by Nancy Warren
“I don’t—”
“I understand if you prefer not to be seen with the hired help.”
“It’s not—I’m not a snob!”
When he smiled that slow, come-to-bed smile, she knew he had her. “I’m new in town. I have a lot of questions and I hate eating alone.” He shrugged. “That’s part of my heritage.”
“It’s just dinner,” she told him.
“Of course.”
She glanced at her watch. “It’s four-thirty. Get a room and get settled. I’ll come back at seven.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
He got out of the Yukon, didn’t seem to notice the way the door screeched when he opened it, pulled his bag out of the back, then leaned in and said, “Thanks for the ride. See you at seven.”
She checked email on her phone for ten minutes, figured that should be enough time for Max to get settled in his room, and then walked into the inn. She walked straight past the front desk to the back offices, looking for the hotel manager.
Laurel Enright was her best friend and the person she most needed to talk to. Fortunately, she was in her office, talking on the phone. When she spied Claire she waved her in and made a face.
“No. I completely understand. Of course, a moose charging your car could make anyone miss their reservation. Absolutely. I quite understand. I don’t blame your husband. I’d probably drink a bottle of scotch, too. Let’s just be glad no one was hurt. Not even the moose. Of course I won’t charge you for tonight. We’ll look forward to welcoming you to the Spruce Bay Inn tomorrow. Uh-huh. You’re welcome. You, too.”
“Don’t even ask,” Laurel said when she put down the phone. She leaned forward. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”
“Crazy busy, but good.”
Laurel stood and walked around her desk. “Check out these babies. I bought them online.”
Laurel was a vivacious redhead who’d been fighting to lose twenty pounds ever since Claire had known her. Claire thought she looked wonderful with her full breasts and hips, but she knew her friend didn’t share her opinion. One thing they both agreed on, however, was that no matter how bad the climate, how deep the snowbanks or how sloppy the mud, shoes mattered. It had taken Claire a while to get used to carrying her good shoes in a shopping bag when she went out in the winter months, wearing her winter boots and parka and then changing into real shoes in the mudroom. But now she’d been doing it for so many years it seemed normal.
But it was summer now and Laurel had worn a kicking pair of cream half boots to work. “I love them.”
“I know. Online shopping makes me feel a tiny bit less isolated. Too bad you can’t mail-order men.” She sighed and sat back down. “So, what brings you here?”
“I was dropping off our new pilot. He’s going to stay here at the inn for a couple of days. Then Lynette wants him to move into the old caretaker’s cottage.”
“Hah. Is she trying to match you up with him?”
“Of course.”
Laurel knew of her grandmother’s attempts to get her attached to another bush pilot. “I think it’s kind of sweet. She wants you to marry a pilot so you can take over Polar Air. Just like her and your grandfather.”
“I know. I guess it is sweet, but it’s also annoying. I’d like to pick my own men.”
“What’s he like?”
“His name is Max. His family’s from Argentina, but he’s American. He’s...” How to describe the man? “He’s very self-assured. Seemed like he didn’t care whether he got the job or not, and yet he’d flown all the way up from Seattle for an interview. Good pilot.”
“I don’t want his résumé. I mean, what’s he like?”
“Okay. He’s hot. Really hot.” She pushed her hair back. “He’s also a bit pushy. He asked me for dinner.”
“Already? You just met him.”
“I know.”
“Are you going?”
“He conned me. Made me feel like I’d be a snob if I didn’t go out with him, like I thought I was too good for him since my family owns the company. So of course I said yes to prove him wrong.”
“Well, the halibut is fresh tonight. Looks amazing.” There was no question they’d be eating in the Inn dining room. It was the only decent place to eat in Spruce Bay.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll try and scope him out while he’s here. I’m off tonight, so I can’t hang around the bar and watch how your date is going.”
“Thank goodness.”
She chuckled. “Besides, I can’t go near the restaurant. I’m on this juice diet. I see real food and I want to weep.”
“How long does this juice diet last?”
“As long as I can stand it. I’m on day two. If I make day three I’m treating myself to a big steak dinner as a reward.”
3
WHEN CLAIRE WALKED into the dining room of the Spruce Bay Inn, Max had a moment to enjoy the sight of her as she paused at the entrance to look for him. She was a truly lovely woman.
He hadn’t been certain she’d show up, but here she was, and she’d dressed for dinner, he noted, in a flowered dress. Her legs were bare and her sandals celebrated the short summer season.
She’d left her hair long so it swung when she moved. He rose from his seat at the bar, walked to greet her.
Max reached for her hand.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
She gave him a sideways look. “I always keep my promises.”
“Do you?” He thought of all the things he’d like her to promise him, decided he was getting ahead of himself. “Good.”
He held out a chair for her and she seated herself across from him in the lounge.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“A caipirinha. It’s Brazilian. Try it. Mostly rum and fruit juice.” He held out his glass. She glanced up at him, then took the glass and sipped.
“Mmm,” she said, then licked her lips. He felt a shaft of heat go right through him. If she’d done it deliberately to look sexy, the move would have left him cold. But her response was so natural, so unstudied that it caught at him. Made him wonder about how she might respond to other things.
What would she taste like when he kissed her? What kind of sounds would she make in bed? What would her skin feel like when he ran his fingers down her bare back? What did she look like when she came? The questions crowded his mind, as unbidden as they were inconvenient. He didn’t want to fall for this woman. He was here for business reasons. And yet, from the moment he’d seen her in the office, both dainty and tough, giving a thieving employee his walking papers, he’d felt inexplicably drawn to her.
But Max was enough of a romantic to understand that passion couldn’t be controlled or understood. You welcomed it when it came, like the bush pilots out here in Alaska welcomed the wild weather. You rode it, dove through it, embraced it.
“Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
He motioned to their waitress and ordered her a drink.
“You’re adventurous,” he said when he’d given the order.
“And you’re a charmer.”
She said it matter-of-factly, not in an accusing way. So, he tried to consider whether he was, in fact, a charmer. “I don’t consciously try to charm anyone.”
“You certainly charmed my grandmother.”
“I like your grandmother. She’s an amazing woman.”
She tilted her head to one side and her hair slid over her shoulders. “And I think you’re trying to charm me.”
“Do you suspect me of manipulation?” He shook his head. “It’s not my intention. I like you. I think you’re incredible. One day you’ll be like your grandmother.”
He could see she was pleased by the notion. “I hope so.”
“And I also find you very beautiful.”
“Definitely a charmer.”
“A truth-teller,” he corrected.
They moved to a window table for dinner. She o
rdered the halibut which their waitress told them was today’s special. He ordered steak with Alaska king-crab legs and she laughed at him. “That’s what the tourists order.”
“It’s my first day. Give me a break.”
He kept things light. Asked her about her family, her life. Tried to imagine her orphaned in the critical teenage years. Coming here to live with her grandparents. He admired them for doing such a good job, and he admired her for overcoming tragedy and becoming the woman she was.
“I only wish I hadn’t been an only child. It would have been nice to have a brother or sister to grow up with.” She was solemn a moment, then gazed at him with those hazel eyes. “What about you? Family? Brothers and sisters?”
“My parents came to the States before I was born. My dad was an airline mechanic. My mother taught Spanish and looked after my sister and me.
“I had two best friends growing up, Dylan and Adam, who are still my best friends. My parents were strict, but they loved us. My sister’s a teacher and she married a family friend. Moved back to Argentina.”
“And you’re a pilot.”
“Yes,” he said, because it was true. He was also a few other things, but there were some details he didn’t feel ready to share with her. Like the fact that he had more money than he could ever spend. Or that his company was thinking of buying her airline.
As they were finishing their main course, he saw her glance over at the bar and stiffen. He followed her gaze. Frank Carmondy was there, drinking what looked like neat scotch and glaring at Claire.
Max felt a wave of irritation wash over him. Really? Did the man have to mess up his first date with this beautiful woman?
“Maybe we should leave,” she said quietly.
“Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble for the people who run this hotel. They’re friends of mine.”
“Ignore him. If he chooses to make a scene it’s his business. Maybe he’ll have a drink and move on.” He smiled at her. “Here, have a bite of crab. It’s fantastic.”
“If you’re still here next April I’ll cook you fresh king crab and you’ll understand the difference.” But she still opened her mouth and let him feed her a bite.
“Well?”
“Pretty good for frozen,” she admitted.
Frank Carmondy banged his glass down on the bar and stormed over, as predictable as thunder after lightning. He came so close to their table he knocked into it and Max realized that scotch was far from his first.
“So, you fired me so you could give your boy toy my job, huh?”
Claire sent Max a sharp glance, essentially saying, “Let me handle this,” so he kept his mouth shut and his temper in control.
“Frank,” she said, “this isn’t the time or place.”
“You think you can fire me? Nobody fires me. You wouldn’t have an airline without me.”
The conversation in the dining room petered out as people turned to stare. Their waitress said something to a girl holding a water jug. She put down the water and hurried into the back, probably getting the manager. Even though Claire had told him to let her handle her ex-employee, Max found it difficult to sit still and stay out of the fray.
Carmondy slurred his words but they were loud and easy to understand. “I bet your grandmother’s real happy you turned out to be such a slut. She used—”
Max was on his feet and had hold of one of Frank’s beefy arms before he could finish the sentence.
He’d been prepared to let Claire handle the situation but he wasn’t about to let a drunk insult her. Not while she was sitting having dinner with him at his invitation. He began to drag the man toward the exit.
“Where you think you’re taking me?”
“Outside.”
“Good,” said a guy sitting with his wife at the next table. He glanced with dislike at the drunk former airline manager.
* * *
CLAIRE WASN’T THE type to swoon over a couple of guys brawling, she’d spent too long in Alaska for that, but she really didn’t appreciate being at the center of controversy.
She was annoyed with Frank for being a drunk, stupid bully. Annoyed with Max for playing the hero yet again when no one had asked him to interfere.
She was annoyed with herself for agreeing to this date. If she hadn’t, the whole embarrassing situation would have been avoided.
She sipped her wine and gazed out the window. She should simply leave, but that would only add more drama to an already overwrought situation.
So, she sat. And waited.
It was a surprisingly short time later when Max returned. He didn’t have a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his crisp white shirt.
He said, “I’m sorry for my absence. Would you like dessert?”
“No, thank you.”
He picked up his napkin and neatly spread it over his lap when he reseated himself. “You’re annoyed with me.”
“I’m annoyed with you, with Frank, with me, with my grandfather for hiring such a creep.”
“I know.”
She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “What he said about me—”
She’d thought his eyes were the sexiest thing about him, but now that he was smiling at her so intimately, as though they shared secrets the rest of the world could never understand, she changed her mind. His smile was his sexiest attribute. “Please. I’m not stupid. You’re a beautiful woman. He ever give you trouble?”
“He said a couple of inappropriate things. Nothing I couldn’t ignore. Why?”
“Because if he did I’d have to rethink my earlier restraint.”
A sound of frustration emerged from her throat. “You are from another century.”
“Perhaps. Please join me in dessert.”
“I never eat it. I’ll have coffee.”
“Fine.”
When they were finished and he’d shaken off her offer to buy dinner as though it were an insult, she rose. “Thank you so much for dinner,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” He walked out of the restaurant with her. She greeted people she knew as she passed, embarrassed that they’d all witnessed her encounter with Frank.
Max held the door that led to the gravel parking lot out front. And followed her through it.
She turned to him. “What are you doing?”
“I’m seeing you to your car.”
“You’re very old-fashioned.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Spruce Bay was far enough north that even at nine-thirty at night the sun hadn’t set. There was plenty of light, making it easy to see the word SLUT scrawled with a finger in the dust on the Yukon’s back window.
“Guess we need to wash the car more often,” she said, digging in her bag for a tissue. Max was ahead of her, pulling a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping off the offensive word.
He didn’t say anything, simply walked to the driver’s side, waited until she’d unlocked the car, then opened the door and held it while she got in. She’d wondered if he’d attempt to kiss her. Hoped she’d be strong enough to resist. But he didn’t. He slammed the door on her without a word.
So much for manners, she thought, putting her key in the ignition and firing up the beast.
The passenger door opened and to her shock, Max got in beside her.
She threw up both hands. “Now what are you doing?”
“Escorting you home.”
“But you’re staying at the hotel.”
“Yes. I am.”
“Max, this is ridiculous.”
“I’m old-fashioned, remember?” And then she got it. He didn’t want her going home alone in case Frank Carmondy wanted to cause more trouble than scrawling insults on her back window.
She looked at him. “You’re going to drive me nuts, aren’t you?”
His grin was both wolfish and understanding. “Probably.”
* * *
THEY WERE MOSTLY quiet on the way home. John Mayer play
ed on the radio. The old Yukon bumped and rattled on its way back to the barn. She felt Max’s watchfulness but no drunken, crazed ex-employee jumped out at them.
She turned into the Polar Air property and all was serene.
She parked the car and turned to him, all sexy and mysterious beside her. “Well, Sir Galahad, it seems I’m home safe.”
“Good.” He began to lean toward her, slow and sure, but giving her plenty of time to pull back.
She did pull back, but not all the way. She put a hand to his chest, found it warm and muscular. “Even if I’m not your boss, we’re still coworkers. This is against company policy.”
“As I believe I mentioned, we’re not coworkers until tomorrow.”
He was so close she could see tiny black flecks in the deep brown of his irises, could smell the fresh laundry and hot male scent of him. Her lips began to open. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to a man. “And what happens tomorrow?” she asked. Her voice came out breathless.
“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” he said, and closed the last few inches between them, covering her mouth with his own.
His kiss was hot and sweet. Demanding and restrained. Such a mass of contradictions she found herself pulling him against her, demanding more.
He didn’t need much encouragement. He plunged his hands into her hair, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly. He licked into her mouth, teased her tongue. He tasted of the coffee they’d drunk, a hint of wine, and deeper of sexy, potent, demanding man.
A tiny cry came from her throat, part protest, part acquiescence. He was so hot. When she ran her hands over his chest and back she found that he was muscular and toned, as she’d guessed.
Seat belts were a hindrance. He snapped his free with a curse. Then reached and unsnapped hers.
He turned her toward him and let his own hands play. He didn’t grab straight for her breasts, but traced the scoop of her neckline with one fingertip. Her nipples came to life. She felt them bloom against her dress, hard and insistent.
His single fingertip, seemingly oblivious, traced her shoulder, tracked to her upper back and moved up her spine into her hairline. She shivered. How had she never known how sensitive she was in that spot?
