand seven times each—but had never seen more of either location than their major airports, the stadiums where he played, and the handful of hotel rooms the band had called home on those whirlwind tours. He had certainly never walked their sandy beaches or witnessed the vast, dry expanse of the Australian outback. Nor had he experienced a night market in Thailand, toured the incredible historic monuments of Rome, or even experienced the simple pleasures of a London pub.

  Damn, he thought as the sun dipped in a fiery red ball behind the deep-emerald rise of Stuart Island. The undersides of the thin, scattered clouds burned with the most intense shades of pink and purple, and the sky was as orange as flames.

  It was an incredible sight—but as he stood still on the deck of the Coriolis, holding to the rearmost mast with one hand and watching the sky with silent appreciation, a familiar pang struck his heart. He recalled the last time he’d actually slowed down enough to watch a sunset. It had been years ago—that’s how busy he was now, trying to revive the Local Youths, trying to stay a leap ahead of his own tortured thoughts.

  He and Christine had slipped away for a quiet weekend on the Oregon coast. It was just a couple of days alone together, but Davis had savored every moment of that time. Their walks on the beach, with her hand in his and the gulls crying overhead—their laughing attempts to find cafes and sandwich shops where Davis wouldn’t be recognized and swarmed by fans—their long, lazy hours of sex in the little cottage they’d rented, and late at night, after the stars had come out, on a blanket spread atop one of the nearby sand dunes. It had been a perfect weekend, and the perfect sunset he had watched with his girlfriend had been its crowning delight. Davis had started to think, on that weekend years ago, that he might feel more for Christine than the lust that crackled between them. The seaside, the music of its waves, and that damn sunset had worked some kind of magic over him. He’d begun to believe he actually loved her.

  That was why it hurt all the more when he found her in bed with Mark just a few months later.

  I was an idiot, he told himself, dropping his eyes from the sky’s vibrant glow. Whatever I felt for Christine, she never loved me. She only loved my money and my fame.

  And now that she and Mark had started up a band of their own—now that Can’t Never had eclipsed the Youths in a matter of two short years—Christine had all the money and fame she’d ever desired. Davis was just a footnote to her, a rung she’d stepped on to climb to her present height.

  He heard Jordan’s high but melodious voice drifting up from below, where she was helping Emily prepare the night’s meal.

  Now Jordan—she was the polar opposite of Christine. Storm had filled Davis in on the history of Sea Wolf Charters, and Davis was impressed with Jordan’s story. Fierce in her self-determination, she had built the contained world of her charter business on her very own terms… without using anybody else’s influence to achieve her dreams. That was the kind of woman Davis could really get into. Jordan was so in control of her boat and her crew, the mistress of her own realm, that Davis had no doubt she would have zero interest in riding his coat-tails to greater success—or anybody else’s coat-tails, for that matter.

  And God, she was so mind-blowingly hot. That trim, tight body, those long legs… even in her weird sailing pants with their ripply, baggy, whispery fabric he could tell she had some seriously toned legs. He couldn’t help wondering what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist. And as strange and unflattering as those pants were, he did appreciate the way they clung to her ass. She had some quality assets back there—Davis could just imagine the feel of that butt in his hands while he tangled with Jordan in bed.

  And just like that, Christine was gone from his head. The pain in his heart lifted. He stared at the sunset again, allowing his imagination to run wild with the naked and willing captain of the Coriolis as its main feature.

  What was it about Jordan that turned him on so much? It went beyond mere hotness—it had to. The Youths had once ruled the music scene; Davis had enjoyed more than his fair share of blindingly gorgeous women, singly and in groups. But Jordan had a more compelling draw.

  Maybe it had something to do with her stoic refusal to give in to her attraction. Davis knew Jordan found him sexy. He had noted her subtle responses to him—the the way she had swallowed hard when he’d moved in close to challenge her; the slight tremor in her voice. But she hadn’t budged—hadn’t given him a single one of those soft smiles or flirty, surrendering comments that said a woman was ready to give in, to give him just what he wanted. Jordan’s self-control was astonishing, especially for a woman so young. And as Davis allowed the peace of the sunset to wash over him, as he listened to Jordan and Emily talking softly in the galley, he realized he wanted to break through Jordan’s intriguing barriers as badly as he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

  The challenge of Jordan Griffin might just be a distraction from his shitty situation—career on the rocks, heart broken by his ex, growing older and less relevant every day—but she was a distraction Davis welcomed. The alternative—musing on the painfully slow crash-and-burn of his entire life—was nothing he wanted to contemplate, even if Tyler had ordered it.

  Jordan and Emily re-appeared on deck, each of them carefully bearing trays stacked with plates, steaming pots, and bowls full of delicious-smelling food. Storm followed them with a long, narrow folding table tucked under his arm. He set it up in the middle of the cockpit and the girls laid their trays on its surface.

  “Soup’s on,” Emily called brightly.

  Jordan sat at the table and waved for Davis to join them; he hurried over to the cockpit before anybody else could take the seat opposite Jordan. He wanted to watch her tonight—make eye contact—read her reactions.

  “We usually dine below,” she told him. “There’s a really nice pull-out table down there with comfy seats, but this sunset is just crazy. We had to take advantage of it.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Davis said. “It is really beautiful, even if a bar would be more fun.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her smile had a hint of indulgence to it that told Davis she wasn’t entirely put off by his ribbing.

  “Linguini with crab-and-caper sauce,” Jordan said, lifting the lid from the largest pot. “Storm got the crab this afternoon at the fishermen’s pier, so it’s almost as fresh as if it was just pulled out of the water. And we’ve got a nice salad made with greens grown on a farm just outside Griffin Bay. Goat cheese made on the island, too. And over here, asparagus and mushrooms glazed with balsamic vinegar.”
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br />   “Wow,” Davis said, thoroughly impressed. Emily dished up his plate first; when he took a bite of the linguini he shook his head in mute amazement.

  “Freshly prepared by your ultra-talented captain,” Emily said.

  “You cooked this?” He stared at Jordan. “No way.”

  “You didn’t think I just opened a can of Chef Boyardee, did you?”

  “No, I mean… this is incredible. I’ve traveled all over the place with the band, and eaten at some amazing restaurants. This is some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

  “Aw.” Jordan made a shooing motion with one hand, brushing off his compliments. “Cooking is just a hobby. It’s not like I’m a Michelin superstar.”

  Storm piled his plate high with salad. “Jordan’s mom is an amazing chef. A professional. She has a pretty well-known restaurant on the island.”

  Jordan shrugged. “Mom taught me everything I know. She gets all the credit here.”

  When she turned to her own meal, Davis noted her warm smile.

  “Your mom sounds cool, Jordan. You must really like her.”

  Jordan looked up quickly from her plate and held Davis’s eye. “I love my mom. She’s amazing. My dad, too. My family means the world to me; I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.”

  Davis smiled a little sadly and twirled another load of pasta around his fork. His own parents had never shown much interest in him. He couldn’t count all the times he’d disappointed them over the course of his life—and they’d let him know it, every single time. His dad had wanted him to become a lawyer. His mom didn’t care what he did for a living, as long as it was more respectable than being in a band. Over the past two years, as Davis had struggled to keep the Local Youths relevant in the music scene, he’d heard his father’s warning repeating in his head so often it was worse than any earworm. This isn’t a stable career, Davis. One day you’ll wake up and all your fame will be gone. What will you do with your life then? How will you hold your head up high?