Until he’d had it.
She knew how to get a man in a rage, that was for damn sure.
By the time he scooped her beneath him, he didn’t know or care what his own name was, didn’t care if he lost everything he owned, didn’t care if he never had another thing. As long as he could have her. Then. Right then.
Yet he impaled her with a tender, slow slide, wanting both of them to feel the possession, the possibilities. The soar from there clutched them both…then set them free.
She called his name on a long, soft sigh, both of them holding tight long before the spasms of pleasure had eased. Finally, he sank back, pulling her on top of him. Her skin was as slick as his, her breathing as ragged as his.
He smiled, even in the darkness. And kissed her until she dropped off into a deep sleep.
In the middle of the night, he found her curled around him like a scarf, draped every which way, tucked up everywhere she could touch. Yet she suddenly reared up on her elbows, and said out of nowhere, “No.”
“No what?” Apparently, he’d been stroking her back, just a light caress, nothing that was meant to wake or trouble her.
“No, you’re not going to have insomnia tonight. You think I wasted all that energy and effort seducing you just so you could spend another night worrying? How are you going to think if you don’t get some rest? Now that’s it. Go to sleep.”
“I think it’s possible,” he marveled, “that the only bossier person than you…happens to be me.”
Her cheek nuzzled back against his shoulder. “Don’t divert the issue. Suck it up and go to sleep.”
“You think you seduced me, huh?”
“I know I did.” Her voice was very sleepy, very smug.
He tried to understand it-how he could conceivably have fallen in love with such an impossible, contrary woman. She was full of herself and irrepressible and listened to no one. She was a hopelessly free spirit.
He was completely the opposite.
It was easy to recognize their differences. It was impossibly hard to believe he’d never see her again, once they landed in Juneau.
Murder and mayhem were cupcake-size problems by comparison.
Being with Cate was a problem he had to solve-before it was too late.
Cate slipped out of bed while Harm was still sleeping. She tiptoed from the room, carrying her clothes, determined not to wake him. She knew how exhausted he had to be. After a fast shower, she headed top deck.
She could see Hans had already pulled anchor, was installed in the pilothouse, sailing full bore toward Juneau. She popped open the door. “You need coffee?”
“I’d die for a cup,” he said. “How’s the head and bruises?”
“Colorful. And I confess I’m creaking a little this morning.” She was stiff, so darned if she could imagine why her mood was sky-high. “Do we know how Ivan is?”
“Mad as a hornet. I don’t know what got to him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he took an emetic. He looked a shade paler than death this morning, but he’s alive. Tried to get up. Couldn’t. I do think he’ll be all right, but don’t think we’ll see him for a while yet.”
She chatted with Hans a little longer, but then aimed below. Both Hans and Arthur were her early coffee cravers, and once the urn was set to brew, she started on breakfast. Scotch eggs this morning, she thought. Something easy.
At least easy on her terms. Before six, her galley had turned into a production line. The sausage, onion and fresh sage were in one bowl. The stuffing crumbs in another. The flour set up to dip the peeled hard-boiled eggs into. She was humming some silly blues tune when she suddenly whipped around and saw Harm in the doorway.
His blond head was still damp from a shower, his sweatshirt almost-almost-as frayed and old as her own. He was leaning against the doorjamb as if he’d been watching her for some time, his mouth tilted in a lazy smile.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Hey right back.” Something clutched in her stomach, something tight and sharp and unexpected. She’d say it was fear; she hadn’t felt fear-real fear-since the fire when she was a kid. Still, this was that same sensation of watching her life spin out of control, risking the loss of everything, unable to stop it.
She wanted to be there for Harm. To see that light in his eyes every morning.
It was the scariest thing she could remember. And then he started talking.
“I have a favor to ask you.”
“Shoot.” She pulled out two frying pans, measured the oil.
“I need your help. So I want you to come home with me.” Before she could answer, he said, “Now don’t say no without hearing me out.”
“I’m listening. But only for two seconds. No more.”
He started talking, his tone all lazy and easy-on the surface. “When we get back home, the mystery’s still waiting, nothing solved, nothing right. Every bit of information seems to lead to more dead ends. I need your eyes, your perspective, your ears. I’ll be completely alone when I go back to Cambridge-I’ve got a team of lawyers, a firm of private investigators. But I only moved there a few weeks back, so there’s no one who’s close to me. No one I can trust.”
“You’re getting that tone in your voice. That I-can-seduce-you tone. Forget it. I have to earn a living, remember? I can’t just go off gallivanting anytime and anywhere I want.”
“I thought you could. And did.”
She frowned, started slicing tomatoes for a garnish, almost nipped her finger. “Well, actually, I do. But I still have to earn a-”
“Yeah, I heard you. But do you have an immediate chef job lined up after this?”
“Not immediate, no. I’ve got the next gig lined up, but I have to have a space of time between to pay my bills, regroup, plan ahead. The Internet’s my office, how I find and set up jobs, initially. And if I hit a dry spell…which usually happens a couple weeks in a year…then I hit on one of my chef friends I know from New Orleans, hang out in their kitchens. It might sound a little…well, braggy. But a good chef can always pull down good money. Even for short-term gigs.”
“That would only sound braggy to someone who hasn’t tasted your cooking.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “Don’t you start with that tone again. I don’t do sweet-talking.”
“I know, Cookie. You’re tough. But the question is whether you’re pinned down for the next couple weeks.”
“Not exactly,” she said firmly.
“In other words, no. So here’s the deal. I’ll pay your flight, your expenses, a wage.” He named a figure that made her choke. In fact, she had to lean forward, while he helpfully thumped her on the back to get her over it.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she gasped.
“I need help. Your help. I’m willing to pay for it.”
“Look, hotshot. I can be bought. It’s easy. But that’s an insane amount of money. Period.”
“Everyone’s in a hurry to get home, Cate. There has to be a reason. Something’s there, in the lab, something the one guilty party is worried about. Something the investigators haven’t caught, that I haven’t caught, that the whole team working together after my uncle died couldn’t see. I need a fresh set of eyes. More relevant, I need your eyes. Because I trust you, and because you’ve already shown me that you are perceptive about people and situations.”
She could feel herself start to relent, which was crazy. She was smarter than that. “What I know about science wouldn’t fill a thimble.”
“Join the club. The core of this mystery, I’ve become convinced, isn’t about knowledge. They all had the same knowledge. It’s about something that doesn’t belong. Something that’s been hidden. Something that needs to strike one of us as out of place.”