Breathless Encounter. Cindy Dees
she’d go for millions on the black market.”
“Isn’t trying to attract pirates dangerous?”
“That’s why the Nymph’s entire crew is ex-military and heavily armed. Any pirates who mess with this boat are in for a nasty surprise.”
“Still. It sounds dangerous.”
“No more so than running around solo in a tiny cabin cruiser filming commercial-fishing outfits doing their worst.”
“Touché.” She raised her glass to him.
“Any new thoughts on who might have tried to kill you?”
She shook her head. “I wonder if I accidentally filmed something I shouldn’t have. Maybe something that has nothing at all to do with fishing.”
“That was my thought, too. That’s the only reason I was looking at your film, by the way. I was trying to spot whatever got you in hot water.”
“The way I remember it, the water was freaking cold.”
He winced at the mention of her near drowning. “Next time, don’t go swimming in the ocean alone.”
She shuddered at the idea of submerging herself in water of any kind ever again. Even the idea of submerging herself in a bathtub terrified her. Her hands and knees started to shake at the thought, in fact, and suddenly she felt more than a little nauseous. She swayed dangerously.
Aiden moved fast to her side and lifted her drink out of her nerveless, icy fingers. “You just went ghostly white. Are you all right?”
“Can we talk about something besides swimming?”
A look of dawning understanding lit his face. “Scared you, did it?”
“Wouldn’t coming within a whisker of drowning freak you out, too?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m a pretty good swimmer. Haven’t ever come near drowning.”
“Lucky,” she muttered.
He shrugged and a shadow passed through his eyes. “That’s one word for it.”
“What word would you use to describe your swimming ability?”
He pursed his lips. “Spectacular.”
“Modest much?” she retorted.
He chuckled, thawing another few millimeters. Maybe the guy was a recluse of some kind. Or just shy. She got the feeling engaging in this much sustained conversation was unusual for him. He kept pausing as if searching for the right words.
“I’ll take you out swimming with me sometime. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”
“Not me. I’m done with fishing exposés and underwater anything, thank you very much.”
“It’s a little soon to declare yourself finished, isn’t it? Give yourself time to get over the shock of your accident.”
She shook her head resolutely. No way was she getting back in the water. The sea had taken her parents, and it had nearly taken her. She wasn’t dumb—she knew when it was time to quit and walk away. She opened her mouth to say just that but was interrupted by a male voice behind her.
“Dinner is ready, Miss Jordan. Mr. McKay.”
Aiden rolled his eyes. “A simple ‘chow’s on’ would have been sufficient, Jens.”
The steward cleared his throat. “With all due respect, you haven’t seen the meal Chef prepared. Chow is emphatically not the right word for it.”
Aiden sighed. Then, awkwardly, he held out his arm to her. She took it, eyeing the steward with new respect as Aiden guided her to the table. The sailor was burly beneath his white monkey suit and moved with the assurance of a soldier. How could she have missed that before? She must’ve been too besotted with Aiden to notice any other males on board.
She did notice, though, when Aiden gestured the steward aside and pulled out her chair for her himself. She glanced up at him in thanks and her breath caught at the way he was looking at her. As if she was the main course for dinner. Her stomach tumbled and she suddenly felt a little lightheaded. She was grateful to sink into her seat while she regained her bearings. Talk about a lady killer! The man was dangerous. He could knock her off her feet with a single glance. And she dared not even think about what his arms felt like around her.
As course after course of incredible continental cuisine came forth from the kitchen, she surreptitiously studied her companion. Aiden carried himself like a man used to wealth. Power. Having people do what he said. She didn’t care what he said. The man was definitely rich, or at least very powerful.
Not that she’d ever measured people by the thickness of their wallets. It was just interesting that he’d gone to such lengths to make sure she knew he didn’t own the Sea Nymph. If he was trying to lessen her intimidation factor at his suave sophistication, it didn’t work. It felt as if she was having supper with a movie star. He was perfectly polite, but there was a certain cool distance to him that was completely impenetrable. Of course, it was entirely her fault it was there, so it wasn’t as if she could hold his reserve against him. But it still got to her. Furthermore, it goaded her to try to break through it and find the warm, engaging man she’d glimpsed when she first met him.
“What’s your story?” she finally asked him.
“The men in my family all served a stint in the navy. My father was stationed at Pearl Harbor. I spent my youth in Hawaii. A rough gig, I know. But someone had to do it. When my father retired, my family moved back east. But I stayed in California to go to college at Stanford. I played hard, but I managed to get a degree in nanoengineering. That means I design and build tiny little robots. During my obligatory tour in the navy, I partied my way through every major port in the Pacific theater. Then Jeff Winston offered me a job in his grandfather’s company. And here I am.”
She considered the detachment with which he’d recited his life story. Beneath the lightness of the rendition, it all sounded very snooty and blue-blooded. No mention of friends, lovers, emotional connections to his family. Nor did he strike her as the party animal he’d described himself to be. She cast about for a neutral question. “How did you become a spectacular swimmer?”
Odd. He looked away evasively, but he did answer. “I’ve always lived near water. I suppose it came naturally. What about you? What’s your story?”
Trying to distract her. Weird. She supposed she owed him an answer, though, since he’d told her about himself. But she didn’t usually like to talk about her past.
She answered reluctantly. “My parents were environmental activists. And yes, they were raging hippies. We even lived in San Francisco when we weren’t be-bopping all over the world. I have a little sister, Chloe. She’s the ultimate anti-hippie, however. Don’t get me wrong. She’s awesome. But we have absolutely nothing in common. Most people who meet us don’t even think we’re related. At any rate, my family went to wherever the next big environmental crisis was brewing and tried to stir up public concern about it.”
“Where are your parents now?”
“Dead.” She was able to say it without opening the door to all the old grief and loss and anger, but she desperately hoped he’d get the hint and leave the subject alone.
He didn’t. “How?” At least he seemed to have sensed that he’d touched a nerve and was keeping this conversation brief and to the point.
“They went down at sea. No one knows how.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here, in fact. A couple hundred kilometers south of our current position.” She’d finally worked up the nerve to sail through the area a few days ago. It had been eerie, knowing she was following the last known coordinates her parents had reported before they disappeared.
For all she knew, she’d