His Last Defense. Karen Rock

“And we need that quota met.”

      As did she. Rick and Sam didn’t need to spell out that her career was done if she mucked this up.

      It was hard enough to become a captain, something she’d only done because Bill had taken her under his wing and taught her when he could. Yet even if she succeeded in getting to captain again, with a bad record she might have trouble getting a crew to sign on to work with her. She had to turn this around. No matter the odds, she had to take the gamble.

      “I’ll top those tanks.”

      “With crab this time, not water,” guffawed Sam, cracking himself up. Suddenly his smile fell and his thick eyebrows knitted. “No more screwups. Our insurance might cover one lost boat. Not two.”

      A waitress bearing a steaming plate of chicken wings passed the table and dropped off their bill. Nolee’s nose twitched at the spicy aroma. How long since she’d eaten? Slept? She was used to the punishing mental and physical demands of each crab season. But the anxiety that’d dogged her every thought since she’d woken in the clinic, minus one ship and plus several unwanted feelings for a certain swimmer, had taken its toll.

      Rick signed the slip and pocketed his pen. The flat line of his mouth suggested he wasn’t crazy about taking another chance on her. She’d be willing to bet he was hard-pressed to find another captain with any experience if he was willing to roll the dice with her.

      “I’ll get my crew and begin work tomorrow.” She stood and extended a hand. Took charge of the situation. What did her Aunt Dai always tell her to do? Lean in? If she angled any farther, she’d topple over.

      Her bosses shoved themselves to their feet. They exchanged a long look and then Rick grasped her hand. Pumped it up and down. “You’ve got yourself a boat.”

      “For now,” Sam interjected, clapping her shoulder, sealing this last-ditch bargain she had to keep.

      She grabbed her fleece off the back of her chair and yanked it on. At the far end of the bar, the live rock band swung into a guitar solo that squealed and whined, the sound blasting from wall-mounted speakers. Some of the milling plaid-and-jeans-clad men and women lifted their drinks and hooted. Their ball-cap-covered heads bobbed approval.

      When a bouncer tossed a couple of tussling men outside, a gap appeared in the throng and Nolee’s eye landed on Dylan, sitting in a dark corner across from his Uncle Bill. She glimpsed Dylan’s chiseled jaw and noted his eye-popping body in a fitted green thermal shirt that she imagined did great things for his sexy eyes.

      Buoyed by her win with the Dunham boys, she was on her feet and heading for Dylan before she had time to think it through. But she was drawn by the attraction that’d flared to life yesterday in a kiss she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about.

      She wove through the crowd just as Bill stood and pulled on a lopsided winter hat that looked to be the work of one of his six daughters. He never left port without having them sing him “Eye of the Tiger” for good luck and their drawings and pictures festooned his wheelhouse.

      As she neared, she overheard Dylan saying, “I’ve got this.”

      “Hey, Captain Bill.”

      The older man looked up from zipping his coat and a broad smile creased his weathered face. “Nolee!”

      Dylan’s eyes swung to hers and the flare of heat in them made her pulse speed.

      Bill engulfed her in a musk-scented bear hug that squeezed the breath out of her and lifted her off her feet. When he set her back down, she put a hand to her hair and felt Dylan’s gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest.

      “Heard about yesterday. Hell of a thing.” Suddenly Bill jerked as if stung, and yanked a cell phone from his back pocket. He muttered under his breath then shoved it away. “Shoot. That’s the wife again. Gotta go. Stop by Easy Rider when you can. Sure I can find some work for you.”

      Without waiting for an answer, he waved and disappeared through the crowd.

      She spun a chair around backward, straddled it and beamed a full-blown cheeky grin meant to blast away the concern darkening Dylan’s eyes. Pity. Growing up poor, powerless and dependent on others’ charity, she’d had more than her share of it. She wouldn’t let anyone feel sorry for her. Wouldn’t let herself.

      Besides, there was no denying it felt damn good to see Dylan. Seeing him in the hospital, feeling the old connection had melted away some of her reservations... And since he’d be leaving town soon, it was safe to bask in his sexy hot glow. She hoped. “You’re off the hook.”

      The beginnings of a wry smile teased up one side of his gorgeous mouth. His shirt molded to his sculpted chest when he twisted around to search for a wallet. Her mouth watered. “How’s that?” he asked without turning.

      “Got another boat.” She lifted the mostly empty tumbler in front of him. Sniffed. “So I’ve got the next round.”

      “You what?” He straightened and his eyebrows rose. In the dim light of the pub, shadows gave his symmetrical face dangerous angles that caught her eye. Turned the blood in her veins warm.

      “Two Jim Beams, Sheryl,” she called to an approaching waitress, forcing herself to look away. Act unaffected. She cracked open a peanut, tossed it in the air and caught it neatly in her mouth.

      She needed to stop her runaway thoughts of Dylan. The devastating effect of his arousing kiss yesterday hadn’t lessened. Not a bit. In fact, it’d seemed to intensify as she’d lain awake in her small apartment over her cousin’s garage, staring at a neighbor’s blinking Christmas lights, imagining him in bed beside her, distracting her troubling thoughts in the most erotic way possible.

      And now that he sat only feet away from her, the effect was devastating. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. Recalling the strong feel of them on her yesterday in the clinic. His lips on hers. Electric. She’d thought the sensual side of her had died when he left Kodiak. But apparently he was the only man she’d met who could light that particular spark for her. Turned out, she’d missed it.

      Warm, she stood and pulled off her fleece. When her head emerged, she caught Dylan staring at her, his eyes intent. His body still. Her jeans had ridden a little down her hip, revealing a small red-white-and-blue anchor tattoo.

      “When’d you get that?” he asked, his voice hoarse. Without taking his eyes off it, he raised his glass and bolted back the rest of his drink.

      “You like it?” She arched an eyebrow at him and sat again, enjoying the normally übercontrolled man’s discomfort. Besides, it distracted him from any proceed-with-caution speech he looked like he’d been about to make. Tonight, riding high on her newly resuscitated career, she didn’t want doom and gloom to rain on her parade. “I’ve got a couple more you might appreciate.”

      “I—I—” He swallowed hard, reminding her of that serious, earnest boy she’d met on Bill’s boat who’d rarely spoken a word to anyone, who’d never smiled or joked around, but worked like a man possessed.

      It’d become her mission to break his concentration back then, to make him laugh, get him riled, just feel something. Her daredevil antics had finally worn him down until he’d loosened up, then opened up, prompting her to lower her guard, too.

      The old wound on her heart throbbed, a phantom pain, like a missing limb. It’s not there, she reminded herself. Those feelings. Gone now. Poof.

      “What’s going on, Nolee?”

      “Dunham Seafoods is giving me another boat.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop along to the beat of the band’s Lynyrd Skynyrd cover and raised her chin a notch.

      He frowned. “They just happen to have one they hadn’t bothered putting out this year?”

      She shrugged, looking as unconcerned as possible. “It needs a few repairs.”

      “How many?” he asked heavily.

      “I