Cinderella Search (9 page)

She broke off and took a hefty swig of her coffee. “Sorry,” she said. “That’s a hobbyhorse I try to stay off, especially with guests of the inn. But what I’d really like to do is offer them an alternative. With any luck,” she said, tapping her toe on the rail, “Lady here and I will be able to do that, starting next year. I want to take out parties of photographers, painters, even just sight-seers on day cruises, and maybe overnighters. There has to be an alternative to killing things for entertainment, as badly as we need tourist dollars.”

“I agree,” he said. “I have a career that takes me into oceans all over the world and I’m probably even more worried about conserving marine life than you are.”

Lissa felt her jaw drop. “You have a career?” The words popped out before she could bite them back. She choked, then tried to control it with another gulp of coffee, which only made things worse.

He laughed aloud as he rose and thumped her on the back. “Of course I do,” he said over the sound of her coughing. “What did you think I was, a dilettante?”

Since that pretty much covered it, she had to do some fast backpedaling. “I meant a career that takes you into the ocean.”

“I’m a deep-sea diver,” he said as the thumps eased off to gentle pats. “I just finished a contract working with a scientific team studying krill. We were working in Antarctica—the Ross Sea—since early January and just finished up a week ago.”

“That must have been, um … cold,” Brilliant repartee, Lissa! What a scintillating conversationalist you are! Maybe she could do better if only he’d quit patting her back. He did, after a last run along her spine with the tips of his fingers.

“Yeah, it was cold, all right,” he said, then grinned. “And nobody to offer me hot milk, or cover me up at night.”

“Surely if you’d gone to one of your father’s resorts you’d have been pampered.”

“To death,” he said wryly. “That’s why none of us ever go.”

“Us?”

“My older sister and younger brother feel the same way. We’re a great disappointment to Dad, in that we didn’t follow in his footsteps. My sister’s a doctor, my brother’s a stockbroker, and I just bum around the world on boats.”

That reminder brought her to her feet. And probably to her senses. “Would you … would you like that tour of the boat now?” Anything would be better than sitting there with his hand caressing her spine.

His eager smile did dangerous things to her heart. “Sure,” he said. “I’d love to see where you live.”

S
TEVE FOLLOWED LISSA DOWN
the companionway to the saloon, breathing in the scent of good wood polish mingled with the faint odor of diesel, and something else. He liked the way boats smelled, but this one was special. It had a distinctive aroma, a feminine one that he realized must be due to the fact that a woman lived here, sprayed perfume on herself here, lit scented candles here, used makeup and special bath soap and talcum powder.

No, not just a woman. Lissa. Lissa, with her thick braid lying on her back where his hand had so recently rested. Lissa, minus her long skirt, dressed now in skimpy shorts that showed her long, slim legs to even better advantage than her jeans had. Bare and tan.

Those were the legs he’d seen hanging through his ceiling, legs whose smooth skin he’d touched. He was almost sure of it.

He wanted, suddenly, and with an intensity that shook him, to run his hands over them from thigh to ankle, to feel the silk of her skin under his palms. One such touch and he’d know. And if he was wrong, which he doubted, it wouldn’t matter. He’d gladly forget about the woman with the tattoo, if he could just slide his hands along Lissa Wilkins’s perfect legs. His breathing grew erratic, his throat tightened and he considered a swift retreat, but Lissa turned just then, gesturing toward a door half-behind the companionway they’d descended: He jerked his gaze up, meeting her eyes. It did little to improve his equilibrium.

“There are four double cabins back that way,” she said, oblivious to his agony, “and the engine room below. Twin diesels.”

She showed him into a narrow corridor, opened a door as she passed it and stepped aside so he could enter. The cabin was small but compact, with two single bunks, one over the other, built-in cabinets, a porthole near the ceiling indicating that this cabin was mostly below the waterline, and a skylight that could be opened for air.

“The other three are just the same,” she said, and sidled past him on her way back to the saloon. Her scent floated up and made his throat contract again, pulling him along in her wake.

She moved lithely toward the other end of the big main cabin and spun in place, beaming with pride. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“A real beauty,” he said, watching sunlit water cast rippling reflections over Lissa’s arms and face. Slowly, with the length of the saloon between them, he brought his breathing back under control. Forcing his gaze away from her, he ran his fingers along teak paneling. “Excellent workmanship.”

“Nice and roomy, too. I don’t like cramped quarters,” she said. “And despite her size, she handles like a dream, though I doubt I could manage her without the bow-thruster.”

The boat was beamy, making for a comfortable living area that held two wicker settees, several matching chairs and a masculine looking leather easy chair that seemed oddly out of place. Steve instantly had an image of the chair occupied by the older man Lissa had been with. A coffee table, looking equally heavy and solid, appeared to have been made from an old hatch cover encased in resin. It stood between the two settees. Brass lamps hung from the dark wood ceiling, several were mounted on the walls, and built-in bookcases held a large number of volumes, carefully set behind ledges that would keep them from tumbling out in rough weather. A media center, complete with flat screen TV and DVD player, was built into cabinets across from the bookcases. All was compact and superbly crafted with fine attention to detail.

“A real home-away-from-home.” He’d have liked to sink back into the leather chair and put his feet up on its matching ottoman.

“No,” she said with a faint smile as she stroked her fingers over the top of a deeply polished wooden locker, its lid decorated with fine parquetry forming a compass rose. “A real home, period. The first one I’ve ever been able to call my own.”

“Yes.” He could see that it was her home, and that she loved it.

When was the last time he’d lived any place he could call home? He didn’t remember. Wherever he tossed his duffel, he supposed, had become that to him, but seeing what Lissa had done to make this boat all hers showed him a vast lack in his own life.

He ducked to miss a hanging lantern as she led the way forward into the galley area. From there, another companionway led up to the wheelhouse. Sun poured golden light in on the dark-walnut stair treads, glinted off the brass handrail, and warmed the air with dancing dust motes.

He’d have appreciated an invitation to see the wheelhouse, the controls, to ask her about motive power. “Two diesels” didn’t cover it. How like a woman, even a woman boat owner, to dismiss them like that. Hell, he’d like to start the engines himself, take the boat out, feel its fifty-foot length responding to seas, currents, winds, answering to his command. He could almost hear the diesels rumbling through her hull, feel their smooth vibration. A well-tuned engine in a well-maintained boat was like a loving woman in the right hands.

He turned to Lissa.

“More coffee?” she asked, lifting the pot from the top of the stove. Quickly, almost guiltily, he held out his cup, which she refilled, then topped up her own before turning toward an open door on the port side.

“This cabin’s larger than the aft ones, so I’ve turned it into my office for now.”

“And where do you sleep?”

“I have a cabin forward.” Her tone, the slight stiffening of her shoulders, told him with certainty that that was one room she had no intention of showing him. This one, though, held more of the type of sketches he’d seen her working on. He wandered around the small space, looking at each plan closely. There were more on her desk. As he studied them, he absently picked up whole salted almonds from a brass bowl and nibbled on them.

Noticing her amused smile, he said, “Oops. Sorry. I should have waited to be asked.”

“No problem,” she said, helping herself to a handful of almonds and nibbling along with him. “That’s what they’re there for.”

Damn! She had a tantalizing little crystal of salt on her bottom lip. He had to struggle to keep his eyes off it. “I’m still interested in renting a booth,” he said. “For my Cinderella search, remember.” Though he was sure enough of his “Cinderella’s” identity, he didn’t think the search would take very long.

“I’m sorry, but no. They’re always spoken for months in advance.” If she rented him a booth, it would mean for sure he meant to stay till the festival. Her dad, the committee, and everyone else notwithstanding, she still didn’t want that to happen. “Besides, you won’t be here.”

“Why not?” he said, following her back into the galley. “I have no plans to go anywhere before my vacation’s over.”

“I … no. Of course not. I, uh, guess I forgot your check-out date.” Her laugh sounded phony to her. “People come and go so often, it’s hard to remember who will be here when.”

He gave her an odd look. “Well, I, for one, will be here … when. So how about you let me have one of the booths that don’t pay rent, but give all their proceeds to the fund-raising? I like Madrona Cove, Lissa. I want to contribute in some way.”

“Those booths are all spoken for, too,” she said, “but there is one I’m sure you’ll enjoy if you really want to contribute. You can spend lots of money at it.”

He leaned on the wall. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“A kissing booth. Run by Caroline Newson.”

“Caroline Newson?”

“She’s the one who got you kicked out of Chuckles. It’s one of the most popular events,” she said. “Only two dollars a kiss and all the sales are donated to the community fund.”

“I’d rather kiss you,” he said.

“Don’t be hasty. Caroline has a reputation for killer kisses.”

“Don’t you?” he said.

She returned to the saloon where there was more space so she wouldn’t have to stand so close to him. It was time to end their conversation. Surely Larry had finished setting up the stereo equipment in the attic above Steve’s bed. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Maybe you should let someone else judge the quality of your kisses.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t notice the telltale pulse she could feel leaping wildly in her throat.

“If you ran a kissing booth,” he told her, stroking a finger down the curve of her cheek, “I’d buy up all your tickets, all your time.”

She managed a creditable laugh. “I think you’re just scared of Jase. But don’t worry. We’ll keep him busy all weekend running the jousting tournament.”

“I wasn’t worried,” he said, sliding his hand under her braid. “Are you?”

“I try not to worry,” Lissa steadied herself so as to show no reaction to his touch. No reaction? She could only hope she was fooling him. She certainly wasn’t fooling herself. Her entire body was one big reaction.

“It gives a girl wrinkles.” A little voice in the back of her mind said, Lissa, stop this. Stop it now. Stop it while you can, but an even stronger one urged her to discover where it could go.

He stroked her face again, with the pad of a thumb, and it set up .a deep, aching longing inside her. “Looks like you’ve succeeded. I don’t see too many wrinkles. How do you prevent worry?”

“By keeping charming rakes at arm’s length.” She laughed as she spoke, hoping to disguise the tremor in her voice. “And you, Mr. Jackson, are one extremely charming rake, but like all the others I’ve met, dangerous to my mental health.”

“I am, am I?” His hands cupped her shoulders. He tugged her closer until their bodies just barely touched. Heat flared through her.

She planted her hands on his chest. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, appalled at the choked whisper her voice had become.

“Why? Two reasons. One, I want to convince you that not all charming rakes are dangerous.”

“Really?” She stiffened her arms just a tad—and at the same time, managed to strengthen her voice. “How do you expect to make me to believe that?”

“Well, I could start by kissing you.”

She flexed her fingers against his chest, still unsure just how far she would let this go. “I’d consider that a very, very dangerous move.”

“For you, or for me?”

She pretended to consider the question. How long had it been since she’d flirted like this? She’d once been good at it, once enjoyed it—far too much—and it had brought her all sorts of heartache. It wouldn’t again. Somehow, she’d see to that. She was nearly thirty-three. She could handle this. She could handle him. As well as herself and her crazy impulses.

“For both of us, maybe,” she said.

“Think so?” His eyes glittered. “You don’t strike me as a danger. At least, not an unacceptable one.”

“No? How do I strike you?”

“As a woman I want very much, at this moment, to kiss.”

“Nobody can have everything he wants.”

“Not even charming rakes?”

“Especially not them.”

“How about you? What do you want?”

She lowered her lashes to hide her expression, sure it would be a dead giveaway.

“Come on,” he urged, moving his chest against her, slowly, sensuously, so she felt his mat of hair even through his polo shirt and her tank top. She wished she’d put on a bra following her after-work shower. “Tell me what you want, Lissa.”

He moved again. No. She had to be honest with herself. She was glad she’d remained braless, glad to feel these kinds of physical sensations again, this kind of wild and heady emotion. The faint motion of the boat in the water made her feel as if the two of them were far away from others, and alone, despite the sounds of voices calling across the marina, the whine of outboards coming and going.

“This?” he asked, sliding his hand down her back and drawing her against him.

She raised her gaze to meet his and answered his question. “No. No, I don’t want that.”