pulse skipped at the way he said her name, the syllables lingering on his tongue as if he was savoring them. Should she? It was only a drink, but the force of her response to him made her skittish. She’d had a couple of serious boyfriends, but none of them had made her entire body hum with sensual current the way this man did. If she wasn’t careful, the handsome Captain Doyle might end up breaking her heart.
But if her parents’ deaths had taught her anything, it was that life was short. She made her decision and spoke before she could change her mind. “I’d like that. Please, have a seat.” She pointed to the vacant chair across from her.
Doyle hid his sigh of relief as he joined Violet at the table. For a moment he’d been sure she was going to refuse him. She seemed nervous, and he decided he needed to make more of an effort to put her at ease.
“Thank heaven you’re kind enough to give me the chance to redeem myself,” he said with mock solemnity, purposely thickening his accent. “I promise to be on my best behavior from now on. Doyle Thresher, at your service.” He held his hand out in a formal gesture.
He ruined it by winking at her and Violet laughed. She took his proffered hand, the brief contact sending a tingle of electricity zinging across her skin.
“Well, you already know I make my living giving tours on the Ocean Magic,” he continued in a light tone. “So what do you do, Miss Violet Hendrickson? It is Miss, isn’t it?” he added with a cheeky grin.
Her lips twitched with humor. “I teach fourth grade at an elementary school in Boynton Beach, a couple of hours north of here. And yes, my students call me Miss Hendrickson.”
“A prim and proper school teacher,” Doyle teased, “now I’ll really have to watch my P’s and Q’s. Ah, here comes your drink.”
The smiling waitress carefully placed a fresh mojito in front of Violet and whisked away her empty glass. “The food’s coming right up,” she promised before turning to Doyle. “Can I get you anything?”
Doyle eyed Violet’s strange concoction. There seemed to be a bunch of leaves mixed in with the ice and someone had stuck a twig in it. “Just your special on draft tonight, please. And a large order of hot wings with fries.”
“They have the best wings here,” he confided to Violet. “So what exactly is that you’re drinking? It appears to be sprouting some manner of foliage.”
Violet chuckled. “It’s a mojito—rum, sugar syrup, lime, mint leaves and club soda.”
“And why is there a twig in it?” he asked dubiously.
She snorted in mirth. “It’s sugar cane, but it doubles nicely as a garnish and a stir. Here, try it. It’s actually quite refreshing.” She pushed the glass across the table.
He wrinkled his nose in a charmingly boyish gesture. “I suppose you’re one of those people who insists you have to try something before you can say you don’t like it.”
“I am,” Violet agreed with a grin. Then she added, “Unless it’s made from the internal organs of animals. I draw the line there.”
He considered her with silent amusement. “What about liver and onions? Now there’s a tasty dish. It was one of my mum’s specialties when I was growing up. Have you ever tried it?”
“No.” Her face scrunched up in disgust and she shook her head.
“Haggis?” he inquired innocently. “Ever tried that?”
“Blech.” Violet made an involuntary sound of revulsion.
“Then how do you know you don’t like it? You realize you’re breaking your own rules, here, Violet.” He feigned a disappointed sigh. “That’s not very prim and proper of you. Doesn’t set a good example for the impressionable youth with which you’ve been entrusted.”
Violet smirked. “You’re stalling, Doyle.” She picked up the glass and held it out to him. “And there’s nothing disgusting in a mojito. Try it. You’ll like it.”
“What about the sticks and leaves!” he exclaimed. “I prefer my beverages a little less…nature-y.”
She tilted her head at him, an irresistible challenge in her gaze. He met her eyes and held them as he reached for the icy glass. His warm fingers brushed her cool ones. She made to pull away, but he slid his forefinger over hers, gently imprisoning it, as he leaned forward to take the straw between his lips. His teasing look melted into something deeper, and far more enticing.
He pulled a slow draw of the liquid, brushing his finger over hers in an unhurried caress that hinted at a heady world of possibilities and sent molten desire cascading through her belly. He released the straw, his finger continuing to draw lazy circles over hers, his eyes smoldering with heat and promise.
“You’re right.” The husky timbre of his voice was languid with seduction. “That was nice. Sweet. I wouldn’t mind a bit more.”
Violet could scarcely breathe as they stared at each other, the air between them crackling with intensity. She jerked back to reality as the waitress brought Doyle’s beer, forcing herself to pull away as another server stepped up with their food. By the time they were alone again, she was flushed with embarrassed uncertainty. Had she made more out of his attentions than was really there?
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
Doyle had only intended a bit of light teasing to make Violet feel more comfortable, but as soon as he looked into her eyes and his hand brushed against hers, he was ensnared. It was as if her touch held the power to bewitch him, stripping away all else and reducing him into a torrent of need.
Her skin had taken on a sun-kissed glow from her afternoon on the water, and he could just see a tantalizing edge of delicate lace peeking out from beneath the strap of her top. His fingers itched for the excuse to smooth across her shoulder and tuck it back into place. The thought of touching her bare, satiny flesh drove him wild.
But the bedeviled waitress had come back at the worst possible moment, and Violet had pulled away again. He could have shouted with the frustration of it. He took a bracing breath and reminded himself that he needed to go slow with her. She was still grieving for her parents. And he was supposed to be protecting her, not seducing her. She was an innocent young woman, a schoolteacher, for heaven’s sake!
She looked uncomfortable, and it was his fault. He racked his brain for a way to put her back at ease. He couldn’t pretend there hadn’t been a moment between them. That would only make things worse. He decided it would be best to try to pick up where they had left off in conversation, neither drawing attention to, nor denying, the episode.
He caught her eyes as she took a nervous sip from her straw, and he gave her a somewhat sheepish smile. “I’ll know better than to question your taste in beverages next time,” he told her softly.
He was rewarded with a shy grin.
“Now you have to try my wings, unless you don’t think you can handle the heat,” he goaded.
“Bring it on,” she taunted, dipping a french-fry in ketchup and popping it into her mouth.
Doyle studied her surreptitiously as he chose a drumette and rolled it in hot sauce before
