Contract Bridegroom. Sandra Field
lover?”
Celia’s jaw dropped. “What on earth—look, it’s nearly seven-thirty, I’ve been awake all night and I’ve had enough of this. I’m glad you and your friend Dave are alive and well, I’m sorry your boat sank and goodbye.”
His lips thinned. Unwillingly, she added, “Your yacht—you loved her, didn’t you?” Like a woman, isn’t that what Dave had said? Women must flock round this man like gulls round a lobster boat.
“I don’t really think that’s any of your business.”
“Then less and less do I see why you’d have the slightest interest in taking me out for dinner,” she said crossly and turned away from him.
He took her by the elbow, the tensile strength of his fingers making her suddenly wary. “I’ll pick you up at five.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“I could always follow you home.”
She said sweetly, “Are you aware that right this minute we’re under surveillance? Cameras cover this entire parking lot. All I’d have to do is struggle a little, and someone would be out here. Pronto.”
“All the more reason for you to behave, Miss Scott,” he said, mockery gleaming in his eyes.
“Behave—huh! Do what you want me to do, that’s what you mean.”
“Precisely.”
It was, Celia knew, the moment of choice. All she had to do was look into the camera over the door and signal for help, and this charade would be over. But she’d never been one to play it safe; her recklessness was one of the reasons behind her father’s request. “I’ll meet you at the Seaview Grill sharp at five,” she said. “I’ll have to leave there no later than twenty to seven. And if you follow me home, the deal’s off.”
“In that case,” Jethro said with dangerous softness, “I wouldn’t think of following you.” He ran his eyes down her body. “Sleep well, Celia Scott.”
A blush flamed her cheeks. But he didn’t see it, because he’d already pivoted and was walking toward his vehicle. Standing as if she were glued to the spot, Celia watched him reverse and drive away from her, just as if she didn’t exist.
What had possessed her to agree to have dinner with him? She wasn’t just reckless, she was plain crazy.
CHAPTER TWO
THE alarm woke Celia at four-fifteen that afternoon. After a quick shower, she dressed in a denim skirt and leather boots, with a green silk blouse. No baggy sweaters. No frayed jeans. And plenty of blusher and mascara, she decided, making her face up with care.
Rather pleased with the result, she checked her watch and got up with an exclamation of dismay. She didn’t want to start off this dinner date with an apology for being late. Not a good strategy.
At one minute to five she parked beside Jethro Lathem’s green Nissan at the Seaview Grill and ran up the wooden steps. Jethro had nabbed the best table. Surprise, surprise, she thought ironically, and gave him a cool smile as he got to his feet.
He pulled out her chair and briefly she felt the brush of his hand on her shoulder as she sat down. The contact shivered through her, and it was this that decided Celia to go on the offensive. As he sat down across from her, she said, “So…are you all set to thank me very nicely for alerting Search and Rescue?”
He’d picked up the menu; she watched his nails dig into its laminated covering. “You’re obviously good at your job, and I’m very grateful not to be at the bottom of the sea. So I most certainly thank you for your part in that.”
“What exactly happened?”
“Oh, the usual pile-up of errors,” he said tersely. “Do you want to start with a drink?”
“Not before work, thanks. When I first asked for your position, you took a long time to answer.”
“Things weren’t exactly normal,” he grated. “What do you recommend? Is the seafood good?”
“The scallops are divine.” Clearly, he was going to tell her nothing more, Celia thought, and added, “Your jaw—I presume that very impressive bruise wasn’t from a barroom brawl in St. John’s? Did it happen on Starspray?”
His lashes flickered. “Quit prying.”
“Jethro,” she said, aware of how much she liked the sound of his name on her lips, “you’re the one who insisted we have dinner together. I hate talking about the weather—I talk about it for at least thirty percent of my shift. Dave told me you’d had the flu, that’s why he was at the wheel when you went aground.”
“When did he tell you that?” Jethro lashed.
“He phoned last night. He didn’t want me thinking the Mayday signal was your fault.”
“The skipper’s always responsible. You know that as well as I do.”
“He also told me you saved his life.”
“He told you a great deal too much,” Jethro said tightly. “Are you having the scallops?”
“You bet. With home fries and coleslaw and a big glass of Coke that’s loaded with caffeine so I’ll stay awake all night.” She grinned at him. “So when did you bash your jaw?”
“Just before the helicopter arrived on the scene when I was so close to launching the life raft it wasn’t funny. The yacht was taking on water fast, faster than I could pump.”
Impulsively, Celia leaned forward, resting her fingers on his wrist. “I’m truly sorry about Starspray, Jethro.”
It was her left hand. He said, “No rings. No fiancé and presumably no husband. Although you never did tell me about your lovers.”
Lovers. In the plural. If she wasn’t so angry, she might find this funny. Celia snatched her hand back. “I can see that sympathy is lost on you.”
“I’m not used to failure,” he snarled. “What happened out there on that reef—I blew it. Big time.”
“Come off it,” she said impatiently. “If you and Dave had drowned—now that’s what I’d call failure.”
For the first time since she’d met him, Jethro’s face broke into a genuine smile. “I suppose you’re right…certainly I wouldn’t be around to talk about it. Do you always refuse to tell people what they want to hear, Celia Scott? Or is there something special about me?”
His smile crackled with masculine energy. “I don’t have to answer either of those questions,” she said weakly, and turned to the waitress. “Hi, Sally. I’ll have my usual, please, along with an extra slice of lemon.”
“The same, but beer instead of Coke,” Jethro said.
Sally gave him a smitten grin. “Yes sir. Right away.”
Once Sally was out of earshot, Celia said peevishly, “Do women always fall all over you like that?”
“If they do, you’re the exception that proves the rule.”
She gazed at him thoughtfully, noting the marks that exhaustion and illness had left on his face. His clothes, while casual, were top of the line, and she was quite sure the air of command he wore like a second garment wasn’t due merely to skippering Starspray.
But there was more. A lot more. She wasn’t an exception; she was no more immune to him than Sally was. Because close-up, Jethro Lathem was easily the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him. The curl of dark hair in the neckline of his shirt, the way the fabric of his shirt molded his shoulders, even the angle of light across his cheekbones… She found herself longing to rest her fingertips on his sculpted mouth, to trace the long curve of his lower lip and feel it warm to her skin.