Читать книгу Twelve Nights Of Temptation - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 10
ОглавлениеWaiting out the storm, Matt had fallen asleep in the living area. He awoke four hours later to find Tasha gone, and he went looking.
The yacht was rocking up and down on six-foot swells, and rain clattered against the windows. He couldn’t find her on the upper decks, so he took the narrow staircase, making his way to the engine and mechanical rooms. Sure enough, he found her there. She’d removed the front panel of the generator and was elbow deep in the mechanics.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She tensed at the sound of his voice. She was obviously remembering their kiss. Well, he remembered it, too, and it sure made him tense up. Partly because he was her boss and he felt guilty for letting things get out of hand. But partly because it had been such an amazing kiss and he desperately wanted to do it again.
“Maintenance,” she answered him without turning.
He settled his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Can you elaborate?”
“I inspected the electric and serviced the batteries. Some of the battery connections needed cleaning. Hoses and belts all look good in here. But it was worth changing the oil filter.”
“I thought you would sleep.”
This was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone. He’d known Tasha was a dedicated employee, but this trip was teaching him she was one in a million.
She finally turned to face him. “I did sleep. Then I woke up.”
She’d found a pair of coveralls somewhere. They were miles too big, but she’d rolled up the sleeves and the pant legs. A woman shouldn’t look sexy with a wrench in her hand, a smudge of oil on her cheek, swimming in a shapeless steel gray sack.
But this one did. And he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her. He mentally shook away the feelings.
“If it was me—” he tried to lighten the mood and put her at ease “—I think I might have inspected the liquor cabinet.”
She smiled for the briefest of seconds. “Lucky your employees aren’t like you.”
The smile warmed him. It turned him on, but it also made him happy.
“True enough,” he said. “But there is a nice cognac in there. Perfect to have on a rainy afternoon.” He could picture them doing just that.
Instead of answering, she returned to work.
He watched for a few minutes, struggling with his feelings, knowing he had to put their relationship back on an even keel.
Work—he needed to say something about work instead of sharing a cozy drink.
“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.
She didn’t pause. “Yes.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Good.”
“You should stop working.”
“I’m not finished.”
“You’re making me feel guilty.”
She looked his way and rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”
“Then what?”
“The maintenance needed doing. I was here. There was an opportunity.”
He fought an urge to close the space between them. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, überindustrious?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He did move closer. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring up their kiss. But he desperately wanted to bring it up, discuss it, dissect it, relive it. How did she feel about it now? Was she angry? Was there a chance in the world she wanted to do it again?
“It’s an unnerving thing,” he said.
“Then, you’re very easily unnerved.”
He couldn’t help but smile at her comeback. “I’m trying to figure you out.”
“Well, that’s a waste of time.”
“I realize I don’t know you well.”
“You don’t need to know me well. Just sign my paycheck.”
Well, that was a crystal clear signal. He was her boss, nothing more. He swallowed his disappointment.
Then again, if he was her boss, he was her boss. He reached forward to take the wrench from her hand. “It’s after five and it’s a Saturday and you’re done.”
Their fingers touched. Stupid mistake. He felt a current run up the center of his arm.
Her grip tightened on the wrench as she tried to tug it from his grasp. “Let it go.”
“It’s time to clock out.”
“Seriously, Matt. I’m not done yet.”
His hand wrapped around hers, and his feet took him closer still.
“Matt.” There was a warning in her voice, but then their gazes caught and held.
Her eyes turned moss green, deep and yielding. She was feeling something. She had to be feeling something.
She used her free hand to grasp his arm. Her grip was strong, stronger than he’d imagined. He liked that.
“We can’t do this, Matt.”
“I know.”
She swallowed, and her voice seemed strained. “So let go.”
“I want to kiss you again.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“You’re right.” His disappointment was acute. “It is.”
She didn’t step back, and her lips parted as she drew in a breath. “We need to keep it simple, straightforward.”
“Why?”
“The signature on my paycheck.”
“Is that the only reason?” It was valid. But he was curious. He was intensely curious.
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
He knew she didn’t mean to be funny, but he couldn’t help but joke. “The kind that kisses men?”
“The kind that randomly kisses my boss—or any coworker for that matter—while I’m working, in an engine room, covered in grease.”
“That’s fair.”
“You bet, it’s fair. Not that I need your approval. Now, let go of my hand.”
He glanced down, realizing they were still touching. The last thing he wanted to do was let her go. But he had no choice.
She set down the wrench, replacing it with a screwdriver. Then she lifted the generator panel and put it in place.
He moved away and braced a hand on a crossbeam above his head. “The storm’s letting up.”
“Good.” The word sounded final. Matt didn’t want it to be final.
He was her boss, sure. He understood that was a complication. But did it have to be a deal breaker? But he wanted to get to know her. He’d barely scratched the surface, and he liked her a lot.
* * *
They’d brought Orca’s Run back to the marina, arriving late in the evening.
Tasha had spent the night and half of today attempting to purge Matt’s kiss from her mind. It wasn’t working. She kept reliving the pleasure, then asking herself what it all meant.
She didn’t even know how she felt, never mind how Matt felt. He was a smooth-talking, great-looking man who, from everything she’d seen, could have any woman in the world. What could possibly be his interest in her?
Okay, maybe if she’d taken her mother’s advice, maybe if she’d acted like a woman, dressed like a woman and got a different job, maybe then it would make sense for Matt to be interested. Matt reminded her so much of the guys she’d known in Boston, the ones who’d dated her sisters and attended all the parties.
They’d all wanted women who were super feminine. They’d been amused by Tasha. She wasn’t a buddy and she wasn’t, in their minds, a woman worth pursuing. She hadn’t fit in anywhere. It was the reason she’d left. And now Matt was confusing her. She hated being confused.
So, right now, this afternoon, she had a new focus.
Since she’d been promoted, she had to replace herself. Matt employed several general dock laborers who also worked as mechanical assistants, and they pulled in mechanical specialists when necessary. But one staff mechanic couldn’t keep up with the workload at Whiskey Bay. Matt owned twenty-four boats in all, ranging from Monty’s Pride right down to a seventeen-foot runabout they used in the bay. Some were workboats, but most were pleasure craft available for rental.
Cash flow was a definite issue, especially after Matt’s divorce. It was more important than ever that the yachts stay in good working order to maximize rentals.
Tasha was using a vacant office in the main marina building at the edge of the company pier. The place was a sprawling, utilitarian building, first constructed in 1970, with major additions built in 2000 and 2010. Its clay-colored steel siding protected against the wind and salt water.
Inside, the client area was nicely decorated, as were Matt’s and the sales manager’s offices. But down the hall, where the offices connected to the utility areas and eventually to the boat garage and the small dry dock, the finishing was more Spartan. Even still, she felt pretentious sitting behind a wooden desk with a guest chair in front.
She’d been through four applicants so far. One and two were nonstarters. They were handymen rather than certified marine mechanics. The third one had his certification, but something about him made Tasha cautious. He was a little too eager to list his accomplishments. He was beyond self-confident, bordering on arrogant. She didn’t see him fitting in at Whiskey Bay.
The fourth applicant had been five minutes late. Not a promising start.
But then a woman appeared in the doorway. “My apologies,” she said in a rush as she entered.
Tasha stood. “Alex Dumont?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled broadly as she moved forward, holding out her hand.
Tasha shook it, laughing at herself for having made the assumption that Alex was a man.
“Alexandria,” the woman elaborated, her eyes sparkling with humor.
“Of all people, I shouldn’t make gender assumptions.”
“It happens so often, I don’t even think about it.”
“I hear you,” Tasha said. “Please, sit down.”
“At least with the name Tasha nobody makes that mistake.” Alex settled into the chair. “Though I have to imagine you’ve been written off a few times before they even met you.”
“I’m not sure which is worse,” Tasha said.
“I prefer the surprise value. That’s why I shortened my name. I have to say this is the first time I’ve been interviewed by a woman.”
Alex was tall, probably about five foot eight. She had wispy, wheat-blond hair, a few freckles and a pretty smile. If Tasha hadn’t seen her résumé, she would have guessed she was younger than twenty-five.
“You’re moving from Chicago?” Tasha asked, flipping through the three pages of Alex’s résumé.
“I’ve already moved, three weeks ago.”
“Any particular reason?” Tasha was hoping for someone who would stay in Whiskey Bay for the long term.
“I’ve always loved the West Coast. But mostly, it was time to make a break from the family.”
Tasha could relate to that. “They didn’t support your career choice?” she guessed.
“No.” Alex gave a little laugh. “Quite the opposite. My father and two brothers are mechanics. They wouldn’t leave me alone.”
“Did you work with them?”
“At first. Then I got a job with another company. It didn’t help. They still interrogated me every night and gave me advice on whatever repair I was undertaking.”
“You lived with them?”
“Not anymore.”
Tasha couldn’t help contrasting their experiences. “I grew up in Boston. My parents wanted me to find a nice doctor or lawyer and become a wife instead of a mechanic. Though they probably would have settled for me being a landscape painter or a dancer.”
“Any brothers and sisters?”
“Two sisters. Both married to lawyers.” Tasha didn’t like to dwell on her family. It had been a long time since she’d spoken to them. She stopped herself now, and went back to Alex’s résumé. “At Schneider Marine, you worked on both gas and diesel engines?”
“Yes. Gas, anywhere from 120-horse outboards and up, and diesel, up to 550.”
“Any experience on Broadmores?”
“Oh, yeah. Finicky buggers, those.”
“We have two of them.”
“Well, I’ve got their number.”
Tasha couldn’t help but smile. This was the kind of confidence she liked. “And you went to Riverside Tech?”
“I did. I finished my apprenticeship four years ago. I can get you a copy of my transcript if you need it.”
Tasha shook her head. “I’m more interested in your recent experience. How much time on gasoline engines versus diesel?”
“More diesel, maybe seventy-five/twenty-five. Lots of service, plenty of rebuilds.”
“Diagnostics?”
“I was their youngest mechanic, so I wasn’t afraid of the new scan tools.”
“You dive right in?” Tasha was liking Alex more and more as the interview went on.
“I dive right in.”
“When can you start?”
Alex grinned. “Can you give me a few days to unpack?”
“Absolutely.”
Both women came to their feet.
“Then, I’m in,” Alex said.
Tasha shook her hand, excited at the prospect of another female mechanic in the company. “Welcome aboard.”
Alex left, but a few minutes later, Tasha was still smiling when Matt came through the door.
“What?” he asked.
“What?” she returned, forcibly dampening her exhilaration at the sight of him.
She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t do this. They had an employer-employee relationship, not a man-woman relationship.
“You’re smiling,” he said.
“I’m happy.”
“About what?”
“I love my job.”
“Is that all?”
“You don’t think I love my job?” She did love it. And she had a feeling she’d love it even more with Alex around.
“I was hoping you were happy to see me.”
“Matt.” She put a warning in her voice.
“Are we going to just ignore it?”
She quickly closed the door to make sure nobody could overhear. “Yes, we’re going to ignore it.”
“By it, I mean our kiss.”
She folded her arms over her chest and gave him a glare. “I know what you mean.”
“Just checking,” he said, looking dejected.
“Stop.” She wasn’t going to be emotionally manipulated.
“I’m not going to pretend. I miss you.”
“There’s nothing to miss. I’m right here.”
“Prepared to talk work and only work.”
“Yes.”
He was silent for a moment. “Fine. Okay. I’ll take it.”
“Good.” She knew with absolute certainty that it was for the best.
He squared his shoulders. “Who was that leaving?”
“That was Alex Dumont. She’s our new mechanic.”
Matt’s brows went up. “We have a new mechanic?”
“You knew I was hiring one.”
“But...”
Tasha couldn’t help an inward sigh. She’d seen this reaction before. “But...she’s a woman.”
“That’s not what I was going to say. I was surprised, is all.”
“That she was light on testosterone?”
“You keep putting words in my mouth.”
“Well, you keep putting expressions in your eyes.”
He opened his mouth, but then he seemed to think better of whatever he’d planned to say.
“What?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Nothing.” He took a backward step. “I’m backing off. This is me backing off.”
“From who I hire?”
Matt focused in on her eyes. His eyes smoldered, and she felt desire arc between them.
“I can feel it from here,” he said, as if he was reading her mind.
Her brain stumbled. “There’s...uh... I’m...”
“You can’t quite spit out the lie, can you?”
She couldn’t. Lying wouldn’t help. “We have to ignore it.”
“Why?”
“We do. We do, Matt.”
There was a long beat of silence.
“I have a date Saturday night,” he said.
A pain crossed her chest, but she steeled herself. “No kidding.”
“I don’t date that much.”
“I don’t pay any attention.”
It was a lie. From the staff quarters, she’d seen him leave his house on the hill on many occasions, dressed to the nines. She’d often wondered where he’d gone, whom he’d been with, how late he’d come home.
And she’d watched him bring women to his house. They often dined on the deck. Caterers would set up candles and white linens, and then Matt and his date would chat and laugh the evening away.
She’d paid attention all right. But wild horses wouldn’t drag the admission out of her.
* * *
So Saturday night, Matt had picked up the tall, willowy, expensively coiffed Emilie and brought her home for arctic char and risotto, catered by a local chef. They were dining in his glass-walled living room to candlelight and a full moon. The wine was from the Napa Valley, and the chocolate truffles were handcrafted with Belgian chocolate.
It should have been perfect. Emilie was a real estate company manager, intelligent, gracious, even a little bit funny. She was friendly and flirtatious, and made no secret of the fact that she expected a very romantic conclusion to the evening.
But Matt’s gaze kept straying to the pier below, to the yachts, the office building and the repair shop. Finally, Tasha appeared. She strode briskly beneath the overhead lights, through the security gate and up the stairway that led to the staff quarters. Some of his staff members had families and houses in town. The younger, single crew members, especially those who had moved to Whiskey Bay to work at the marina, seemed to appreciate the free rent, even if the staff units were small and basic. He was happy at the moment that Tasha was one of them.
He reflexively glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock. Even for Tasha, this was late.
“Matt?” Emilie said.
“Yes?” He quickly returned his attention to her.
She gave a very pretty smile. “I asked if they were all yours?”
“All what?”
“The boats. Do you really own that many boats?”
“I do,” he said. He’d told this story a hundred times. “I started with three about a decade ago. Business was good, so I gradually added to the fleet.”
He glanced back to the pier, but Tasha had disappeared from view. He told himself not to be disappointed. He’d see her again soon. It had been a few days now since they’d run into each other. He’d tried not to miss her, but he did. He’d find a reason to talk to her tomorrow.
Emilie pointed toward the window. “That one is huge.”
“Monty’s Pride is our largest vessel.”
“Could I see the inside?” she asked, eyes alight. “Would you give me a tour?”
Before Matt could answer, there was a pounding on his door.
“Expecting someone?” she asked, looking a little bit frustrated by the interruption.
His friends and neighbors, Caleb Watford and TJ Bauer, were the only people who routinely dropped by. But neither of them would knock. At most, they’d call out from the entryway if they thought they might walk in on something.
Matt rose. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” Emilie helped herself to another truffle. “I’ll wait here.”
The date had been going pretty well so far. But Matt couldn’t say he was thrilled with the touch of sarcasm he’d just heard in Emilie’s voice.
The knock came again as he got to the front entry. He swung open the door.
Tasha stood on his porch, her work jacket wrinkled, a blue baseball cap snug on her head and her work boots sturdy against the cool weather.
His immediate reaction was delight. He wanted to drag her inside and make her stay for a while.
“What’s up?” he asked instead, remembering the promise he’d made, holding himself firmly at a respectful distance.
“Something’s going on,” she said.
“Between us?” he asked before he could stop himself, resisting the urge to glance back and be sure Emilie was still out of sight.
Tasha frowned. “No. With Pacific Wind.” She named the single-engine twenty-eight-footer. “It’s just a feeling. But I’m worried.”
He stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.
She glanced down at her boots.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I have a cleaning service.”
“A cable broke on the steering system,” she said.
“Is that a major problem?”
He didn’t particularly care why she’d decided to come up and tell him in person. He was just glad she had.
It was the first time she’d been inside his house. He couldn’t help but wonder if she liked the modern styling, the way it jutted out from the hillside, the clean lines, glass walls and unobstructed view. He really wanted to find out. He hadn’t been interested in Emilie’s opinion, but he was curious about Tasha’s.
“It’s not a big problem,” she said. “I fixed it. It’s fixed.”
“That’s good.” He dared to hope all over again that this was a personal visit disguised as business.
“Matt?” came Emilie’s voice.
He realized he’d forgotten all about her.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he called back to her.
“You’re busy,” Tasha said, looking instantly regretful. “Of course you’re busy. I didn’t think.” She glanced at her watch. “This is Saturday, isn’t it?”
“You forgot the day of the week?”
“Matt, honey.” Emilie came up behind him.
Honey? Seriously? After a single date?
Not even a single date, really. The date hadn’t concluded yet.
“Who’s this?” Emilie asked.
There was a dismissive edge to her voice and judgment in her expression as she gave Tasha the once-over, clearly finding her lacking.
The superior attitude annoyed Matt. “This is Tasha.”
“I’m the mechanic,” Tasha said, not seeming remotely bothered by Emilie’s condescension.
“Hmph,” Emilie said, wrinkling her perfect nose. She wrapped her arm possessively through Matt’s. “Is this an emergency?”
Tasha took a step back, opening her mouth to speak.
“Yes,” Matt said. “It’s an emergency. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our date short.”
He wasn’t sure who looked more surprised by his words, Emilie or Tasha.
“I’ll call you a ride.” He took out his phone.
It took Emilie a moment to find her voice. “What kind of emergency?”
“The mechanical kind,” he said flatly, suddenly tired of her company.
He typed in the request. He definitely didn’t want Tasha to leave.
“But—” Emilie began.
“The ride will be here in three minutes,” he said. “I’ll get your coat.”
He did a quick check of Tasha’s expression, steeling himself for the possibility that she’d speak up and out him as a liar.
She didn’t.
He quickly retrieved Emilie’s coat and purse.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Emilie said, a plaintive whine in her voice.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He held up the coat.
“How long do you think—”
“Could be a long time. It could be a very long time. It’s complicated.”
“Matt, I can—” Tasha began.
“No. Nope.” He gave a definitive shake to his head. “It’s business. It’s important.” It might not be critical, but Tasha had never sought him out after hours before, so there had to be something going on.
“You’re a mechanic?” Emilie asked Tasha.
“A marine mechanic.”
“So you get all greasy and stuff?”
“Sometimes.”
“That must be awful.” Emilie gave a little shudder.
“Emilie.” Matt put a warning tone in his voice.
She crooked her head back to look at him. “What? It’s weird.”
“It’s not weird.”
“It’s unusual,” Tasha said. “But women are up to nearly fifteen percent in the mechanical trades, higher when you look at statistics for those of us under thirty-five.”
Emilie didn’t seem to know what to say in response.
Matt’s phone pinged.
“Your ride’s here,” he told Emilie, ushering her toward the door.
Tasha stood to one side, and he watched until Emilie got into the car.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tasha said as he closed the door.
“It wasn’t going well.”
“In that case, I’m happy to be your wingman.”
Matt zeroed in on her expression to see if she was joking. She looked serious, and he didn’t like the sound of that.
“I don’t need a wingman.”
“Tell me what’s going on.” He gestured through the archway to the living room.
She crouched down to untie her boots.
“You don’t have to—”
“Your carpet is white,” she said.
“I suppose.”
Most of the women he brought home wore delicate shoes, stiletto heels and such.
Tasha peeled off her boots, revealing thick wool socks. For some reason, the sight made him smile.
She rose, looking all business.
“Care for a drink?” he asked, gesturing her forward.
She moved, shooting him an expression of disbelief on the way past. “No, I don’t want a drink.”
“I opened a great bottle of pinot noir. I’m not going to finish it myself.”
“This isn’t a social visit,” she said, glancing around the room at the pale white leather furniture and long, narrow gas fireplace.
She was obviously hesitant to sit down in her work clothes.
“Here,” he suggested, pointing to the formal dining room. The chairs were dark oak, likely less intimidating if she was worried about leaving dirt on anything.
While she sat down, he retrieved the pinot from the glass porch and brought two fresh glasses.
He sat down cornerwise to her and set down the wine.
She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not drinking while I work.”
“It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night.”
“Your point?”
“My point is you’re officially off the clock.”
“So, you’re not paying me?”
“I’ll pay you anything you want.” He poured them each some of the rich, dark wine. “Aren’t you on salary?”
“I am.”
“You work an awful lot of overtime.”
“A good deal for you.”
“I’m giving you a raise.” He held one of the glasses out for her.
“Ha ha,” she mocked.
“Take it,” he said.
She did, but set it down on the table in front of her.
“Twenty percent,” he told her.
“You can’t do that.”
“I absolutely can.” He raised his glass. “Let’s toast your raise.”
“I came here to tell you I might have made a big mistake.”
