White Hot (6 page)

But he beat her to the punch. “Sorry, ma’am. I meant
Captain Richardson,” he said with a transparently unrepentant grin.

“What is it, Mr. Walker?” she ground out, feeling disturbingly torn between irritation over the breach…and absurd pleasure at the way he was looking at her.

“Just wondered,” he drawled, “if I’m smelling better this morning?”

Clint chuckled as Samantha—that is, Captain Richardson—snapped her mouth shut, turned about, and strode wordlessly away.

Not that he’d expected an answer. He’d just wanted to remind her of last night’s implied invitation. Or rather, her straight-up invitation. There’d been nothing implied about it. And there was nothing he’d rather do than make good on that offer.

Just as soon as the ship was free of the harbor and any danger of Xing Guan’s operators catching up to him was past. That was the only way he could even
think
about stepping outside his mission parameters.

On the one hand, he was frustrated being forced to make an unnecessary four-day detour…but on the other hand, Nome, Alaska, was in exactly the wrong direction, and therefore probably the last place on the planet his Chinese pursuers would think to look for him. With any luck the three assassins were still at the Dutch Harbor airport waiting for him to show up. When he didn’t, hopefully they’d assume he’d managed to sneak onto a plane without them
spotting him. And if he was really lucky, they’d be off on a wild-goose chase to D.C.

Thus giving him the next few days to let down his guard a bit and enjoy his ride on
Île de Cœur
, relatively worry free. And become better acquainted with its pretty captain.
Much
better acquainted.

“Nice try, but you’re fishin’ in the wrong waters, son,” Chief Shandon said, interrupting his schemes with a wry tilt to his tired smile as they watched Samantha walk away.

“Yeah?” Clint asked, turning his attention back to the grizzled chief engineer. He squatted next to him and casually examined the neat piles of crane parts spread out around them.

“Better men than you have tried and failed miserably,” the chief said.

“And why’s that?” Clint asked, his curiosity piquing. He picked up a few of the parts, grabbed a wrench, and started assembling. Clint enjoyed tinkering, and this was the perfect spot on deck to keep an eye on comings and goings down on the dock. Not to mention when he climbed the crane to do the welding. No one was getting within spitting distance of
Île de Cœur
without him knowing about it.

The old man watched his swift, sure movements approvingly. “Hell. The skipper hasn’t looked at anything in pants since that no-good husband of hers went off an’ broke her heart.”

Clint paused and glanced up at him. “She’s married?” Damn. So much for his fantasies.

Ah, well.
It was a bad idea anyway.
He was on a mission. He shouldn’t even be considering this—

“
Ex
-husband,” the chief corrected, and muttered, “Pond scum.”

That was all Clint needed to hear. “Well,” he said, forgetting all about his rationalizations, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Or not.
It wasn’t like he planned on going steady with the woman. A few stolen nights together on a ship a relationship did not make. Nor did he
want
a relationship. His
fantasies of a family notwithstanding, Clint knew himself better than that. He was a loner. He liked being a loner. After his grandfather died, he’d grown up alone, spent most of his life alone, and no doubt it would continue that way.

He was too busy for a serious relationship. His job took him all over the world at a moment’s notice. He could see
that
going over really well with a woman. Not. Nor did he know the first thing about maintaining a relationship. Besides, they seldom lasted, he’d observed, despite both parties’ best intentions. Captain Richardson’s failed marriage was one shining example of that. He was pretty sure she hadn’t gone down the aisle thinking she’d get her heart broken.

No. A relationship was not something he was looking for.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t love women, because he most definitely did. He adored them. Adored flirting with them. Adored being around them. And generally, they returned the sentiment.

Which was why he had every confidence that Samantha’s invitation last night had not been an idle promise. And why a smile stayed on his lips as he suggested Chief Shandon go below for a nap, he could take care of the rest of the repairs on his own. Then he started the work to raise the crane back to its full erect height.

He stifled an ironic grin.

Talk about a fitting analogy.

A short time later, the ship’s engines began to rumble. The deck vibrated softly beneath Clint’s boots. After a few shouts between Samantha and their tugboat captain, the lines were cast off, and
Île de Cœur
eased away from the wharf, being pulled through the harbor by the tug assigned to ferry them out into the Bering Sea.

Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

There’d been no sign this morning of his pursuers. Once again, he’d slipped right out from under their noses, keeping
the data storage card with its critical intel safe for his country.

Thank God.
Now he could relax for a few days without looking over his shoulder.

Playing 007 and running from bad guys had been his life for over ten years, so he wasn’t complaining. He’d chosen his profession. He’d always gotten off on the adrenaline rush and the constant change of scenery, the deadly battle of wits and the importance of his work to the welfare and security of his native land. He was good at his job. One of the best.

But this past week had been a real ballbuster, every one of his thirty-six years showing, in stark contrast to the much younger fishermen he’d worked beside on the trawler. Oh, he’d held his own. But it had been hard-won. That had been a shocker to him. He’d always prided himself on his physical prowess, his old SEAL conditioning making him a standout among the usual fat cats inside the D.C. beltway.

He had to admit, after the past few weeks it would be real nice just to kick back and let himself unwind a bit, enjoy the brisk sea breeze in his hair and the sun on his face as he worked on fixing the crane. And indulged in a few more fantasies…about how and when he was going to get the beautiful Captain Richardson alone and naked.

Something whooshed by just above his head and he ducked instinctively, almost hitting the deck in a roll and going for his weapon. Which, of course, he’d left in his stateroom, under the mattress. He nearly rolled his eyes at
that
clever hiding place. But he hadn’t had time to come up with anything better. He would. Later.

Meanwhile, he peered up at the heavy cargo net that would have taken his head off had he been a foot or two taller. It dangled at the end of the crane hook, sweeping back and forth above the deck in a wide arc, making a complete circuit with each wave the ship rolled over. The tip of the crane arm was bent like an elbow that shouldn’t be there. Several of the lower sections of metal struts had
been removed for repair. The whole thing looked like a project made from an Erector Set with half the parts missing.

Until it got put together again, it was a disaster waiting to happen. Best get to work.

He gathered tools and eye protection, and a few of the sections that Shandy had assembled, and approached the base of the sturdy king post that supported the crane. To reach the crane’s control cabin, you had to climb up using the round metal hand- and footholds that stuck out opposite sides of the king post, as on a giant telephone pole.

He surveyed the towering structure with distaste. He’d never been one for heights. Unless they were underwater. Mohawk he was definitely not.

Perhaps if he thought about the delectable Captain Richardson and how they might take a tour of the ship together, exploring the sensual possibilities of each different compartment, maybe he wouldn’t notice how far above the deck he was.

Oh, yeah.
That seemed to do the trick.

Before he knew it, several hours had gone by…and he’d played out quite a few tantalizing scenarios in his mind, each more enjoyable than the last.

The fog had disappeared, the midsummer sun was now high overhead, and the newly repaired crane soared up into a brilliant blue sky. He vaguely remembered asking some of the other men to help him ratchet the top section into place after he’d welded it. It was still a little crooked, but at least it was no longer in danger of falling off.

Clint was sitting up in the cab at the control console, trying to figure out which button and lever controlled which crane function—without releasing the steel mesh net from the claw-hook onto one of the crew members’ heads below—when a feminine voice came through the cabin door.

“Wow. You’re good.” The captain climbed up into the small cabin with him. “And fast,” she added with a shade of admiration.

He looked at her and blinked, his mind still steeped in the tempting fantasies he’d been indulging in. About her. And him. Together.

Good, yes. But fast? Hardly.

Then he realized with a start that she was talking about the crane.

He glanced out through the cab’s expansive windows at the crane arm.

“Almost done,” he said, getting up from the low operator’s seat so she could sit. “I’m trying to figure out all these levers so I can position the crane so that damn net swings out over the side and not over the deck.”

“Here, use this instead. It’s easier.” She picked up a portable device that resembled a complicated video game controller. He squatted down to look over her shoulder. She touched the center joystick. “This moves the crane around in any direction.” She pointed at a green button on the side. “Just don’t touch this one. It releases the net.” She turned her face up to smile at him.

Damn, she was pretty. He just wished she’d take off that old hat. He wanted to put his nose in her hair and breathe in the scent of her.

“Go on. Try it,” she said, and he had to physically stop himself from spinning that chair around and doing just that. The high cab was practically all glass windshield. Unless they got down on the floor, they could be seen from anywhere on two decks and the bridge.

Still, it was tempting.

Especially since he’d hunted down the medical supply closet after breakfast, and was delighted to find several boxes of assorted condoms. Some of which were even now burning a hole in his pocket.

He cleared his throat and wrangled his mind back on point. “All right.” Bracketing his arms around her from behind, he took the controller in his hands. She watched as he manipulated the joystick, testing the crane arm. He made it go back and forth, up and down, then rotated it out over the water. “There. That’s— Whoa!” The crane arm tilted
abruptly down. He jerked the joystick, stopping its descent at an angle nearly parallel with the deck. “Still a few glitches I guess.”

He set the controller down but didn’t rise, and didn’t move his arms away.

She touched the joystick with a finger, running it along the smooth plastic. “Hmm. But a whole lot better than it was before. I’m impressed, Walker.”

He winked at her reflection in the windshield. “I aim to please, ma’am.”

She tipped her head to one side and regarded him back. “Honestly,” she said, “I never thought you’d get it up so quickly.” Her expression was guileless.

Too
guileless.

He smothered a smile.
Sassy.
“Trust me,” he murmured, “getting it up has never been a problem for me.”

She turned to slant a glance up at him from beneath the brim of her beat-up cap. Her full lips quirked. “But keeping it up seems to be.”

He wanted to pull her into his arms and taste those impertinent lips. “Hell no,” he drawled. “I just enjoy going down, too.”

The barest tinge of pink washed her cheeks. Embarrassment? Or desire…?

He decided to find out. Slowly, he spun the chair around so she faced him. He was still squatting, his knees spread. There was no mistaking what
he
was feeling.

Her tongue peeked out and swiped over her lower lip. He slowly started to lean in.

Somewhere nearby a loudspeaker abruptly crackled. “Captain Richardson to the bridge,” a male voice boomed over the PA system. “Captain please report to the bridge.”

Clint halted, halfway to kissing her.
Damn.

Her eyes closed for a nanosecond, then opened. “Bolun,” she said. “He needs to get a life.”

Clint chuckled, banking his frustration. “He’s just trying to protect you. He thinks I’m a stowaway of less than stellar character.”

Her green eyes twinkled. “No. He thinks you’re trying to seduce me.”

He eased away with an answering smile. “Smart man.”

For a long, sizzling moment their gazes locked. “I should probably go,” she said at length.

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved.

“See what he wants.”

Clint lifted a brow. “I’d say that’s pretty obvious.”

“Too bad for him.” She gave Clint a Mona Lisa smile and stood to go. “You coming?”