Breathless Encounter. Cindy Dees

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      “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble,” she murmured.

      “My pleasure. Aiden needs someone in his life who … inspires emotion.”

      Now, what did that mean? Before she could ask, Steig made a formal little bow and announced, “I’ll leave you now. Bon appétit.”

      “Uhh, thank you.”

      The salon felt huge and hollow as silence settled around her. A subliminal rumble of engines was the only sound in the background. But then, out of hidden speakers around the room, quiet chamber music started. She was so not a violins-and-haute-cuisine kind of girl. But hey. If the captain thought this would work on Aiden, she could roll with it.

      Promptly at seven, she heard movement behind her. She turned a little too quickly and stumbled in her heels, which were a tad loose. Strong hands caught her shoulders to steady her.

      “What’s this all about?” Aiden demanded sharply.

      She stared down at his Italian leather loafers in utter humiliation. So. The joke wasn’t on him, after all. It was on her.

      “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I asked Steig to help me apologize to you. I told him a picnic and peanut-butter sandwiches would be fine, but he insisted on all of this.”

      “Ahh.” He released her shoulders and took a step back.

      She waited for the explosion, but none came. When she couldn’t take the suspense anymore, she risked a peek up at him. It was like looking at a painted portrait. It looked like Aiden, but nothing of the real man was there in his eyes. He looked … dead. Had she alienated him that badly?

      “Gemma lent you a dress?” he asked neutrally.

      She plucked at the clingy black fabric. “Yes.”

      He nodded noncommittally. “The flowers and music?”

      “Steig’s idea.”

      “Hmm.”

      Finally, she burst out, “Say something, will you? Yell at me and tell me how mad you are or what an ungrateful bitch I am.”

      He replied politely, “You look lovely.”

      She stared in equal parts confusion and frustration as he moved away from her and over to a leather-and-brass wet bar. “Drink?” he asked mildly.

      “Sure,” she replied in utter confusion. What was up with him? He was treating her like a rather inconvenient bug.

      He concocted something that involved a shaker and lime wedges and poured it into a pair of glasses filled with ice. He carried the drinks over to the picture window where she stood and handed one to her.

      “To your health,” he commented wryly.

      “Why are you being like this?” she demanded.

      “Like what?”

      “So … polite. Aren’t you furious with me for throwing you out of my room?”

      “I was going through your things without your permission. You probably should have slapped me.”

      “I don’t slap. I have a wicked right hook, but no slapping.”

      “Check. Beware the right hook.” A pause, and then his voice thawed slightly. “Anything else I should know about you?”

      “You’re really not mad at me?” she asked in disbelief. Her family had been full of passion. Lots of arguments and shouting, but also lots of laughter and love. His cool, unflappable demeanor was totally foreign to her.

      “I’ll admit, I was … annoyed … earlier. But you were right. I’m just not used to anyone calling me out for my bad behavior. You surprised me. That’s all.”

      “Oh.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “How come no one calls you out? Are you that rich?”

      That made him smile. “I already told you this yacht doesn’t belong to me. I’m just borrowing it from a friend to use as bait.”

      She glanced around in surprise. “This is bait? For what? A rich wife?”

      His smile widened. “Hardly. I’m fishing for pirates.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “Pirates. This is exactly the sort of yacht they love to steal. They board the vessel, kill everyone and take the ship. After a few exterior modifications and a new name to disguise her, 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.”

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