Twelve Nights of Temptation

by Barbara Dunlop

She wanted to look beautiful for Matt.

  She paused for a moment to let the thought sink in.

  She had at first chosen a basic black dress from the rack. There was nothing wrong with it. It was understated but perfectly acceptable. Black wasn’t exactly her color. But it was a safe choice.

  “Tasha?” Matt called from the hallway.

  “Yes?” she called back.

  “We’ve got about twenty minutes, and then we should get going.”

  “No problem.” But then she’d spotted a champagne-colored gown and it had held her attention. She’d left with both dresses, and she glanced from one to the other now. Letting out a deep breath, she plucked the champagne-colored one from the hanger. She couldn’t help feeling like one of her sisters, primping for a fancy party in the hopes of impressing a rich man.

  She’d never understood it before, and she didn’t want to understand it now. But she did. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted Matt to see her as beautiful.

  She set the dress on the bed and shoes on the floor. The guest bathroom was spacious and opulent. Her few toiletries took up only a tiny corner of the vanity.

  She stripped off her clothes, noting small bruises on her elbow and her shoulder. She was feeling a lot better than yesterday, but she was still sore. Her gaze strayed to the huge soaker tub next to the walk-in shower. She promised herself she’d take advantage of it later.

  For now, she twisted her hair into a braided updo, brushed her teeth, put on some makeup and shimmied into the dress. She didn’t have much in the way of jewelry, but she did have a little pair of emerald-and-diamond studs that her parents had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

  The last thing she put on was the shoes. They weren’t a perfect fit, but they did look terrific. She popped her phone and a credit card into the purse, and headed out to meet Matt.

  His bedroom door was open, and the room was empty, as was the living room. Then she heard movement at the front door. Feeling guilty for having kept him waiting, she headed that way.

  When she rounded the corner, he stopped still and his eyes went wide.

  “What?” She glanced down at herself. Had she missed removing a tag?

  “You look fantastic.”

  She relaxed and couldn’t help but smile. The compliment warmed her straight through.

  He moved closer. “I shouldn’t be so shocked when you dress up like this.”

  He took her hands. “Seriously, Tasha. You’re a knockout. It’s a crying shame that you hide under baseball caps and boxy clothes.”

  His compliment warmed her, and she didn’t know how to respond. She knew how she should respond—with annoyance at him for being shallow and disappointment in herself for succumbing to vanity. But that wasn’t what she was feeling. She was feeling happy, excited, aroused. She’d dressed up for him, and he liked it.

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, her voice coming out husky.

  He wore a tux better than anyone in the world.

  “I don’t want to share you,” he said, drawing her closer.

  “You think I’m yours to share?” She put a teasing lilt in her voice.

  “You should be. You should be mine. Why aren’t you mine, Tasha?” He searched her expression for a split second, and then his mouth came down on hers.

  She knew there were all kinds of reasons that this was a bad idea. But she didn’t have it in her. She wanted it as much as he did, maybe more. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss.

  She pressed her body against his. The arm at her waist held her tight. His free hand moved across her cheek, into her hair, cradling her face as he deepened the kiss. His leg nudged between hers, sending tendrils of desire along her inner thighs. Her nipples hardened against him, and a small pulse throbbed at her core.

  He kissed her neck, nibbled her ear, his palm stroked up her spine, coming to the bare skin at the top of her back, slipping under the dress to caress her shoulder.

  “Forget this,” he muttered.

  Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her farther into the house, down the hallway to his bedroom.

  He dropped to the bed, bringing her with him, stretching her out in his arms, never stopping the path of his kisses.

  “Matt?” she gasped, even as she inhaled his scent, gripped tight to his strong shoulders and marveled at how the world was spinning in a whole new direction. “The party.”

  Her body was on fire. Her skin craved his touch. Her lips couldn’t get enough of his taste.

  “Forget the party,” he growled. “I need you, Tasha. I’ve imagined you in my bed so many, many times.”

  “I need you, too,” she answered honestly.

  It might have been the emotion of the past two days. Maybe it was the way he’d saved her. Maybe it was the intimacy of decorating for Christmas. Or maybe it was just hormones, chemistry. Matt wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met.

  He stripped off her dress and tossed his tux aside piece by piece.

  When they were naked, they rolled together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  She ended up on top. And she sat up, straddling him, smiling down.

  “I have dreamed of this,” he whispered, stroking his hands up her sides, moving to settle on her breasts.

  “This might be a dream.” She’d dreamed of him too, too many times to count. If this was another, she didn’t want to wake up.

  “You might be a dream,” he said. “But this isn’t a dream. This is so real.”

  “It feels real to me.” Unwilling to wait, she guided him inside, gasping as sensations threatened to overwhelm her. “Very, very, very real.”

  “Oh, Tasha,” he groaned and pulled her close to kiss her.

  She moved her hips, pleasure spiraling through her.

  “Don’t stop,” he said, matching her motion.

  “No way,” she answered against his mouth.

  She wanted to say more, but words failed her. Her brain had shut down. All she could do was kiss and caress him, drink in every touch and motion he made.

  The world contracted to his room, to his bed, to Matt, beautiful, wonderful Matt.

  She sat up to gaze at his gorgeous face. His eyes were opaque. His lips were dark red. His jaw was clenched tight. She captured his hand, lifted it to her face and drew one of his fingers into her mouth. Even his hands tasted amazing.

  His other hand clasped her hips. He thrust harder, arching off the bed, creating sparks that turned to colors that turned to sounds. Lights flashed in her brain and a roar came up in her ears. Matt called her name over and over as she catapulted into an abyss.

  Then she melted forward, and his strong arms went around her, holding her close, rocking her in his arms.

  “That was...” he whispered in her ear.

  “Unbelievable,” she finished on a gasping voice.

  “How did we do that? What’s your magic?”

  She smiled. “I thought it was yours.”

  “It’s ours,” he said.

  Moments slipped by while they both caught their breaths.

  “Are we still going to the party?” she asked.

  “I’m not willing to share.” He trailed his fingertips along her bare back.

  She knew she should call him out for those words. But she was too happy, too content. She wasn’t going to do anything to break the spell.

  Ten

  Matt resented real life. He wanted to lock himself away with Tasha and never come out. He’d held her in his arms all night long, waking to her smile, laughing with her over breakfast.

  But she had insisted on going to work, and now he had a fire investigator sitting across from him in his office.

  “Who was the last person to work on the engine before the fire
?” Clayton Ludlow asked.

  “My chief mechanic, Tasha Lowell. She’s on her way here, but I can guarantee you she didn’t make a mistake.”

  “I’m not suggesting she did. But I need to establish who had access to the engine room.”

  “After Tasha, I have no idea.”

  “You have security cameras?”

  “I do.”

  “You reviewed the footage?” Clayton made some notes on a small pad of paper.

  “Of course.”

  “Did anyone else board Crystal Zone the rest of the day?”

  “Not that we could see. But Tasha thought...” Matt hesitated.

  “Thought what?”

  “She had a feeling someone was on board at the same time as her.”

  “Did she see someone?”

  “No. It was just a feeling.” And at this point, it was worrying Matt more than ever.

  “There’s nothing I can do with the feeling of another potential suspect.”

  “Tasha’s not a suspect.” Matt wanted the investigator to be clear on that.

  Clayton’s tone became brisk. “Are there blind spots left by the security cameras?”

  “No.”

  Clayton’s arched expression told Matt he was jumping to conclusions about Tasha.

  “You know we’ve suspected sabotage,” Matt said.

  “I know. And we also know what started the fire.”

  Matt’s interest ramped up. “How did he do it?”

  “He or she left some oily rags in a pile. They ignited.”

  There was a knock on the door and Tasha pushed it open.

  Matt waved her inside, and she took the vinyl guest chair next to Clayton.

  Matt got straight to the point. “There were some oily rags left in the engine room. Any chance they were yours?”

  He didn’t believe for a minute they were, but he didn’t want Clayton to think he was covering for Tasha. Not that he would need to. There was absolutely no way she was the saboteur.

  “No,” she said. “Never. Not a chance.”

  Matt looked to Clayton.

  “How many boats do you work on in an average day?”

  “One to six.”

  “So, you’re busy.”

  “I’m busy,” she said. “But I didn’t forget something like that.”

  “How many boats did you work on the day of the fire?”

  “Three.” She paused. “No, four.”

  “This is a waste of time,” Matt said.

  Clayton ignored him. “The other problems Whiskey Bay has been having. I understand you were the last person to work on each of the engines.”

  “I was also the one to discover the wire short and the fuel leak that prevented the last fire.” She slid a glance to Matt. It was obvious her patience was wearing.

  Clayton made some more notes.

  “Are you planning to charge me with something?” Tasha asked.

  Her voice had gone higher, and her posture had grown stiff in the chair. Matt would have given anything to spirit her back to his house.

  “Are you expecting to be charged with something?”

  “No.” She was emphatic.

  Clayton didn’t answer. He just nodded.

  “We’re wasting time,” Matt said. “The real criminal is out there, and we’re wasting time.”

  “Let me do my job,” Clayton said.

  “That’s all we want.” Matt nodded.

  “It wasn’t me,” Tasha said.

  “Noted. And now I have to finish my report.” Clayton came to his feet.

  Tasha stood, as well. “And I have engines to inspect. Think what you want about me,” she said to Clayton. “But whoever is trying to hurt Matt’s business is still trying to hurt Matt’s business. If you don’t want another disaster on your hands, help us find them.”

  She turned and left the office.

  “Is she always so emotional?” Clayton asked.

  “She’s never emotional. And she’s not emotional now. But I’m getting there.” Matt rose. “Fill out your report. But if you pursue Tasha as a suspect or accomplice, you’ll only be wasting valuable time.”

  * * *

  Tasha paced her way down the pier, past the burned boats to Monty’s Pride, which, thankfully, hadn’t been damaged at all. She knew the inspector was only doing his job. But it was frustrating to have them spend so much time on her instead of looking for the real culprit. She had no doubt she’d be exonerated, no matter what people might believe right now. But she hated to think about the damage that could potentially be done in the meantime.

  She heard the echoing sound of an open boat moving toward her. From the sound, she figured it was a small cartopper with a 150-horse outboard. Alex had chased a couple of reporters and a dozen lookie-loos away from the docks already this morning.

  The red open boat was piloted by a man in a steel gray hoodie. He wasn’t even wearing a life jacket.

  “Jerk,” she muttered under her breath, climbing down to the floater where it was obvious he was planning to dock.

  “This is private property,” she called out to him, waving him away.

  He kept coming.

  He didn’t have a camera out yet; at least that was something.

  She moved to the edge of the floater. “I said, this is private property.”

  He put a hand up to cup his ear.

  He looked to be in his late fifties. He could be hard of hearing. Or it could simply be the noise of the outboard motor.

  It was odd that he was wearing a hoodie. She associated them with teenagers, not older adults.

  The boat touched broadside on the tire bumpers.

  Tasha crouched to grasp the gunwale. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  The man seemed oddly familiar.

  “Have we met?” she asked, puzzled.

  Maybe she’d been too quick to try to send him away. His business could be legitimate.

  He shifted in his seat, coming closer to her.

  And then she smelled it, the cologne or aftershave that she’d smelled the morning of the Crystal Zone fire.

  “Only once,” he said, raising an arm.

  She jerked back, but she was too late.

  Her world went dark.

  * * *

  It could have been minutes or hours later when she pushed her way to consciousness. She felt disoriented, and pain pulsed at her temples. Her first thought was to reach for Matt. She’d fallen asleep in his arms last night, and she wanted to wake up the same way.

  She reached out, but instead of finding Matt, her hand hit a wall. No, it wasn’t a wall. It was fabric. It was springy. It felt like the back of a sofa, and it had a musty smell.

  She forced her eyes open, blinking in dim light.

  The light was from a window up high in the room.

  Her head throbbed harder, and she reached up to find a lump at her temple.

  Then it all came back to her, the boat, the man, the smell. He’d hit her on the head. He’d knocked her out.

  She sat up straight, pain ricocheting through her skull.

  “You should have come home, Tasha.” The voice was low and gravelly.

  She looked rapidly around, trying to locate the source.

  “Your mother misses you,” he said.

  She squinted at a shadowy figure in a kitchen chair across the room. “Who are you? Where am I? What do you want?”

  “You’re safe,” he said.

  She gave a hollow laugh. “I have a hard time believing that.”

  She gazed around the big room. It was more like a shed or a garage. She could make out a workbench of some kind. There were yard tools stacked against one
wall, some sheers and a weed trimmer hanging on hooks.

  “Where am I?” She put her feet on the floor, finding it was concrete.

  The garage wasn’t heated, and she was chilly.

  “It’s not important.” He waved a dismissive hand. “We won’t be here long.”

  “Where are we going?” Her mind was scrambling.

  He’d pulled down his hoodie, but her vision was poor in the dim light. She’d thought she recognized him, but she couldn’t place him. And she found herself wondering if she’d been mistaken.

  But the cologne smell was familiar. It was... It was...

  Her father’s!

  “Where’s my dad?” she asked, sitting forward, debating her odds of overpowering the man.

  He was older, but she was woozy, and her pounding headache was making her dizzy.

  “He’s in Boston. As always. Why would he be anywhere else?”

  She wasn’t going to give away that she’d made the cologne connection. It might give her some kind of advantage.

  “No reason.”

  The man rose to his feet. “Tasha, Tasha, Tasha. You have proved so difficult.”

  She wished she knew how long she’d been here. Would Matt have noticed her missing yet? There’d be no tracks, nothing on the security cameras. The man had used a boat. That’s how he’d got onto Crystal Zone without being seen yesterday morning. He’d come by water.

  “You were the one who lit the oily rags,” she said.

  She couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as if he’d smiled.

  “Used a candle as a wick,” he said with a certain amount of pride in his voice, taking a few paces in front of her. “The wax just disappears.” He fluttered his fingers. “For all anyone knows, they spontaneously combusted. Didn’t anyone teach you the dangers of oily rags?”

  “Of course they did. Nobody’s going to believe I’d make a mistake like that.”

  “Well, it wouldn’t have come to that—” now he sounded angry “—if you hadn’t spent so much time cozying up to Matt Emerson. Otherwise you would have been fired days ago. I didn’t see that one coming.”

  Tasha was speechless. Who was this man? How long had he been watching her? And what had he seen between her and Matt? As quickly as the thought formed, she realized that some stranger knowing she’d slept with Matt was the least of her worries.