A Fare To Remember: Just Whistle\Driven To Distraction\Taken For A Ride (26 page)

Four years of college at MIT followed by another two years working at IYRS—International Yacht Restoration School—set him on the path to opening his own business. He’d built his first boat while still at IYRS. The twenty-three-foot wooden day-sailer took three months, and by that time Marcus had three more commissions and enough money to hire two employees. And now with the job from Trevor Ross, things were really beginning to look up.

Marcus glanced around the spacious lounge of the
Victorious
as he passed through, his feet brushing against the cool teak sole of the boat. The ninety-foot schooner was a designer’s dream, an inspiration for Marcus’s future projects. He enjoyed discovering all the interesting nooks and crannies of the vintage yacht, examining the expensive restoration work that Trevor Ross so easily paid for.

As he turned the corner into the galley, Marcus stopped short, the breath leaving his chest. A woman, dressed only in lacy black panties, was bent over the refrigerator, her underwear riding up on the curves of her backside. She was dripping wet, water puddling around her feet, her long hair plastered to her back.

Marcus glanced over his shoulder, deciding if he ought to step out and throw on some clothes or stand his ground. He didn’t want to give the stowaway a chance to escape. Brushing aside his modesty, Marcus braced his hands on either side of the door, then cleared his throat. She straightened, then turned and faced him, her face registering mild surprise. Her gaze slowly raked the length of his body, resting a long moment in the area of his crotch. “Good morning,” she murmured, a smile twitching at her lips.

She didn’t seem to be concerned about his lack of clothing—or hers, for that matter. He tried to avoid looking at her breasts, but he couldn’t help himself. Her body was perfect, long-limbed and slender, with a tiny waist that flared out to lovely hips. His eyes drifted back to her breasts and he lingered there for just a moment, wondering how it might feel to touch her, to cup each perfect breast in the palm of his hand.

“Are you finished?” she asked. “Or would you like to take a closer look?” She held up her arms and slowly turned in front of him, offering him yet another glimpse of her backside.

Marcus’s gaze darted back to her face, taking in the wide green eyes, high cheekbones and lush mouth now curved in a wry smile. Hell, this was every man’s dream, the stuff of fantasies, stumbling on a nearly naked woman. Marcus swallowed hard. If he didn’t find something to cover his crotch, she was going to see exactly what kind of effect she was having on him.

“Excuse me,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and hurried toward his cabin.

“Is there coffee?” she shouted, poking her head out of the galley.

Marcus cursed softly as he dug through his clothes looking for a clean pair of boxer briefs. In the end, he tugged on baggy surfer shorts and made a quick stop at the head to brush his teeth. When he returned to the galley, she was still rummaging through the cabinets in the same state of undress. He cursed to himself, wondering why she hadn’t taken the chance to put on some clothes.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” he said.

“Coffee,” she muttered impatiently. “Is it too much to ask that you start a pot of coffee in the morning?”

He stepped inside, moving past her. Her body brushed his, her breasts soft against his chest. He focused on the coffee, determined not to let her rattle him. The bag of beans was tucked behind a canister of sugar. Marcus pulled it out and dumped a healthy measure of the beans into the grinder. As the grinder whined, he glanced over his shoulder to find her perched on the counter, her hands braced at her sides, her long legs crossed at the ankle. He groaned inwardly, fighting back an impulse to reach out and touch her, just to see if this was all just a very vivid dream.

He dumped the ground coffee into a filter, then popped it into the coffeemaker, grateful for any distraction. Grabbing the pot, Marcus passed it over to her and she filled it with water from the tap. They both watched until a stream of coffee began to drip into the pot. Then she reached around her back and found a coffee mug.

“I can’t wait,” she murmured, nudging his shoulder with the cup.

He filled her mug and handed it back to her, keeping his attention firmly fixed on the coffee. “How did you get on board?” he asked.

“I swam,” she said. “I left my clothes and my bags on the dock. Maybe you could take the dinghy over later and get them for me?”

“Yeah,” Marcus muttered. “Maybe.” He’d put that little task off for as long as possible. It wasn’t every day he got to enjoy the company of a naked woman, especially a woman who seemed more comfortable out of her clothes than in them.

“You’re new,” she said. “You’re a bit older than the boys Daddy usually hires. Are you here to take over for that old barnacle Captain Davis? Please tell me he’s finally retired to the Crusty Old Sailor’s Home. Or was he swallowed by some accommodating white whale on his last cruise?”

Marcus bit back a curse. Daddy? Bloody hell. The only person she could be talking about was Trevor Ross, which meant that the naked woman sitting behind him—the one he’d been drooling over—was his boss’s daughter, Ariel Ross.

Pictures of her as a little girl hung in the master cabin. But the rest of the world knew her from her tabloid exploits. She looked different in person, without the clothes and makeup and celebrity hair. Her skin was smooth and flawless, with a tiny sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose, and her hair was a much darker blond when it was wet. She looked almost…virginal. No, this was not the girl who jetted around Europe, dated princes and attended fashion shows.

“You’re Ariel,” he said flatly.

“And you are?”

He turned and faced her, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “The new barnacle.”

She giggled at the answer and to Marcus’s surprise, the sound sent a rush of heat through his bloodstream. “So do you prefer Barney?” she asked, holding out her hand.

He wanted to touch her. At that moment, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. He took the offered greeting, grasping her fingers in his, and Marcus instantly wondered how those delicate fingers would feel wrapped around him.

“Marcus. Marcus Quinn. I’m…” He scrambled for the words.
Fighting off a serious case of lust…fantasizing about dragging you to my bed…wanting to know if you taste as good as you look.
“Working for your dad,” he finished, quickly dropping her hand.

He took a quick sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. Was he expected to carry on a conversation with her? She didn’t seem to be at all interested in getting dressed. The polite thing to do was keep his gaze fixed on her face. He risked another glance at her breasts. Easier said than done.

“Doing what?” she asked.

“Your father hired me to do some wood carvings for the boat. I’m working on a figurehead for the bowsprit and piece for the wall in the dining area. And I’m carving some corbels for the lounge area and adding some ornamentation to the cabinets in the master suite.”

“Well, well,” she said, jumping down from the counter, “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you.” She stepped toward him and lightly skimmed her palm down his chest, stopping when she reached his belly. Marcus held his breath and she sent him a provocative grin. “I’ll try to stay out of your way. It’ll be nice to have some company on board. Don’t work too hard, Barney.”

“It’s Marcus. And you can’t stay,” he protested. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on work with Ariel Ross prancing around the deck naked? There was just so much a normal guy could take and in a short ten minutes, he’d already reached his limit. All he could think about was finding a way to ease his sexual frustration. “Your father said I’d have the boat to myself. I can’t work if you’re here.”

“Why is that?”

Was she that dense or was she simply toying with him? He’d already managed to lapse into a few brief and inappropriate fantasies. Given more time, Marcus knew what his imagination would provide—full-blown, erotic daydreams that would only be erased by prolonged physical contact with a beautiful woman—like Ariel Ross. From the moment he stumbled upon her, all he’d been able to think about was how long he’d have to wait to touch her. No, there was no way she could stay! “You just can’t,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t care what you want. This is my father’s boat and I’ll stay as long as I like. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with your boss.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the companionway to the master suite.

Marcus stuck his head out of the galley just in time to see her slam the door. “Oh, hell.” This was trouble just waiting to happen. Ariel Ross had a reputation that was known worldwide—she was a man-eater, about as far from a “keeper” as he could get. And if she started nibbling on him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to defend himself.

A month didn’t go by without a scandalous photo or article in the tabloids or a report on one of those Hollywood news shows. Ariel went through men as if they were trendy fashion accessories, something pretty to keep on her arm and enjoy for the moment, then to toss aside once she found another boy who pleased her more.

Marcus shook his head and headed back to his cabin. So she’d hang around for the weekend. A woman like Ariel would grow bored with the solitude and be off to more exciting places before she could even unpack. “Two days,” he said. “I’ll give her two days and then she’s got to go. If she doesn’t, I just toss her overboard.”

Marcus chuckled softly. He wouldn’t get a whole lot of work done in the next forty-eight hours, but that really didn’t matter. If entertaining the boss’s daughter was part of the job, then he’d do his best—just short of sleeping with her.

But in such close quarters, there was no telling what might transpire. If his desire did eventually overwhelm his common sense, at least he’d have a decent tale to tell his brothers about the sexy little socialite he’d reeled in, then tossed back.

…
NOT THE END
…

Look for
THE MIGHTY QUINNS: MARCUS
in
bookstores October 2006 from Harlequin Blaze.

Drive Me Crazy

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

Even though Josh Gregory had told her he wasn’t ready to get married until he built up his limousine company, Pris Adams thought she could change his mind. After all, they had a great relationship and even better sex! With her biological clock ticking, Pris gave Josh an ultimatum: Marry me or lose me! Josh chose option B.

Now, determined to get on with her life, Pris is engaged to marry someone else—and has hired Josh to drive the limo on her wedding day so that he’ll see what he’s lost! But then a funny thing happens on the way down the aisle…

CHAPTER ONE

A
LIMO FULL OF BEAUTIFUL
, twenty something women. Ordinarily that would have thrilled Josh Gregory from the brim of his chauffeur’s cap all the way down to his spit-shined dress shoes. Not today.

Priscilla Adams, a gorgeous blonde he used to date—a woman he used to have fantastic sex with, to be truthful—sat in the back of the limo with her bridesmaids. Within the hour, she and her luscious body would be lost to Josh forever. He told himself it was for the best.

After all, why would he want someone who’d smeared his nose in the fact that she was getting married, just because six months ago he’d said he wasn’t ready for that march down the aisle? Talk about vindictive. According to Josh’s boss, Pris had specifically requested him for this limo gig.

All the way to the church, he kept glancing in the rearview mirror to see if he could catch her gloating. Funny, she didn’t seem to be gloating. He thought brides were supposed to look blissfully happy, considering they were about to get exactly what they wanted.

Apparently he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Pris’s frown. Her maid of honor reached over and squeezed her hand. “Smile, there, babes! Don’t worry. You’ve thought of everything. This shindig will go off without a hitch.”

“Oh, you know me,” Pris said. “I’m probably the only bride who spends her last twenty minutes of singlehood worrying about whether she remembered to tell the caterer to provide sparkling water as a beverage option.”

Josh had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. That was Pris, all right. Efficient and thorough. She hated the idea of making a mistake, especially a public mistake.

Yeah, he was well out of that relationship. She’d been very clear that she wanted the husband, the kids, the white picket fence, and if Josh wasn’t inclined to give her that, she’d look elsewhere. Yes, she’d enjoyed the sex, but if Josh was more interested in saving for his own limo business than getting married, she’d regretfully move on.

Josh thought she’d moved on at warp speed, even for an efficiency expert like her. When they’d broken up, the Celtics had just started the season. Now it was play-off time. Without Pris, he’d watched a hell of a lot more basketball.

Come to think of it, he might watch a game on the limo’s TV while he waited for Pris to come out of the church with her lucky groom. A good game might take his mind off the fact that Pris would be spending her wedding night with Brad somebody-or-other. But then, it probably wasn’t the first time she’d had sex with Brad-baby. Pris wasn’t the type to hold a guy off if she liked him.

P
RIS HAD NEVER FELT
so sexually frustrated in her life. And here she was in the same limo with the man who knew exactly how to please her. Her own fault. She’d wanted to show Josh Gregory what he was missing. He’d rejected the idea of marriage to her, and she was petty enough to crave a little revenge.

She tried to think about the lovely ceremony ahead of her and the house she and Brad were closing on in a month. True, they wouldn’t have much of a honeymoon. She had to admit being disappointed that Brad had decided to buy her a life policy on himself instead of taking her to the Bahamas.

But that was small change compared to Brad’s decision that they shouldn’t have sex until the wedding night. Thanks to an ex-girlfriend of Brad’s who’d called this morning, Pris now questioned that decision. The ex-girlfriend could be a jealous spoiler, or she could be telling the truth. Before Pris said
I do
to Bradley Davidson this afternoon, she was going to find out.