His Last Defense. Karen Rock
be seaworthy?”
She took a deep breath. “I’ll know tomorrow when I inspect it.”
“So you just accepted, sight unseen?”
“Yes.” She stabbed the cherry in the bottom of Bill’s glass with a toothpick.
“Why would you do that, Nolee?”
Sheryl returned with their drinks. At the shake of Dylan’s head, she trotted off with a quick wave, leaving Nolee’s money on the table.
“Because I’m a captain minus a boat,” Nolee insisted. “In case you forgot.”
“How could I?” His eyes searched hers and she dropped her gaze, uncomfortable with all that worry. “Look, you could work for my uncle. Take a breather. Figure things out. You’re a first-time captain. You shouldn’t be taking a boat out unless it’s been proven.”
“I’ll get it up to code.” She raised her glass, refusing to let his worries get into her head when she had enough of her own. “Cheers.”
“By when?” he asked, ignoring her toast. Placing his elbows on the table he leaned closer and his distinctive, clean male scent, a blend of soap and sea, sand and sun, rose around them. She breathed deep. After he’d left Kodiak, she’d fallen asleep clutching one of his old hoodies, her nose buried in the worn fabric, until eventually his smell had disappeared.
Not so her attraction, it seemed.
“The regular season starts in twelve days.” He swirled his whiskey.
“I know,” she said, firm, not letting his doubts burst her bubble. Or the tantalizing nearness of him sway her. “But I’ve got to fill my quota.”
“What is it?” he asked, sounding wary. A throaty howl rose from the game-watching crowd at the bar, accompanied by a hail of insults for the Seahawks’ opponents.
“Four hundred K.”
Dylan leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the top of a leftover beer bottle. He shook his head. “That was taking into account the preseason. Your time’s cut by a third.”
“I’ll make it.”
“Be reasonable, Nolee. Who are you going to hire this late in the season?”
“My crew.” Though, oddly, four of her six men hadn’t returned her calls today when she’d checked in to see how they were doing.
“Bill told me he’d heard some of them got hired already. You know experienced hands are hard to come by.”
She blinked at him, thoughts scrambling. “Oh.” To cover her confusion, she gulped her drink and fought off a cough when the back of her throat caught fire.
“Right.” He raised his voice when a pack of boisterous locals swarmed close to play darts. “You don’t have enough help.”
“I’ll hire some.”
One of the players landed a bull’s-eye and a deafening roar erupted.
“This late in the season?” Dylan asked once the noise died down. “The only guys you’ll get won’t have much experience, or references. Going out to sea, this time of year, with a green crew, is suicide.”
“Cod season’s over.” She drained her glass, needing the boost. “Some of those guys might be looking for work.” Dylan had a point, not that she’d heed it. Catching fish instead of crab wasn’t the same thing at all. Not even close.
“Why are you doing this? Taking these chances?”
She shrugged. “It’s not chance when you know what you’re doing.” All the confidence she’d gained from her accomplishments filled every syllable, full and weighty. She wasn’t the same woman he’d left nine years ago, not that he seemed to recognize that.
“You shouldn’t have been out in that storm yesterday.”
“Weather reports didn’t predict it’d jog that far west.”
“You gambled.”
“To get ahead, you have to.” Seeing him revert back to the by-the-books, all-work-no-play guy bugged her. “You know, you and I aren’t that different,” she added, when he didn’t speak. There was a brief silence. She looked at him, but was discomfited by the intensity of his gaze.
“What do you mean?” Their fingers brushed each other as they searched for unshelled peanuts in the bowl, the contact making her skin tingle in awareness.
“We both like living on the edge—we just went after that in different ways.”
He stared at her for such a long moment, she wondered if he’d heard her. The crowd around the dart game swelled and a few pressed close to their table, jostling Dylan’s elbow, making his drink slosh onto the surface.
He threw a couple of twenties on the table, stood and extended a hand.
“Let’s go,” he said. It was more a command then an invitation. Maybe his sense of humor had slipped lately, but not that air of authority, that strength that’d always drawn her. Challenged her. Turned her on.
She jammed on her knit cap, slipped a hand in his and let him lead her through the crowd, the group parting, making way for his broad-shouldered march. “Where?”
He paused at the door outside, lifted their hands and rubbed hers lightly against his chest, sending sizzles of excitement shooting through her. His voice deepened.
“Somewhere I can actually talk some sense into you.”
* * *
OUTSIDE, THE CHILL shimmered off the frozen ground but did nothing to tamp down the heat Nolee’s nearness stoked inside Dylan. Dressed in a blue fleece and faded jeans that outlined her delectable curves, and work boots that underscored her tough-girl persona, she drew his eye. Kept him looking as they tramped across the icy parking lot.
A ragged plume of air escaped him. Being this close to her, alone, was playing with fire. He was having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Yet he needed to make her see reason.
And satisfy the drumming hunger to have her to himself for a few moments, one last time, before he shipped out of Kodiak.
“My truck’s over here.”
Nolee spotted a red pickup that must be his, and she looked at him directly. The wind lifted and tossed long dark strands of her hair across her lips, luring his attention to their fullness, making him remember the soft feel of them against his yesterday. Driving him to want another taste.
“Okay.”
A moment later they were seated on the plush seats, the ignition purring to life. Heat blasted from the vents and an old-school thrash band tune thumped in the dark, intimate space.
“I remember this song,” Nolee mused, shooting him a sidelong glance.
When she rubbed her gloveless fingers together, he raised his hands to hers, touching them, and then, more firmly, enclosing them within his own. He brought them to his mouth and blew on them, unable to resist the impulses pounding through him.
Her liquid eyes rose to his and the challenge in them made his stomach muscles tighten, his whole body respond.
It took every ounce of strength to tamp down his desires and focus on what he’d brought her out here to say. What he needed her to hear.
“There’s a difference between calculated risks and recklessness,” he began. His voice emerged husky, low. She was so close he could feel her breath. Her body was rigid, listening, her fingers now laced in his. Her cool skin was blistering.
“We both like putting everything on the line. Admit it.” Her mischievous smile kicked up his heart rate by several blood-pounding notches. She smelled like an ocean sunrise and he breathed deep.
“Not