Revenge of the Second Son. Sara Orwig
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course not,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded cool and composed and far from giving away mild panic. “I was just surprised that you didn’t keep a crew on board.”
“No need,” he answered easily, gazing ahead as if his thoughts were more on navigating than on her. “I like handling the boat and I’m sure you don’t want every minute of my time,” he remarked dryly, turning to meet her gaze. Electricity sparked between them and she couldn’t look away. Silence stretched, crackling with tension.
His dark chocolate, thickly lashed bedroom eyes could nail her and she wondered how much he saw. He was fit, handsome and she had to admire his drive and energy, which she wished he had directed somewhere besides at her family.
Did he know how she truly felt toward him, that the weekend was a sham? She wanted something from him and she intended to get it.
She inhaled, but she still couldn’t look away. Then his cell phone rang, breaking the spell. To give him privacy, she started to leave, but Nick motioned her to remain while he listened to his call.
“No, we’re not losing that property, Tyler. Go as high as you need to, but you see that we’re the buyers,” Nick said and then was quiet again. “I don’t care. Just acquire the leases, whatever you have to pay.” Another moment of silence. Wind had tangled his curly hair, and unruly locks just added to his handsome looks.
“We’re losing the connection, Tyler. You’ve got your authority and instructions.” Nick turned off the phone and set it down.
As she listened to him, descriptions materialized in her thoughts—sexy, ruthless, driven, handsome, good, bad and irresistible. His hands moved lightly over the wheel and he glanced at her. “I don’t exactly see approval in your expression.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know enough to approve or not approve.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You know my company will outbid the others no matter what price. You don’t approve.”
“I don’t know the circumstances. I just know you like to win.”
“I’d guess we’re cut out of the same cloth there. I don’t think you like to lose, either,” he said dryly.
“I doubt if winning or losing is as all-important to me as much as it is you. There are other things that I give my efforts to.”
“Is that right? So how do you like to spend your time?” he asked. His voice transformed into a lower, huskier tone that gave his question a hint of sexual innuendo.
“Get your mind off sex,” she said lightly. “You know that wasn’t my reference.”
“I can always hope,” he replied, and she smiled.
“There, that would melt the hardest heart,” he said, touching the corner of her mouth. “What temptation!”
“Perhaps now you should concentrate on getting your yacht into open water.”
He nodded, but his gaze remained on her. With an effort, she pulled her attention from him. Breathless, she left to get distance between them, stepping out into sunshine and fresh air, wanting to fan herself and knowing that her warmth wasn’t caused by the weather. Also knowing that his brief phone conversation revealed how important winning was to him.
She moved to the railing and let the wind tangle her hair as a fine spray blew back over her. She watched gulls circling, swooping down to scoop something from the water. A jellyfish, a pale transparent blob, occasionally floated near the surface and then vanished from her sight. She thought about yesterday afternoon when she had gone to see her granddad, asking him directly if he knew anything about the fire on the Ransome oil rig.
His blue eyes had widened. “No, I don’t know anything about a fire.” He scowled. “Why would you think I’d know? Did Ransome or some of his people accuse us of that?”
“Nick Ransome thought we might have been the reason for the fire. As of now, the cause is unknown.”
“That bastard. He’ll say or do anything, just like his father.”
“Forget it, Granddad. I just wanted to hear you say that we had no part in it.” She had wanted to be sure, but now wished she hadn’t brought up the matter.
Reassured, she looked down at the blue-green water sweeping against the yacht and hoped the fire experts learned exactly what had caused the blaze. Would Nick admit to her that he had been wrong to accuse her granddad? She doubted if he would.
She glanced over her shoulder and could see Nick inside at the wheel. They were alone on this boat for the weekend. She hoped she could hide her stormy emotions from him.
The Gulf was smooth and the breeze was cool, a perfect day that appeared peaceful and gave no hint of the turmoil churning inside her. She enjoyed the ride, but knew if she wanted to win Nick over, she wouldn’t succeed by avoiding him. She wondered how many women he had brought on board that had wanted all his time and attention.
She returned to the pilothouse and when she reached his side, he stepped away slightly. “Want to take the wheel?”
“Sure,” she said, taking it, aware of their hands brushing before he stepped aside. Spreading his feet, he placed his hands on his hips as he watched her.
“So you’ve been sailing since you were five,” he commented. “Is this one of your favorite pastimes or are you doing it to be nice to your granddad?”
“I enjoy sailing. I’ve grown up doing it. Look out there,” she said, waving her hand toward the stretch of blue-green water and the lush green. “This is another world and I can forget the office.”
“There are all sorts of ways to forget the office,” he said in a husky voice, moving closer.
“Careful, you’re coming on again,” she said, smiling at him.
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said, smiling in return, a devastating, knee-melting smile that made her draw her breath. Creases bracketed his mouth and, with an effort, she tried to concentrate on the boat cutting smoothly through the water. “What else have you been doing, besides sailing? I don’t know much about you,” he said, leaning his hip against the bulkhead and giving her his undivided attention. It made her heart race.
“I went to Rice, returned home to go to work for Granddad. I bought my own home and I sail on weekends. A simple life. That’s about it.”
“No special man in your life?”
“No, there isn’t,” she said, turning to look into his dark eyes, wondering about the women in his life. His mouth was wide, his lower lip full, sensual. What would it be like to kiss him? She struggled to get her thoughts elsewhere.
“Was there an important man?” Nick repeated.
She shook her head again. “Not really. No, there never has been anyone.”
“Ah, you’re particular.”
She smiled. “Or busy.”
“The ice princess,” he said softly, his dark gaze filled with speculation. “With your heart sealed away. Who will melt your heart of ice and turn you into a warm, passionate woman?”
She laughed. “Are you trying to offer yourself for that role? If so, save your breath.”
“I know better than to do that,” he replied lightly. “Besides, whoever melts the ice princess then has a responsibility.”
“So, Nick Ransome, you have some old-fashioned ideas lurking.”
“I keep them locked away rather well,” he replied.
“I imagine you do. What about you? I don’t know much about you, either.”
“My life is an open book. I like closing a deal that I’ve worked hard to get, making money, flying, sailing, swimming, passionate women, fast horses and faster cars, long, wet kisses,