hair escaped its bonds to blow free in the breeze.
Prickly. God, was she prickly! She was the image of primness, but he knew there was another side. He knew it. She refused to admit it. And the more he goaded her, the more prickly she became.
He was no stranger to women. Granted, he wasn’t quite the roué he’d told Shaye he was, but his work brought him into contact with women all the time. He’d known charming ones, spunky ones, aggressive and ambitious ones. Shaye was as beautiful as any of them—or, he amended, she was when she let go. She’d done it last night, but it had been dark then. He wanted to see her do it now. If she freed her hair from its knot, relaxed her body, tossed back her head and smiled, he knew he’d take her image to his grave.
But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He recalled the times when they’d bickered, when she’d bitten back retorts, taken deep breaths, done everything in her power to ignore his taunts. Sometimes she’d lost control and had lashed back in turn, but even then she’d been quick to regain herself.
What had she said—that she lived a structured and controlled existence? Beyond that he didn’t know much, other than that she was from Philadelphia and that she had neither a husband nor a cook. He did know that she was aware of him physically. She couldn’t deny what had happened right here, on this very spot, less than twelve hours before.
Nor could he deny it. He knew he was asking for trouble tangling with a woman who clearly had a hang-up with sex. But sex wasn’t all he wanted. She intrigued him; he hadn’t lied about that. He felt a desperate need to understand her, and that meant getting to know her. And that meant breaking through the invisible wall she’d built.
As he saw it, there were two ways to go about it. The first, the more civil way, was to simply approach her and strike up conversation. Of course, it would take a while to build her trust, and if she resisted him he might run out of time.
The second, the more underhanded way, was to keep coming at her as he’d been doing. She wouldn’t like it, but he might well be able to wear her down. Since she was vulnerable to him on a physical level, he could prey on that—even if it meant prying out one little bit of personal information at a time.
He had to get those bits of information. Without them, he couldn’t form a composite of her, and without that, he wouldn’t be able to figure out why in the hell he was interested in the first place!
* * *
“H OW’S IT GOING , ladies?”
Shaye looked up from her book to see Noah approach. So he’d finally turned the sailing over to Samson. She had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he was doing his share.
“I should ask you the same question,” Victoria said, smiling up in welcome. “Are we making good progress?”
Noah looked out over the bow toward the western horizon. “Not bad. If the trade winds keep smiling and we continue to make five knots an hour, we’ll reach Costa Rica right on schedule.”
Shaye was relieved to hear that.
Victoria wasn’t so sure. “I’m enjoying the sail,” she said, stretching lazily. “I could take this for another month.”
Noah chuckled, then turned to Shaye. “How about you? Think you could take it for another month?”
Had it not been for that knowing little glint in his eye, Shaye might have smiled and nodded. Instead, she boldly returned his gaze and said, “Not on your life. I have to be back at work.”
He hunkered down before her, balancing on the balls of his feet. “But if you were to stretch your imagination a little and pretend that work wasn’t there, could you sail on and on?”
She crinkled her nose. “Nah. I’m a landlubber at heart. Give me a little cottage in the Berkshires and I’d be in heaven.”
“Not heaven, sweetheart,” Victoria scoffed. “You’d be in solitary confinement.”
“Is that what she usually does for her
Prickly. God, was she prickly! She was the image of primness, but he knew there was another side. He knew it. She refused to admit it. And the more he goaded her, the more prickly she became.
He was no stranger to women. Granted, he wasn’t quite the roué he’d told Shaye he was, but his work brought him into contact with women all the time. He’d known charming ones, spunky ones, aggressive and ambitious ones. Shaye was as beautiful as any of them—or, he amended, she was when she let go. She’d done it last night, but it had been dark then. He wanted to see her do it now. If she freed her hair from its knot, relaxed her body, tossed back her head and smiled, he knew he’d take her image to his grave.
But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He recalled the times when they’d bickered, when she’d bitten back retorts, taken deep breaths, done everything in her power to ignore his taunts. Sometimes she’d lost control and had lashed back in turn, but even then she’d been quick to regain herself.
What had she said—that she lived a structured and controlled existence? Beyond that he didn’t know much, other than that she was from Philadelphia and that she had neither a husband nor a cook. He did know that she was aware of him physically. She couldn’t deny what had happened right here, on this very spot, less than twelve hours before.
Nor could he deny it. He knew he was asking for trouble tangling with a woman who clearly had a hang-up with sex. But sex wasn’t all he wanted. She intrigued him; he hadn’t lied about that. He felt a desperate need to understand her, and that meant getting to know her. And that meant breaking through the invisible wall she’d built.
As he saw it, there were two ways to go about it. The first, the more civil way, was to simply approach her and strike up conversation. Of course, it would take a while to build her trust, and if she resisted him he might run out of time.
The second, the more underhanded way, was to keep coming at her as he’d been doing. She wouldn’t like it, but he might well be able to wear her down. Since she was vulnerable to him on a physical level, he could prey on that—even if it meant prying out one little bit of personal information at a time.
He had to get those bits of information. Without them, he couldn’t form a composite of her, and without that, he wouldn’t be able to figure out why in the hell he was interested in the first place!
* * *
“H OW’S IT GOING , ladies?”
Shaye looked up from her book to see Noah approach. So he’d finally turned the sailing over to Samson. She had to admit, albeit begrudgingly, that he was doing his share.
“I should ask you the same question,” Victoria said, smiling up in welcome. “Are we making good progress?”
Noah looked out over the bow toward the western horizon. “Not bad. If the trade winds keep smiling and we continue to make five knots an hour, we’ll reach Costa Rica right on schedule.”
Shaye was relieved to hear that.
Victoria wasn’t so sure. “I’m enjoying the sail,” she said, stretching lazily. “I could take this for another month.”
Noah chuckled, then turned to Shaye. “How about you? Think you could take it for another month?”
Had it not been for that knowing little glint in his eye, Shaye might have smiled and nodded. Instead, she boldly returned his gaze and said, “Not on your life. I have to be back at work.”
He hunkered down before her, balancing on the balls of his feet. “But if you were to stretch your imagination a little and pretend that work wasn’t there, could you sail on and on?”
She crinkled her nose. “Nah. I’m a landlubber at heart. Give me a little cottage in the Berkshires and I’d be in heaven.”
“Not heaven, sweetheart,” Victoria scoffed. “You’d be in solitary confinement.”
“Is that what she usually does for her
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