It's in His Kiss
Page 33
“Actually,” he said, “all three of us fought for it, but Tanner won.”
“Fought?”
“We raced to the end of the harbor and back for it.”
“Tanner’s the fastest runner?”
“Swimmer.”
Her eyes bugged out. “You guys swam from here to the end of the harbor and back?”
Sam shrugged. “Even with his bad leg, Tanner’s a fish; no one can catch him. But then the client added four friends, so Tanner needed an assist.”
“And you wouldn’t have minded . . . assisting.”
He shrugged again, which translated—in guy speak—to no, he wouldn’t have minded assisting.
“Men are annoying,” she said.
He didn’t look bothered by this blanket assessment of his species. “We don’t do the clientele.”
“Or the employees,” she said.
“Or the employees.” He pointed to the phone. “That’s going to ring all day. People call for information. They ask questions or want to see about booking a trip. We’ve been trying to build a mailing list, so when the calls come in, we’ve been gathering contact info for a database.”
He was standing close. He didn’t have much of a choice; the space behind the counter was tight, and he was big. Normally, she really liked her own space bubble, and in fact got claustrophobic without one, but with his hair still damp and curling around his ears from a recent shower, and his warm, strong bod so close they kept brushing together, claustrophobia was the last thing she was feeling.
“The gist is this,” he said, either ignoring their chemistry or no longer feeling it. “We have a fifty-foot Wright Sport boat. We’re available for hire for just about anything. Cruises, deep-sea fishing, whale-watching, snorkeling, scuba diving—novice or expert. Tanner handles most of the planning and charting of the scuba, snorkeling, and fishing expeditions. He’s lucky as hell and can always find the sweet spot. Cole’s the captain of the boat, and our mechanic.”
“And you?” she asked. “What is it you bring to the table?”
He met her gaze. “I’m the people person.”
She laughed, and he actually flashed a smile at her. “Okay,” he said. “That might be a little bit of a stretch.”
“You do okay,” she said softly.
Their gazes locked, and then his dropped to her mouth. “I have my moments.”
His voice gave her a rush of warmth, but before she could say anything else, the phone rang. Sam gestured for her to sit at the stool and answer. As she picked up the receiver and said “Good morning, Lucky Harbor Charters,” Sam pulled over the second stool. Their thighs brushed, his hard and muscled.
The space behind the counter seemed to shrink even farther.
“Hi,” the caller said in her ear. “I heard you guys might have a big summer bash, complete with fireworks. Is that true?”
Becca looked at Sam.
Sam shook his head.
Becca put the call on hold.
“It’s something we talked about,” Sam said. “A sort of customer-appreciation thing. But no one has time to even think about it.”
“I can do it for us,” she said.
He went brows up at the us, but he shook his head again. “It’s too much work, the organization of the party, and fireworks and—”
“What do you have against fireworks?”
His look said he realized she wasn’t referring to actual pyrotechnics, but the hot sparks between the two of them. “No fireworks,” he said. “Besides, none of us is certified to do a fireworks show.”
“I thought all males knew how to blow stuff up.”
“I didn’t say we don’t know how. I said we’re not certified.”
“So we hire someone.” She tapped the computer. “Show me your schedule for August.”
Sam leaned in, and his fingers worked the keyboard. Their thighs were still touching, and so were their upper arms. He was big and toasty warm, and he smelled good enough to lick, but she controlled herself.
He’d chosen.
And then she’d chosen.
Sam showed her the screen and then didn’t move back, which she found interesting.
And arousing.
Their August schedule was indeed already busy. Plus, she had to take into account all the trips that hadn’t made it onto the calendar yet because they were still floating around as scribbled notes, but there was still room. “You have the beachfront, right?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So let’s throw that customer-appreciation bash,” she said.
He just looked at her.
“You have me now,” she said, and felt herself blush again. Why was everything sounding sexual? “I can help with the planning and the work.”
He just looked at her some more.
“Okay, I’ll plan all of it,” she said. “Your clients will love it.”
“Are you always this relentless?”
“Yep. Stubborn as hell, too. Sorry, I forgot to put that on my job application.” And then, sensing his acquiescence, she leaned in and kissed his firm, hard mouth. She’d meant it to be just a quick peck to soften him up, but that’s not what happened. In fact, it was the opposite of what happened, because he hauled her off her stool and onto his lap.
One of his warm, hard arms banded around her hips, the other hand cupping the back of her head, tilting it to the angle he wanted. And then he claimed her mouth like he meant it. In less than two heartbeats, he’d made her forget her own name, that she had a caller on hold, and what day of the week it was. When he was done—and he took his sweet-ass time about it, too—he lifted his head and surveyed her expression, his own a lot more mellow, his eyes heavy-lidded and sexy.
“Fought?”
“We raced to the end of the harbor and back for it.”
“Tanner’s the fastest runner?”
“Swimmer.”
Her eyes bugged out. “You guys swam from here to the end of the harbor and back?”
Sam shrugged. “Even with his bad leg, Tanner’s a fish; no one can catch him. But then the client added four friends, so Tanner needed an assist.”
“And you wouldn’t have minded . . . assisting.”
He shrugged again, which translated—in guy speak—to no, he wouldn’t have minded assisting.
“Men are annoying,” she said.
He didn’t look bothered by this blanket assessment of his species. “We don’t do the clientele.”
“Or the employees,” she said.
“Or the employees.” He pointed to the phone. “That’s going to ring all day. People call for information. They ask questions or want to see about booking a trip. We’ve been trying to build a mailing list, so when the calls come in, we’ve been gathering contact info for a database.”
He was standing close. He didn’t have much of a choice; the space behind the counter was tight, and he was big. Normally, she really liked her own space bubble, and in fact got claustrophobic without one, but with his hair still damp and curling around his ears from a recent shower, and his warm, strong bod so close they kept brushing together, claustrophobia was the last thing she was feeling.
“The gist is this,” he said, either ignoring their chemistry or no longer feeling it. “We have a fifty-foot Wright Sport boat. We’re available for hire for just about anything. Cruises, deep-sea fishing, whale-watching, snorkeling, scuba diving—novice or expert. Tanner handles most of the planning and charting of the scuba, snorkeling, and fishing expeditions. He’s lucky as hell and can always find the sweet spot. Cole’s the captain of the boat, and our mechanic.”
“And you?” she asked. “What is it you bring to the table?”
He met her gaze. “I’m the people person.”
She laughed, and he actually flashed a smile at her. “Okay,” he said. “That might be a little bit of a stretch.”
“You do okay,” she said softly.
Their gazes locked, and then his dropped to her mouth. “I have my moments.”
His voice gave her a rush of warmth, but before she could say anything else, the phone rang. Sam gestured for her to sit at the stool and answer. As she picked up the receiver and said “Good morning, Lucky Harbor Charters,” Sam pulled over the second stool. Their thighs brushed, his hard and muscled.
The space behind the counter seemed to shrink even farther.
“Hi,” the caller said in her ear. “I heard you guys might have a big summer bash, complete with fireworks. Is that true?”
Becca looked at Sam.
Sam shook his head.
Becca put the call on hold.
“It’s something we talked about,” Sam said. “A sort of customer-appreciation thing. But no one has time to even think about it.”
“I can do it for us,” she said.
He went brows up at the us, but he shook his head again. “It’s too much work, the organization of the party, and fireworks and—”
“What do you have against fireworks?”
His look said he realized she wasn’t referring to actual pyrotechnics, but the hot sparks between the two of them. “No fireworks,” he said. “Besides, none of us is certified to do a fireworks show.”
“I thought all males knew how to blow stuff up.”
“I didn’t say we don’t know how. I said we’re not certified.”
“So we hire someone.” She tapped the computer. “Show me your schedule for August.”
Sam leaned in, and his fingers worked the keyboard. Their thighs were still touching, and so were their upper arms. He was big and toasty warm, and he smelled good enough to lick, but she controlled herself.
He’d chosen.
And then she’d chosen.
Sam showed her the screen and then didn’t move back, which she found interesting.
And arousing.
Their August schedule was indeed already busy. Plus, she had to take into account all the trips that hadn’t made it onto the calendar yet because they were still floating around as scribbled notes, but there was still room. “You have the beachfront, right?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“So let’s throw that customer-appreciation bash,” she said.
He just looked at her.
“You have me now,” she said, and felt herself blush again. Why was everything sounding sexual? “I can help with the planning and the work.”
He just looked at her some more.
“Okay, I’ll plan all of it,” she said. “Your clients will love it.”
“Are you always this relentless?”
“Yep. Stubborn as hell, too. Sorry, I forgot to put that on my job application.” And then, sensing his acquiescence, she leaned in and kissed his firm, hard mouth. She’d meant it to be just a quick peck to soften him up, but that’s not what happened. In fact, it was the opposite of what happened, because he hauled her off her stool and onto his lap.
One of his warm, hard arms banded around her hips, the other hand cupping the back of her head, tilting it to the angle he wanted. And then he claimed her mouth like he meant it. In less than two heartbeats, he’d made her forget her own name, that she had a caller on hold, and what day of the week it was. When he was done—and he took his sweet-ass time about it, too—he lifted his head and surveyed her expression, his own a lot more mellow, his eyes heavy-lidded and sexy.
