“His name is Max. His family’s from Argentina, but he’s American. He’s...” How to describe the man? “He’s very self-assured. Seemed like he didn’t care whether he got the job or not, and yet he’d flown all the way up from Seattle for an interview. Good pilot.”
“I don’t want his résumé. I mean, what’s he like?”
“Okay. He’s hot. Really hot.” She pushed her hair back. “He’s also a bit pushy. He asked me for dinner.”
“Already? You just met him.”
“I know.”
“Are you going?”
“He conned me. Made me feel like I’d be a snob if I didn’t go out with him, like I thought I was too good for him since my family owns the company. So of course I said yes to prove him wrong.”
“Well, the halibut is fresh tonight. Looks amazing.” There was no question they’d be eating in the Inn dining room. It was the only decent place to eat in Spruce Bay.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll try and scope him out while he’s here. I’m off tonight, so I can’t hang around the bar and watch how your date is going.”
“Thank goodness.”
She chuckled. “Besides, I can’t go near the restaurant. I’m on this juice diet. I see real food and I want to weep.”
“How long does this juice diet last?”
“As long as I can stand it. I’m on day two. If I make day three I’m treating myself to a big steak dinner as a reward.”
3
WHEN CLAIRE WALKED into the dining room of the Spruce Bay Inn, Max had a moment to enjoy the sight of her as she paused at the entrance to look for him. She was a truly lovely woman.
He hadn’t been certain she’d show up, but here she was, and she’d dressed for dinner, he noted, in a flowered dress. Her legs were bare and her sandals celebrated the short summer season.
She’d left her hair long so it swung when she moved. He rose from his seat at the bar, walked to greet her.
Max reached for her hand.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said.
She gave him a sideways look. “I always keep my promises.”
“Do you?” He thought of all the things he’d like her to promise him, decided he was getting ahead of himself. “Good.”
He held out a chair for her and she seated herself across from him in the lounge.
“What are you drinking?” she asked.
“A caipirinha. It’s Brazilian. Try it. Mostly rum and fruit juice.” He held out his glass. She glanced up at him, then took the glass and sipped.
“Mmm,” she said, then licked her lips. He felt a shaft of heat go right through him. If she’d done it deliberately to look sexy, the move would have left him cold. But her response was so natural, so unstudied that it caught at him. Made him wonder about how she might respond to other things.
What would she taste like when he kissed her? What kind of sounds would she make in bed? What would her skin feel like when he ran his fingers down her bare back? What did she look like when she came? The questions crowded his mind, as unbidden as they were inconvenient. He didn’t want to fall for this woman. He was here for business reasons. And yet, from the moment he’d seen her in the office, both dainty and tough, giving a thieving employee his walking papers, he’d felt inexplicably drawn to her.
But Max was enough of a romantic to understand that passion couldn’t be controlled or understood. You welcomed it when it came, like the bush pilots out here in Alaska welcomed the wild weather. You rode it, dove through it, embraced it.
“Would you like one?”
“Yes, please.”
He motioned to their waitress and ordered her a drink.
“You’re adventurous,” he said when he’d given the order.
“And you’re a charmer.”
She said it matter-of-factly, not in an accusing way. So, he tried to consider whether he was, in fact, a charmer. “I don’t consciously try to charm anyone.”
“You certainly charmed my grandmother.”
“I like your grandmother. She’s an amazing woman.”
She tilted her head to one side and her hair slid over her shoulders. “And I think you’re trying to charm me.”
“Do you suspect me of manipulation?” He shook his head. “It’s not my intention. I like you. I think you’re incredible. One day you’ll be like your grandmother.”
He could see she was pleased by the notion. “I hope so.”
“And I also find you very beautiful.”
“Definitely a charmer.”
“A truth-teller,” he corrected.
They moved to a window table for dinner. She ordered the halibut which their waitress told them was today’s special. He ordered steak with Alaska king-crab legs and she laughed at him. “That’s what the tourists order.”
“It’s my first day. Give me a break.”
He kept things light. Asked her about her family, her life. Tried to imagine her orphaned in the critical teenage years. Coming here to live with her grandparents. He admired them for doing such a good job, and he admired her for overcoming tragedy and becoming the woman she was.
“I only wish I hadn’t been an only child. It would have been nice to have a brother or sister to grow up with.” She was solemn a moment, then gazed at him with those hazel eyes. “What about you? Family? Brothers and sisters?”
“My parents came to the States before I was born. My dad was an airline mechanic. My mother taught Spanish and looked after my sister and me.
“I had two best friends growing up, Dylan and Adam, who are still my best friends. My parents were strict, but they loved us. My sister’s a teacher and she married a family friend. Moved back to Argentina.”
“And you’re a pilot.”
“Yes,” he said, because it was true. He was also a few other things, but there were some details he didn’t feel ready to share with her. Like the fact that he had more money than he could ever spend. Or that his company was thinking of buying her airline.
As they were finishing their main course, he saw her glance over at the bar and stiffen. He followed her gaze. Frank Carmondy was there, drinking what looked like neat scotch and glaring at Claire.
Max
