“What if I woke you by whispering something suggestive in your ear?”

A throaty hum vibrated through Josie as if to agree. Keith’s body heated instantly in response, feeling a definite sexual connection to this woman who hadn’t even opened her eyes. Could she be starting to wake up? Liking what he had to say?

The possibility tantalized him.

“I’m damn attracted to you,” he said, letting the words sink in, half hoping she’d throw herself into his arms.

“I’m seriously restraining myself from touching you right now.” Still, no reply. No flutter of her lashes or shifting in sleep. “I’d like nothing better than to peel off your clothes inch by inch with my teeth.”

He could see that she was still dozing, yet a slow, sexy smile curved her lips. He could hardly believe his eyes. But then she moaned softly in her sleep, moving her palm down her throat and under the fabric of her collar, cupping her breast as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.

Holy. Hell.

Heat shot to his groin in a rush so forceful it was damn near painful.

Whatever he was doing, it was working…

Dear Reader,

One of the great joys in writing is seeing what characters stroll onto the page. Often, I work hard to develop and get to know characters before I begin a book. I created the Murphy brothers that way, thinking of them as a group. But some of their heroines surprised me. Like Josie Passano. Josie arrived fully formed and ready for her story, seemingly with no effort on my part. You’ve got to love it when that happens.

I hope you’ll enjoy Josie’s accidental meeting with sexy entrepreneur Keith Murphy, and keep your eye on some of Keith’s brothers as they make their appearances. You’ll be meeting more of them throughout 2012, since the guys all captured my heart and my imagination. The Murphy brothers were a vocal, rowdy crew and I could hardly say no when they came courting.

Thanks so much for reading, and don’t forget to check out my website, www.joannerock.com, for a contest every month to win free books and more.

Happy reading,

Joanne Rock

Riding the Storm
Joanne Rock

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The mother of three sports-minded sons, Joanne Rock’s primary occupation is carting kids to practices and cheering on their athletic prowess at any number of sporting events. In the windows of time between football games, she loves to write and cheer on happily-ever-afters. A three-time RITA® Award nominee, Joanne is the author of more than fifty books for a variety of Harlequin series. She has been an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award nominee and multiple Reviewers’ Choice finalist, including a nomination for The Captive (Blaze #534) as Best Blaze of 2010. Her work has been reprinted in twenty-six countries and translated into nineteen languages. Over two million copies of her books are in print. For more information on Joanne’s books, visit www.joannerock.com.

To Dean,

no stranger to weathering the occasional storm.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

1

Chatham, Massachusetts

ONE DAY, Josie Passano would be a world-famous interior decorator, and she would hire a personal driver. Then she would have someone to guide her around dark marinas at midnight to meet with clients who were too busy to see her at a reasonable hour.

Stepping carefully along the planked pier with boats tied up on both sides, she was grateful she’d at least thought to wear flats instead of the heels she normally preferred for client meetings. At five foot three, she liked the height and sense of presence a pair of heels could give her—probably a holdover from her days as a fashion designer. Of course, that was before all hell had broken loose in her former career. But tonight, under an inky sky, with waves splashing up onto the dock, wearing heels would have landed her at the bottom of the Atlantic for sure.

“Slip number thirty-nine, which one are you?” Shivering in the cooling late-summer air, Josie squinted at the tiny numbers etched into stone slab markers near the boats. She wished there were some signs of life on one of the decks so she could ask someone. How could she tell which watercraft went with which slip when there was a sailboat between thirty-seven and thirty-nine, plus a sailboat between thirty-nine and forty-one, but none directly in front of the markers?

With nothing to suggest one direction or the other, Josie tugged her cell phone out of her pocket and called her client, Wall Street bigwig Chase Freeman, for input on his boat’s whereabouts.

“Chase, I’m standing between slip thirty-seven and thirty-nine and having a devil of a time figuring out which boat is yours.” She peered around the docks, wishing the marina office was still open. “Can you call me back?”

Chase had requested a meeting on the vessel she hoped to decorate to fatten up her interior-design portfolio. They were distantly related—he was someone she saw at family wakes and weddings—but she’d never particularly cared for him. He’d acted as if he was doing her a big favor while being difficult about agreeing on a time to meet. But she’d persevered because she needed the account, and it wasn’t as if her packed schedule presented her with many openings, either.

By the time all was said and done, he’d insisted he couldn’t do the meeting any other time but after a friend’s engagement party in Chatham, name-dropping that the shindig was for Ryan Murphy. The Murphys were a well-known, mega-rich Cape Cod family, and the oldest son’s engagement had been in the society papers in Boston, where her business was based. These days, Josie only read those papers to search for potential clients. She still held a grudge against the tabloids after they’d raked her over the coals for being a “party girl” when she was younger and circulating socially to promote her work in fashion. She’d put the fallout from those days to rest when she’d changed her name and left New York City. But she was still keeping that world at arm’s length while she got her new business off the ground.

Anyway, Chase had yammered on and on about his travel schedule and a trip to Singapore, trying to impress her at every turn with his access to millions. Whatever. A big bank account didn’t make you any cooler, in Josie’s book—a message she’d been trying to send her overprivileged parents ever since she was about ten. But Chase had a serious budget for this project, and as a struggling solo designer trying to break out onto the next level, she needed this kind of account. Decorating a boat interior would be something unique to add to her design portfolio before she pitched a do-it-yourself show to a Boston-based cable company.

Hello, new audience. Between her new name and location, it would take a little while before anyone made the connection to the scandal of her past. And by then, with any luck, her business and the show would have enough momentum to weather the inevitable media storm.

But first she had to work her tail off to get to that spot of unassailable success. Like now, when she was so exhausted from an open house in Yarmouth this morning that she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, let alone figure out which boat went with these cursed slip signs.

“This has to be it,” she muttered to herself, tired of staring back and forth between slip thirty-seven and thirty-nine. The boat closest to her had a light on, and wouldn’t that make sense for a man who expected company?

Decision made, she called Marlena.

“Josie, please say you arrived in one piece?” Her assistant, a college intern who’d stayed on after the internship was complete, launched right into conversation. “You sounded exhausted while you were driving.”

“I’m here. And it’s too late for you to be working, by the way.” Josie shifted a bag full of design inspiration books to her other shoulder, glad to hear Marlena’s voice. It was great to have help back at the office while she was out on the road.

“You’re a fine one to talk. You set a terrible example for me, working constantly. Have you ever taken a vacation in your whole life?”

Josie grinned, far preferring this vision of herself to the one she’d grown up with—that you were only a success if you didn’t have to work.

“I don’t mean to be a bad role model. I just like the job.”

“Me, too,” Marlena replied. “That doesn’t mean I can do it successfully if I’m at it eighteen hours a day.”

“Heard and understood.” Josie knew she would probably benefit from a little downtime. Maybe next year. In the meanwhile, she appreciated her assistant’s candor—as well as the work ethic that mirrored her own. “Have I thanked you lately for being my assistant?”

“Yes. Have I thanked you lately for treating me like a creative contributor and not a peon intern who can only fetch your coffee?” Marlena spoke loudly over the harpsichord music she favored whenever she sketched design ideas. “You’re going places, J.P. I hitched my wagon to a rising star.”

“Yes, well, I certainly hope so. But I wish I could have arrived here earlier. I had every intention of being on-site before sunset so I could look over the space in the daylight, but I got talking to that journalist at the open house.” She’d been delayed by a woman from the local press who wanted to feature the historic home in Yarmouth in an upcoming style section.

While Josie talked, she stepped aboard the large, lit deck of the sleek boat in slip thirty-nine.

“Right. I sent her those photos you asked me about.” Marlena turned down her music. “Will you call me when you finish up with Freeman?”

“No way.” Josie walked carefully in case the deck was slippery, her eye on the stairs leading below deck, where it might be warmer. “You put in more hours than I pay you for already. I’ll text you afterward and we’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

“Deal. Good luck, J.P.”

Disconnecting, Josie used the light on her cell phone to help illuminate a path to the covered section of the deck near what was obviously the control center for the vessel, complete with a radio and a couple of readout screens.

Still chilly from the cool air blowing off the waves, she hoped it was okay to seek a warmer part of the boat while she waited. Gingerly, she made her way down a couple narrow steps into the kitchen, where a low-wattage light over the countertop helped her find her way around. The boat was simple and somewhat austere, designwise. Functional, she supposed. She quite liked the vibe and found herself vaguely surprised that Mr. Moneybags owned something so understated. But then, he’d hired her to redo it, hadn’t he? He probably wanted to deck the thing out in designer silks and mahogany. She didn’t see any note from Chase inviting her to make herself at home, but then, thoughtfulness had never been his strong suit. At the last family reunion, she’d seen him texting under the table while halfheartedly engaged in a conversation with his great-aunt.

Josie found a couple wooden benches on either side of a small table, and promptly dropped her swatch books and inspiration pictures on one of the built-in seats. The cabin area remained dim even with some of the exterior deck light filtering through the high windows. Josie slid onto the seat beside her gear and promptly lurched forward, thanks to a particularly forceful wave.

Her stomach rolled in response.

Damn it. She hated to give in and take the motion-sickness meds she’d stashed in her purse, especially since she was already tired and the drug could make her drowsier. But while she hadn’t been on a boat since she was seven or eight years old, she’d spent that short cruise to Catalina turning green and begging for the ride to be over. Drowsiness was preferable to tossing her cookies on Chase’s shoes. Although chances were good he might deserve it, she needed this job too much to risk upsetting her client.

Popping two pills to be safe, Josie tugged out her swatch books and pictures, looking through them for design ideas to spruce up the vintage sailboat interior. She wanted to have some suggestions ready when Chase walked in, so they could sign the contract and be done for the night. The last thing she wanted to do was fall asleep while she waited.

But after forcing her eyes over the same line of copy and piece of ivory-colored sailcloth about ten times, Josie realized she was more exhausted than she’d realized. With little sleep the night before, prepping for today’s open house, and lots of mingling with potential clients and guests from the press corps, followed by the drive to Chatham in the dark, she was wiped out. Good thing she had no personal life to speak of, or she’d never be able to keep up this pace.

Personal life. Ha! She didn’t even want to think about how long it’d been since she’d indulged in that ultimate de-stressor—hot, sweaty, fabulous sex. Scandal had erupted for her three years earlier when she’d been photographed kissing a congressman who’d never told her he was married. And the ensuing media frenzy had been a dropkick to her libido. Every photo of her ever taken had surfaced—from the nights she’d trolled expensive clubs in her original designs to drum up interest in her work, to her teenage years, when she’d been a brat with too much money and privilege, flipping off paparazzi while shopping in Milan, or dancing in a public fountain in Amsterdam with a beer in hand. With all the negative publicity, Josie had made the decision to cut herself off from her family’s fortune. She’d started over from scratch, reinventing herself completely.

The move had been a healthy one, and she thrived in her new field. But she hadn’t found time to resurrect the sex life she’d left behind with the rest of her past….

Shoving aside vague memories of intimacy from the years before she’d started her interior design business, Josie decided maybe she would be fresher for the meeting with Chase if she took the tiniest catnap. Clearly, the medicine was kicking in and giving the one-two punch to her already exhausted body.

She propped her chin on her hand and told herself she’d close her eyes only for a moment. She would hear Chase when he came on board, and be awake before he could walk down the stairs.

It was her last conscious thought before she succumbed to the delicious luxury of sleep, sweetened with a dream that brought a smile to her lips.

KEITH MURPHY WAS NONE too happy to see Chase Freeman’s big-ass boat parked too close to the Vesta, a twenty-six-foot Pearson Triton he’d just agreed to sail down to Charleston for his brother.

Scowling at the flashy, thirty-foot Nonsuch Ultra nosing well into the neighboring slip, Keith hoped he’d be able to back out of the marina without hitting the other boat. He needed to get under way, make some serious progress toward South Carolina, before his brother Jack caught on to the prank Keith had pulled at their oldest brother, Ryan’s, engagement party tonight. While toasting the future bridegroom on the lawn of the Murphy family compound, Keith had deliberately baited Jack.

It hadn’t taken much, since his second oldest brother was touchy as hell, and all the Murphys were notoriously competitive. Soon, Jack was taunting Keith back, saying that he couldn’t sail his way out of a paper bag. Keith had suggested swapping boats, ostensibly to prove he knew how to sail as well as any of his brothers. His bigger motive had been to get Jack onto his boat—a slick forty-five-foot power catamaran that was too cushy for Jack the purist, but which currently played host to Jack’s ex-girlfriend. And Jack had fallen for the bait and switch so damn easily. Right now, he was probably halfway to Bar Harbor, Maine, to deliver the catamaran to Keith’s chief financial officer. Jack would get one hell of a surprise when he discovered Alicia on board, sleeping peacefully in anticipation of a lift to Bar Harbor from Keith.

Of course, all Keith’s matchmaking efforts were purely to benefit Jack.

As CEO of Green Principles, an environmentally minded company he’d grown from the ground up, Keith had worked his butt off this summer on a merger with a competing firm. He had finally acquired the company two weeks ago, and he needed a break before his next major project—to cement a partnership with Wholesome Branding, a global marketer that could take Green Principles to an international level by recommending it to companies that needed a “greener” image. Green Principles helped businesses and corporations of all sizes to become more environmentally friendly. They assessed a client’s carbon footprint, paper waste, recycling efforts and energy use, highlighting problem areas and making suggestions for improvement, projecting costs for the changes and putting the clients in touch with contractors and suppliers who could implement them.

Sailing south in a vintage Pearson Triton for a few days sounded like the perfect way to clear his head from one deal and strategize how to manage the next. In Charleston, Keith would hand off the boat to Jack’s friend, who was supposed to buy the vessel. By the time Keith came home, he’d be recharged and ready to make the partnership with Wholesome Branding work.

Assuming he could maneuver around that damn Nonsuch butting into his space.

Cursing the big shot Wall Street broker who’d attended the family engagement party, Keith climbed onto Jack’s trim, highly functional sailboat. Sizewise, it wasn’t that much smaller than Chase Freeman’s ride. But everything about the Vesta seemed sleeker. Keith would figure out how to get her under way without any help from the owner of the boat next door. Last he’d seen Freeman at the party, the guy had been feeling no pain on the dance floor. He didn’t look as if he intended to head back to his boat for the night anytime soon.

Keith loosened his tie, then thought better of it and whipped the silk right off his neck. He tossed it aside, not caring where the thing fell. His responsibilities were done as of now.

For a moment, he debated scouting around below deck for some boat shoes or a pair of jeans. But considering his haste to get out of Dodge before his brother realized what he’d done, he settled for bare feet and rolling up his trousers. He switched on the motor for close maneuvering—sails and rigging could wait until he had more room to work. Already Keith could feel anticipation firing through him. Much as he enjoyed the perks of the corporate power cat, and all the bells and whistles of GPS position locking and docking, he had grown up on Cape Cod and he loved to sail. It was in the Murphy blood.

Two hours later, he had the Vesta out in the open water.

The night air was cool and crisp. He’d ditched his dinner jacket long ago, after sprinting forward and aft a few times to make adjustments on the sails. Even though he had ideal conditions—the weather showed he could sail on a reach for at least the next day or two if he could stay ahead of an oncoming storm system—he’d bungled the jib and had a close call with the boom in his haste to get to sea. Now, he had a beauty of a draft going as the boat cut through the water with ease. His navigation lights cast warring patterns of green and red on the deck, while all around him the sea grew darker as he left Cape Cod in the distance. Traffic heading north, toward Boston, would be heavy in the morning. But right now, he had the water to himself. He avoided the shipping lanes, steering clear of bigger vessels.

Tempted to pound his chest and roar with the sense of accomplishment, Keith did exactly that. He let out a howl for good measure. His ex-navy brother had been talking trash to say Keith had forgotten how to sail. Just because his work had kept him busy the last couple of years didn’t mean he’d gone soft.

He took advantage of the favorable wind for another hour before he called it a night, tucking into quiet waters off Nantucket to anchor. By now, he’d left Chatham far enough behind that his brother couldn’t call off their deal to exchange boats. Besides, exhaustion was kicking in, and Keith still had to secure the sheets and rigging for the night.

It was going on 4:00 a.m. by the time he stumbled down the steps in the companionway.

And damn near had a heart attack.

He could see the shadowed outline of a figure—a woman, slumped over the table in the middle of the main salon. She had her head cradled on her arms atop a huge, open book. Through a veil of dark hair, he could just make out the pale skin of her cheek.

“Miss?” he called stupidly. But his heart raced with the fear that she was injured, or worse.

If she was alive and breathing, how could she have slept through three hours at sea?

Shoving past some built-in storage bins, he knelt beside her to feel for a pulse, already wondering how in the hell he would explain to the police why he’d left without checking over the boat. But—thank you, God—her heartbeat thrummed softly against his thumb where he gripped her wrist. A wave of relief flooded through his veins, so hard and fast that he sank onto the seat beside her. Too soon, other worries crowded his brain. Did she have a medical condition, or need some kind of emergency attention?

And what the hell was she doing on Jack’s boat in the middle of the night?

He tugged his cell phone out of his pants pocket, only to discover he had no service. No surprise, really, this far off the coast of Nantucket. He’d dropped anchor in shallow waters but hadn’t sailed too far in, so that he’d be able to get under way faster after sunrise.

Calling to mind some half-forgotten CPR class he’d taken during a summer of lifeguarding on a Cape Cod beach, Keith tried to take a reasonable inventory of the woman’s vital signs. She breathed evenly. Wasn’t feverish. Heart rate normal for an adult female at rest. And hello, was she ever female. While widening her collar for better access to the pulse at her neck, he got an eyeful of black lace bra cups beneath her soft blouse.

If he’d still feared for her health, he might not have noticed. Well, he certainly wouldn’t have noticed in such detail. But with the worst of his fears assuaged by a quick check, his normal male instincts kicked back in with a vengeance. This woman—lying on a book of fabric swatches, he discovered—was a looker.

Shoulder-length dark hair framed delicate features in a heart-shaped face. Her slender nose tilted gently upward above lips that were deep pink, even without makeup. Long, beaded earrings tangled in her hair, and he realized her whole outfit was vaguely artsy. She wore faux snakeskin shoes and baggy jeans rolled up slightly to show off her ankles. Her dark peasant blouse was densely embroidered, underneath a more austere black jacket. A series of silver necklaces dipped into the generous cleavage he continued to admire. For a petite woman—under five and a half feet, for sure—she carried just the right amount of curves.

Shifting on the bench seat beside her, he touched her cheek. Not just because he wanted to, but because he really needed to wake her up. Had she been a guest who’d imbibed too much at his brother’s engagement party?

She wasn’t really dressed for a semiformal shindig, and he had the feeling he would have noticed her if she’d been in attendance. Women hadn’t been on his radar lately, but this one? She made the grade with her eyes closed. Literally.

He was surprised when she answered his touch with a throaty hum.

In fact, the low, feminine vibration seemed to electrify his whole hand, the pulse surging pleasantly through his skin.

“Miss?” He brushed his thumb along the top of her cheekbone. “Are you all right?”

She turned sleepily toward him, another incoherent murmur on her lips. Her shoulders rolled with the movement, as if she had an ache in her neck. Her shifting clothes released a hint of perfume, something vanilla laden and sexy that made him want to lean in and inhale deeply.

He told himself to ease his hand away. The dim salon of the gently rocking boat suddenly felt too intimate. He didn’t want to frighten her when she awoke. But forcing his fingers from that warm, silky skin was another matter altogether. It had been many months since he’d last held a woman. And even that—a passing encounter with an ex—had been a brief release in a work-intensive year.

“Who are you?” he asked, the feel of her still warming his palm even after he moved his hand to the table.

He peered past her to the stack of heavy books on the other side of the bench they shared.

“You’ve got to be a designer of some kind, right?”

But despite the evidence of her career calling, he could hardly picture his brother hiring anyone to redecorate the Vesta. Jack had no style—or if he did, Keith would call it Spartan, at best. So what would this woman be doing on his boat in the middle of the night?

“There’s no way Jack is involved with someone,” he mused aloud, hoping the sound of his voice would wake her up.

Keith knew his brother was still hung up on Alicia. He definitely wouldn’t be hooking up with a stranger at midnight after a family party. Besides, the woman next to Keith hadn’t come to the Vesta for a tryst or she wouldn’t have brought her decorating books.

“Which means you’re fair game.” He double-checked her left hand for a ring even as he made the pronouncement. “There’s no reason I can’t flirt with you. I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

No reasonable person could hold the glance at her breasts against him, right? He’d been scared for her life; that was his story and he was sticking to it. Because this woman—whoever she was—had him gaping as if he’d never seen a female before.

Sighing in her sleep, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, her fingers ending up near the pale column of her throat, exactly where he’d like to touch her. His awareness shifted into overdrive, his body responding instantly.

“Maybe too much of a gentleman,” he continued, his own fingers itching for the slightest excuse to return to her skin. “You’re passed out on my boat—well, my boat for the next week, anyway. Who would blame me if I woke you up by whispering something suggestive in your ear?”

Maybe he could plant in her sleeping brain a few torrid notions she’d be anxious to act on when she opened her eyes. He knew a thing or two about the power of suggestion. He’d studied some business psychology, after all.

Another throaty hum vibrated through her as if she agreed. His body heated in response, feeling a definite sexual connection to this woman who hadn’t even opened her eyes. Could she be starting to wake up? Liking what he had to say?

The possibility was tantalizing.

“You’re going to be wildly attracted to me when you come to,” he told her. “Wait a minute. You’re not hypnotized. You’re just sleeping.” He didn’t have any power over her subconscious and he didn’t want to tick her off by coming on too strong. “How about this—I’m damn attracted to you.”

He let that sink in, half hoping she’d throw herself into his arms. Hey, it could happen.

“I’m seriously restraining myself from touching you right now.” Still no reply. No flutter of her lashes or sexy shifting in her sleep. “I’d like nothing better than to peel your clothes off inch by inch with my teeth.”

A slow, sexy smile curved her lips. He could hardly believe his eyes. But then she moaned softly in her sleep, moving her palm down her throat and under the fabric of her collar, cupping her breast as her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.

Holy. Hell.

Heat shot to his groin in a rush so forceful it was damn near painful.

Whatever he was doing, it was working.

2

JOSIE COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time she’d had such a nice dream.

Usually, she woke up instantly to her alarm clock, bouncing out of bed with no memory of her nighttime imaginings. But right now she reveled in the groggy half sleep that left her body relaxed and her mind free to wander. It was a delicious, self-indulgent feeling to simply lie there. Josie felt better than peaceful. She felt…warm all over. Her skin hummed, vibrant and alive. Awareness sparked along her nerve endings, tingling sweetly in all the best places.

From somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain, a man’s voice resonated.

“I can’t wait to taste you.” The low, confident tone did wicked things to her already simmering libido.

Her breasts beaded at the thought of the dream man’s mouth on her. She arched toward the sound, a wordless plea for him to make good on the sensual threat.

When he didn’t comply immediately, she knew a moment’s frustration. She wanted to draw him closer, to feel his tongue on her breast, licking away the hungry tension in skin that felt too tight. Too needy. But her limbs were heavy and lethargic.

“Please,” she murmured, her fingers sliding over her taut nipple. “Please.”

She could almost feel the warm breath of her fantasy man on her skin there, right where she wanted him. His scent, clean and salty like an ocean breeze, teased her nose.

Needing him, she drew her hand from her blouse and flung her arm forward. The movement jarred her, causing an ache in her neck. Her head fell off her pillow onto a cold, hard surface that wasn’t her bed.

Confused, Josie struggled to return to a comfortable spot. To the sweet lure of her fantasy man and a dream that felt incredibly real.

“Are you okay?” the deep bass voice asked.

Damn it. Why wasn’t he asking her to unbutton her blouse? To slide beneath silk sheets with him and tear off all their clothes?

She waited for her consciousness to return to that sexy, dreamy place. Instead, the ache in her neck increased.

“Wake up, beautiful,” the man in her dreams said.

But oddly, his voice seemed clearer now. Closer, somehow.

Wrenching her heavy eyelids open, Josie forced herself to take stock of her surroundings. To figure out why her pillow was so hard. To see why her alarm hadn’t gone off and why she was lazing around in the dark….

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

A real, live, hot-looking man sat beside her in a room lit by a green, wavering night-light. He wore a light-colored dress shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing strong, well-defined pecs beneath. A silver saint’s medallion hung around his neck.

She didn’t recognize him. Could never have met him before this moment or she would have remembered. His chiseled jaw was covered with a shadow of late-night bristles. Full, sculpted lips; a straight Roman nose. Eyes an uncommon color, though it was too dark to tell the shade for sure. Green, maybe? Dark eyelashes framed them and heavy eyebrows topped them. An old scar ran across his forehead.

Details that were way too real for a dream.

“What are you doing here?” She straightened quickly, making herself dizzy. A spike of adrenaline pierced the sensual awareness that had held her captive a moment ago. “Where am I?”

Her pulse raced as she tried to absorb her surroundings. The stranger with her. Just because he was absurdly handsome didn’t exclude the possibility that he meant her harm.

“You’re on my brother’s boat. The Vesta.” He spoke slowly and calmly, his tone soothing her where it had once stoked a fire inside her. “You must have boarded it last night when it was still docked in Chatham.”

“Chatham?” Her heart rate slowed a little at his reasonable tone of voice. His presence wasn’t threatening even though he sat close beside her inside… “A boat?”

Realization hit her like a cartoon anvil to the head.

“The boat!” she exclaimed, remembering her trip to Chatham. She latched on to the swatch book on the table in front of her. “I boarded the boat to discuss some new designs for my cousin Chase…” The horror of the moment began to dawn on her. “Oh, God. You’re not Chase Freeman.”

“No.” The sexy stranger shook his head as he took a document out of his wallet and passed it to her. “I’m Keith Murphy, and my boat was docked beside his.” The document proved to be his driver’s license, which confirmed his claim and his residence in Chatham. “Maybe you wandered onto the wrong vessel?”

She’d completely missed her appointment with Chase the night before.

“Oh no.” Her stomach sank as full alertness returned. She remembered being exhausted and worried about getting seasick. “The numbering on the slips was so confusing. I thought this was the right boat because the lights were on. Then I took some motion sickness medicine and it must have knocked me out. What time is it?”

Maybe she could still meet Chase. Rising to her feet, she tried to pull herself together until the man—Keith—gently grasped her wrist.

“It’s four in the morning and we’re not in Chatham anymore. I didn’t know you were on board and I set sail about one o’clock.”

She found it tough to focus on his words when he squeezed, then released her. How could a total stranger’s touch feel so familiar? So incredibly good?

Snippets of her sexy dream returned to her and she wondered…

“Did anything else happen while I was sleeping?” Sinking back onto the seat beside him, she tried to process the situation. Her skin buzzed with a palpable, electric hum. “That is, did we…”

She had no idea where she was going with that question. But her nerve endings vibrated with keen awareness. He had said things to her, sexy things, hadn’t he? Her heartbeat quickened at the blur of steamy memories.

Mr. Fantasy smiled a thousand-watt grin that was sexy and shameless. “You were out of it when I got down here, but you didn’t talk in your sleep or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not really. I…” How could she explain that she felt as turned on as if he’d touched her? That she was kind of worried she’d thrown herself at him in her half-dreaming state?

She smoothed a hand over her hair, trying to restore some order and some self control. This wasn’t like her at all.

“Look, Miss…” He seemed to be waiting for her to fill in the blank.

“Oh. Josie Passano.” She extended her hand. “I apologize for boarding the wrong boat. If we could just turn around, I could try to salvage my meeting. I really needed that account.”

“Josie.” He tested the name and seemed to like it, if his slow nod was any indication. “Can I get you something to drink first?”

Rising, he flicked on a low light over the galley cook-top, making her realize they’d been sitting in the green glow of a night-light all that time. Good heavens, she was out of it. The medicine must have done a number on her.

“That would be great. Cold water, if you have any.”

As he moved toward the small icebox, she noticed his shirttails were untucked and his feet were bare. He’d rolled up his trousers like a man who’d just waded in the ocean. She liked that he’d kept some distance as she woke up, his smooth, deep voice and relaxed body language all putting her at ease when she had every right to be scared to death to find herself on a stranger’s boat in the middle of the night.

He turned and caught her staring.

“Here you go.” Offering her a clear plastic cup, he filled a second for himself and sat across from her at the small table. “Josie, I doubt that Chase Freeman made it back to his boat last night, so I wouldn’t worry about him remembering a missed appointment until afternoon at the earliest. I saw him on the dance floor at my brother’s engagement party and he looked like he’d had a few too many. I’d be willing to bet he either crashed at my parents’ place or at a, uh, friend’s house.”

She read between the lines that her cousin had been trying to hook up with someone. Not that she cared about his personal life other than how it affected their business relationship. What threw her for a loop was connecting the dots that this man—Mr. Fantasy—was a Murphy. He’d said it, but she hadn’t fully appreciated the import.

She hoped he didn’t know her train wreck of a family. Thankfully, her name change had given her the anonymity she craved.

“Robert Murphy is your father?” She straightened in her seat, wishing she hadn’t shown up on the wrong boat like some sex-starved Goldilocks, all hot and bothered for her host.

She must look completely unprofessional, darn it. Didn’t she always tell Marlena you never knew where you might meet your next client? If she were on her game, she might be able to talk her way into a meeting with a representative of Murphy Resorts. But that wasn’t going to happen if she kept drooling over Keith.

And his well-connected family was all the more reason not to get involved. She had no desire to land back in Boston’s society columns, having her private life dissected. For that matter, after how kind he’d been to her, she wouldn’t want to foist bad press on Keith, either.

“Yes. He and my mom hosted a big party for my brother and his fiancée last night. That’s why the marina was so crowded. A lot of the guests came by boat.” He sipped his water, watching her over the rim of his cup. “You said you took motion-sickness medicine. How are you doing now that it’s worn off?”

“Me?” She hadn’t given it a second thought, but she’d been so fuzzy headed since waking up, her gray matter wasn’t working at full speed. “Fine, I think. I might have been hasty with the Dramamine. I got seasick on a boat ride to Catalina when I was young, but my mom told me afterward I’d had an ear infection or something.” She spoke quickly, nervous now that she realized her host was from one of Boston’s top entrepreneurial families. “I took the medicine to be safe, but I think I’d rather brave out the time on your boat and see how it goes, rather than fall asleep again. I can’t believe I slept through you coming on board and setting sail. You said we’re not in Chatham anymore?”

“We’re close to Nantucket.” He pointed toward a forgotten swatch sample catalog under her elbow. “May I?”

His hand hovered deliciously close to her arm. For a moment, she thought he was asking for permission to touch her. Warmth swirled in her veins even as she realized he wanted to see her book.

“Of course!” She slid the heavy volume across the table, wondering if he meant to keep her off balance with this conversation. “Nantucket?”

How on earth would she get home? She’d have to take a plane or a ferry. She’d lose a whole day’s work because she’d stepped onto the wrong boat last night. Then again, was Keith Murphy interested in redecorating? Maybe she could salvage a job, at least.

“Yes.” He opened the book as smoothly as if he was in a boardroom on a business lunch and not chatting up a stowaway on his sailboat at four in the morning. “I’m taking the Vesta down to Charleston to sell it for my brother Jack.”

Josie tried to absorb that. Apparently, when you were a Murphy, you did things like that—sail boats around to sell them because you were so rich you could probably buy five more you liked better. She pictured her parents giving their wholehearted approval to Keith.

Not that she was thinking about dating him or anything. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, given his high-profile family. Besides, her parents’ stamp of approval was a dubious endorsement at best. She respected people who worked for their income.

“Well, I don’t want to hold you up or anything, but I should find my way back to the mainland before you head any farther south.” Even though this evening had been interesting, to say the least. Even though she still had the sense that something had happened between her and Keith before she awoke. Why else had she felt so turned on and twitchy when she opened her eyes?

“Of course.” He fingered a square of handmade Thai silk in her swatch book. “But would you mind waiting until daylight? I already furled the sails for the night and we’re far enough away from the mainland that it would take too long to motor in. After sailing single-handed for three hours and doing the family party before that, I’ve gotta say I’m beat.”

“Oh.” How awkward. “I’m sure you are tired. I can just…wait until you’re ready.”

She had a vision of herself watching him sleep, quickly followed by an even more rewarding vision of her tiring him out thoroughly so he could sleep even better. Mmm.

“But I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. We can radio in to the Coast Guard if it would make you more at ease about being out here with me.” He closed the book and met her gaze over the tabletop.

Green, she thought idly. His eyes were an unusual shade of golden-green. As she stared back at him, half-hypnotized by the leftover effects of her medicine and the vague memories of her dreams about him talking to her in her sleep, she felt heat crawl over her skin again. Warming her everywhere. Making her all too aware of Keith Murphy.

And keenly aware of how long it had been since she’d been with a man. Maybe if you suppressed your sex drive long enough, it took vengeance on you by going rogue at the sight of a hot guy. That would explain her fear that she’d launch herself onto him at any moment.

“That’s thoughtful of you, and I would appreciate it.” She focused on her words instead of her feelings, needing to maintain professional distance. “I was nervous about meeting a client on a strange boat at midnight anyhow, so I left messages with a few friends. They’ll be worried about me, since I never checked in again.”

He led her out of the salon toward the helm, where the radio equipment was housed. When they reached the companionway, which was slick with seawater, he extended an arm to steady her.

As Josie placed her palm on his strong forearm, she had the strangest sense this wasn’t the first time they’d touched. And even though her attraction to Keith was unwise, to say the least, she couldn’t help but wish it wouldn’t be the last time she’d feel him against her.

KEITH HAD FORMED a multimillion-dollar corporation on the strength of his people skills. But he’d never been more grateful for his one-on-one communication abilities than right here, right now.

Interior designer Josie Passano had the face of an angel, plus a wicked glint in her brown eyes, as if she were thinking about something altogether interesting. And Keith wanted to know her much, much better. But given their awkward introduction and the iffy proposition of spending the night on the boat together, he planned to play it safe until she felt more comfortable around him. Her reaction to him while she was sleeping gave him hope she wasn’t immune. But if he came on too strong now—when they were isolated in the middle of the Atlantic—she’d have every reason to be nervous. It’d be different if they’d met on dry land and he just wanted another date. Convincing her to sail down the coast with him for a little while presented a unique challenge, yet he was up for the task.

He had a few ideas for how to keep her around a little longer, but they all hinged on him not looking as if he was trying too hard. Lucky for him, he was taking his first vacation in years. There couldn’t be a better time to pencil in an affair—the first for him since he broke up with family friend Brooke Blaylock a year ago. Brooke’s insistence on being the life of the party at all times, causing a stir wherever she went, had been fun for a while. But his patience with the party crowd had worn thin—he was trying to build a business. Besides, he wanted clients to recognize his face from the business section, not the society pages.

Obviously, he was over Brooke by now. And more than ready to move on.

After they got in touch with the Coast Guard, he convinced Josie to take the berth in the front of the boat, while he slept in a bunk in the main salon. He hadn’t been lying about being exhausted, so she didn’t have to worry about him whispering suggestive ideas in her ear while she slept this time. Not that he wouldn’t be dreaming about doing those things to her.

“There should be spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet,” he told her as he scrounged up clean towels and fresh sheets for the bed in the boat’s only true cabin. “My mom didn’t blink at the sight of blood or the regular trips to the E.R. that came with having five kids and a foster son, but she would have a conniption if we didn’t floss.”

Keith didn’t know where that odd bit of Murphy family lore had come from, but he was so tired he seemed to be running on autopilot.

“I’ll be fine,” Josie assured him, clutching the folded blue T-shirt he’d found for her to sleep in. “Thank you for helping me get in touch with the Coast Guard. My friends will sleep better knowing I wasn’t tossed overboard last night.”

The radio operator had been kind enough to text Josie’s assistant, even though it was above and beyond his duty. The guy had assured them it was a quiet night on his watch and he didn’t mind.

“Not a problem. You sure you’re feeling okay? No seasickness?” He’d been keeping an eye on her ever since she woke up, knowing the symptoms could come on quickly. But her color seemed good.

Everything about her, for that matter, seemed great. He liked her sexy dark eyes and the mischievous twist to her lips. He definitely liked the confident way she walked and the graceful way she moved. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I feel steady.” She nodded as if to reassure him, and he realized it was his cue to leave. “I think the uneasy feeling earlier was just a by-product of exhaustion.”

His feet remained glued to the floor in the doorway. Damn, but he was usually more polished than this. He had a rep as the Murphy family charmer—the one who could talk anyone into anything. That skill had gotten him far in business, and it usually came through with women, as well. Why did smooth words elude him with Josie?

“I know this has been an unorthodox way to meet,” he started, going off script and surprising himself with words he hadn’t carefully prepared in his head first. “But it’s nice to know you, Josie Passano.”

He lingered, his eyes roving over her even when he’d instructed them not to. Where the hell were his people skills?

She grinned, dazzling him more than a little with the warmth of that smile.

“Nice to meet you, too, Keith.” Her head tipped to one side as she started to close the door, peeking out at him until the last moment. “Sorry to stow away on you like this.”

Watching her mouth move, he imagined what her lips would taste like. Vowed he’d find out for himself as soon as possible.

“No worries. As stowaways go, you were a pleasant surprise.” He heard his own voice hit a smoky note as he remembered talking to her earlier, while she’d been sleeping. Would his words come back to her tonight when she closed her eyes? “Sweet dreams, Josie.”

“You, too. ’Night.” Silently, she shut the door, leaving him staring at the barrier between him and the most interesting woman he’d come across in a long time.

In business, he never let any obstacle stand in his way. But what he felt for his unexpected guest was very, very personal. He would respect her boundaries tonight.

Tomorrow?

He had every intention of closing the deal.

3

MAYBE SHE’D READ a few too many romance novels over the years, but Josie couldn’t help lingering in the shower the next day, fantasizing provocative scenarios involving stowaways and sexy sea captains.

Didn’t the ship captain always insist on stashing his nubile female passenger in his quarters to protect her from his men? Of course, then he had to sleep in the cabin with her to keep an eye on her. Inevitably, he couldn’t keep his hands off her—an arrangement that led to page after page of scandalously delicious sex without the judgmental eyes of regular society looking on.

Standing there, with hot water streaming over her skin, Josie was grateful to the twenty-first century for all modern conveniences. But she wouldn’t mind a little time travel for the sake of some sensual play with her host. She’d dreamed about him last night, her overheated imagination conjuring vivid encounters between them. So much so, in fact, she was somewhat nervous about seeing him face-to-face today.

All that stuff she’d dreamed had seemed so real. In theory, she should simply accept her fantasies as a wake-up call to indulge her needs as a female more often, and perhaps work a bit less. That would be the grown-up, well-adjusted-woman’s reaction. But who was so well adjusted that she could ignore memories of a hot guy undressing her—inch by slow inch—with his teeth? She suspected she’d blush ten shades of pink when she saw him.

Switching off the water, she reached for a towel and dried herself, wondering how to ignore her unwise interest in Keith. The man surely ran in the same circles as her parents, or at the very least would recognize her family name. Would he know about her scandalous past if she’d introduced herself as Josie Davenport instead of Josie Passano? She’d taken her mother’s maiden name after the congressman scandal, glad to formalize her departure from the trust-fund lifestyle that she’d been raised in. She’d stayed out of the society pages for three years while she’d built the new business, letting Marlena attend any work-related events that might attract a tabloid element. The last thing Josie needed was to have her past dragged back out for the world to see before she made her interior design business a success with the regional TV show deal.

And, guaranteed, being seen around New York or Boston with someone like Keith would land her back in the spotlight she needed to avoid.

Yet for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like making the smart choice professionally. As she put on the navy T-shirt Keith had given her the night before, along with her own jeans, she acknowledged that she wanted to live out all the things she’d dreamed about with him. What her subconscious didn’t seem to comprehend was that she would find a man to have a fling with, and let off a little steam. Really, she would. But Keith should not be that guy.

She towel dried her hair and dredged up some lip gloss and moisturizer from her purse. When she looked halfway presentable, and wasn’t actively fantasizing about Keith’s mouth on her…

Whoops.

Trying again to clear her mind, she shoved her other clothes in an empty grocery sack she’d found folded in a bathroom drawer. Taking the sack and her purse with her, she wound her way through the quiet salon and galley toward the companionway, where daylight spilled down into the lower level.

Voices above drew her attention.

“Keith?” she called, stepping up the first stair.

Who could he be speaking to in the middle of the sea? Had the Coast Guard come to check on them after their radio call last night?

“Morning.” Keith appeared at the top of the stairs, freshly shaved. Dressed in faded gray cargo shorts and a white polo shirt layered over a white T-shirt, he looked clean and…delicious.

She felt her cheeks warm and knew a blush had colored her skin from the roots of her hair to her neckline. Damn it.

At least she’d gotten it out of the way, right?

“Good morning.” Stepping up onto the main deck, she discovered they weren’t anchored out in the middle of nowhere anymore. “I see you did some sailing while I was sleeping again.” The boat—the Vesta, he’d called it—was already docked on the little island of Nantucket. She’d been there enough times to recognize the south wharf with the rows of gray, cedar-sided cottages lining nearby docks.

Gentle waves rocked their sailboat in time with all the other watercraft in nearby slips. The view, while pretty, made her realize she wouldn’t have been any better at discerning one vessel from another in the light of day. Now, if they redid their sails in purple paisley or muted floral chintz, she’d be all set.

And, yikes, didn’t that sound like something her mom would say, martini glass in hand as she strolled around the deck?

“I woke up early and figured you would just as soon be docked when you opened your eyes. I pulled into the marina about half an hour ago.” He took the bag of clothes and settled it on a seat cushion near the helm.

As a warm breeze lifted her damp hair off her shoulders, she noticed he’d already relocated her design books to the same canvas bolster.

So eager to be rid of her? Disappointment outweighed her relief that a separation would ensure no one resurrected her old scandal by photographing them together.

“Then I won’t keep you.” She dug in her purse for her business cards. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get under way on your trip, and I’m sorry to have slowed you down.” Finding the sterling silver case, she handed him a card.

Frowning, he took the cream-colored linen stock bearing the logo that Marlena had designed as one of her first projects as an intern.

“I’m in no hurry.” He tucked the card into the pocket of his shorts. “In fact, I’d hoped to buy you breakfast by way of apology for the, uh…accidental kidnapping. I figure if I can bribe you with eggs and sausage, you’ll be less likely to press charges.”

Pleasure warmed her to her toes while she weighed the probability of anyone recognizing Keith in Nantucket. While she debated the question, a young family pulled a big powerboat into the slip beside them. A boy and a girl—both knee-high and dressed in navy-and-white-striped T-shirts—waved from either side of their mother, while their dad steered the craft into place. “I am hungry,” Josie admitted. “But I’m afraid I’m just as guilty as you, since I was the trespasser last night. If anything, I should probably be buying you breakfast.”

Or dinner, maybe, after an afternoon of acrobatic sex that left them both ravenous. The thought heated her cheeks again, warming her all over in spite of the mild sea breeze. Now why had she said that? Sharing a meal in public with him was a risky proposition at any time. Hadn’t she promised herself she was done dating guys who attracted tabloid interest? She had no desire to dredge up her “party-girl” past, after working hard to bury that image.

Although she couldn’t help but be miffed that she’d earned the rep without any of the fun it implied. She’d networked her butt off on those nightclub outings, pitching her fashions to the social elite. She’d hoped to catch a few trendy clients who didn’t mind taking a risk on a new designer. One of her few impulsive moves during that time had been a kiss in a back alley with a cute guy who’d flirted with her relentlessly. All the other pictures the media had gathered to create the “party-girl” montage had been from her rebellious teenage years, before she’d channeled her energies into productive creativity.

“Hmm. I don’t think any judge would see much of a threat in a five-foot trespasser bearing fifty pounds of design swatches.” Keith hopped out onto the dock to help the speedboat owner with the young family tie his craft to a cleat. “But how about we debate it over coffee?”

He flashed white teeth, his easy charm drawing her toward him in spite of herself.

“I’m five foot three, actually.” Leaving her books behind, she stepped onto the dock, while the kids in the striped shirts and their mom came closer to the bow to watch Keith tie the line. “And I happen to have great aim with a can of Mace, although since I was drugged at the time, I probably didn’t pose much danger.”

Finishing the knot, Keith reached up to give each of the preschoolers a high five. Turning to Josie, he held out his arm.

“Are you ready?”

Her heart sped foolishly, even as she told herself they were only sharing a couple of eggs in the most out-of-the-way restaurant she could find. One meal together and she’d head for home.

“Absolutely.” Ready to battle the unwise attraction long enough to thank him for delivering her safely to shore, she dropped her fingers into the crook of his elbow.

This would be like any other friendly networking meeting, she told herself. But as her skin tingled from that small, casual touch, Josie feared her body was ready to betray her good intentions at the slightest provocation.

AN HOUR OF BREAKING BREAD with Josie had yielded a wealth of useful information about her. They hadn’t found a restaurant still serving breakfast at noon, so they’d settled for sandwiches and microbrews at a quiet local pub.

Now, while they finished off the last of the beer and waited for the check, Keith steered the conversation back to his discovery that she was as much a workaholic as he’d been up until this week. Apparently, she’d worked in the fashion industry after college, then taken a job at a large interior-decorating firm before starting her own company eighteen months ago.

“So, you know, I’m taking a vacation for the first time in three years.” He kept his empty longneck in his hand, hoping the waitress would be slow to return, since he still wanted to learn more about the woman across from him in the tall, private booth. “When’s the last time you took a stab at some rest and relaxation?”

“Hmm.” She played with the unused knife near her plate, flipping the heavy piece over and over on the scarred wood table. A series of skinny silver bands covered her ring finger right up to the knuckle. “I went to Mexico with some girlfriends before I started at that big interior-design firm, so that would be…two and a half years ago.”

Nearby, a busboy juggled drinks for a corner table full of older women who’d ordered a big, candle-covered birthday cake a little while ago.

“Almost as long as me.” Keith shifted in his seat, his knee lightly grazing hers. Once. Twice. Until she looked up at him, almost as if to accuse him of flirting with her on purpose. But his expression must have remained neutral enough, because she went back to playing with her knife.

Her cheeks had gone warm again, though, and he noticed she soon set aside the knife to take a drink of her water. He was determined not to let this attraction get the better of him today, determined to pursue her without getting lost in her dark eyes.

“Yes. I think I’m overdue for a vacation.” Her lips were damp from the water glass, shiny and kissable. “But I’m really trying to lock down a shot at a cable show to bring local decorating inspiration to people in the Boston market.”

With an effort, he pulled his attention away from her lips while a group at the bar broke out in raucous laughter. The establishment wasn’t packed to capacity, but it was plenty busy for the midday meal.

“Which means you have no intention of taking a vacation anytime soon.” Keith had made enough excuses to friends over the years that he recognized the blow-off. The certainty that it was better to work than to play.

No doubt about it, Josie was driven.

“Well, I hired an employee a few months ago, so if I fail now, it’s not just me who loses out on a paycheck. Plus—” she released the knife and rested her fingers on the table, not all that far from his “—I’m trying to get out from under college loans and some financial help my parents gave me when I was starting out. I’ve come to the point where I don’t want to feel I owe anyone anything.”

He wanted to move her plate aside and cover her hand with his. Stroke each finger and plant a kiss in the middle of her palm before venturing up her arm. He remembered exactly how smooth she felt from those brief touches the night before.

“That’s admirable.” Keith tried to keep the thread of the conversation, knowing he had to be on his game if he hoped to convince her to take a chance with him. “It’s rewarding to build a company from the ground up. It took a lot of effort to get Green Principles off the ground, but it was really worth it.”

The deal he had brewing now, in fact, would make them a global affiliate with the Wholesome Branding marketing firm. Green Principles services would be automatically offered and recommended to all Wholesome Branding clients. Keith’s company was entering a new phase of growth.

“So what does your firm do, exactly?” She’d asked attentive business questions all through lunch, keeping the conversation on less personal footing wherever possible. Which made it damn difficult to proposition her.

He kept wondering if she remembered much of what he’d said to her the night before. Did she recall him touching her? He clenched his fingers, fighting the need to remind her.

“We’re a consulting company.” He focused on the words and wished he hadn’t finished his drink. “We hire out to big business to help them navigate increasingly tough environmental laws and to create environmental initiatives unique to their industry. Our goal is to help them be more than just compliant, but actually cutting edge.”

The company had started out so high-minded and grassroots oriented that he’d been surprised by how lucrative the business had become. Astonishing how much a guy could accomplish when he focused on work instead of finding the right woman. Of course, that meant he hadn’t had a date in a dog’s age….

And, amazingly, Josie appeared interested. Not just in him, but in his work, too.

“Hey, folks.” Their flustered waitress, with a ketchup stain on her blouse and a trayful of empty glasses, paused at the table. “Sorry to take so long, but we’re short a busboy today.” After sliding the bill across the table, she removed their plates. “I hear we’ve got a cold front coming our way. No rain yet, I hope.”

Josie peered between the beer signs in the window toward the street. “It was nice out when we came in,” she replied, reaching for the slip of paper.

Over his dead body.

“No way.” He snatched the check with ease, the appropriate bill already in his hand. He put them both on the waitress’s tray alongside the empty glasses. “I’m buying your silence with this meal, remember?”

While the waitress helped his cause, hurrying away amid protests, Keith realized their time together was drawing short and he hadn’t accomplished nearly enough over lunch to justify propositioning Josie quite yet. Damn it.

They left the pub and walked out into the midday sunlight. He steered her toward a wooden bench by the sidewalk to discuss where to go next. The downtown area remained quiet now that the high tourist season had come to a close. But a few rented mopeds and bicycles filled a rack nearby. He didn’t want Josie to leave, but convincing a woman he’d known for less than twenty-four hours to get back on board the Vesta with him to sail off into the unknown was unlikely.

Working against him was most of what he’d learned over lunch—that her ambition rivaled his own, that she never took time off and that she would be “thrilled” to make a pitch to Murphy Resorts should they ever be interested in exploring design alternatives at any of their properties. In fact, as a man who’d been hit on by business prospects of his own in the past, he’d recognized Josie’s smooth redirecting of the conversation anytime he’d veered into mildly flirtatious terrain.

But he’d learned something else intriguing about her over lunch.

She wanted him.

That wasn’t arrogance on his part. It was fact. It didn’t matter that she presented a charming professional image. He could tell by the way her pupils widened when he leaned closer that she wasn’t as unaffected as she pretended. Then there’d been moments when her gaze had lingered on him those extra few seconds before she looked away, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that didn’t come from a makeup compact.

The signs were there. It was just a matter of helping her act on it.

“So what’s your time frame for the trip to Charleston?” she asked, hovering by the bench he’d pointed out, then peering back to a storefront behind them. “Actually, before you answer that, would you mind terribly if we popped into this store for a clean shirt so I can return the one I borrowed?”

She plucked at the worn cotton fabric of his brother’s too-large tee that said Navy in big block letters. On Josie, it read Av, since the other letters were hidden in the excess material at her sides.

“Sure.” He regretted not thinking of it himself. He’d been so focused on getting what he wanted with her, he’d neglected to consider what she needed. An oversight he would not repeat. As they approached the boutique, he held the door for her. “I’ll be curious to see if a decorator spends a lot of time choosing clothes or if the professional eye makes the process faster.”

She slid past him into the dim, artsy store filled with more mannequins than actual clothes, her slight figure barely stirring a breeze, yet commanding attention even in an oversize T-shirt. Something about the way she carried herself—confident and brisk—gave the impression she was someone important, someone people should recognize.

After greeting the salesclerk with a wave, Josie peered back at Keith over her shoulder.

“Normally, I dress with the same care I’d use when decorating a room, since the way I look is kind of an advertisement for the business.” She moved toward a rack full of white blouses, and walked her fingers through the hangers in search of the right size. “I mean, who would trust a decorator who shows up in yoga pants and a T-shirt? Clients expect someone in my line of work to look more put together.”

Moving through the store with efficiency, she had two shirts and a pair of pants in hand already. As she turned toward the next rack, he anticipated the move and stepped in front of her. Surprising her. Surprising himself, to a certain extent. He hadn’t planned to make his play for her here and now, but he didn’t want to wait any longer.

The dimly lit, overly air-conditioned store created an odd sense of privacy, since the loud, pulsing music isolated them from the lone salesclerk chatting away on a cell phone at the counter in the back of the shop.

“I hope you don’t see me as a client you need to impress.” He calculated their distance in inches. Not nearly close enough. Still, her elbow brushed his chest as she clutched the hangers to her.

Belatedly, she retracted her arm, tightening her grip on the clothes as if she could halt the attraction between them by not touching him. He hoped like hell that trick wouldn’t work.

“I know better than to presume anyone will sign on with me,” she protested, carefully keeping things on a safe footing. “You haven’t even seen my work—”

Waving off her words, he shook his head.

“Not because of that. I’m sure you’re very good at what you do. What I meant was, I hope you won’t let business get in the way of something…better.” He had to put his cards on the table soon or she’d be dressed in new clothes and penciling him into her appointment book for a sales pitch before they said goodbye.

“Hey, hon,” the young salesclerk shouted to Josie over the loud music, one hand over her cell phone to muffle her voice. “The fitting room is in the back. There’s a place where your friend can have a seat while you try stuff on.”

She gestured toward an archway near a shoe rack, the huge cocktail ring she wore glinting under one of the store’s blue spotlights.

And thank you, Miss Disinterested Salesgirl. She’d just given Keith the break he’d been looking for.

“Can we talk for a minute?” He took the clothes from Josie’s arms. “Let me carry these for you.”

Judging from her expression, she had mixed feelings about a conversation in the dressing room. But hey, if he was going to give her a hard sell on the merits of spending more time with him, better to do it in a public place where she knew she could walk away, than on the boat, where she might feel trapped.

He led her under the arch near the shoe rack. A love seat had been situated near a small table holding a coffeepot and a pitcher of water. The sofa sat across from a three-way mirror. A smaller room with a bench inside was visible beyond a half-drawn velvet curtain.

Behind him, Josie’s flat shoes clicked double-time to keep up. He used his lead to deposit the clothes she’d chosen in the fitting area, then he backed away to sit on an arm of the love seat so he didn’t look like some loser in the market to catch a view of her naked. Not that he wasn’t in the market, per se. But he had every intention of waiting until she offered that opportunity to him freely.

“I’m not sure—” she began.

He rushed to cut off that line of thinking.