Breakaway. Nancy Warren
in and said, “Thanks for the ride. See you at seven.”
She checked email on her phone for ten minutes, figured that should be enough time for Max to get settled in his room, and then walked into the inn. She walked straight past the front desk to the back offices, looking for the hotel manager.
Laurel Enright was her best friend and the person she most needed to talk to. Fortunately, she was in her office, talking on the phone. When she spied Claire she waved her in and made a face.
“No. I completely understand. Of course, a moose charging your car could make anyone miss their reservation. Absolutely. I quite understand. I don’t blame your husband. I’d probably drink a bottle of scotch, too. Let’s just be glad no one was hurt. Not even the moose. Of course I won’t charge you for tonight. We’ll look forward to welcoming you to the Spruce Bay Inn tomorrow. Uh-huh. You’re welcome. You, too.”
“Don’t even ask,” Laurel said when she put down the phone. She leaned forward. “I haven’t seen you in ages. How are you?”
“Crazy busy, but good.”
Laurel stood and walked around her desk. “Check out these babies. I bought them online.”
Laurel was a vivacious redhead who’d been fighting to lose twenty pounds ever since Claire had known her. Claire thought she looked wonderful with her full breasts and hips, but she knew her friend didn’t share her opinion. One thing they both agreed on, however, was that no matter how bad the climate, how deep the snowbanks or how sloppy the mud, shoes mattered. It had taken Claire a while to get used to carrying her good shoes in a shopping bag when she went out in the winter months, wearing her winter boots and parka and then changing into real shoes in the mudroom. But now she’d been doing it for so many years it seemed normal.
But it was summer now and Laurel had worn a kicking pair of cream half boots to work. “I love them.”
“I know. Online shopping makes me feel a tiny bit less isolated. Too bad you can’t mail-order men.” She sighed and sat back down. “So, what brings you here?”
“I was dropping off our new pilot. He’s going to stay here at the inn for a couple of days. Then Lynette wants him to move into the old caretaker’s cottage.”
“Hah. Is she trying to match you up with him?”
“Of course.”
Laurel knew of her grandmother’s attempts to get her attached to another bush pilot. “I think it’s kind of sweet. She wants you to marry a pilot so you can take over Polar Air. Just like her and your grandfather.”
“I know. I guess it is sweet, but it’s also annoying. I’d like to pick my own men.”
“What’s he like?”
“His name is Max. His family’s from Argentina, but he’s American. He’s...” How to describe the man? “He’s very self-assured. Seemed like he didn’t care whether he got the job or not, and yet he’d flown all the way up from Seattle for an interview. Good pilot.”
“I don’t want his résumé. I mean, what’s he like?”
“Okay. He’s hot. Really hot.” She pushed her hair back. “He’s also a bit pushy. He asked me for dinner.”
“Already? You just met him.”
“I know.”
“Are you going?”
“He conned me. Made me feel like I’d be a snob if I didn’t go out with him, like I thought I was too good for him since my family owns the company. So of course I said yes to prove him wrong.”
“Well, the halibut is fresh tonight. Looks amazing.” There was no question they’d be eating in the Inn dining room. It was the only decent place to eat in Spruce Bay.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll try and scope him out while he’s here. I’m off tonight, so I can’t hang around the bar and watch how your date is going.”
“Thank goodness.”
She chuckled. “Besides, I can’t go near the restaurant. I’m on this juice diet. I see real food and I want to weep.”
“How long does this juice diet last?”
“As long as I can stand it. I’m on day two. If I make day three I’m treating myself to a big steak dinner as a reward.”
3
WHEN CLAIRE WALKED into the dining room of the Spruce Bay Inn, Max had a moment to enjoy the sight of her as she paused at the entrance to look for him. She was a truly lovely woman.
He hadn’t been certain she’d show up, but here she was, and she’d dressed for dinner, he noted, in a flowered dress. Her legs were bare and her sandals celebrated the short summer season.
She’d left her hair long so it swung when she moved. He rose from his seat at the bar, walked to greet her.
Max reached for her hand.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
She gave him a sideways look. “I always keep my promises.”
“Do you?” He thought of all the things he’d like her to promise him, decided he was getting ahead of himself. “Good.”
He held out a chair for her and she seated herself across from him in the lounge.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“A caipirinha. It’s Brazilian. Try it. Mostly rum and fruit juice.” He held out his glass. She glanced up at him, then took the glass and sipped.
“Mmm,” she said, then licked her lips. He felt a shaft of heat go right through him. If she’d done it deliberately to look sexy, the move would have left him cold. But her response was so natural, so unstudied that it caught at him. Made him wonder about how she might respond to other things.
What would she taste like when he kissed her? What kind of sounds would she make in bed? What would her skin feel like when he ran his fingers down her bare back? What did she look like when she came? The questions crowded his mind, as unbidden as they were inconvenient. He didn’t want to fall for this woman. He was here for business reasons. And yet, from the moment he’d seen her in the office, both dainty and tough, giving a thieving employee his walking papers, he’d felt inexplicably drawn to her.
But Max was enough of a romantic to understand that passion couldn’t be controlled or understood. You welcomed it when it came, like the bush pilots out here in Alaska welcomed the wild weather. You rode it, dove through it, embraced it.
“Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
He motioned to their waitress and ordered her a drink.
“You’re adventurous,” he said when he’d given the order.
“And you’re a charmer.”
She said it matter-of-factly, not in an accusing way. So, he tried to consider whether he was, in fact, a charmer. “I don’t consciously try to charm anyone.”
“You certainly charmed my grandmother.”
“I like your grandmother. She’s an amazing woman.”
She tilted her head to one side and her hair slid over her shoulders. “And I think you’re trying to charm me.”
“Do you suspect me of manipulation?” He shook his head. “It’s not my intention. I like you. I think you’re incredible. One day you’ll be like your grandmother.”
He could see she was pleased by the notion. “I hope so.”
“And I also find you very beautiful.”
“Definitely