Wild And Willing. Joanne Rock

Enterprises owned the bank, among other things. Maybe she knew who he was better than she let on.

      She gestured to his pirate garb when he said nothing. “I mean, they were the corporate sponsors of Gasparilla, so I assume you work for them?”

      Seth gauged her expression calling upon the ability to read people that had always served him well in business. He saw nothing but openness and honesty in Mia’s face. Relaxing, he assured himself she had no clue about his real identity—an intriguing aspect of Mia Quentin. Every woman Seth had dated in the past knew his net worth to the penny. A circumstance that could occasionally make a guy wonder if he was being dated for himself or his checkbook.

      But Mia had wanted him. Sure, she’d picked him out because of an eye patch. But she was still here now, flashing glimpses of killer thigh, driving him to the edge of sanity along with the constant niggling reminder that he hadn’t had sex in four months.

      The responsible thing to do would be to fess up. Too bad Seth had exceeded his quota of responsible acts for the week. He was more interested in seeing what would happen with Mia today.

      “I do some work for the bank and a few other places. I’m sort of a go-to guy when they don’t have anybody else to take care of special projects.” Which was true.

      “A Florida version of the Hollywood gopher?”

      “Sort of.” Which was not true. At all. He didn’t want to explain who he was or what he did just yet, but he didn’t want to totally misrepresent himself, either.

      He pointed the boat south and shuffled the conversation in another direction before he dug himself any deeper. “What do you do when you’re not out accosting unsuspecting men?”

      “I’m in transition.” Her hibiscus drooped in her damp hair so she plucked it out and cradled the red bloom between her palms. “I’m helping my grandparents fortify their family business right now, but when I’m not balancing books and doing inventory, I like to think of myself as an artist.”

      His view of her shifted to accommodate this new information. He watched her smooth her fingers over the petals of the flower, as if savoring the fragile texture.

      “What kind of artist?” He leaned back in his seat, the boat requiring less of his attention now that they skimmed open water.

      “Mostly I paint. I sculpt a little for fun, but I have more talent for painting—oils, watercolors, you name it.” She glanced up from her flower to meet his gaze. “Where are we headed anyway?”

      Something about the way she changed the subject made Seth suspect she didn’t want to talk about herself. Or maybe her art.

      “I thought we’d hit Egmont Key.” Too intrigued by the vision of Mia with a paintbrush to let the subject drop, Seth continued to probe. “What subjects do you like to paint? People? Landscapes?”

      “I paint anything. But I’m not much of a realist. My work tends to be more colorful, more vivid than the real world.”

      “That doesn’t surprise me.” He let his gaze roam over Mia’s floral skirt, her oversize flower. “You’re like a walking hothouse. In fact, this is the most damn colorful day I’ve had in a long time.”

      “That probably has more to do with the cutlass and the eye patch.” She crossed her legs, one toe pointing toward him, her foot mere inches from his calf.

      He would definitely be jumping the gun if he reached over and pulled her against him. But he wanted to. Thinking about how much he wanted to delayed his response by several bracing, deep breaths.

      “No, it’s you. I normally live in black and white, and trust me, I know a Technicolor kind of woman when I see one.”

      “Then my adventure must be a success so far.”

      Her smile lit up her whole face, animating her eyes, drawing attention to her sensual mouth. “How far is Egmont Key?”

      Ten minutes was too far. Seth wanted nothing more than to stop the boat and talk to Mia. Stare at Mia. Find out if there was any chance he could have a relationship with a woman so different from any he’d ever known.

      “Not much further. We’ll have time to wander around the island and still make it back for the press conference at eleven tonight.”

      “Press conference?” She stiffened. The hibiscus stilled between her palms.

      “Channel 10 is going to do a follow-up story on the people who were carried off by the Gasparilla pirates today. You’ll have a chance to tell your story tonight on the news.”

      Was it his imagination, or did she look panicked?

      He slid one hand over her dark brown hair, surprised how silky the strands felt even after being tossed about by the wind. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep things PG-rated for the viewers at home.”

      She shook her head. “I can’t go on television.”

      “It’s good public relations for the bank—”

      “But not good public relations for me!”

      How could Carmen, who could bring a pirate to his knees, be afraid of a little media exposure? “Why?”

      She folded her arms over her body, her lips firmly sealed.

      Her refusal to discuss the topic couldn’t have been any more eloquent.

      “If you’re married, lady, you’re going to be riding the first wave back to shore.” Seth clutched the steering wheel, ready to take her home.

      Until he saw the surprise scrawled across her face.

      “No!” Mia shook her head. “Married? I don’t have room in my life for dating, let alone a husband. I assure you, I’m not married.”

      Again, the honesty in her eyes convinced him. He believed her.

      But damn it, Seth needed that publicity tonight. He’d bought the sponsorship for Gulf Coast Bank because it desperately needed some public recognition. A growing financial institution with small-town roots, it was the kind of business Seth loved to build. But after floundering in a sluggish economy for the past year, Gulf Coast needed the visibility boost Gasparilla could offer.

      And, bottom line, the bank needed the extra air-time he and Mia could garner with their story.

      “I’ve got it.” He snapped his fingers, pleased with himself. “If you go on the air and talk about our day together, you can also plug your paintings. You must have some for sale somewhere, right? You can talk about your next gallery showing or whatever.”

      Interest flashed in her eyes for all of two seconds before her chin tilted her up and she shook her head. “Sorry, Seth. I can’t.”

      “Why?” Was he so wrong to ask for an explanation? It’s not like he wanted to know so he could talk her into it in spite of her wishes. He wanted to know so that he could understand her, figure her out.

      For a Technicolor artist, she was sure doing her best to keep part of herself hidden, shadowed.

      Her fingers went back to their slow inventory of the hibiscus blossom, easing over each red petal.

      “I make it a policy not to kiss and tell.”

      He recognized that answer for what it was. A seductive rerouting of his thoughts to get him off her case.

      Damned if it didn’t work like a charm.

      His gaze flashed from red flower petals to soft red lips. It didn’t take him but two seconds to make the decision to cut the boat engines and concentrate on her.

      “Planning on kissing your abductor?” His question hovered in the air. Without the hum of the motor, the only sound around them came in the form of water lapping the sides of the boat.

      And their breathing.

      Hers soft and even. His shallow