cabins the boat had before he'd invited her.
Oddly enough, she was more curious to hear his explanation than angry. Climbing to the deck, she blinked in the bright sunlight and briefly took note of the activity going on around them in the marina. Shading her eyes with one hand, she finally located Shane near the front-was that port or starboard, or bow or stem?-of the boat. He'd shed his slacks and stood clothed in a pair of white swim trunks. He was busily engaged in untangling a pile of ropes.
Robyn picked her way carefully along the deck toward him, avoiding more tangles of rope. Reaching his side, she inquired with deliberately deceptive calm, "Weren't we going to try to be friends?"
"Sure." He cast a sidelong look at her, and Robyn had no trouble reading the mischief in his eyes.
"Then tell me something-friend. Why did you lie about there being two cabins on this boat?"
"I didn't exactly lie." He threw her another glance, then bent his attention back to the rope in his hands. "I said we'd have separate cabins. My cabin's out here; I'll sleep on deck."
"On deck?" she exclaimed as though he'd just proposed sleeping in the ocean. "You can't do that!"
"Why not? The weather's supposed to be fine, and I've certainly slept in worse places."
"But-"
"As a matter of fact, I'll probably be more comfortable than you. The cabin tends to get stuffy at night."
"But-"
Cutting her off smoothly, he murmured, "And you wouldn't want to share the cabin, now, would you?"
Robyn opened her mouth to suggest just that, and then suddenly acquired the suspicion that she was being neatly maneuvered. Beginning to be able to read his expression and subtle body-language, she studied his faint smile and the almost imperceptible tension in his lean body. So he was plotting, was he?
Smiling sweetly, she folded her arms, careful to keep her feet solidly apart on the shifting deck. "I wouldn't think of it," she returned politely. "Why would I deprive you of the pleasure of sleeping out under the stars?"
He turned to look at her, and she nearly giggled at the look of almost comic dismay on his face. "You're not going to let me get away with much, are you?" he murmured wryly.
"Not if I can help it. But don't worry-when this trip's over, you'll be stronger in character." She reached up to give his cheek a friendly pat, and she nearly gasped at the almost electrifying sensation of flesh on flesh. Hurriedly drawing back her hand, she feigned interest in what he was doing with the ropes. "Can I help?" she asked brightly.
He stared at her for a moment, the green eyes strangely dark, then flexed his shoulders abruptly as if throwing off an unwelcome hand... or thought. "No," he muttered, clearing his throat. "No, not right now. We won't be able to raise the sails until we clear the marina. Have a seat in the stern until we're ready to cast off."
Since the only seat she could see-an L-shaped bench-was in the back of the boat, Robyn assumed that that was the stern. Her nerves jumping after the unexpectedly stimulating sensation of touching him, she wasn't about to protest his order. A little shakily, she made her way to the stern and sank down onto the padded bench.
Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She was about to spend several days alone on a boat with a man, and she couldn't even touch him casually without experiencing a heart-stopping shock! She had a funny feeling that their undemanding "friendship" wasn't going to last very long. Her only hope was to keep things light and humorous-and to avoid touching him as much as possible.
Shane had been right-in her case, anyway. Her instincts were in turmoil. After a year of terror for her husband and a year of grief after his death, she had come alive again-extremely so. And she was all too aware of Shane's magnetic, sensual appeal.
Wide-eyed, she watched him moving about the boat, taking note of his catlike grace and sure motions. She remembered his lion's growl, shivering as her nerve endings
Oddly enough, she was more curious to hear his explanation than angry. Climbing to the deck, she blinked in the bright sunlight and briefly took note of the activity going on around them in the marina. Shading her eyes with one hand, she finally located Shane near the front-was that port or starboard, or bow or stem?-of the boat. He'd shed his slacks and stood clothed in a pair of white swim trunks. He was busily engaged in untangling a pile of ropes.
Robyn picked her way carefully along the deck toward him, avoiding more tangles of rope. Reaching his side, she inquired with deliberately deceptive calm, "Weren't we going to try to be friends?"
"Sure." He cast a sidelong look at her, and Robyn had no trouble reading the mischief in his eyes.
"Then tell me something-friend. Why did you lie about there being two cabins on this boat?"
"I didn't exactly lie." He threw her another glance, then bent his attention back to the rope in his hands. "I said we'd have separate cabins. My cabin's out here; I'll sleep on deck."
"On deck?" she exclaimed as though he'd just proposed sleeping in the ocean. "You can't do that!"
"Why not? The weather's supposed to be fine, and I've certainly slept in worse places."
"But-"
"As a matter of fact, I'll probably be more comfortable than you. The cabin tends to get stuffy at night."
"But-"
Cutting her off smoothly, he murmured, "And you wouldn't want to share the cabin, now, would you?"
Robyn opened her mouth to suggest just that, and then suddenly acquired the suspicion that she was being neatly maneuvered. Beginning to be able to read his expression and subtle body-language, she studied his faint smile and the almost imperceptible tension in his lean body. So he was plotting, was he?
Smiling sweetly, she folded her arms, careful to keep her feet solidly apart on the shifting deck. "I wouldn't think of it," she returned politely. "Why would I deprive you of the pleasure of sleeping out under the stars?"
He turned to look at her, and she nearly giggled at the look of almost comic dismay on his face. "You're not going to let me get away with much, are you?" he murmured wryly.
"Not if I can help it. But don't worry-when this trip's over, you'll be stronger in character." She reached up to give his cheek a friendly pat, and she nearly gasped at the almost electrifying sensation of flesh on flesh. Hurriedly drawing back her hand, she feigned interest in what he was doing with the ropes. "Can I help?" she asked brightly.
He stared at her for a moment, the green eyes strangely dark, then flexed his shoulders abruptly as if throwing off an unwelcome hand... or thought. "No," he muttered, clearing his throat. "No, not right now. We won't be able to raise the sails until we clear the marina. Have a seat in the stern until we're ready to cast off."
Since the only seat she could see-an L-shaped bench-was in the back of the boat, Robyn assumed that that was the stern. Her nerves jumping after the unexpectedly stimulating sensation of touching him, she wasn't about to protest his order. A little shakily, she made her way to the stern and sank down onto the padded bench.
Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She was about to spend several days alone on a boat with a man, and she couldn't even touch him casually without experiencing a heart-stopping shock! She had a funny feeling that their undemanding "friendship" wasn't going to last very long. Her only hope was to keep things light and humorous-and to avoid touching him as much as possible.
Shane had been right-in her case, anyway. Her instincts were in turmoil. After a year of terror for her husband and a year of grief after his death, she had come alive again-extremely so. And she was all too aware of Shane's magnetic, sensual appeal.
Wide-eyed, she watched him moving about the boat, taking note of his catlike grace and sure motions. She remembered his lion's growl, shivering as her nerve endings
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