Contract Bridegroom. Sandra Field

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СКАЧАТЬ the usual pile-up of errors,” he said tersely. “Do you want to start with a drink?”

      “Not before work, thanks. When I first asked for your position, you took a long time to answer.”

      “Things weren’t exactly normal,” he grated. “What do you recommend? Is the seafood good?”

      “The scallops are divine.” Clearly, he was going to tell her nothing more, Celia thought, and added, “Your jaw—I presume that very impressive bruise wasn’t from a barroom brawl in St. John’s? Did it happen on Starspray?”

      His lashes flickered. “Quit prying.”

      “Jethro,” she said, aware of how much she liked the sound of his name on her lips, “you’re the one who insisted we have dinner together. I hate talking about the weather—I talk about it for at least thirty percent of my shift. Dave told me you’d had the flu, that’s why he was at the wheel when you went aground.”

      “When did he tell you that?” Jethro lashed.

      “He phoned last night. He didn’t want me thinking the Mayday signal was your fault.”

      “The skipper’s always responsible. You know that as well as I do.”

      “He also told me you saved his life.”

      “He told you a great deal too much,” Jethro said tightly. “Are you having the scallops?”

      “You bet. With home fries and coleslaw and a big glass of Coke that’s loaded with caffeine so I’ll stay awake all night.” She grinned at him. “So when did you bash your jaw?”

      “Just before the helicopter arrived on the scene when I was so close to launching the life raft it wasn’t funny. The yacht was taking on water fast, faster than I could pump.”

      Impulsively, Celia leaned forward, resting her fingers on his wrist. “I’m truly sorry about Starspray, Jethro.”

      It was her left hand. He said, “No rings. No fiancé and presumably no husband. Although you never did tell me about your lovers.”

      Lovers. In the plural. If she wasn’t so angry, she might find this funny. Celia snatched her hand back. “I can see that sympathy is lost on you.”

      “I’m not used to failure,” he snarled. “What happened out there on that reef—I blew it. Big time.”

      “Come off it,” she said impatiently. “If you and Dave had drowned—now that’s what I’d call failure.”

      For the first time since she’d met him, Jethro’s face broke into a genuine smile. “I suppose you’re right…certainly I wouldn’t be around to talk about it. Do you always refuse to tell people what they want to hear, Celia Scott? Or is there something special about me?”

      His smile crackled with masculine energy. “I don’t have to answer either of those questions,” she said weakly, and turned to the waitress. “Hi, Sally. I’ll have my usual, please, along with an extra slice of lemon.”

      “The same, but beer instead of Coke,” Jethro said.

      Sally gave him a smitten grin. “Yes sir. Right away.”

      Once Sally was out of earshot, Celia said peevishly, “Do women always fall all over you like that?”

      “If they do, you’re the exception that proves the rule.”

      She gazed at him thoughtfully, noting the marks that exhaustion and illness had left on his face. His clothes, while casual, were top of the line, and she was quite sure the air of command he wore like a second garment wasn’t due merely to skippering Starspray.

      But there was more. A lot more. She wasn’t an exception; she was no more immune to him than Sally was. Because close-up, Jethro Lathem was easily the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on. Sexy didn’t begin to describe him. The curl of dark hair in the neckline of his shirt, the way the fabric of his shirt molded his shoulders, even the angle of light across his cheekbones… She found herself longing to rest her fingertips on his sculpted mouth, to trace the long curve of his lower lip and feel it warm to her skin. To lean forward and kiss him?

      Cool it, Celia! You’re not into sexy men. You thought Darryl was sexy, remember? And look where that got you.

      Jethro, she saw with a flutter of her pulse, was watching her. Watching as intently as a hawk over long grass, waiting for the prey to reveal itself. Panic-stricken, she muttered, “You have the advantage of me—you know how I earn my living. What do you do, Jethro?”

      As though he’d read her mind, he reached over and stroked the soft line of her mouth, his finger lingering at one corner. She jerked her head back. “Don’t!”

      “You wanted me to do that.”

      She tossed her head, refusing to deny what was so obviously the truth. “You’ve been around the block a few times—you know you don’t always have to act out your impulses. Only children do that.”

      “Sometimes adults do, too.”

      “Not this one.”

      “I could persuade you.”

      The same panic was rattling round her ribcage like a terrified bird. “Perhaps you could. Although I’m surprised you need to get your kicks that way.”

      He said, as though the words were being dragged from him, “Your voice…that night on the radio. There was something about it…I didn’t really come here to thank you. I came because I had to meet you. See what you were like.”

      “Oh,” said Celia; and knew that she believed him instantly.

      “Your voice is beautiful—I wondered if you sang?” Jethro added. He was now toying with the handle of his fork, and she didn’t need a degree in psychology to tell he was wishing this conversation had never started.

      “I used to sing in a choir,” she replied; it had been in the expensive private school her father had sent her to at the age of fourteen, from which she’d managed to get herself expelled by the age of fourteen and a half. She’d been big into rebellion as a teenager. But she’d loved to sing. She did remember that.

      “Soprano,” Jethro said with a twisted smile.

      “That’s right.” Quickly she changed the subject. “You were going to tell me how you earn your living.”

      “Oh, I’m in the boat industry,” he said vaguely, “I’ve always loved the sea.” As Sally plunked down their drinks, he took a white envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Celia, I wanted to help you out in some way—a more tangible expression of gratitude. I don’t know what your salary is—”

      “I should hope not!”

      “—but you could buy something with this, or take a trip… When you live in Collings Cove, the Bahamas must look pretty good in winter.”

      “Money,” Celia said in a hostile voice.

      “Yeah, СКАЧАТЬ