Twelve Nights Of Temptation. Barbara Dunlop

      He took another step, and then another.

      Inside her head, she shouted for him to stop. But she didn’t make a sound.

      She didn’t want him to stop. She could almost feel his arms around her.

      He was right there.

      Thunder suddenly cracked through the sky above them. A wave surged beneath them, and she grabbed for the counter. She missed, stumbling into his chest.

      In a split second, his arms were around her, steadying her.

      She fought the desire that fogged her brain. “Sorry.”

      “Weather’s coming up,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear and vibrating her chest, which was pressed tight against his.

      “We won’t be—” Words failed her as she looked into his blue eyes, so close, so compelling.

      He stilled, the sapphire of his eyes softening to summer sky.

      “Tasha.” Her name was barely a breath on his lips.

      She softened against him.

      He lowered his lips, closer and closer. They brushed lightly against hers, then they firmed, then they parted, and the kiss sent bolts of pleasure ricocheting through her.

      She gripped his shoulders to steady herself. A rational part of her brain told her to stop. But she was beyond stopping. She was beyond caring about anything but the cataclysmic kiss between them.

      It was Matt who finally pulled back.

      He looked as dazed as she felt, and he blew out a breath. “I’m...” He gave his head a little shake. “I don’t know what to say.”

      She forced herself to step back. “Don’t.” She had no idea what to say either. “Don’t try. It was just...something...that happened.”

      “It was something,” he said.

      “It was a mistake.”

      He raked a hand through his short hair. “It sure wasn’t on purpose.”

      “We should get going,” she said, anxious to focus on something else.

      The last thing she wanted to do was dissect their kiss. The last thing she wanted to do was admit how it impacted her. The last thing she wanted her boss to know was that she saw him as a man, more than a boss.

      She couldn’t do that. She had to stop doing it. In this relationship, she was a mechanic, not a woman.

      “We’re not going anywhere.” He looked pointedly out the window where the rain was driving down.

      Tasha took note of the pitching floor beneath her.

      It was Matt who reached for the marine radio and turned the dial to get a weather report.

      “We might as well grab something to eat,” he said. “This could last awhile.”

       Two

      Waiting out the storm, Matt had fallen asleep in the living area. He awoke four hours later to find Tasha gone, and he went looking.

      The yacht was rocking up and down on six-foot swells, and rain clattered against the windows. He couldn’t find her on the upper decks, so he took the narrow staircase, making his way to the engine and mechanical rooms. Sure enough, he found her there. She’d removed the front panel of the generator and was elbow deep in the mechanics.

      “What are you doing?” he asked.

      She tensed at the sound of his voice. She was obviously remembering their kiss. Well, he remembered it, too, and it sure made him tense up. Partly because he was her boss and he felt guilty for letting things get out of hand. But partly because it had been such an amazing kiss and he desperately wanted to do it again.

      “Maintenance,” she answered him without turning.

      He settled his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Can you elaborate?”

      “I inspected the electric and serviced the batteries. Some of the battery connections needed cleaning. Hoses and belts all look good in here. But it was worth changing the oil filter.”

      “I thought you would sleep.”

      This was above and beyond the call of duty for anyone. He’d known Tasha was a dedicated employee, but this trip was teaching him she was one in a million.

      She finally turned to face him. “I did sleep. Then I woke up.”

      She’d found a pair of coveralls somewhere. They were miles too big, but she’d rolled up the sleeves and the pant legs. A woman shouldn’t look sexy with a wrench in her hand, a smudge of oil on her cheek, swimming in a shapeless steel gray sack.

      But this one did. And he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her. He mentally shook away the feelings.

      “If it was me—” he tried to lighten the mood and put her at ease “—I think I might have inspected the liquor cabinet.”

      She smiled for the briefest of seconds. “Lucky your employees aren’t like you.”

      The smile warmed him. It turned him on, but it also made him happy.

      “True enough,” he said. “But there is a nice cognac in there. Perfect to have on a rainy afternoon.” He could picture them doing just that.

      Instead of answering, she returned to work.

      He watched for a few minutes, struggling with his feelings, knowing he had to put their relationship back on an even keel.

      Work—he needed to say something about work instead of sharing a cozy drink.

      “Are you trying to impress me?” he asked.

      She didn’t pause. “Yes.”

      “I’m impressed.”

      “Good.”

      “You should stop working.”

      “I’m not finished.”

      “You’re making me feel guilty.”

      She looked his way and rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

      “Then what?”

      “The maintenance needed doing. I was here. There was an opportunity.”

      He fought an urge to close the space between them. “Are you always like this?”

      “Like what?”

      “I don’t know, überindustrious?”

      “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

      He did move closer. He shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t bring up their kiss. But he desperately wanted to bring it up, discuss it, dissect it, relive it. How did she feel about it now? Was she angry? Was there a chance in the world she wanted to do it again?

      “It’s an unnerving thing,” he said.

      “Then, you’re very easily unnerved.”

      He couldn’t help but smile at her comeback. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

      “Well, that’s a waste of time.”

      “I realize I don’t know you well.”

      “You don’t need to know me well. Just sign my paycheck.”

      Well, that was a crystal clear signal. He was her boss, nothing more. He swallowed his disappointment.

      Then again, if he was her boss, he was her boss. He reached forward to take the wrench from her hand. “It’s after five and it’s a Saturday and you’re done.”

      Their