by Linda Cajio
“I see you know where the ‘Leakin’ Lena’ is,” he said, as he went aboard. Looking at the mess of chum buckets and discarded tackle left from the charter, he wished he hadn’t asked her down when the boat was dirty. Then he berated himself. What the hell did it matter what she might think of the Madeline Jo? He turned around and held out his hand. “Come aboard.”
She put her shoes back on, then took his hand. It was soft and small within his own. Damn, he thought. Why did every touch seem so … momentous? The boat rocked slightly as she stepped down onto the deck. Once aboard, he let go of her hand, both grateful and disappointed to do so.
“Coffee? Something cold?” he asked, suddenly feeling the odd urge to play host.
She shook her head and sat stiffly on one of the low, padded benches lining the sides of the stern. He had the feeling she was ready to run at any second. She’d never struck him as the nervous type, so why was she so jumpy now?
He mentally shook himself. He had more pressing matters to talk about with her. He opened his mouth to tell her that he’d thought things through, that he figured they had accomplished pretty much all they could with the grandparents, that the whole damn thing was completely idiotic anyway, so he was quitting.
“How’s your grandfather?” he asked, then clamped his jaw shut. Where had that question come from?
“Fine, fine,” she said. “He complained about your grandmother the whole way home after we left the tea.”
“Good, good.” He lapsed into awkward silence and sat down in one of the big fishing chairs bolted to the deck. He swiveled the seat around to face her. She was as close to the three-step gangway as she could get. Now was the time to tell her, he thought. Now was the moment for supreme common sense. “Do you think he’d come out on the boat?”
Dev actually looked around to see who’d spoken. It couldn’t have been him. Absolutely couldn’t.
She shrugged, then crossed her arms tightly around her middle, as if she were ill. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say.”
“Well, maybe if we got them both out in the middle of the ocean, they’d be forced to deal with each other.”
Why was he talking about further meetings? Dev asked himself. It was as if his common sense had come right up to the starting gate, taken one look at Hilary, then said, “Nope, forget it.” His logic was there; he could feel it rattling around inside him. He just couldn’t seem to get it working right.
“It’s certainly worth a try,” she said. He realized she’d been silent for a few moments and wondered what she’d been thinking.
“What is?” he asked.
“Getting the grandparents on the boat.”
“Oh.”
His brain felt dense, sluggish. Obviously he wasn’t thinking at all. He was too busy staring at her mouth. It was a perfect mouth, beautifully curved and soft, just right for kissing. He knew that.
This was insane, he thought. Women didn’t get to him this way. Never. He was supposed to be calling a halt to this ridiculous scheme, and instead he was drawing himself in deeper. Hilary said nothing. She looked as unhappy as he did. She didn’t like him. He knew that. Then why had she kissed him the way she had?
“Hey, Dev!”
He spun the chair in the direction of the shout. Morty Wilkins was coming in from the inlet’s waterways. The man cut back the motor on his little boat, bringing it to a near stop. It drifted on the current, rocking in the wake other boats were generating.
“Who’s the pretty lady?” Morty asked as Dev got up from the chair.
“None of your business,” Dev said. He leaned over the starboard side to check the bow of Morty’s boat. As he’d expected, it was filled with crab traps … and bushels of live crabs.
“Maybe,” Morty said, “but she’s too good for you.”
Dev laughed. “She’s a friend who came looking for fresh crabs. Are you willing to sell?”
“Oh, no, Dev,” Hilary said, and he heard her scrambling to her feet behind him.
Morty nodded. “Sure.”
Dev turned as Hilary joined him. She was shaking her head. Her body was so close to his as she leaned forward, her subtle perfume wafted around him. It overrode everything. For an instant Dev forget where he was as he drank in the scent.
“I can’t impose, really.”
The spell broke. Dev looked heavenward, then said, “You wanted fresh ones, and they don’t get any fresher than this. How much, Morty?”
Morty stroked his chin. “Twenty bucks a half-bushel.”
“I said this was a friend, not a sucker. Fifteen.”
“Seventeen.”
“Done. Throw me a line, Morty, and we’ll divvy up.”
“Really,” Hilary protested. “He could get more from wherever he usually sells them. I’m sure—”
“Hand me that basket,” Dev said, ignoring her.
Morty hoisted it up. Claws snapped the empty air.
“Can’t get them any fresher than that,” Dev repeated in satisfaction. He dumped about half into an empty bucket, then handed the basket back down to Morty. The slight pitch and roll of his boat didn’t affect his balance at all.
“Thanks, Morty,” he added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some money. He passed it down. Morty grinned and restarted his motor.
Dev turned to Hilary and waved his hand. “There you go. Fresh crabs.”
Hilary looked down at the bucket. “Thank you.”
He frowned at her tone—it sounded almost resigned. “You don’t seem happy.”
She looked up and smiled. “I am. I suppose I’d better be going.”
He resisted the urge to ask her to stay, knowing it wasn’t wise to be in her presence any longer. Instead he picked up the bucket before she could take it. “I’ll walk you up.”
When they reached her car, she opened the trunk, and he set the bucket in, wedging it against the side before closing the trunk lid. As he turned to face her, he noticed again how elegant she looked and reminded himself that she represented everything for which he had no further use. Despite his efforts to distance himself, he still seemed to have trouble remembering that. “They’ll be fine in there.”
She nodded as she rummaged around in her purse, then she handed over some bills. “For the crabs.”
He took the money. Probably a “gentleman” wouldn’t, he thought. But then he’d never claimed to be a gentleman. Besides, it was business.
“How about Sunday for the grandparents?” he asked. “Around eleven?”
She nodded again. “Sunday. Does your boat have a kitchen? I’ll do lunch.”
“It’s a galley, and yes, it does.”
She nodded a third time.
He stared at her mouth, wanting desperately to kiss her. To taste that sweetness again. That innocence. He would burst if he didn’t.…
Panic shot through him, and he straightened. He would be a complete fool to kiss her again, and he’d been fool enough today. “Good-bye, Hilary.”
“Good-bye, Devlin.”
She opened the driver’s door and got in. As she backed the vehicle out of the slot and drove off, she never once looked at him.
Dev shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and kicked at the gravel, completely disgusted with himself. He had no idea why he should feel disgusted, but he did. He had just committed himself to another outing with Hilary, but that wasn’t the problem. He didn’t know what the problem was, and he had a feeling he didn’t want to.
Pushing it aside, Dev strode back to his boat.
Hours later Hilary stared into her car trunk. The crabs had made a mass escape somehow and were crawling all over the interior. Several duels were going on, and in general the creatures looked madder than wet hens. She had no idea how to get them out without losing several fingers.
It served her right for going spying, she thought. Not only had she been forced to climb onto a boat that made her heartsick, she now had twenty angry crabs she didn’t want. Worse, she also had to get her grandfather to
Devlin’s boat on Sunday. Just what she needed, to be out on the ocean with two grandparents who were ready to kill each other … and Devlin.
She looked down at the crabs and shuddered.
Five
“You didn’t tell me she would be here.”
“Because I didn’t know,” Hilary lied. She was getting pretty good at it, she thought in resignation as she took hold of her grandfather’s arm, pulling him the last few steps to the Madeline Jo. “You didn’t have to come, you know,” she added. “You were the one who insisted, remember?”
She had taken the direct route by simply telling him that she and Devlin were going out on his boat for the day. Alone. She’d extolled the joys of just the two of them isolated until her grandfather had demanded to come along. It was amazing how people responded to a little reverse psychology.
“I don’t like it,” Marsh grumbled, shifting the ice chest higher in front of him like a shield against the small woman standing on the deck. “She called me an old far—”
“Yes, I know,” Hilary interrupted, smothering a grin.
“I think we ought to go straight home,” he said.
“Go ahead. Nobody’s stopping you.”
“I can’t … unless you lend me the keys to your car …”
She smiled. “Not a chance.”
Her grandfather lapsed into a pouting silence.
“Hi, Lettice!” Hilary called out as they got within earshot.
“Ahoy!” Lettice shouted back, waving. She looked pretty in white slacks and navy-blue-and-white-striped top.
“Woman looks like a damn ad for Sailors Weekly,” Marsh muttered.
Hilary glanced heavenward. Without divine intervention it would be a long day. Lettice’s outfit looked sensible to her. So did her grandfather’s polished-cotton pants and rubber-soled Rockports. Hilary wondered if her raw-silk slacks and low heels were a little inappropriate. She’d never been on a small boat before, just cruise ships and ferries. She had wanted to look her best, but now she wasn’t sure if she might instead look out of place.
Devlin came up from below, and the air squeezed out of her body at the sight of him. His T-shirt and jeans were tight, outlining every muscle in his torso and thighs. He gazed at her, his blue-green eyes intense. He had the uncanny ability to make her feel he could see straight through her. He’d called her several times over the last few days, ostensibly for grandparent updates and to finalize their plans, and she had clung to the sound of his voice. Now she knew it wasn’t nearly enough. She wanted the whole damn devastating package. The knowledge frightened her.
“You made it,” he said, taking the ice chest from her grandfather. “It’s a pleasure to see you, sir. Welcome aboard.”
“Hummph!” Marsh replied, glowering at Devlin as he climbed aboard the boat. Once there, he turned his glower on Lettice.
Lettice nodded coolly in return.
Hilary sighed silently. Clearly her prayer was still on the waiting list.
Devlin held out his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to come on the boat. Being on it bothered her in a way she didn’t like. It was as if she were jealous of the Madeline Jo. She shrugged the thought away, knowing it was silly. Reaching for his hand, she braced herself for the jolt of warmth his touch always engendered in her. She still wasn’t prepared for it as his fingers closed around hers in a gentle, protective gesture.
“Hello,” he said softly as she stepped onto the deck, then kissed her on the mouth.
She nearly staggered in her surprise. Then she realized he was back to the “show.” The notion angered her for some reason. But if that was the way he wanted it, she thought, then that was what he would get.
“Hello,” she purred.
His eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead.
“I think you’d better take that chest to the … galley,” she murmured, pleased that she’d remembered the word.
He blinked. “Sure.”
She glanced over at the grandparents, wondering if they should be left alone together. Her grandfather could still bolt. Both seemed to have retired to respective neutral corners, though. At least they were sitting opposite each other in the stern, both looking out in different directions. With a mental shrug she followed Devlin below, her feet slipping a little on the shiny deck. She hoped that wouldn’t pose a problem.
Devlin led her through a living room area, with a table, bar, and low couches, and on to the galley. The room was the width of the boat and narrow, wide enough for only one person to maneuver around in with any ease. Two portholes were on either side of the tiny room. As she glanced out one of them, she found she noticed the rocking of the boat more down here.
He set the chest on the counter. “What the hell did you bring? This thing weighs a ton.”
She frowned. “I brought everything I’d need because I didn’t know what you had.”
“Oh. Do you think it’s safe to leave the grandparents alone?”
“If there’s no blood, it’ll be a major miracle,” she said, shrugging. “I suppose one of us ought to referee them.”
“I’ll do it. I have to go up to the fly bridge anyway, to get us under way.” He flipped open cabinets and doors. “This is the oven, pots and pans, dishes, refrigerator. I suppose I’d better show you how the oven works.”
The oven was on the other side of him, and Hilary pressed against the wall to squeeze by him. It wasn’t enough. Her breasts brushed against his chest. A red haze of sensuality instantly suffused her. Vaguely she heard a muffled sound. She wasn’t sure whether it was from Devlin or from her … or whether she was imagining it.
“Will you hurry up?” he muttered, his cheekbones flushed with color.
His words snapped her out of the spell. Mr. Wonderful had returned, she thought wryly. The gentleness she’d seen in him at that tea and on her first visit to the boat were gone. She felt as if he’d suckered her in, lulled her into opening herself emotionally to him, and then the old Devlin showed up in triumph. Damn him, she cursed silently, and dragged herself across his torso in retaliation.
“It’s so little in here, isn’t it,” she said, watching the color darken on his face. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
Instead he did nothing, just closed his eyes.
Once she was past him, she heard his breath whoosh out of his lungs. Immediately she turned her gaze to the oven. She might have forced a response from him, but unfortunately she had one of her own to cope with. Her breasts tingled from the contact, the nipples tight buds. Blood pumped through her torso and thighs slowly, almost pulsing, her own lungs were having trouble finding air, and her stomach was fluttering. This was too dangerous, she thought.
She bent down in her cramped corner to view the oven range. The fluttering increased. Ignoring the queasy sensation, she asked, “How do you light it?”
“With a match,” he snapped, twisting dials. Unseen gas hissed into the air, bringing with it the familiar rotten-eggs odor. Her insides flipped sickeningly at the smell. Devlin turned off the dials, and the hissing stopped. Her stomach returned to near normal. She swallowed and swiped at the cold beads of perspiration that had suddenly popped up on her forehead. She’d taken Dramamine early, so she knew it wasn’t seasickness. It was the close quarters with Devlin.
He pointed up into the oven, to where the broiler area would be, his finger on a little hole in the front. “Light it here for both stove and oven. And don’t blow us up!”
She straightened. “I’m not an idiot.”
He looked her up and down. “Couldn’t go by me in those shoes.”
“What’s wrong with my shoes?”
“Nothing a teething puppy couldn’t fix.”
“You,” she pronounced succinctly, “have the manners of a gorilla.”
“And you have the sense of an antelope! If you don’t break your neck on the deck in those things, it’ll be a major achievement.”
He stared angrily at her, and she stared right back.
The silence lasted for one interminable breathtaking minute, then they were in each other’s arms, their mouths meeting in a hungry kiss. Their tongues plunged together, rubbing, curling, faster and faster. His hands were everywhere, holding her body hard against his. Excitement and hot need ran swiftly through her, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders to anchor herself against being swept away. She wanted him, and she couldn’t stop herself. Not the sniping nor the logic nor their blatant incompatibility could override the combustion he produced inside her.
“Hey, you two!” Lettice shouted from above.
They broke apart instantly.
“Are we ever going to get moving?” Lettice sounded impatient.
Devlin raked his fingers through his hair, looking everywhere but at her. Hilary was grateful not to be under that intense gaze of his—especially now.
“I’d better go,” he said. “You know what to do?”
She nodded, not daring to speak, for fear her voice would betray the confusion inside her.
He grunted, then turned on his heel and strode out of the galley, his shoulders filling the narrow aisle.
Hilary closed her eyes and slumped against the wall.
“Holy Christmas,” she muttered, still shaken by the kiss.
Every time she lost her temper with him, she did something incredibly stupid—like stabbing him in the foot with her spoon or rubbing herself against him like a wanton.
Humiliation heated her face, and she ground her teeth together to fight the reaction. Her insides rumbled. The man was obtuse and infuriating. Never again, she thought. She’d just get herself through this outing with dignity. She hoped her grandfather would appreciate the torture she was putting herself through for him.
Her lips still tingled from it.
Dev glanced over his shoulder as they rounded the southern end of the inlet at the Crest. The grandparents were still in the stern, still staring out at the sea, still absolutely unspeaking.
At least it wasn’t pistols at five paces, he thought. They’d probably blow a hole in the engine and sink the Madeline Jo. He’d thought he’d do anything to get his grandmother off his back, but that wasn’t one of them.
