Читать книгу Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife - Barbara Dunlop - Страница 11

IT FELT STRANGE TO CASSIE, seeing Dan like this, both familiar and exciting, and way too nice. His smile of surprise made her feel the same way she had all those years ago when they’d met, one of those wham-right-in-the-gut things. She’d been out on a boat with some friends, and they’d stopped at an outdoor bar on the water. Dan had been there with his fishing buddies, doing karaoke and laughing it up.

She’d passed him on the way from the rest room, and they’d been frozen right there. She’d never felt anything like it before. They didn’t know what to say, each fumbling over their words like two teenagers fresh into puberty. Finally they’d broken away and returned to their respective tables.

Then for the next hour, they’d caught each other’s gazes. He sang “The Captain of Her Heart,” watching her the whole time. It had given her chills. Afterward, she’d walked alone to the railing, and a moment later, he’d joined her. The rest was history.

History, she reminded herself. It was different now. This was only business and she was way over Dan.

“Don’t tell me you’re a contestant.” He walked to the closest edge of the boat and propped one foot on the side. “Or are you the prize for first place?”

She sputtered, but quickly contained herself. At least he hadn’t said the booby prize. “Hardly. Dan, I need your help. Hear me out before you say no.” She moved closer, catching the scent of the aftershave he used to wear, the scent she ended up wearing herself the rest of the day after they fell back into bed when their goodbye kiss turned into a you’re-not-going-anywhere kiss.

Back on track, woman!

“Okay, I work for an advertising agency, see, and this guy at work—he’s a real weenie—is trying to steal my account, well, it’s not my account yet, but they called me first, and now the weenie and my boss are saying I can’t handle this account because it’s a fishing tackle company, and what do I know about fishing tackle, which isn’t a lot actually, but I can learn, and I can’t let them get away with this, so please, Dan, will you let me tag along with you during the tournament, I promise I won’t bother you or scare away the fish or do anything to distract you, just observe and take notes, and possibly ask a few questions—”

He held up his hand. “You still do that.”

“Do what?”

“That—” he waved his hand in circles “—skimble-scamble thing that makes me crazy and leaves me with no argument because by the time you’re done, I can’t remember what you were even asking.”

“No, I don’t do that anymore. I just had a lot to say.” She felt herself grin sheepishly. “Did you say crazy?”

He regarded her for a moment, his mouth quirking. “Yeah, crazy.”

With a deep breath, she pulled another butter rum from her bag and petted Sammy who wanted to pop out. “I just wanted you to understand where I was coming from before you said no, and I hate to impose on you, but I don’t know any of these people, and I know you, so it would be really nice…” Her words drifted to a stop when he held up his hand. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I? What’d you call it?”

He nodded, but he was smiling, which was a good sign, she supposed. “Skimble-scamble. One of Granny’s words. For one thing, I have a rule: No women allowed on my boat during tournaments.”

She waved away that concern. “But I’m not a woman; I’m your ex-wife.”

He chuckled, a low sexy sound that shivered right through her. “You’re definitely a woman. And the ex part’s the second thing.”

She tilted her head, remembering how that little gesture worked on getting her way before. “But we probably had one of the nicest divorces ever.”

“Heck, Cassie, we were only married for seven months.”

“And two days.”

“And,” he continued, shifting to sit on the transom, “You took my dog.”

Sammy yipped at that and popped out of the bag. He loved the word dog. She bit her lower lip. “This dog?”

He gave her a wry grin. “Yeah, that dog. The one you’re still putting ribbons on. And a bell? You’re going to give him a cross-dressing complex.”

Sammy’s tail wagged like a maniac as he struggled to get to Dan.

“(A) The bell helps me keep track of where he is so he doesn’t get stepped on. And (b) he’s secure enough in his masculinity to overcome the ribbons.”

His laugh was a sputter. “The only reason you got him in the divorce was because you convinced me he was too feminine a dog for a guy. You did that skimble-scamble thing and had me completely befuddled.”

She grinned. “Did anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you’re befuddled?”

He propped his chin on his upturned palm. “Since you’re the only one who’s ever befuddled me, I guess you’d know.”

Only her? Better not press. She scratched Sammy’s tiny head. “I got attached.”

His expression softened as his eyes took her in. So did I, they seemed to say, though she was sure she was imagining it. “I see you haven’t changed much,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“The ribbons and bells, coming out here…” The sounds of a boat engine punctuated his point.

She stiffened. “Don’t say that. I’ve changed a lot, Dan. For instance, (a) I’ve been in the same job for three years now (b) I’ve lived in the same place for four years and (c) I’m good at what I do. Coming to the docks was necessary for my career goals, and the ribbons…” She stroked the pink ribbon on Sammy’s head. Why did she still put ribbons on him? It started out as a joke. Maybe it was that latent femininity that liked to emerge once in a while, like the frilly underthings she bought. “He likes the ribbons. Really. He looks happier when I put a new one on him.” She tilted her head again. “What do you say, Dan? It’ll be just like old times for a little while.”

Like old times. Those words curled through her as he tilted his head the same way she was doing and contemplated. He glanced behind her at the dissipating chaos, then back at her. He still had the nicest eyes she’d ever seen, light brown with thick lashes, and that thin, two-inch scar that snaked horizontally along his right cheek. He still made her feel all gushy inside.

“You think it’s a good idea, you and me on this boat together, alone?” he asked.

“What, you think I’m going to jump your bones? Come on, I’m not falling for that again. It takes more than a look to get me into bed nowadays. You should have taken advantage of that when you had it.”

The teasing grin on his face grew wider. “As I recall, I did.”

She turned away, not wanting him to see the flush creep up her cheeks. The sex had been great. Not sex…lovemaking. She’d loved Dan, and there were odd moments when she thought a trace of that love still existed.

Okay, maybe this was impulsive. Maybe she was regressing. Follow-through, she reminded herself. She met Pam’s knowing look across the crowd. She could read Cassie like a tarot card, darn her. If Dan could get her flushed with a few feet of water between them, what would it be like to spend several hours alone with him? Still, she waved away Pam’s concern. Handling it just fine; no problem, she implied. They both knew she was lying and left it at that.

“All right,” he said at last, coming to his feet—feet clad in faded boat shoes, she noticed. “But if I’m going to help you, I want to know what’s in it for me.”

“For you?” She narrowed her eyes. Well, that was fair, she supposed. “What did you have in mind?”

He shrugged, making her realize how much his shoulders and chest had filled out, and very nicely indeed. He appraised her, running his gaze from head to toe. Just when she thought he might make a similar complimentary assessment, he said, “I don’t suppose you can filet fish very well.”

“No way, uh-uh. I am not touching fish guts.”

“Yeah, you’re not a fish-guts-kind-of gal.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear.”

He chuckled. “I’ve got a way about me, don’t I?”

Yes, he did. “Just don’t tell me I’m a bank and florist type,” she said.

“I was going to say you’re more of a deck-swabbing type. But I don’t have enough deck for you to swab.” She didn’t like the sparkle that lit his eyes. “Still know how to give those awesome massages?”

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed. “I haven’t given anyone a massage in years. Those classes were from my career-searching days. Before the singing telegrams and after the bartending job.”

He grinned. “Your singing made dogs howl, and your drinks knocked everyone on their butts, but you were a natural at massage. And you know what? It’s been years since anyone’s given me one, so we’re even.”

A massage. Oh, great.

“You have to keep your shorts on.” She remembered too well those massages. His naked body beneath her hands, running her hands down his back where it dipped down at his waist, across his tan line, and then up over those firm buns… “Definitely keep your shorts on.”

“It’s a deal.” He held out his hand. “Come on aboard, matey.”

She stared at his hand for a moment. “Just like that?”

“Hey, I’m easy.” A naughty grin lit his face. “Or don’t you recall?”

She blinked, trying to keep her mouth from falling open. “Easy? No, it must have slipped my memory.” Unfortunately, parts of her body did recall, and way too vividly. She crunched down on the remaining ring of candy and handed him her cooler and then her bag. Sammy jumped out to freedom, and Dan crouched down to pet him. “Samuel Kent, she’s turned you but good.” He scowled at the pink ribbon that held Sammy’s hair in a ponytail on his head. “Maybe I can liberate you.” Then he reached out his hand to her, and she clasped it. He pulled her easily over the two feet of water and the transom, but she landed off-balance as a boat’s wake lifted them.

“Oops!” she yelled as she pitched forward.

His arms went around her, anchoring her to his chest. Warmth rushed over her as he held her tight, their faces inches apart, her body plastered against his. He just held her there, looking at her without giving a clue as to what he was thinking. His body, however, was giving definite signals. And the heck of it was, she liked it. In fact, she wanted to burrow against him and make him even harder, like she had hundreds of times before. In those impulsive days when she’d simply jumped on him, no matter what he was doing, or what time of day it was…ahem, before she got responsible.

“You okay?” he asked.

She could only nod as she shooed away those pesky memories. “And you?” If only she could breathe, she’d be fine. She forced air in, then out.

“Oh, yeah. Still eating butter rums, I see,” he said.

“Still wearing Bracer aftershave, I see,” she said.

Another moment passed. Her breasts tingled where they pressed against him. Tingled? She shouldn’t be tingling around Dan! She abruptly moved back and dusted herself off, though there wasn’t any dust on her. He was casually pulling his shirt down over his shorts. When she turned to give Pam the signal, her friend was making the evil cross sign, drawing her finger across her throat, and rolling her eyes. Mouthing or something worse. Pooh, what did she know?

A bark brought their attention to a knee-high dog coming up from the cabin. His tail formed a curly-cue, and it wagged as he took in Sammy.

“You got another dog,” Cassie said, watching the dogs do their territorial sniffing ritual and feeling grateful for the diversion. “What is he?”

“One hundred percent pure, certified, pedigreed mutt.”

The dog was cloud white, with short hair and big brown eyes. A mutt. Perfect for Dan. “Did you name him after a fishing icon?” Samuel Kent was one of the greatest fishermen in history, according to Dan. But inside he was a Sammy, and he’d communicated that to her, just as he’d told her he liked his ribbons and bells.

“No.” He puffed his shoulders the slightest bit. “His name is Thor,” he said in a deep, throaty voice.

She couldn’t help but laugh as she scratched Thor’s soft fur. “Did it really bother you that much that I thought Sammy was too cute a dog for a guy?”

“Maybe I just like the name Thor.”

She held Thor’s chin in her hand, tilting her head as she looked into the dog’s eyes. “I hate to tell you this, Dan, but this dog has the heart of a poet.”

“Oh, no you don’t! He’s Thor, man’s best friend.”

She stroked the dog’s chin, nodding with conviction. “Thornton.”

“Thor.” Each time he said the dog’s name, his voice got deeper. His gaze had taken her in for a moment, but he shifted it to the dispersing crowd. “Okay, I’ll teach you about fishing, but there are a few rules you gotta follow.”

She rose, eyeing him warily. “No, I’m not going to be your anchor.”

He laughed. Laughed! She’d almost forgotten that laugh, robust and sudden, like a boy’s. It filled her with a swirling heat.

“Nothing as treacherous as that. First, none of that skimble-scamble. And none of that head-tilting thing either. In other words, no using your feminine willies.”

“Willies? I thought they were wiles.”

His mouth tilted up in a smile. “With you, they’re willies.” Before she could clarify that, he went on. “And no calling my dog Thornton.”

“Anything else, Captain McDermott?”

He lifted his chin. “Yeah, I like the sound of that. Call me that.”

“Oh, brother. Aye, aye, that.”

He leaned closer. “That’s Captain to you, matey.” She backed away. Someone yelled out Dan’s name, and he waved back. “We’re about to kick this thing off, and I get to fire the starting gun.”

“Why you?”

He leaned close again, as though he were going to plant a kiss on the tip of her nose but stopped himself just short of contact. “Because I’m the fishing god.”