her to stay out of his way. Once they laid out the ground rules, there’d be no trouble at all.
2
GLYNNA SET HER ALARM to go off an hour early Friday morning. While she filled a suitcase with swimsuits, sundresses and sandals, she returned three phone calls from business associates, and made dinner reservations for her father and a client at his favorite restaurant. Then she faxed the reservation information and some marketing projections he’d asked her to compile to his office, so they’d be waiting for him when he came in promptly at eight o’clock.
She was headed to her car when she remembered she was supposed to call the dry cleaners to ask them to deliver her father’s suits to his office. She started to turn around and head back upstairs to retrieve the number, then stopped herself. Her father was a grown man. It wouldn’t kill him to call about his own cleaning.
Buoyed by this minor rebellion, she drove ten miles over the speed limit and joined the crowd gathered at Pier Six in Galveston with two minutes to spare.
She stepped into the sea of hand-holding couples dressed in tropical prints and khaki and felt like the lone unicorn in line for the ark. “There you are,” said a familiar, masculine voice. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”
She whirled and almost collided with Jake Dawson. Dressed in khaki shorts, a Shiner Bock beer T-shirt and sandals, his shaggy hair tousled by the ocean breeze, he might have been a frat boy on vacation. Only the scuffed leather camera bag slung over his shoulder hinted that he wasn’t your typical beachcomber. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He hefted the bag. “I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to shoot you in a swimsuit.” His gaze took in the tailored sundress that left her shoulders and legs bare. “This is the first time I’ve seen you out of the corporate uniform.” He grinned. “I like it.”
“As if I was really worried about your opinion,” she said, even as her cheeks warmed in a blush she told herself had nothing to do with his praise or the way his eyes continued to linger on her. She turned away from him, facing out over the bay. A stiff breeze tugged at her hair, bringing the scents of salt, fish and diesel fumes from the shrimp boats trawling in the distance. “Stacy didn’t tell me she’d assigned you to photograph this story.”
“She said she wanted the best. That would be me.”
His arrogance grated, but Glynna had to admit the truth in his words. She should have known Stacy would want their top photographer for this piece. Fine. They each had separate jobs to do. It wasn’t as if they’d be spending a lot of time together this weekend.
“Here’s the Queen Mary now.” Jake moved to stand beside her and nodded toward the large white yacht steaming toward them. He let out a low whistle. “Must be some money in this romantic fantasy business.”
“Do you have something against romance?” she asked.
He adjusted the bag on his shoulder. “Let’s just say my idea of what’s romantic doesn’t necessarily coincide with the hearts-and-flowers schmaltz that’s marketed as such.” He cut his eyes to her. “What about you? Underneath that stern exterior, do you harbor secret longings for pink cupids, red roses and tear-jerking love ballads?”
A laugh escaped her before she quite knew what was happening. His pleased grin sent a rush of warmth through her. She shook her head, still chuckling. “Cupids and ballads I can do without. But what woman doesn’t like roses?”
The yacht had docked and was tying off, so she picked up her suitcase and followed the other couples toward it. Jake strode after her. “Roses are so predictable,” he said. “I thought you’d have more imagination.”
She started to tell him she’d be happy with any flowers any man took the trouble to send her, but thought better of it. She’d had little experience with romance in her life, but he didn’t need to know that.
A Captain Davies welcomed them aboard the Free-bird. “Our travel time to La Paloma is about twenty minutes, so sit back and make yourselves comfortable,” he said.
Glynna settled onto a cushioned bench in the bow and Jake sat beside her, his hip almost touching hers. She wanted to move over, but they were sandwiched between pairs of cuddling newlyweds, so she settled for avoiding looking at him, focusing instead on the white-capped waves scudding toward them. The wind had picked up, and she was forced to twist her hair to one side and hold it back to keep it from whipping into her eyes.
The motor started and the yacht eased out of the slip, then turned and headed across the bay. Glynna gasped as the boat rose and fell in the rough seas. Waves slapped against the hull and spray arched back over the bow, splashing her feet.
Her stomach rolled with the boat, and she wondered if skipping breakfast had been such a good idea. Then again, if she’d eaten, would she feel even worse?
She clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, determined not to embarrass herself by being seasick in front of Jake and all these strangers.
“Don’t close your eyes.” His voice was soft in her ear as he took her hand in his.
Her eyes snapped open and she turned to stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t close your eyes. It’ll only make things worse.”
She pulled her hand from his and smoothed it down her knee. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look it. You’re a sickly gray color and you’re sweating.” He put his hands on her shoulders and faced her forward. “Focus on the horizon, not the waves. That will help.”
She did as he suggested, though her stomach still threatened to betray her.
“You never answered me about the roses,” he said, his hands still on her shoulders, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “Are they really your favorite?”
She blinked at this sudden change of subject and tried to think. “Dahlias,” she said after a moment. “I like dahlias.”
“Why do you like them?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head in annoyance. “What does it matter?”
“There must be a reason. Think.”
She tried to concentrate on the question and not on her queasy stomach or the tossing boat or the slapping waves. “My mother grew them,” she said after a moment. “I can remember her making arrangements of them. Even then I liked the bright colors. They’re…exotic. A little wild.”
He was silent for so long, she wondered if he’d heard her. She looked back at him and found him studying her, the corners of his mouth quirked up in the beginnings of a smile. “Exotic. I can see there’s more to you than I expected.”
She started to ask what he meant by that, but the engines shut off and seconds later, they bumped against the dock. He stood and offered her his hand. “There. You made it. Once you’re back on land, you’ll feel fine.”
She allowed him to pull her to her feet. Already, her stomach felt more settled. As his hand at her back guided her toward the front of the boat, understanding dawned. She stopped and turned to him. “All those questions
