Chapter One

      December

      She blamed the entire thing on the shirt.

      His shirt, to be precise.

      Everything would have been fine, if he’d just kept it on.

      But no. He had to go be the gentleman. He’d known she was soaked through. And with no electricity thanks to the ice storm that had blanketed Seattle with hardly any warning, she also had been freezing.

      So he’d given her a towel, threadbare as it was, to dry off as best she could.

      And then he’d given her his shirt.

      Really, that’s when all the trouble started.

      That’s when she’d obviously lost every bit of common sense that she’d ever possessed.

      What else could possibly explain the fact that she was now lying on a pile of cushions on the floor of Merrick & Sullivan Yachting with Paxton Merrick’s sinewy arm over her waist, his big palm cupping her breast as if he had every right to do so?

      Shea Weatherby chewed the inside of her lip as she lay motionless in hopes that he wouldn’t wake up.

      It was morning. Sunlight was filling the room. The wind that had howled and screamed and driven her into his office in the first place in search of shelter when her car wouldn’t start was now silent. She couldn’t see out the windows without turning over, though, and that was something she didn’t want to do.

      Because it would mean turning toward Pax too.

      Bad enough she could feel the heat of his body burning down every inch of her backside. Because she’d obviously lost her head after the whole shirt-offering incident, she clearly couldn’t be trusted to look at his infernally attractive face or other...body parts.

      She closed her eyes against the sunshine, wondering how on earth she’d be able to salvage some dignity here.

      She’d known Pax for well over two years. Had been regularly turning down his flirtatious overtures for just as long. But all it took was one night, stuck together because her bank account couldn’t extend itself yet to replace her old junker of a car once and for all, and she’d tumbled like a house of cards.

      He’d loaned her his shirt to wear when she’d been soaked. He’d wrapped his arms around her and kept her warm when the electricity had gone out because of the storm. And when, heaven help her, she’d tasted the brush of his lips...

      She wasn’t even sure who’d kissed who first, and Shea was more than a little afraid it had been her.

      She curled her fingers into the cushion and blocked off the thoughts. Tried to, at least. It was hard, when her body still felt sated and warm and—might as well just admit it—more relaxed than it had been in years.

      And more satisfied than ever, period.

      Again, she shushed the voice inside her head.

      She knew she should be grateful that Pax had been here at the leasing office at all. He spent a lot more time at the company’s actual boat works location farther up the shore near the bridge than he did here, at the office that overlooked the marina where the sailboats they leased out were moored. If he hadn’t been here, she’d have been stuck sitting inside her car that refused to start and riding out the ice storm because she’d had no way of getting back inside Cornelia’s building next door once she’d let herself out. Shea had just started working for the woman a week ago and hadn’t wanted the responsibility of an office key when she’d been offered one. By the time the storm had struck yesterday afternoon, everyone else in the office had already left before the roads became impassable, leaving Shea to fend for herself.

      She squelched a sigh and opened her eyes again.

      Pax had dragged the cushions they were lying on from the boxy, wooden chairs that were scattered around the airy office interior. They were thick and square and covered with a nautical stripe, and though they didn’t make an ideal bed, they were better than sleeping on the hardwood floor. It had been either the cushions, or curl up on a desktop. He’d also found a canvas tarp for them