Ruined by the Seal(19)

She moved around her car, to the trunk, and opened the back door, lifting out a large basket covered in a checkered cloth.

"Hey!" he called out, raising his hand.

She waved back. "Hi."

He headed over there. "Can I take that?"

She shook her head. "It's not heavy. But there's a hibachi back there, too, would you get that?"

He stopped in front of her. He wanted to give her a kiss, but she gave  him a look, like … that wasn't a good idea. Fuck. He settled for rubbing  his knuckles lightly against her bare upper arm, from her elbow up the  silky curve of her skin to the fluttery cap sleeve on her blouse. "Sure  thing."

He grabbed the portable grill and closed the hatch on her car before following her through the house to the back deck.

She set the basket on the table and gave him a weak smile. "Corn and  pineapple, and some lobster, too. I thought we could get our grill on."

He grinned, happy as a stupid fool just to hear her voice and see her pretty face again. "I accept your apology."

"That's not what this is," she said softly, but her eyes sparkled. Finally.

"Sure it's not."

"I'm being nice."

"Okay." He raised one eyebrow. Spit it out, woman.

She licked her lips. "I don't think either of us has wronged the other here."

"You don't."

"No."

"Then why weren't you in my bed last night?"

"I was swamped. I had to make a presentation to the board this morning and I was working late … "

If she hadn't trailed off, he might have just believed her. But that  wasn't the whole story. And he was pretty sure it wasn't just last  night. "After we ‘get our grill on' …  Will you head back into town?"

She gave him a pleading look. "I think so, yes."

"Why?" He softened his voice as much as possible. "Cara, what happened yesterday?"

"I have a week," she burst out. "A week to document everything I did  here, how valuable this property is and why we should fight for it. And  those last two things? They don't even want me to do that, but I have  to. So I don't have time to be distracted by your arms and your smile  and your secretly sneaky kindness."

"I distract you?"

"Yes. And okay, fine, this is an apology dinner." She busied herself  unloading fruit and vegetables from the basket. He didn't miss that  she'd bought him beer, too. And the same brand he'd been enjoying.

He set his jaw. "But you're not saying sorry for yesterday."

"No."

"What are you making amends for, then?"

"I need you to let me be for the next week."

"Let you be."

"Yes."

"Alone?"         

     



 

"Just … don't distract me."

"With my arms and smile and … my kindness." His huff did a good job of  conveying what he thought of her excuse. This was crazy. "I don't get  it."

"I screwed up." Her eyes flared wide in her face and her lips drew  tight. He knew panic and fear well, and felt them and conquered them,  talked other guys through it on the battlefield.

He hadn't expected to see it here, like this. "I doubt that very much," he said softly.

"That's what the board thinks."

"What do you think?"

"That hardly matters."

"It matters a great deal."

She dropped her eyes, hiding her gaze.

"Hey, I'm not trying to make you fee bad. But mistakes happen. Human  error is a fact of life. We learn from it and we get better. It doesn't  need to be about blame."

"You haven't met the Miralinda Historical Society," she muttered.

"I'm not sure I want to if they're asshats."

She laughed weakly.

"Whatever you need to do to fix this with them, I can help you."

"It's complicated."

"Pretty sure that part of it is damn simple, kitten."

She stopped unpacking and pressed her slim hands to her cheeks. "Stop that."

"What am I doing?"

"Don't call me kitten, don't try to seduce me, just … let me deal with  this, okay? And then once it's done … " She whirled around, facing him,  and he took a step back at the emotions rioting on her face. Her eyes  were full of tears. "I'm going to lose my job, Mick. I can't give  anything less than a hundred percent this week. And if I give any part  of myself to you … "

"Okay." God, that hurt. He held his hands out wide. No tricks up his  sleeve. "You know me. I'm not going anywhere. I'll lay on the beach, out  of your hair, and when you're in a better place … call me."

The tears breached her eyelids then, flooding her cheeks, and he crossed the deck, pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Cara, I'm so sorry." He held himself back from  kissing her hair. Just a friendly hug, that was all. "You want a beer?  Want to tell me about what happened today?"

She shook her head. "No. To talking, I mean. Yes-hell, yes-to the beer."

He let go of her, his heart cracking as she slid out of his arms.

"I don't think you're lazy," she said quietly as he twisted the caps off  two bottles of beer. "I may have a habit of lashing out, verbally. I do  owe you an apology for that, and probably more than once."

He handed her one. "You're on the defense, and with good reason. I'm not  going to sweat it. Plus you brought me dinner. Unless you want me to  cook?"

She laughed. "I can handle it."

He peered more closely at the lobster. "Is it already cooked?"

"Shhh. That's the secret to my culinary skills-outsourcing."

As she wrapped the corn and prepped the pineapple onto skewers, she told  him about the fish shop in town that parboiled the lobsters for her.

"So all I need to do is mix up the jerk rum butter, slather, et voila … impress you."

He was impressed all right. "Tell me more," he said, settling back in one of the chairs as she lit the grill. "In French."

"As-tu faim?" She smiled at him as she put the corn on first, then  lowered the lid. "That means, are you hungry? This will take about half  an hour, so I hope only a little."

"Oui." Yes, he said, dragging out one of the few french phrases he'd  learned. The others-Mettez vos mains, put your hands up, and mettez  votre arme, put your gun down-had no place here. "I am a little hungry."

She turned back to her prep work, pulling out a small pot, into which  she put butter, onion, and red pepper, and his mouth watered. Not for  the food, although his stomach insisted he was hungry for that, too. But  the twist of her hips in that skirt-the buttoned up librarian look  worked for her.

He wanted to undo every last button and explore the tight confines of that skirt with her perched in his lap.

And she needed him to cool it for a week.

It would take a Herculean effort, but he'd give her that.

"Tell me more about the sauce," he said abruptly, shoving his filthy  thoughts to the back of his mind. Couldn't turn them off, but he could  force them into a curtained off closet.

She lifted the lid on the grill and set the pot down. "First I'll melt  the butter, and start the onions and peppers cooking. Just to soften,  you know?"         

     



 

"That sounds great."

She leaned over the basket. Don't notice how her skirt pulls tight over  her ass. "Then we add … " She pulled out a bottle. "Rum, of course."

"Of course."

She laughed. "It is the Caribbean, after all."

"Rum and turquoise waters?"

"And laughter. You can't forget that."

He grinned. Would never forget that. "How about dancing?"

She did little sashaying step. "Of course. Do you like to go to clubs?"

"Not if it's techno crap. But I'd go dancing with you."

She made a satisfied little sound as her knees bent and her hips rolled.  He was ten seconds away from clearing the table and tossing her down on  it. So much for curtained off mind closets. She spun in a circle, then  pointed to him. "See? You're doing it again."

"Me? You're the one whose dancing like you learned to do it before you could walk. Those moves are illegal where I come from."

She laughed out loud, her teeth flashing white in her happy face. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Once everything falls into place-and I have a lot of faith in your  abilities, Cara, so I'm sure they will-you could take me dancing."

She tipped her head to the side. "I will."

"Then it's a date. So … what do you do with the rum?" He pointed to the pot on the grill. "Add it to that?"

"Mmm-hmm." She nodded and carefully poured in two measures. "And then jerk spice mix."

"Hot."

"You know it. And finally a good squeeze of lime. And we'll have more  lime wedges on the side, too." She turned her attention to the lobsters.  "Okay, these are next. And then dinner is just ten minutes away. Will  you get plates?"