Exposing the Executive's Secrets. Emilie Rose

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СКАЧАТЬ dig her rubber-soled deck shoes out from under her desk. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d worn a designer suit with her Docksides. If she’d been less vain she’d be wearing the boat shoes now instead of carrying her heels.

      She spotted Clay through the glass-topped door leading to the salon. His laptop sat open and ignored on one end of the galley table he’d turned into a desk while he flipped through a stack of familiar brochures—brochures she’d designed.

      A combination of anxiety and pride eddied through her. Dean Yachts had come a long way since he’d left, and Andrea was proud to have been instrumental in the change. Old school practices still reigned over modern technology in the production department, but that was because handcrafted workmanship was part of Dean’s appeal. No mass production here. But Joseph had allowed her to update the way they interacted with the public. She’d poured her heart into the Web page, the reception area, the offices and the brochures in Clay’s hands.

      She tapped on the glass and Clay looked up. His cobalt-blue gaze locked with hers, momentarily impeding her ability to breathe. Damn. It. Control yourself.

      He rose and crossed the room. Ignoring the stretch of his white short-sleeved polo shirt over his wide shoulders and muscular chest should have been easy, considering what he’d put her through, but it wasn’t. Nor could she overlook the way his pants fit his lean hips and long legs. It wasn’t fair that she still found him attractive after all the time and heartache she’d wasted on him. But she’d get over it.

      The door opened, jarring her back to the present with a waft of cool air-conditioned air. Until then she’d been too antsy to notice the cloying June heat and humidity. Both were a fact of life on the Wilmington waterfront.

      She cleared her throat. “May I come in? We need to discuss the image we intend to convey to the reporter. I realize this is work time and we shouldn’t discuss personal issues, but I have plans for this evening.”

      Plans that included a pint of death by chocolate ice cream and a strategy phone call to Juliana and Holly, her partners in the auction scheme. She also needed to make sure Holly—who’d been reluctant about the whole bachelor auction idea—had bought the firefighter Andrea and Juliana had chosen from the program for her.

      She didn’t know how Clay did it, but without moving a muscle he seemed more alert, more wary. “What reporter?”

      “Didn’t you know the local paper is chronicling each auction couple for the duration of the dating package?”

      He shoved a hand through his already disheveled hair and moved away from the door. She stepped through and closed it behind her.

      “No. My mother shanghaied me as soon as I docked. I spent Saturday afternoon being fitted for a tux and arrived at the club minutes before I hit the stage—too late to read the hype and the fine print. Mom didn’t tell me about the reporter or even what my date package involves. All I know about it is what I could hear of the emcee’s spiel to the crowd.”

      Glancing around the cabin, Andrea took in the smoky gray leather seating and the rich cherry wood. Nice. Elegant, but masculine. She gestured to his laptop computer. “Do you have Internet access?”

      “Yes. Wireless.”

      “May I?” At his nod she typed in a Web address. A few clicks later she read aloud, “The lucky lady who wins bachelor thirteen will be treated to Seven Seductive Sunsets, including an old-fashioned carriage ride through the historic section of town, horseback riding on a local beach, a riverboat dinner cruise, a hot air balloon ride, dinner and dancing at Devil’s Shoals Steakhouse, a daylong sailing adventure and a private bonfire on the beach.”

      Was Clay swearing under his breath? She couldn’t be certain because he turned and marched into the galley. A second later he returned and shoved a bottle of water in her direction.

      “Are you willing to skip the dates? I’ll reimburse you what you paid for the package.”

      “Try explaining that to the reporter. Bad press.”

      His jaw muscles flexed. “There’s no way out of this?”

      “Dating me didn’t used to be a hardship.” Andrea mentally kicked herself. Nothing like showing your damaged ego.

      “No. It wasn’t.”

      Her gaze bounced back to Clay’s and her heart missed a beat at the intensity in his eyes. Don’t do it. Don’t get sucked under. Tempt him, but keep your distance. She dampened her lips and belatedly accepted the water from him. The chilled bottle helped her regain her focus.

      “But that was then. Now we’re two professionals who stand to gain quite a bit of publicity for our respective businesses if we conduct ourselves appropriately.”

      His lips thinned. “That’s what this is to you? A publicity stunt?”

      “That and an opportunity for us to put the past behind us and move on.” She gestured to the salon and galley. “This looks quite…homey.”

      He leaned his hip against the galley counter and crossed his ankles, drawing her attention to his leather deck shoes worn without socks, and the sprinkling of dark hair peeking out from beneath the hem of his pants. “That’s because it is home.”

      “For now, you mean.”

      He shook his head. “I live on The Expatriate.”

      “Permanently?” She couldn’t conceal her surprise.

      “Yes.”

      She curled her bare toes into the lush cream-colored carpeting and shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she scanned the interior again looking for signs of a feminine occupant. “Will we need a gate pass for anyone else on board?”

      “I live alone.”

      Relief rushed over her—relief she had no business feeling. “Have you ever owned a home? Besides a boat, I mean.”

      They’d once talked of buying a house on the beach with a long expanse of sand on which their dogs and children could run. She’d bought the house, but lacked the children and pets. Having recently turned thirty she’d decided that if she wanted those factors to change—and she did—then she had to get the ball rolling.

      His jaw hardened. “I had an apartment over a marina when I first moved to Miami. After I designed and commissioned my first yacht I moved on board. I’ve been living on the water ever since.”

      “That certainly makes it easy to move.” She bit her imprudent tongue when his eyes hardened.

      “Easy to leave, you mean?”

      Be nice. Do not pick a fight. “That’s not what I said.”

      “You want to take off the gloves?”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      His gaze drifted from the V-neck of her pantsuit to her bare feet and back to her eyes. Sensation rippled in the wake of his thorough inspection and ended up tangling in a knot behind her naval. “You’re clenching your fingers and even your toes. Are you spoiling for a fight, Andrea?”

      “Of course not,” she answered СКАЧАТЬ