the right touch, the one she’d waited for, dreamed of, thought might be an illusion.
Bells rang. Or rather, one bell rang, quite persistently.
He lifted his mouth from hers.
Slowly she opened her eyes to gaze up at him.
“Lunch,” he murmured.
She struggled to speak. “Let’s…skip it.”
“If we…” He paused to take a deep breath. “If we don’t go up, they’re liable to come down after us.”
“Oh.”
He stroked his thumb across her nipple. “I meant what I said.”
“Okay.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she absorbed the ecstasy of that gentle caress. “About what?”
“I’m not going to make love to you.”
She clenched her jaw. She’d gone and forgotten her mission again. This was going to be a tougher assignment than she’d thought. “That’s good, because I’m not going to make love to you, either.”
“You’re not?” He sounded disappointed.
She opened her eyes and strengthened her resolve. “Nope.”
“Is that reverse psychology?”
“It’s the truth.”
“So no matter how I coaxed you, you’d say no.”
“That’s right.” Scooting out from under him, she sat up and reached behind her back to refasten her bra.
He cleared his throat. “Well, then we both understand each other.”
“I think we do.” She glanced down at the stain on her blouse. It should be put to soak or it might be permanent, and this was a good blouse.
“I’m glad we cleared the air and settled everything.”
“Me, too.” She’d just take the blouse off and rinse it, she decided.
“And I think it’s—what are you doing?”
“Taking off my blouse. What does it look like?”
“Natalie, please don’t do that.”
“I need to put it in some water to soak or it will be ruined.” Carrying the blouse, she walked back to the galley.
“How do you expect me to stick to my decision if you’re going to parade around practically naked?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m sticking to mine. But if it bothers you so much, why don’t you bring me my sweatshirt?”
“Okay.”
She found a little liquid soap and rubbed it vigorously into the spot.
“Here’s your sweatshirt.”
She glanced up and noticed his gaze riveted on her cleavage.
He shoved the sweatshirt at her. “Please.”
She dried her hands on a nearby towel and took the sweatshirt. “Thanks.” Then she pulled it over her head and fluffed her hair with her fingers.
He leaned in the doorway of the galley, watching her. “I like your hair.”
“Me, too. Just wash, dry and go.”
He nodded, as if he approved of that approach. “Why are you worried about the blouse? Couldn’t you just buy another one?”
“I don’t operate that way. I like this blouse, and I might not find another one exactly like it, so I’d rather take care of this one and make sure I have it for a while.”
He gazed at her, his expression speculative. “You don’t talk like rich women usually talk. Or the way I imagine they would.”
“Maybe you’re stereotyping.”
“Maybe I am.” He pushed away from the doorjamb. “Let’s go up on deck and have some lunch.”
“The TV people may still be hanging around.”
He shrugged those broad shoulders. “Then they’ll get boring footage of two people eating.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Besides, she had to get out of this cozy little cabin. She headed for the stairs. “Maybe the best way to get rid of them is to go up there and demonstrate there’s nothing going on between us.”
“Yeah, right.”
Something in his tone made her glance back at him.
He looked defensive. “Okay, I think it’s stupid that you paid all that money to spend time with me, but I have to admit it’s kind of a turn-on, too.”
“No, really?” She gave him an exaggerated look of surprise and breezed past him up the stairs.
LUNCH WAS SOMETHING right out of the movies, Jonah thought, and he was sitting across from a starlet in casual clothes and dark glasses. To complete the illusion, they had a camera crew keeping pace with the Satin Doll.
“Just ignore them,” Natalie said. She picked up a jumbo shrimp and dipped it in cocktail sauce.
“I guess you’re right.” He thanked Suzanne, who’d just refilled his champagne flute. Then he spread a cracker with warm Brie. “Why should we ruin a great meal like this worrying about being on Candid Camera?” Natalie looked terrific, he thought. The breeze ruffled her short hair and brought a pink blush to her cheeks.
Or maybe the blush had something to do with that scene in the cabin. God, she was hot. Apparently she was as turned on by this bizarre situation as he was. Maybe that was her motivation in the first place, to buy a guy for the weekend and tease him to death. She could be into power.
If so, she was on a roll. Watching her dip another plump shrimp in cocktail sauce and nibble her way to the tail was giving him an erection.
“Do you have a job?” he asked. Mundane conversation might keep his mind off sex.
“Of course.” She wiped her fingers on her napkin. “I’m a stockbroker.”
“You must be pretty good at it.”
“I do okay.” She peeled a leaf from her steamed artichoke and dipped it in melted butter. “How about you? I know all firefighters don’t do the same job. What’s your specialty?”
He struggled to remember her question as she raked the meat off the artichoke leaf with her even white teeth. Either all the food was designed to be sensuous or he was becoming obsessed. “I’m the forcible-entry man.”
“Really?” Her mouth turned up at the corners. “That sounds very macho.”
“It’s
