Her Frog Prince. Shirley Jump

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      “Oh, your research.” But the tone in her voice said she still didn’t believe him.

      Gigi got to her feet and in three steps was across the boat and in the woman’s face. Standing up for her master, daring the intruder to make fun of the giant squid. Gigi knew. She’d spent enough time on the water to know almost nothing was impossible in the dark blue depths.

      “Get that—that—that creature away from me.”

      “No can do. Gigi has a mind of her own. If she doesn’t like you, she’s going to let you know.”

      The woman arched a perfectly rounded brow at him. “Your dog’s name is Gigi?”

      Brad crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there anything else about me you want to criticize?”

      “Well, actually…” She pointed at his face, then bit her lip and shut up.

      “What? Say it.”

      Gigi continued to hold her ground. Now she was standing up for the giant squid and her master.

      “Listen,” the woman said, pausing, as if apologizing wasn’t something she did every day. “We got off on the wrong foot. Let’s start over.” She extended a shaky, tentative hand past Gigi’s side. “I’m Parris Hammond.”

      He hesitated, then figured the bad mood of the morning was half his fault. No squid, no whale sightings and a wasted day on the boat hadn’t put him in a very pleasant frame of mind. “Brad Smith.” When he took her hand in his, the cool touch of her skin sent a shock wave through his veins. Like she’d been a power line and he’d been the fool who’d picked it up without wearing rubber shoes.

      Except he did have on rubber boots and he didn’t feel foolish holding her hand. Not at all.

      She withdrew her grasp from his but not before he saw an echo of his own consternation in her eyes. Clearly he wasn’t the only one playing with electricity. “Is that short for Bradford?”

      “Yeah, but don’t ever call me that, not if you want me to answer.”

      “Why not? I think Bradford sounds…rich.”

      “Exactly.”

      “Right.” She nodded. “That’s good.”

      “Not in my book.” He picked up the chart again and filled in the temperature block.

      “Well. Aren’t you the enigma?” She went back to drying herself off, toweling down the front of her silky shirt. Brad’s attention went from the chart to her, his gaze locked on the movements of the cream-colored terry cloth. It slid along her skin with ease, which made funny things happen in his gut. Her breasts peeked through the damp material of her shirt, giving him a clear image of what she’d look like naked.

      The chart slid out of his hands and clattered to the floor of the boat, the pen rolling to the other end. “I, ah, should get you back. You have a meeting with the…”

      His eyes met hers and her hand stilled. The air between them grew hot, charged. Her tinted lips parted, but nothing came out for a long second.

      “The…the Phipps-Stovers.” But she didn’t move. In fact, she didn’t even seem to breathe.

      “You don’t want to be late.”

      Her focus stayed on him. “I’m never late.”

      “Even for dinner?” Where the hell had that come from?

      A tease of a smile lit up her eyes. “Are you asking?”

      “Are you accepting?”

      She put a hand on her hip. “I’m not accepting until there’s a firm offer on the table.”

      God, the woman was frustrating. He didn’t need these word games. He had enough exasperation looking for a nearly invisible squid. He turned away and yanked the cord on the engine. The motor gave a little gurgle, then went silent. “Well, I’m not offering anything.”

      Apparently, Parris Hammond wasn’t used to having dinner invitations rescinded. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her jerk back, then get busy rubbing at her hair with the towel, hard enough that he was afraid she might end up bald. “Good, because I have a very full schedule.”

      The motor turned over on the third try and Brad headed the boat toward the island. “Yeah, me too.”

      “That giant squid must be very time-consuming.”

      He wheeled around. “Will you quit with that?”

      “I wasn’t being sarcastic. Honest. Just making conversation. I mean, what do you say when someone tells you they hunt squid for a living?” She shuddered. “It’s so…gross.”

      “Squid are not gross.”

      She arched a brow his way.

      Brad gunned the engine. Gigi let out a yelp of protest. “Did you know the largest squid ever found weighed a thousand pounds? And the giant squid’s arms are as thick as a man’s thigh? Yet, they’ve never been seen alive and are truly one of the biggest mysteries of the sea.”

      “Oh. Fascinating.”

      He gave her a glance. “You’re not impressed.”

      “I’m impressed someone would know so much about them.” She laid the towel on the bench beside her. “But why on earth would you want to?”

      “I’m a marine biologist. It’s my job. Well, it’s not going to be, not in a few weeks. Not if—” He cut himself off. Why had he told her that? It was more than he’d told anyone in weeks.

      “Oh. So what will you do then? Look for dolphins?”

      He tossed her a grin. “Start looking for mermaids. I seem to have better luck catching women than squid.”

      Then he tilted down his hat, shading his eyes, and concentrated on getting his “catch” back to shore before he was tempted to use her for squid bait.

      Parris sat in the boat and wondered if she should take that as a compliment or not. Not, she decided. He’d just compared her to a slimy mollusk that caught things with tentacles, for God’s sake. That was like being told she had a nice figure by a man with a walrus fetish.

      She tried to hold on to the sides of the boat as it skipped across the water, smashing on the waves like a Pinto bottoming out over speed bumps. She should have known better than to wear the Prada shoes for the island cruise. If she was going to lose one, she should have opted for cheaper footwear, something she didn’t mind becoming a hermit crab home. She pulled off the remaining shoe and dropped it onto the floor of the boat. She’d go barefoot. At least her pedicure still looked good.

      The same could not be said for her Kenneth Cole outfit, though. Salt water and satin apparently didn’t co-exist any better than Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.

      The boat went over a bigger bump, jostling Parris. “Steady there.” СКАЧАТЬ