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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter One

Jeanie Leslie & Associates, Career Consultants.

Marian Crane glared at the sign as she slammed through the door, ignored the young woman who looked up startled from her typewriter, and ignored the bitten off question that arose. She pushed open the door of Jeanie's office and said, "Do me one big favor!"

"What's that?"

"Find Rolph McKenzie, marina operator, boat broker and egomaniac an assistant who'll sabotage his business, sink his boat and break his heart."

Jeanie grimaced. "Turned you down, huh? I was afraid of that. The trouble is, he thinks he can do it all on his own. But those of us who know him and care for him know he can't, that he's making himself ill trying."

"He turned me down all right. Flat. And insulted me in the bargain."

"Sorry, kiddo," Jeanie said with a sigh. "I shouldn't have let Max talk me into sending you. I don't blame you for being hurt."

"I'm not hurt, I'm mad!" Marian slammed her bright red purse onto Jeanie's desk and flung herself into the deep chair Jeanie kept for guests. She kicked off her bold red shoes and lifted one foot onto the opposite knee, rubbing it. "I'm so mad I've spent the past hour walking, hoping to burn off some of it, but it just keeps getting bigger and bigger inside me until I want to explode!"

"You're hurt," said Jeanie decisively, "and I'd be, too. What did he say?"

"That he didn't want some butterfly brain who didn't know a halyard from a half-hitch!"

Jeanie pursed her lips and swiped a hand over her messy bush of uncontrollable hair. "Oh!" Her eyes widened. "Okay, I agree. You're mad." She sat back, folded her hands and cocked her head to one side. "Where to, now?"

Marian shrugged and massaged the other foot. "I don't know. Maybe the Sorbonne? What about the Australian outback? Or Antarctica. I've never been there."

"Quitting? Giving up?"

"Maybe. What's the use? He can't...see me. I mean, he looks at me and sees me at fourteen, with skintight jeans and hair in my eyes and six earrings in each ear. Dammit, Jeanie, I went down there today meaning to be noticed. I mean, look at me! Drop dead gorgeous white shantung suit that still manages to look businesslike, accessories that match, and I mean match, and an all-new, totally elegant hairstyle, subtle but effective makeup and perfume, and what did I get? He tousled my hair! He called me 'kitten'! He as good as told me to run along and play with my dollies because he had women coming in."

Angrily, she plucked pins from her hair and let it swing back down around her shoulders, shaking her head to spread it out.

"Oh, I was noticed all right. One man dripped white paint all over his toes, to say nothing of his teak deck. Another one dropped his screwdriver overboard. I got more whistles than at a truck stop and eyeballs rolled along the wharf after me. But from my good old friend Rolph McKenzie, what did I get? Mussed up hair and a belly laugh!

"What am I going to have to do to catch that man's attention, Jeanie? Strip naked and waggle my tail?"

Jeanie would have laughed if it hadn't been for the wobble in Marian's voice showing how close the younger woman was to tears. The phone rang and Jeanie reached out to pick it up, smiling as she said, "Max! Hi, darlin'. What's up?"

On the far side of the big office, in an alcove set up with a portable crib, plus a loveseat and chair, little Christopher woke up from his nap, rolled over and babbled cheerfully.

"May I?" Marian mouthed silently and Jeanie nodded before returning her attention to the phone.

"Come here, sweet thing." Bending, Marian picked the baby up, cuddling him as she curled on the loveseat, her back to the room. She rocked the baby, her head bent low as she breathed in his sweet scent and took comfort from his warm weight against her. She wanted a baby! She wanted one so bad she hurt. But the trouble was, until Christopher was born, she hadn't even suspected that she had a biological clock, let alone that it had started ticking. And an even greater problem was that whenever she thought of having a baby, she could only see herself doing it if Rolph McKenzie were its father.

Rolph McKenzie! She'd been utterly out of her mind to let Max, Rolph's brother, talk her into approaching him for work. But dammit, they were all old friends and when Max, despairing of his brother's ever finding a sorely needed assistant, jokingly suggested that Marian, who wanted a job, should apply, she'd let herself be persuaded.

With a deep sigh, she continued to rock Christopher as he nuzzled and snuggled and made soft, sweet baby sounds that made her ache deep inside. She thought about her arrival that morning at Rolph's office high above the swaying boats in his marina....

She hadn't been afraid. Nervous, of course, but filled with hope. Max had assured her she wouldn't have any problem at all convincing Rolph he needed to hire her. Rolph, Max said, was desperate for some help. He didn't know, of course, how desperate Marian was to work with his brother, but Jeanie, Marian thought, had at least some idea. She'd paved the way by reading parts of Marian's resume to Rolph a few days ago, but as he so frequently did, he'd claimed not to have time to interview "the candidate", which was all Jeanie had called her. Still, he'd sounded impressed with the qualifications listed on that resume.

Oh, sure! He'd been impressed all right.

He'd been leaning against the waist-high wall surrounding the deck outside his new home-cum-office, a building set on tall pilings at the end of the longest wharf in Sunrise Marina. His eyebrows had lifted high when he realized who she was, and he'd come halfway down the steep ramp to take her hand and help her to the top.

"Hi," she'd said brightly. "The place looks great." It wasn't the first time she'd been in the marina since he'd taken it over four years before, but the first since he'd had his building constructed, the wharves redecked and all the railings painted. The refurbishing had done wonders. He even had a bright green burgee with the Marina logo on it flying over the green roof of his house.

"Thanks," he said, drawing her up onto the deck that surrounded his house on four sides. He didn't smile, but swept his clear green gaze over her from the top of her blonde hair to the toes of her red shoes. "Don't you have more sense than to come to a marina dressed like that?"

She glanced down at herself. "Like what?"

His mouth tightened. His brows, a shade or two darker than his blond hair, drew together. "Like...the way you are. In front of all those men. Didn't you see the way they looked at you?" He didn't appear to expect an answer, because he swept on. "This isn't a garden party down here, you know."

"I'm not dressed for a garden party," she said, flicking an invisible bit of lint from the lapel of her suit. Of course she'd noticed that she'd been noticed. That was what she'd come for. But she'd wanted the looks to come from him, not strangers.

"I'm dressed for a job interview." She paused, met his gaze and added, "With you."

"What?" He gaped at her then laughed with little humor. That was part of the problem his brother had lamented. Rolph had completely lost his sense of humor, so wrapped up was he in work. "What kind of joke is that?"

"It's no joke." She pushed open the door with the gilt letters reading Sunrise Marina and Boat Brokerage, and stepped through. Rolph followed her inside.

"Marian, I don't have time for games this morning."

She swung the door shut. "Neither do I. You are interviewing, today, I believe?"

"Yes, I am, but not you," he said flatly, waving her toward a seat on a brown tweed sofa in the corner farthest from the untenanted desk. "What would I want to interview you for, for Pete's sake?"

Marian looked at him, thinking of several things for which he could interview her. There were any number of positions in his life she felt capable of filling. Any number of positions in her life she thought he'd do well in. But that was another story. Today, what she wanted was a job. First things first.

She sat on the sofa, looking up at him. "You need an assistant, don't you?"

He looked startled. "Well, yes, I guess I do, but not you."

"I'm wounded," she said lightly. "Why not me?"

"Why not you?" He stared at her. She could tell he still thought she was kidding. "Quite a few reasons, but first among them is that you don't have any experience in any of the jobs I'm offering and--" Suddenly, he grinned. "Oh, hah! It is a joke, isn't it? Jeanie sent you!"

Marian nodded. "Yes. So you see, I'm completely serious about this."

He laughed. "Sweetie, you haven't been serious a day in your entire life. You've been a professional student, flitting from school to school, from country to country, from..." She thought he was going to add "from man to man," and was ready to defend herself on that, but he let the sentence trail off and shook his head.

"I've had jobs," she said.

"Sure," he agreed, "you've held jobs, I know that, but have you ever done anything for more than a few months at a time? What, exactly, are you qualified for?"

She swallowed hard. What he said was true. She had spent too many years wandering, studying, becoming an education junkie, and ended up well qualified for no one thing and overqualified for too many things. But Jeanie thought she could do this, and Max agreed. Max had gone so far as to suggest that he could force Rolph to hire her, "protecting his investment." There, she'd drawn the line. Yes, she wanted to be with Rolph, and yes, she welcomed an opportunity to spend time with him, time during which maybe he would decide that she was a desirable woman, but she didn't want him to feel pressured into hiring her. She wanted him to take her on because she was the right person for the job.

"Jeanie thinks I'm qualified to help you and she should know. She's the expert in placing people in work situations, Rolph. When I told her I needed a job and showed her my resume, this was the first place she thought of."

He raised his brows. "Need? Why would a little girl with wealthy, indulgent parents need to work?"

"For one thing, I like to eat," she said tartly. "I like to pay the rent."

"Your parents charge you rent?"

"I moved out of their home about the same time as you moved into this place. I only stayed with them the past six months because Mom wasn't well. Now that her condition has stabilized, I've found a furnished apartment. She and dad need their privacy." Especially now that we know the time they have left together is limited, she thought, but refrained from mentioning it. She hated to think about it. Talking of it was impossible.

"Besides," she went on, "I like to have something productive to do. I realize you haven't noticed it, but I'm not a little girl anymore, and I haven't been dependent on my parents for a good many years." She drew a deep breath. "I have to stay in Victoria, Rolph. And if I'm to be here, I need to have something to do. I want to be on hand if my folks need me again." Not if, but when. But even the McKenzie family, close friends as they were to her parents, didn't know. That was the way her mother wanted it.

Something told her that if she told Rolph exactly why she needed a job, he'd give her one, but then he'd never let her work at it. He'd find ways to keep any kind of load from her shoulders and her purpose would be defeated. In these very difficult months to come, she wanted to be busy, involved, immersed in work so she wouldn't have too much time to think.

"That's admirable, honey, but there are lots of other places you could work. What about one of the volunteer organizations?"

She blew out an impatient breath as she got to her feet. "Dammit, I don't want to set up canvassing districts for the Heart Fund or walk puppy-dogs for the SPCA. I want a job to do, and you have one that needs to be done. Your brother, your parents, everyone who cares about you, is tired of seeing you run yourself into the ground. Max believes I can help you. He knows me as well as you do. Why can't you believe it too?"

Angrily, Rolph stood, too, driving his hand through his hair. "Max doesn't know the first thing about it! He had no right to send you."

"He didn't! Jeanie sent me, because you asked her to find someone for the position. You need me, Rolph. Max knows it. I know it. Jeanie knows it. Why can't you face it? You can't go on the way you are. Look at you!"

Grabbing his arm, she tugged him around until he faced the mirrored wall. Together, they gazed at his reflection and hers between two large potted palms. "You're getting old before your time. Your face is drawn, your cheeks hollow, your skin is pale except for the dark circles under your eyes. You look as if you haven't slept in a week and you need a haircut. When's the last time you had a date? When's the last time you had dinner with your family? When's the last time you took a day off and went sailing just for fun?"

He smoothed his spiky hair and looked away from his reflection. She could see he didn't want to listen. "I'm all right, Marian. It's been a lot of work getting this place built, worming my way through a maze of zoning restrictions, making sure the contractors did what I wanted when I wanted, and running two businesses at the same time. But now that I've got my office and home right here on the job-site, the pressures will ease off. Besides, I'm interviewing a bunch of fully qualified women today."

"Qualified for what? How do you know my qualifications aren't as good or better?"

He smiled then, gently, almost sadly, and took her arm, leading her back to the sofa where he sat beside her, holding her hand between his. He glanced at his gold watch then met her gaze. "I need a secretary and a receptionist. To my knowledge, you failed typing in high school. Twice. And without that, you didn't have the prerequisite to get into elementary shorthand, so as a secretary, I think you'd be a washout, don't you?"

Without waiting for a reply, he went on. "And receptionist? Your phone manner isn't too bad, I grant you that, but my receptionist is going to have to be junior office clerk as well. Can you file?"

"I've never been a file-clerk."

"I know you haven't," he said kindly. "So you see, it just wouldn't work; you lack even the most basic office skills. Hell, you can't even make a decent cup of coffee!" He smiled again as if to let her know it was a joke.

"I know I have no office skills," she said.

"I'm not here for either of those positions. You also need someone to help you run this brokerage."

He stared at her, disbelief warring with consternation in his eyes. She knew she had his full attention now.

"I need a--" he began, but she cut in swiftly.

"You need a knowledgeable person who can take over when you're out of town, one who can make decisions, one who can even make some of those out-of-town trips either with you or for you as the occasion arises. Right?"

He frowned. She knew she had just described exactly what he needed, but could see that the idea she could be that person was absurd to him. Before he could recover from his shock she continued.

"You also need someone who can deal with customers all over the world, often in languages other than English, someone capable of buying, of selling, of putting the right boat into the right hands at the right time. Someone with social connections not just here, which you have yourself, but overseas as well, to learn about up-market sales before they're advertised. We both know that's the way it works. The best properties seldom make it into classified ads. Transactions are made through grape-vine advertising."

Pausing, she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I also know I am that person, Rolph. I have come for that job."

He stared at her for several more seconds, then to her chagrin, burst out laughing and reached over to tousle her carefully constructed hairdo. "You? Oh, sweetie, that's cute. You? A boat broker? Come on, get serious and quit wasting my time." Getting to his feet, he strode to the desk he'd installed for his yet un-hired receptionist, took a notebook from the top drawer and printed a few neat words on it. Adding a piece of tape, he stuck it to the outside of the door.

"Now," he said, holding out his hand, "come on, squirt. I'll walk you up to your car."

Marian didn't move.

He waited, tapping the toe of his neat cordovan impatiently. "Marian, I'm not fooling. You have to leave."

"I believe you have a contract with Jeanie Leslie and Associates, Career Consultants?" she asked politely.

Rolph snorted angrily. "You go back and tell my dear sister-in-law that our contract is for her to find me office staff and a competent candidate for the position of assistant manager for Sunrise Brokerage and Marina, a person I might have a reasonable expectation of training to do the job, not some ditzy dame who doesn't know a halyard from a half-hitch!" As if for emphasis, the wind blew the door shut with a bang.

Marian snapped to her feet. "I resent that, Rolph. I have more and better qualifications than anybody you've agreed to interview to date."

"Ah," he said. "Now there's a key phrase, isn't it? Agreed to interview. I did not agree to interview you. And why? Because I was not informed that you were coming. Why wasn't I informed? Because you knew, and Jeanie knew, that if I'd known, you wouldn't have made it down the gangplank, much less the full length of the wharf."

She snapped open her purse and pulled out a folded sheaf of papers, slapping them on the back of the sofa before handing them to him. "My resume," she said. "I suggest you read it before you make a decision."

With a long-suffering sigh and another glance at his watch, he opened the folds in the papers and stared at the printed words. As she watched, a frown wrinkled his brow, his mouth twisted wryly, then he bit his lip. At length, he shook his head. He sat again, heavily, and finally looked at her. "Business degree?"

"That's right." Perching on the arm of the sofa, she smiled. "Achieved on one of those little college junkets this 'professional student' enjoyed. The same story for the sociology degree." He winced.

"Languages?"

"They're all down there." Even so, she listed them. "Swedish, French, German, Italian and Japanese. A smattering of Cantonese, Danish, Greek and Korean."

"When did you do all that?" His voice was hoarse.

"Remember our German cook? I learned that language from her, then took it in school for a couple of years. Same with French. I crewed one summer on a Swedish sailboat. Japanese, Chinese and Korean I took because it seemed like the thing to do when I was working on my business degree. A lot of business is trans-Pacific now. I learned Italian when I was studying art in Florence. I have a knack for languages and after the second or third, the others come easier. And for some reason, I never forget them, or they come back so quickly when I need them it's as good as not forgetting." She shrugged negligently. "It was sort of a parlor trick at first, then when I opened up that little boutique down near the ferry dock shortly after I came home last year, having different languages came in handy, what with all the tourists who came in."

"God," he said, shaking his head. "And I thought you'd been goofing off all those years. You're, well, phenomenal, I guess is the only word. By the way, what happened to that boutique? Did you go broke?"

"Oh, no! I sold it at a profit when Mom got worse and needed me at home all day. But I was ready to let it go. No challenge once it was on its feet." She frowned. "Though I did enjoy the selling aspect. I like selling things to people." She fixed an intent gaze on his stunned face. "I could do that, here. I know I could, Rolph."

"I sell boats," he said. "You know nothing about boats in spite of those summers crewing. I buy boats. I find boats for clients who trust my judgment. My assistant would have to do the same. What if I were over in Europe somewhere checking out a boat with a client and someone came in with one they wanted me to market for them? You'd be lost. You wouldn't recognize dryrot if it was in your shin."

She smiled again. "I can read a surveyor's report," she said, "and if I can't do it to your satisfaction, you could teach me to."

He chewed the inside of his lip and she could see he was considering it. Her heart beat faster, her palms grew damp, her mouth dry. She wanted this so much....

"All right, maybe you could learn to do that. But there's more to the job than surveyors' reports."

"I know." She leaned forward, ready to plead now. "You can teach me. A willingness to learn is half the battle, and I certainly have that. Give me a chance, Rolph. That's all I ask. Three months. Give me that long to prove myself."

Still with his brows drawn down, he looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "No. I can't."

Something in her snapped. "Dammit, why not? Is it because I'm a woman and you have some kind of built-in prejudice against hiring a woman?"

"Honey, you're not a woman," he said, then, as if warned by her stormy gasp of indignation, he pulled a face and laughed. "I mean, of course you're a woman, a...female, but you're...you're, well, Marian. My friend. Hell, I taught you how to ride your bike. I taught you how to roller skate. I even scratched the chicken pox you couldn't reach in the middle of your back. And I have no prejudice against women. If you're wondering why I'm still single at my advanced age, it's because women seem to have some kind of prejudice against me. And if I can't get along with one socially for more than a few minutes, how could I ever work successfully with one?"

He looked away, spoke as if to himself, musingly. "I don't understand women, though I've tried. Lord, how I've tried. I can't figure out what they want."

At his preposterous statement, she felt her anger cool and laughed. Who was he trying to kid? She'd spent a lifetime watching girls and women revolve through the lives of the McKenzie boys. "I understand Freud had that same problem. Tell you what," she added mischievously, going along with his game. "You hire me, give me a three-month training period, and I'll teach you what women want."

His chuckle was warm, his smile merely friendly as he said, "Forget it, kitten. Even if I don't have a real, deep-seated prejudice against hiring a woman, I do have one against hiring you. I need someone who'll stick to the job. I need someone who won't decide day after tomorrow that she's bored and wants to go to Japan and learn how to make silk kites, or to Paris to the Cordon Bleu School, or whatever fancy would strike your little butterfly heart some moment when I happened to need you desperately to perform some vital function in the business. Assuming," he added with a sly, teasing grin calculated to rile her, "that you'd be capable of performing a function that could be considered vital."

His careless words brought her back to her feet on a swift, stinging lash of hurt. She'd had more than enough of his teasing. If this was the way he treated all women, maybe he hadn't been fooling when he said he couldn't get along with them socially.

It was obvious he didn't have a glimmer of understanding. She'd come to him, been as serious as she knew how, had laid out in a clear, concise, businesslike manner a sound proposition that would benefit them both, and had expected him to respect it and her. Since he couldn't, or wouldn't, there was nothing more for her to do here.

"Fine," she said, tilting her chin up as she spun away from him. "Suit yourself. It's your loss, McKenzie."

At the door, she paused, turned back and said, "And I'll even give you lesson number one free: No woman likes to hear a man say she has a 'little butterfly heart'. No woman likes to have a man assume she's incapable of performing a vital function. And no woman will accept that kind of gratuitous insult anymore, Rolph McKenzie, least of all this one. I wish you teredoes in your keelson and mildew in your spinnaker. Good-bye!"

With that, she swung away from him, opened the door and banged it behind her, hoping she'd escaped before Rolph saw the tears that stung so hotly in her eyes.

* * *

"Damn him, damn him!" Marian muttered now, and jumped when Jeanie touched her shoulder.

"Hey, don't talk like that in front of my son. I want him to grow up to be a gentleman."

Marian looked up. "You've got your work cut out for you, then. This child's going to grow up to be a McKenzie." Again, tears filled her eyes and she lowered her head to Christopher's warmth. "Poor little guy."

Jeanie put her arm around her friend. "Ah, Marian... Things have a way of working out."

"Not for me they don't. Never for me."

That was the scene Rolph walked in on.

Chapter Two

With a pained, helpless glance at Jeanie, Rolph crouched before Marian, reached out and tucked a strand of her hair back behind one of her ears. "Hey," he said, when she lifted her head, startled. "I came to tell you I'm sorry. I acted like a jerk, and what I said was insulting, though I didn't mean it to be. I thought I was being funny. Forgive me?"

Shaking his hand off her, she shrugged. "Of course," she said in a frigid tone. Half-turning from him, she continued to rock Christopher, her hair curtaining her face again.

He stood erect, backing away. "You look good with a baby in your arms," he said, the words popping out before he could stop them. "Why don't you forget finding a job and find some nice boy to marry instead?"

With a strangled sound, Jeanie got up and slipped out of the office, unnoticed by the other two.

Marian lifted her head and gave Rolph a level look. "Any woman looks good with a baby in her arms. At least to a chauvinistic male. And if you think some 'nice boy' would hold my interest for long, think again." She stood and handed Christopher to him. "Here, take your nephew. I'll leave you and Jeanie to discuss strategy for the continued search for Rolph McKenzie's perfect assistant, should he even exist." She glanced around for her friend, surprised to discover she wasn't there.

Rolph took the baby, holding him expertly as Christopher squirmed and tried to get down. He followed Marian as she walked back across the room, and moved to keep himself between her and the door. "The search is over," he said. "At least for office staff. I hired the first secretary who came this morning and told her to choose an aide for herself out of the ones who came after."

Marian's green eyes flared with temper. "How nice for her. Can she type? Can she file? How's her telephone manner?"

"I didn't ask. I figured if Jeanie sent her to me, she was worth hiring. I...trust Jeanie's judgment."

"No kidding." With her toes, Marian turned her left shoe over and stepped back into it, found her right and donned that, too, giving herself the advantage of a few more inches of height. Gathering up her scattered pins from Jeanie's desk, she let them trickle from her hand into her purse.

"No kidding," he agreed, his green eyes fixed on her profile. "I trust her judgment about you, too, Marian. I want you to come and work with me."

Slowly, she turned. Just as slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face. After several silent moments, she said again with utterly no expression, "No kidding."

His mouth twisted up at one corner. "Oh, hell," he said. "You told me you'd forgiven me."

She snapped her purse closed. "I lied."

"Marian..."

She walked to the door, opened it, stepped through and closed it behind her, very, very quietly.

He caught her just as the elevator opened and stepped in after her, pushing the Close Door button, then the one for ground floor, his finger still on the first one.

"What do I have to do?" he said. "Grovel?"

She considered that. "It might help."

"I'm groveling. I'm abject. Forgive me."

She continued to ponder, her chin on her fist, her elbow resting on her other hand. Finally, she nodded. "I'll try. You'll buy me lunch?"

He grinned. "I'll buy you lunch every day for the rest of the month."

"If what?"

"If you forgive me."

"And?" Her eyes sparkled as she met his gaze.

His mouth twisted to one side again. There was, it seemed, no way out of it at all. "And come to work at the marina."

Her smile was radiant. For an instant, he felt its impact deep inside where he was most a man. Briefly, he recalled the sharp stab of desire that had clenched his innards this morning, watching her walk toward him along the wharf. Of course, the second he recognized Marian with her new hairstyle and color, it had died. But in those first moments, he, like every other man who'd watched her passage, had felt desire for a beautiful, enchanting woman. Dammit, the first time he'd experienced this response to Marian had been at Max and Jeanie's wedding. It had happened again at Jeanie's sister's wedding. Like a tide-rip it rattled his rigging and he didn't like it. Now, as he had the other times, he clamped down on it. This was Marian, for heaven's sake. He couldn't go responding to her the way he did to a datable woman.

It just wouldn't be right.

"For a three-month trial period," he added.

"Okay," she said. "It's a deal."

"Shake," he said, reaching out to enfold her hand in his, surprised to discover that she was trembling slightly. Hell, the poor kid really had wanted the stupid job. Oh, well, what were three months out of the whole scope of his life? He'd let her stay that long. At the end of that time, maybe even before, she'd be tired of it. Of course she would. She never stuck with anything. Look at her, the last time he'd seen her, her hair had been red and her eyes blue. Now, she was a green-eyed blonde. Next week, she'd probably be a brown-eyed brunette and the month after that, who knows? All he knew was she'd probably be gone, and then he could get on with finding the right man for the job. And get over this extraordinary response his body persisted in having to her subtle yet unforgettable scent.

He sighed and let the elevator door button go. Max might think it was his phone-call that had gotten Marian the job. He might believe that it was his veiled threat to withdraw his investment capital out of the marina if Rolph didn't hire Marian--or someone--to take up some of the slack and hence protect Max's investment. He didn't need to know, nobody needed to know that Rolph's mind had been made up before Max's call.

It had been that little sheen of tears in Marian's eyes just before she stormed out of his office that had done him in. That, and an indelible memory of a moment of forbidden enchantment.

Curling an arm over her shoulders, he led her out to where he had parked his car.

"Now," he said, "where does my new assistant want to go for lunch?"

"Why don't you pick up a couple of sandwiches for us," she said, shrugging his arm off and turning to her own car, parked three slots over. "I'll meet you at the office and we can eat while we talk about business."

Clearly, if he suddenly found Marian enchanting, she found him less so. She didn't even want his arm around her shoulders, though it had been there a hundred times before.

Right, he thought, getting into his car. That was the way it should be. Businesslike. Cool. Controlled. Because not only was Marian his employee, she was an old family friend and a smart guy didn't mess around with a relationship like that. Especially a smart guy who wanted some permanence in his life. The last thing he needed to be attracted to was a top-drawer, well-bred, first-class...hobo.

* * *

"You've been contracting out interior design on the refit jobs, haven't you?" asked Marian, brushing bread crumbs from her lap and flipping through several pages of material before her. This was their tenth working lunch in two weeks. True to his promise, Rolph had bought her meal for her every day.

Rolph looked up from a report he was writing. "Yes, but since we're a brokerage business, not a shipyard, I contract out the entire refit. It only makes sense. Why have someone on staff who can do interior design?"

"But you do have. Me."

He gave her a startled look that switched to good-humored scathing. "Come on. I've seen your apartment, remember? All zebra strips and spears, with boars' heads sticking out of the walls."

Marian shuddered at the memory. "That was when I was in college, for goodness' sake! I was nineteen years old and going through an African phase. Besides, the interior of a yacht takes a whole different technique than the interior of a home. When I was in New Zealand a couple of years ago I worked for a company that did the interiors of ocean-going yachts for several different builders. Did you know that blues and greens are avoided in upholstery and other fixtures, that the preferred shades are taken from the earth-tones of the spectrum?"

"I didn't know, but now that you mention it, I've noticed a lot of browns and reds and yellows in boat interiors."

"That's because when a crew spends months at sea, the eye grows weary of the blues and greens of ocean and sky. The sailor needs a rest for his eyes, a change from the ordinary, just as people do in all walks of life."

"Uh-huh." He grinned. "Like boars' heads and spears."

Marian laughed tolerantly. "My tastes have changed." She crossed one leg over the other, swinging her neatly shod foot. "Haven't yours over the years? Didn't you like things ten years ago that you think now are outrageous, and vice versa?"

He thought about it. "Yeah, I suppose so." Then, with a grin, he said, "Yes. Definitely. Ten years ago I was in love with a woman whose only expression of emotion, be it satisfaction or disgust or pleasure or pain was a faint, weak little 'wow...' I thought she was fantastic because of all she could convey with that one little word. That was before I figured out that it constituted nearly her entire vocabulary."

This was not an opportunity to be missed. Apart from that day of the interview, when he'd confessed that he didn't think he knew what women wanted, or how to treat them, he'd kept their conversations strictly on business. She hadn't minded for the most part. There was so much to learn and she was an eager student. She thought, sometimes, that she had surprised him with her greed for knowledge. But if he were willing to move into a more personal mode now, she was all for it.

"Hmm," she said. "And what are your tastes in women today?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. It's hard to put something like that into words."

"Pretend you're writing a companions ad."

He stared at her. Did she know he'd done just that on two occasions? No. Of course she didn't. He said, "Wanted, SWF, sexy, cheerful, eager for experiences. Must like outdoors, sailing, hiking, skiing. Some culture okay."

"Some culture?"

"Yeah. You know, a little bit intellectual, but not overdone. I'd hate to spend all my time in museums and art galleries or attending the symphony, though those are fine sometimes. And she'd need to like books and movies, but not just high-brow stuff. The real things that real people read and enjoy. Spy stories, mysteries, romance, adventure. You know. Escapism."

"So a brainy woman is out."

He shot her a sharp glance, remembering just how brainy she, herself had proved to be. A dull woman wouldn't have achieved a business degree backed by one in sociology in addition to multiple languages. "I didn't say that. There's nothing wrong with intelligent women. I'd just prefer one who didn't take herself too seriously all the time. I like a woman with a mind of her own, one who doesn't let other people make decisions for her." He hesitated, drawing his brows together. "Unless they're the right decisions, of course."

"Of course," she said dryly. "Such as the ones you'd make for her."

He pondered, then laughed shortly. "I guess you're right about that. But I believe most women secretly like the idea of the man's being the man, being in charge, at least of...some things. You know, I'll be the captain, you be the mate."

"Me Tarzan, you Jane."

He shrugged. "Something like that. Not that it matters. I don't think my ideal woman exists and if she did, she wouldn't want me. What about you? What kind of man are you looking for?"

Tall, lean, blond and green-eyed. Somewhat blind when it comes to what's good for him. Stupid, you could say, at least about some things, things that should be staring him right in the face.

"What makes you think I'm looking for a man?"

"Every single woman is looking for a man." His tone was impatient, as if he were stating the obvious for an idiot.

"I've been married."

He rolled his eyes. "I remember. You broke your parents' hearts with that little episode, baby-doll. Elopement from college and six weeks together! What kind of marriage was that, anyway?"

"One that taught me a great deal."

"Like what?"

"That he was much too old for me, that some of the things he thought were normal I found disgusting, and that my taste in men was as lousy as my judgment." And he taught me never to show a man exactly how much I love him, to tell him how desperately I want him, until I know those feelings are returned one hundred percent. A man has too much power over a woman that way.

"I'm assuming that must have changed in the what... three, four years since you were married?"

She shook her head. How come she'd paid so much attention to his life when he had no idea what hers was all about? "Eight years, Rolph! I was twenty. He was twenty-eight. We were worlds apart, even in-- We weren't compatible. And yes, of course my taste and judgment have both changed, but I'm not certain that means they're any better, either of them." How can they be, when I can't help being attracted to a man who treats me with all the affection he'd offer a St. Bernard puppy?

Rolph was surprised, and in an odd way, touched by the genuine uncertainty in her tone. "You're young and beautiful," he said gruffly. "You shouldn't have any trouble finding the right guy."

"Maybe not," she said teasingly, "except that my boss makes it difficult."

He stiffened, got off her desk and straightened a framed lithograph of Earle G. Barlow's White Ghost on the wall. "I didn't mean to make things difficult for you," he said, returning to his own desk. "I simply reminded you that we were meeting with clients that evening."

"Funny," she said, propping her chin on her fist as she gazed at him. "But neither the clients not I knew we were seeing them that night. They thought the meeting was for the next evening--with you alone--and were on their way out when we arrived."

"All right, so I made a mistake about the date. It saved you from making a worse one. Talk about someone too old for you! Kevin Durano is forty-five years old, thrice-married and likes to think of himself as a playboy."

She could have said that what was true for a girl at the age of twenty was not necessarily so for a woman of twenty-eight. Then, eight years had been close to half a lifetime. Now, even the seventeen years separating her from the "thrice-married playboy" didn't seem such a great gap. Not that she would be the slightest bit interested in Kevin Durano, whether he was two, eight, or all those seventeen years her senior, except in a casual way. But Rolph certainly took him seriously. Maybe that was good. At least Kevin had made him aware that other men were aware of her as a woman.

"I don't know if he's my type or not, but he did say that when he got back from the business trip he's on he'd like to take me to Estevans."

Rolph's green eyes flared. "The hell he did!"

"Why shouldn't he? It's reportedly the top place in town for seafood and, as a private club, it's hard to get into. The waiting list for memberships is a mile long; even with his membership, Kevin told me, he sometimes has to wait days for a table. I'm looking forward to dinner there."

"Fine. Then that's where we'll take the Mastersons when they're in town tomorrow. I hold a membership. A charter membership," he added pointedly, "so I can get reservations with only a day's notice."

Marian's heart did strange things in her chest. This was the first time he'd asked her to attend a business meeting other than the one with the Levines, which she liked to believe he'd dreamed up on the spur of the moment out of pure jealousy. "The Mastersons?"

"Clients. They're flying in from Barbados to look at a couple of boats we have listed. I think Windrider will be the one they prefer, but I'm going to show them Neo Cleo as well. It'll be too late when they arrive to show them around, so I plan to wine and dine them, tell them about the boats, let them sleep on the information then take them over both boats in the morning when they're feeling well-rested."

"And when the tide's high," she murmured.

"You have been paying attention, haven't you?"

"Of course. I have an excellent teacher who makes every aspect of the business interesting. Paying attention to you is no hardship, Rolph."

Rolph gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment before he smiled slowly. "Thank you," he said, and reached out to run the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "That's ...nice to hear."

While her heart went still in her chest, Rolph went to his desk and sat with his back to her, his feet on the windowsill. He seemed, she thought, to be doing nothing but stare out the window at the ever-present wheeling seagulls and the sunlit cityscape. Presently, he put his feet on the floor, swiveled his chair back around and bent over some work on his desk.

Marian, her chin on a fist, gazed at his quarter-profile. It must have been with her all her life, this need for Rolph, though she hadn't been aware of it, anymore than she'd been aware of her biological clock, until Max and Jeanie's wedding. Then, seeing Rolph so tall and straight and, well, the only word for it was "solid", not to mention "gorgeous" in his superbly fitting tuxedo, had triggered a response in her that couldn't be denied. Though she'd tried to tell herself that weddings arouse those kinds of feelings in people, and none more than Max and Jeanie's, considering how close the couple had come to death in that coal mine, she knew deep inside that what she felt for Rolph was more than wedding-induced sentiment. She thought, the way he danced with her that night, maybe he'd felt it, too.

That hope, along with her mother's failing health, had gone a long way toward her decision to come back to Victoria shortly after the wedding. But, though she'd been home for over a year, and for the past six of those fourteen months, lived right next door to Rolph, he'd shown no signs that he shared her feelings. Oh, he was friendly enough whenever their families got together, which was often, but he certainly didn't seem to care for her any differently than did Max.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, was it? One person knowing, yearning, aching, the other completely oblivious?

Dammit, as much as she hated to admit it, Jeanie had been right that day about her response to Rolph's reception of the idea that she go to work for him. She'd been mad, certainly but she had to face it--she was hurt, too, because some small, stupid part of her had really believed that if she went to him, offered to work with him in building his business, some of the closeness they'd shared when she was a little girl would be regained. In rejecting her business offer, he was unwittingly rejecting her other, unspoken offer. Maybe she should come straight out and tell him how she felt.

She contemplated that for a moment, then shuddered at the idea. Because if he really were incapable of feeling that way about her, it would mean the end of their valued friendship as well and she knew she was going to need that friendship and strength in the months to come. Besides, she had experienced masculine rejection once and though it had been a long time ago, the memory of it continued to make her cautious. That kind of hurt lingers on.

Not only that, she didn't think she could put into words what she felt. Was it merely sexual attraction or did it go deeper than that? What she truly wanted was an opportunity to find out. Just when she thought she might have that opportunity, living next door to him, Rolph had done the unexpected, moved out of the huge house he'd long shared with his parents and brother and more recently, his brother's wife and son. Though he'd had his own private apartment in the McKenzie home, he'd built the place down at his marina, using half as his business offices, the other half as his home. From that point onward, she knew she'd never see him, not unless she found another way.

Marian drew her gaze back to her own desk and the listings waiting there to be categorized.

* * *

"What are you looking for?"

Crouched by the filing cabinets, Marian glanced up at Rolph. "The specs on Windrider and Neo Cleo."

Rolph leaned back in his chair. "What do you want them for?"

"So I can discuss them knowledgeably, of course."

He looked startled, then puzzled. "Why do you want to?"

She got to her feet as she blew an exasperated breath outward. He was content to let her research the listings for boats that would meet the needs of certain clients. He liked the way she wrote up reports of those boats, and had complimented her on her ability to find exactly the right points that would sell a certain person on a certain ship. He had taught her much in the weeks she'd been here, and every day there was more. He commented often on how quickly she picked things up, yet he still resisted letting her get out there to deal with individual clients on a one to one basis.

"Rolph, why do you want me at your meeting with the Mastersons tomorrow night?"

"I. . . you said you wanted to go to Estevans. And there's a good dance floor, a fine band. My. . . our guests might like to dance and it's easier if there's four."

"I see. And what am I going to do while you're discussing the boats with them? Sit there and look decorative? And did you plan to introduce me as your assistant--a business associate--or as your date?"

His guilty look was her answer, but he managed to say, "I'll introduce you as my assistant."

"But you won't treat me as that," she accused him. Marching back to her desk, she flopped down in her chair. "If you merely want someone to dance with, someone to sit and look pretty and maybe talk recipes and fashion with Mrs. Masterson, while the big-shot businessmen discuss the important stuff, I suggest you look elsewhere. I'll wait and go to Estevans with Kevin." She glared at him. "There now. I've given you ample reason to fire me. So go ahead."

Rolph fixed her with an injured look. "Hey, come on! What's got your back arched? I invited you out for dinner at a place you said you wanted to visit. I didn't make it a term of your continued employment."

"I know that!" She glared. "And I resent being invited along simply because you find it difficult to get a date when you need somebody to dance with."

"Suit yourself," he snapped and swung back to his desk.

"Rolph?" He looked over at her. Several quiet hours had passed since they'd spoken last. She looked tired, her face drawn, her mouth drooped at the corners. She'd taken her hair down so it tumbled around her shoulders and she sat rubbing the back of her neck as if it hurt. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was a lousy thing for me to say. I know you can get all the dates you want."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, getting to his feet and coming up behind her, pushing her hand away, parting her hair as he massaged her neck. Her muscles were tight. He prodded them with his thumbs, making small circles on her skin. Lord, but it was silky! He shouldn't do this, but hell, he'd given her massages before. Yeah, said a voice inside him. When she was a skinny twelve-year-old killing herself to make the swim team. She wasn't skinny, and she wasn't twelve, and a lot of things had changed. But for all that, he didn't stop touching her skin.

"I wasn't treating you fairly," he continued. "Of course you need to be able to discuss the boats intelligently and I know you'll be an asset at the dinner; maybe even clinch the sale. You take the paperwork on the boats home tonight and go over it, then we'll have a look at them together in the morning."

"Okay." She swallowed. "And I really would like to go with you and the Mastersons tomorrow night if you mean it."

"I mean it. I want you to," he said, "but because I'd like you to be there with me, not only because I find it difficult to get a date."

"I know you don't."

"But I do. Or, maybe I should say, if I can get a woman to go out with me, I can't hold her interest for more than five minutes. Like I said before, I don't know what women want."

While his thumbs worked on the taut muscles at the back of her neck and on top of her shoulders, his fingers circled over her collar bone, doing incredible things to other parts of her anatomy far removed from the places he touched.

"You offered to teach me," he said presently. "Did you mean it?"

Marian tried to breathe. It was nearly impossible, but she managed to suck in air enough to speak. "If you gave every woman you dated a . . . massage like this," she said faintly, "you'd never get rid of them. You'd have them stacked up in your closets."

"You think so?" He didn't sound convinced. He spread his hands wide and worked farther down her back. She wished she weren't wearing a blouse. She wished she weren't wearing anything. She wished she knew how to help him and that in doing so, she could help him see that she, for one, wouldn't leave after "five minutes" if only he'd give her a chance.

She sighed. "Why do you think they don't stay interested for very long?"

"Oh, sometimes they do," he said. "I was exaggerating when I said that. But it's finding a woman willing to make a commitment I'm having trouble with."

"What...kind of commitment?" Dammit, her voice was too squeaky!

"The usual kind. You know, marriage, home, family."

"Oh. You...want that?" Oh, lordy, now it was too husky, throaty, all but purring.

"Of course I want marriage." He sounded surprised that she would ask. "I'm thirty-six years old, Marian. It's time I settled down. Not that I expect you to understand that, not at your age, and with your personality, your lifestyle, but it's what I want. A wife, babies, picket fence covered with roses and all that. Oh, I wouldn't insist on the family right away, of course. I like the idea of a couple being a couple for a year or two or three before the babies come along. Time to travel, time to take life easy, time to drift a bit."

She twisted her head around and looked at him from under a fan of hair. "Really? I thought you considered drifting a waste of time. I thought you were married to your business."

"I guess maybe I am, but that would change the minute I found the right lady."

She swallowed hard. "I see. And are you actively searching?"

He paused and she saw him looking off into a distance she couldn't see. "Probably not. Not yet, at any rate. Ideally, I'll have someone fully trained to leave in charge here for a few months, then I'll find my permanent lady, get married and take a nice long honeymoon, sail Sunrise up to Alaska, or maybe down to Mexico, even through the canal and into the Caribbean."

"Oh. Sounds heavenly," she murmured, and dropped her head down to her desk, rested her brow on her folded arms, letting herself relax into his massage, letting dreams swirl and collide in her mind. She and Rolph, a house, a picket fence, babies and roses and other sweet, growing things. But first, the ocean, the solitude, each other, drifting...sharing Sunrise.

"Don't kid yourself." His voice broke into her beautiful dream. "You'd hate it."

"Why do you say that? I love sailing."

"The sailing part, sure, but it's what comes after the honeymoon you'd hate, and don't try to deny it." His laugh sounded strained. "You're a tumbleweed at heart, little one. We both know it."

"Not--" Not any longer, she was going to say, but his hands curved around her back, warm through the fabric of her blouse, thumbs moving downward along the sides of her spine, fingertips dangerously close to the sensitive sides of her breasts. Air escaped her in a long sigh and she lifted her head, sat erect, letting her hair fall down over her back.

With an impatient gesture, he gathered up her hair and twisted it into a rope, flipping it forward out of his way, then astounded her, thrilled her, by stroking his hand very slowly and sensuously down over the thickness of it as it lay across her shoulder and chest.

"Your hair--" She heard him swallow, felt him jerk his hand back. Both his hands, taking them off her. "It...feels like satin." he said. "And it smells... good." For just an instant, he touched it again as if he couldn't help himself.

She was melting inside as she half-turned, gazing up at him. "Does it?"

He moistened his lips with his tongue. He put one large, warm hand under her chin and tilted her head back, looking down at her, his green eyes luminous and filled with desire--as well as liberal amounts of confusion and doubt. "Yes," he said softly. "It does."

"Rolph..." Her voice was little more than a whisper. She lifted a hand and touched his face, curling her fingers around his jaw.

He shuddered. "I...I think we better go home now, Marian. It's late."

She dropped her hand. "All right," she whispered, and smiled at him. Her heart stopped as his thumb lifted and traced the smile.

"When did you get so beautiful?" he asked huskily, surprising her yet again.

"I...don't know. I didn't know I was." Men had told her she was. She'd never really believed it. "Beautiful" was just what a man on the hunt said when he wanted a woman to succumb to his charm. Yet, when Rolph looked at her that way, when he said it, she had to accept it as fact. She wanted to accept it. She did. She moistened her lips; they tingled from his touch.

"You are. Take it from an old connoisseur of women, you are very, very beautiful." His hand moved down her throat an inch or two. One finger stroked the skin just below her left ear. "And your skin is incredibly soft." His thumb grazed across the hammering pulse in her throat, hesitated, returned and pressed lightly. Her head grew light as her breath caught and held in her throat. He was going to kiss her. And if he didn't, she was going to faint from wanting it.

Again, she lifted her hand, her fingers wrapping around his thick, hard wrist. "Rolph?"

Suddenly, he jerked his hand away from her skin, balling it into a fist at his side. "And I shouldn't be doing this, dammit!"

"Why not?" she asked in a small voice.

He stared at her for a long, poignant moment then unclenched his fists and stepped back from her, his eyes suddenly cold as ice, angry, disappointed, she thought. In himself? In her?

"Because we work together. Because we've been friends too long to screw it all up by succumbing to a moment's...lust. And because we have different goals in life."

He spun and went to the filing cabinet on the other side of the office. "Here," he said, taking a thick folder from one drawer, and another from a different one. "The specs on Windrider and Neo Cleo. Go home and read them. Meet me at berth 18, Seven Oaks Marina at nine o'clock in the morning."

Without waiting for her to reply, he went out of the office, closing the door that led to his private quarters. She heard the lock snick.

When her knees would bear her weight, Marian got to her feet and gathered up her purse and jacket, and ran nearly all the way to her car.

How in the world was she going to convince Rolph McKenzie that not only should he have done what he did, he should do a whole lot more besides?

She was stopped, waiting for a light that seemed destined never to change, when she was struck by the thought that she was the one being trained to take over so that Rolph and his "committed" lady could take off on an extended honeymoon aboard Sunrise VII. That wouldn't do at all! Somehow, her plans and his were going to have to get onto the same track, and going the same direction.

Trouble was, she didn't have the faintest idea how to make it all happen.

Chapter Three

"Max, I need to talk to you."

"Sure, Rolph. Phone do, or do you want it personal and face to face?"

Rolph's palm was slick with sweat on the phone. He needed answers and he needed them now. He didn't want to wait to drive all the way across town. "This is fine," he said, then said nothing more, not knowing where to begin.

"You have a problem or something?" Max prompted when the silence had become uncomfortable.

"Yeah. I guess so. It's just a...dilemma I find myself in."

"Uh-huh. What's up."

"It's Marian."

"Not working out? You didn't expect her to, so what's the big deal? If she's screwing up, tell her so and let her go." He chuckled. "Of course, you'll have to deal with the Wrath of Jeanie. And," he added sternly, "you'll have to replace her at once. Remember my investment."

"It's not that. Actually, she's doing a hell of a lot better than I ever anticipated."

"So? What's the problem?"

"It's nothing to do with work. It's more on a personal note."

There was silence for several seconds before Max said carefully, "Yes?"

"She's my responsibility and I'm not protecting her properly."

"You feel responsible for Marian?" Max sounded incredulous. "Why the hell should you feel responsible for her?"

"I just feel it's my place to take care of her, and I've been doing a pretty poor job of it."

"Again, why should you? She's no kid, Rolph."

"I know that, but she's a girl...a woman. Against my better judgment, I let myself be forced into bringing her to work in the marina. I mean, it would be different, her working for me if I still had my office at the house, the way you do, and she wasn't exposed to the kinds of guys who live and work down here, whistling and shouting and treating her like..."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Just all that whistling and shouting. They make comments." Actually, that hadn't happened since the first day, but Rolph knew the guys were all thinking things. "They try to date her. It's insulting."

"Marian feels insulted because guys ask her for dates? Haven't guys been asking her out since she was too young to shave her legs? Now, all of a sudden she's complaining? That doesn't sound like the Marian Crane we know and love, big guy."

"Well, to be honest, she's not complaining. In fact, she's never mentioned it. She just walks on by as they all ogle and doesn't even seem to notice that any one of them would have her body if she gave him half a chance."

"Then why worry about it? Besides, are they all after her body? I mean, it's not as if she's exclusive in the marina, or her body's the only one to whistle at. It's a nice little body, and all that, but what the hell, it's just another female shape. Nowhere near as good as Jeanie's. Guys whistle at her, too, if she walks past a construction site. I think she enjoys it. Is that what's got you in a sweat?"

"What? That maybe Marian likes it? Of course not! I told you. She doesn't appear to notice." What the hell was the matter with Max? Marian's body was far more attractive than Jeanie's. That must be what love did to a guy, blinded him to the very real attractions of other women.

"Then what?" Max interrupted his thoughts. "Why should you care if they whistle?"

"I told you that, too. I'm responsible for her, dammit. You'd feel the same way, if you'd brought her to a place like this. Hell, she's been the nearest thing to a little sister we've ever had."

"A place like what? That's a marina you're running, not a skid road poolhall! Hey, come on, Rolph. Loosen up. That was years ago you made yourself responsible for her."

"We both did. Don't tell me you wouldn't feel the same way if someone were threatening her."

"I am telling you that. I think she can take care of any threats that might come her way. Hell, a guy'd have to be crazy to take on every man who showed an interest in Marian Crane. It'd be a full-time job."

The silence that followed those words was filled with thoughts which fortunately remained unspoken until Max ventured, "Unless, well, unless he was interested in her himself? Was maybe thinking of taking her on as a full-time commitment?"

"What the hell does that mean?" Rolph barked.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Max said quickly. "Look, just relax and go with the flow. I'm pretty sure Marian can deal with whatever the boating community down there dishes out."

"Maybe. But...there's this guy who, well, suddenly has the hots for her. A guy who's too old for her. What would you do if you felt responsible for a woman's safety and well-being and some guy started coming on to her and you knew she didn't feel comfortable with it?"

"How do you know she doesn't feel comfortable about this guy's interest? Has she said she doesn't like him?"

"No. I guess she likes him okay, but when...I saw him touch her she turned deathly white in the space of two seconds, and started shaking, so I know she hated it."

"Well, if you're sure of that, and just as sure that the guy might make another move that she'd hate, I'd take him aside, explain to him that I looked upon her as a sister and if he touched one hair on her pretty little head without her express permission, I'd break both his kneecaps and anything else I could reach with my sledge hammer," said Max. "But if, on the other hand, there was a possibility that she got pale and shaky because she found the guy's touch disturbing for other reasons, then maybe it would be best to let nature take its course."

Rolph said nothing. His mind was whirling frantically, spinning out of control.

"Well?" Max asked, after a moment.

"Well, what?"

"You gonna do it?"

"Let nature take its course? Hell, no!"

"Then, I guess it must be kneecap time," said Max cheerfully.

Rolph blew out a long breath. Easy for Max to feel sanguine. He wasn't faced with a...complication like this one. Because what if she had turned white and shaky for the reasons Max suggested? What if she was as interested in him as he was in her? Why not find out? Why not go for it? The thought, when he dwelled on it for more than three or four seconds, was breathtaking. But...it was an insane idea.

Marian's staying power was about as long as that of a marshmallow on a bonfire! And he wanted someone capable of commitment, therefore, he was not interested in her. He couldn't afford to be. So if he was, if his body was, he was simply going to have to curtail it.

"Yeah," he said. "Right. Kneecap time. You can consider it done."

As he hung up, though, Rolph's mind was whirling again, with images of the day's events flipping over and over like a film out of whack. Marian, standing on the deck of Windrider as fresh and as bright as the morning. Marian, bent over, her adorable bottom thrust high in the air as she poked her nose into Neo Cleo's bilges. Marian, with a smear of grease on her face, standing before him while he wiped it with a rag soaked in solvent. He could still feel the delicate bones of her cheek and chin as if they were imprinted on his hand.

He groaned, considering what it was going to be like that evening, holding that slender, supple body in his arms again while they danced. It had been torture the last two times he'd tried it, and then he was in a hell of a lot more control of his hormones than he was now. Now, they were raging like starving lions. He drew in a deep breath. Would dancing with her be enough? Oh, hell, he asked himself, why take the risk? Why not simply call her and cancel? Why not lie and tell her the Mastersons couldn't make it?

With a heartfelt sigh, he reached for the phone.

* * *

"My God," said Rolph slowly, his eyes sweeping over Marian as she stood in the doorway. He scarcely saw the hair swept back on one side and held with a big, gold clasp, the other side tumbling over a pale, golden shoulder. "Is that a dress or are you still in your underwear?"

"A dress," she said sunnily, clasping her hands high over her head and turning in a circle before him. "Like it?" She smiled as if knowing he did, letting her arms fall to her sides. "Come on in. Can I get you a drink before we go?"

"No," he said, then cleared his throat and said it again. It came out just as strangled. "We're meeting the Mastersons in less than half an hour."

A dress. She was planning to go out with him tonight wearing that dress? She was planning to sit across a table from him and eat dinner, wearing that dress? She was planning to dance with him, for heaven's sake! The damn dress was the color of lime Jell-O and had three tiers of fluffy gathered stuff that formed a very short, extremely flirtatious skirt and he'd seen swim suits that didn't fit as well on top. Or as scantily.

He swallowed the sudden dryness in his throat and forcibly reminded himself of what Max had said, keeping in mind sledge hammers and kneecaps and, and with no difficulty at all, brought back Marian's words when discussing her former husband: I was twenty. He was twenty-eight. We were worlds apart.... Worlds apart, and eight years...Exactly the age difference between himself and Marian. Eight years, in the normal course of events was nothing. But...this was Marian. She was special. And he wouldn't just have Max to deal with if he put one finger on her against her will, but his parents and hers and hell, let's face it, his own guilty conscience.

But...what if it weren't against her will? Lord! Did he want to find out? Did he dare to take a chance on that? What if this thing that he was half-convinced was only physical turned out to be more? What would he do when Marian upped-anchor again as was inevitable?

But yes, dammit, he liked her dress. He liked it far too well. "I . . . uh, well, it's sort of . . . revealing, isn't it?"

"Would you say that if it were a date wearing it, or are you only saying it because your assistant's wearing it?" she asked pertly, the tilt of her chin showing a certain disdain. Right. And so it should.

And she was right to remind him of their working relationship as he'd reminded her yesterday. If he'd thought for a few minutes then that she might be growing interested in him as a man, he'd been wrong. And he couldn't permit himself to think of her as a woman. He never had, not until recently. Well, except for a couple of times. Why couldn't he control his feelings better than this? He didn't want her to be a woman to him, only...Hell, she looked like a woman, and smelled like a woman and, when she smiled, he reacted just like a man.

All because that damned dress looked like a slip. Or one hell of a nightgown. In his mind, he replayed his having reached for the phone to call her and cancel, saw himself hesitate, saw himself withdraw his hand, turn and walk away, still full of questions to which there were no answers. Now, he looked at her, at her dress, and wished he'd carried out the thought.

"Don't you...uh, don't you have something to put over it?"

"Of course," she said, and picked up a soft, sheer white thing that felt, as she handed it to him, about as substantial as cobwebs. He draped it around her shoulders, gaze lingering on the light, golden tan of her smooth, creamy skin. For just an instant, he let himself touch her. She smiled at him over her shoulder and he quickly dropped his hands, trying not to breathe too deeply because the scent of her perfume did things to his libido that had no business happening.

Scooping up a tiny white purse, she opened the door and preceded him out. Her hair gleamed like polished gold in the low-angled rays of the sun sweeping through a window at the end of the hall. Rolph clenched his teeth and followed her down the stairs. Her tiny waist looked even smaller, just the right size for a pair of hands the size of his to encircle. Her sweetly rounded hips swayed as she walked. Her long, beautiful legs were smooth and would feel like satin to the touch, as would that deep vee of bare skin revealed by the open back of her dress. For the sake of his own sanity, he would not, absolutely would not, dance with her tonight.

Rolph swung Marian aside to let another couple pass on the dance floor and the motion brought her soft breasts against his chest. She wasn't wearing a bra. He'd known that, of course. The back of her dress, cut low the way it was, made the wearing of one impossible. He drew in a deep breath and set her back several inches, only that had the effect of letting her thighs brush against his.

"Mmm, you've always been a wonderful dancer," she said. "Remember when you taught me how to slow dance?"

He'd been thinking about that since they'd come to the dance floor. When he was teaching her all those years ago he hadn't once felt even a glimmer of what he was suffering now. "No," he said brusquely, and after a confused glance into his eyes, she lowered her head.

"I remember," he said, stroking her back by way of apology. "It seems so long ago, though, it makes me feel old thinking about it."

Damn! How could he have let himself be goaded into dancing with her by watching Slim Masterson do what he was trying so damned hard not to do? Slim was old enough to be Marian's father and clearly in love with his wife of thirty-some years, yet a wave of intense jealousy had washed over Rolph when he saw Slim's broad, blunt hand planted squarely in the center of Marian's bare back. There was, of course, no other place to put it while waltzing, except maybe on her hip, so Slim had had no choice. Neither did Rolph. But the feel of her warm skin, the supple muscles, the slender strength he found there, threatened his equilibrium.

He had to get off this floor. He strained to see if their main course was by any chance being delivered to their table, but knew it would not be as long as they and their guests remained on the floor.

"Looking for someone?"

Her smile stilled his breath in his chest. Every time she smiled at him like that, it was as if he were suddenly in free-fall. Her eyes were so big and deep he wanted to drift away in them. Her voice, humming the tune the band was playing, vibrated in his blood. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? Marian's delicate, soft fingers lay lightly in his hand. He wanted to tuck them up under his chin. Her other hand rested on the center of his shoulder. He wanted to draw her into him so she would wrap her arm higher around him, maybe touch the hair at the nape of his neck, run her fingers into it....

"Wondering about dinner," he said. "We old folks need sustenance."

"You?" she blinked at him. "You're not old."

He swallowed, let go of her hand for just an instant to tug at the knot of his tie, and said, "Compared to you I am." With her hand set free, she stole that opportunity to place it on his shoulder then link it with its mate behind his neck, leaning back from him, bringing their hips into alignment, letting their thighs touch again, smiling up at him, innocent and carefree. "I'm thirty-six, and you're twenty-eight, though I find it hard to remember that," he said. "I tend to think of you as just barely out of your teens."

Her subtle movement against him snatched the breath from his lungs. "I'll just have to find ways to remind you, then, won't I?"

He stared at her. Had she meant to move like that? She did it again. He swallowed a pained gasp. "Are you trying to flirt with me, Marian?"

She laughed. "Now, really, Rolph, why would I do a thing like that?"

"How do I know? How does anybody ever know why you might do anything? You're a law unto yourself, a free spirit, a butterfly touching the edges of life. I don't ask why about you anymore."

"Maybe you should," she said, looking suddenly serious and very unlike the laughing girl she'd been only moments before. "And maybe you should try flirting back. Didn't you say you wanted to learn how to get along with women?"

At that point, the band played a fanfare and set their instruments aside. Marian led the way off the floor and Rolph followed, telling himself it was stupid to feel so disappointed that she'd only been offering him a lesson in casual flirtation. He wasn't looking for anything else. Not from her.

* * *

"That," said Slim Masterson, leaning back in his chair, "was one of the best meals I've had in a long time."

"Amen," said Ethel, his wife, dabbing at her lips with a pink linen napkin. As a server whisked away their plates while another brought the coffee and brandy Rolph had ordered, she leaned forward eagerly. "Now can we talk about boats?"

"That's my girl," said Slim, shaking his head. "If she'd had her way, we'd have spent the evening on our hands and knees with flashlights inspecting decks, rigging, and electronics, instead of enjoying this place and pleasant company."

Ethel patted his hand indulgently. "Somebody has to take care of business." She shared a sharp look between Marian and Rolph, then fixed it on Marian. "Well? Are we going to sit and sip brandy like these two, or are we going to start talking turkey?"

Marian smiled and said, "Gobble, gobble, gobble." Reaching under the table, she pulled out the briefcase Rolph had brought in, glanced at him and said, "May I?"

With a smile in his eyes, sipping his brandy, he nodded.

"Starting with Windrider," she said, "we have a fifty-foot cutter, John Alden design built in l965 by Cooper-Westhall. She's fiberglass, built to Lloyds specs, and is ideal for charter work in that she sleeps ten comfortably."

She went on to discuss Windrider's excellent long-range fuel and freshwater capacity and her electronics. When she was finished, she handed each of the clients a sheaf of papers. "You can go over these at your leisure before we see the boat in the morning. From what Rolph tells me, Windrider is more the boat for you than Cleo, though with her extra three feet in length, Cleo has more below-decks space."

"That's right," said Rolph. "And she's a ketch, while Windrider's a cutter. I know you've expressed interest in a three-master, but there aren't many of those on the market just now as I'm sure you've discovered. But either one of these will make you a fine charter boat."

The conversation swung into a spirited discussion of the relative merits of the two boats Sunrise Brokerage was offering the couple and others they'd seen in a buying tour that had taken them from Norway to Hawaii and points between.

"Of course, what we really want, we can't have," said Ethel wistfully.

Rolph tilted his head questioningly. "What is that?"

It was Slim who replied. "Catriona. We spent our honeymoon aboard her on a three month cruise around the Great Barrier Reef thirty-six years ago. We fell in love with her, and with the life. That was when we decided that on retirement, we'd buy Catriona and go into the charter business ourselves. Living in the Bahamas, we have the ideal base for such an operation."

Ethel leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes bright as if she were seeing the ship of her dreams. "She was sixty feet overall, schooner-rigged, Burmese teak decks, slept twelve in comfort and handled like a real lady with a minimum of crew," she said, then looked indignant. "We heard ten or twelve years back that she'd been sold, renamed Felicity and was being used to haul freight in the Seychelles."

Marian could see the older woman took that as a personal affront. "It's sad when things like that are done to beautiful boats."

"And she was a beauty," said Slim. "The workmanship that went into her construction was superb. She was built in Glasgow in the fifties, a wooden boat, of course, but built to last. The detailing was exquisite. Why, there was a compass rose three feet across carved into the walnut headboard of the berth in the captain's cabin and a smaller one in each of the others. Every porthole had a hand-carved rim of the finest walrus ivory and each berth was gimbaled to reduce sway in heavy seas."

Compass roses? Ivory porthole rims? Marian felt goose-bumps rise on her arms and rubbed them quickly. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, bit her lip and closed her mouth again, listening while Slim and Ethel went on talking about the beautiful Catriona.

"Do you know where she is now?" she asked moments later when she had her excitement under control.

Slim shrugged. "We have no idea. She disappeared from the Seychelles several years ago and we haven't been able to trace her. She must have gone down somewhere. A boat like that wouldn't just disappear. If she were still under sail, someone would know where she was. If we could find her, no matter what her condition, we'd buy her, partly out of sentiment, but mostly because we believe in her and know she's the right ship for us."

Ethel sighed. "Of course, we'll settle for something else, but there will never be another ship like Catriona."

"Never mind." Slim stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. "Let's not waste that great band. Come and dance a bit before we go back to the hotel."

"Rolph!" said Marian excitedly when the clients were out of range. "I know where Catriona is! But if we tell them, they'll be able to buy her for a song and we'll be out a sale. What should I do?"

He cocked an eyebrow, not really believing her. "Take it easy. What makes you so sure you know where Catriona is? Honey, they've been searching for the right boat, and I assume that means her, for over a year. If they couldn't find her, either as Catriona or Felicity, what makes you think you can?"

She gripped his hand in both of hers. "Because I know where she is, I tell you. Her present name is Portside Queen and she's tied up to a dock in a little tourist town outside Adelaide, Australia. She's being used as a gift-shop and museum, Rolph. I know that because I worked aboard her for two months while looking for a crew berth on a boat headed back this way. That was four or five years ago, but what if she's still there?"

"If she's called the Portside Queen, how do you know she's the right one?"

"Because of the carved compass roses. Rolph, believe me. She's the one! And the Mastersons want her."

"Sweetheart, that was sentiment talking. She's a wooden boat. If she's been sitting tied up to a dock for God knows how many years, she's probably rotten right through."

"No. I don't think so. Sandy, the man who owned her, hauled her out every year and had her scraped and painted. He didn't want his museum sinking under him, for heaven's sake."

"Maybe he doesn't want his museum sold out from under him, either."

"But we could try. What would it hurt to go have a look? Rolph, she must have been a beauty in her day. Very beamy, with pure, graceful lines. I used to think what a shame it was to see her so...trapped, growing shabbier and shabbier. But I could see that she'd been built to last, just like Slim said. She was a strong ship, a sound one, and I'd stand on her bows picturing her under full sail, set free to fly. Maybe she still could. Listen, why don't we buy her, do a refit and then sell her to the Mastersons? You heard Slim. He said they'd buy her no matter what. And Rolph, think what a coup finding her would be for the business!"

He laughed at her then tapped her nose with the tip of a finger. "I'm thinking, but you're not. Okay, I agree, it's worth a try. It's worth investigating. But we don't buy her and do the refit then tell the Mastersons. Use your head, Marian. We don't own either of the boats we've been offering to them tonight, do we?"

She shook her head. "No. Of course not. You're right. I wasn't thinking. We'll get a finder's fee, though. I'll--"

"We're going to head back to our hotel now, old boy," said Slim, returning to the table with his arm around Ethel's waist. "You intend to pick us up there in the morning, I understand?"

"That's right," said Rolph. Then, "Would you mind sitting down again, both of you? There's something I think you need to know. Marian thinks she might have a line on Catriona."

The Mastersons both sat, abruptly, their faces expressing combined disbelief and hope.

"You do? But how? Where?"

Marian explained briefly.

"Call him," said Ethel decisively. "Can we get a phone to the table?"

"There's a courtesy office in the back," said Rolph. "I'm sure we can be accommodated there."

Rolph seated Marian at a large oak desk and slid the phone closer to her. "Go for it," he murmured.

"Yes," said Slim. "Get Catriona for us, my dear, and you'll have earned yourself a healthy commission."

"Not me. That belongs to Sunrise Brokerage."

"The finder's fee does," said Rolph, touching the back of her neck with a fingertip. "But the standard commission is all yours."

When the connection was made, and Marian had identified herself to an astounded Australian who said that yes, his boat had once been named Catriona, was in decent, if not Bristol shape, and he would certainly consider selling if the price were right, a deal was struck in principle in very few minutes. Pending the outcome of a marine surveyor's report and a personal inspection by the Mastersons, Portside Queen, formerly Felicity and Catriona, would change hands. Hopefully for the last time.

Beaming, Slim hugged his wife, spun her around and declared a celebration. Back at their table, he continued effusively, "We'll dance until dawn, drink champagne, and dream of the day Catriona sails again. You, my dear Marian, are going to be one of our first guests."

"Thank you," she said. "I can't wait! What a life you two are going to have." A dreamy expression flooded her eyes. "Faraway places with strange-sounding names..."

Ethel finished the quote. "'Calling, calling me...'"

Leaning sideways, Slim nudged Rolph with an elbow. "You too, of course," he murmured. "A honeymoon trip, maybe, like Ethel and I had? I tell you, boy, there's nothing better than making love in a gimbaled berth."

Rolph closed his eyes briefly. "No," he said. "I'm afraid that's not in the cards." Faraway places... He looked at Marian. She still had that dreamy smile on her face. "But you might offer Marian a job as crew. By the time your refit's finished, she'll be ready to move on."

Marian tapped Rolph's hand with one fingernail. "I heard that," she said softly. "And I'll thank you to let me find my own future employment. Don't forget you promised me three months training here. Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?"

Rolph picked up his champagne glass and sipped. "I'm a realist," he said, shrugging. "I know you of old. You'll be on your way again soon."

"We'll see." Marian glanced at the dance floor. "Shouldn't we join our guests in their celebrations?"

Rolph sipped again. "I thought we were."

Marian grinned cheekily. "Slim mentioned dancing till dawn along with the champagne. We can't disappoint him, now can we?"

Rolph hesitated, thinking of the way it had been holding her in his arms, wondering if he could stand even ten more minutes of it. He wondered, too, if he could stand to meet Marian's entreating gaze for another ten seconds without giving in. It wasn't the Mastersons he hated to disappoint. Dammit, Marian had always been able to get her own way simply by looking at him like that. He slid one hand up her arm to her shoulder, palm tingling as it stroked over her smooth skin.

"Come on, then," he said gruffly. "If I must, I must."

"Poor Rolph," Marian sympathized. "The sacrifices you make in the name of business."

"It really is criminal," he said, and smiled down at her. "Should be looked into." He looked into her eyes.

"Absolutely," she agreed, her breath caught in her throat, her gaze locked with his, her heart beating high and hard and irregularly. She and he were momentarily encapsulated, isolated from the music, from the crowd, from everything but that silent, aching communication between them. So immersed was she in Rolph's eyes, that when someone touched her arm, she jumped in genuine fear.

She whirled, blinked and shook her head, bewildered by the intrusion, finding it almost impossible to form a coherent thought.

"Marian?" The dark-haired man who had touched her seemed taken aback by her reaction. "So sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. It is Marian Crane, isn't it?" He had a crisp British accent, but one not regional enough for her to place.

"I...yes. Of course." She bit her lip. Who was this? He looked familiar, but she couldn't recall from when or where.

"You remember me, don't you?" he said with a smile. "Robin Ames. We met in Hong Kong a few years back. I was married to Adrienne then." His smile never changed. "But I'm not now. Say, I don't suppose your brother would mind if I danced with you, would he?"

"My brother?" Marian's gaze flew to Rolph's set face. "This is Rolph McKenzie. We're not related."

"Oh. Oh, not your brother? I say, forgive me. I wouldn't have intruded if I'd thought...but you do look so very much alike, you know." He shared a smile between Rolph and Marian. "That golden hair. Those green eyes. Even your faces are the same triangular shape. Sorry," he said again. "My mistake."

"Not at all," said Marian. "How nice to see you again, Robin." It wasn't. Even married to Adrienne, Robin Ames had tried to put the make on any woman around, but she was prepared to be civil. "Rolph is my employer. If you're in the market for a boat of any kind, or have one to sell, Rolph's the man to see."

The two men shook hands briefly, assessing one another. After a few moments of stiff conversation, Robin Ames smiled again and lifted one of Marian's hands, kissing the backs of her fingers. "Perhaps, McKenzie," he said, looking up, "you'd have no objection if I asked your employee to dance?"

Rolph dropped his arm from around Marian's shoulder and stepped back. "Ms. Crane is capable of speaking for herself and making her own decisions."

Marian made one on the spot. She shook her head. "Thank you, Robin. But Rolph has already asked me. Perhaps another time. Good evening."

"Wait." Again Robin touched her arm. "I'll be in town for several weeks," he said. "Perhaps I could call you?"

She smiled. "I don't think so. I'm terribly busy just now. Good night, Robin. Nice seeing you again."

"Why did you do that? You didn't have to send him away."

"I didn't want to dance with him. I want to dance with you," she said.

Rolph stood looking down at her, his gaze filled with questions, and the same kind of doubts she'd seen the day he massaged her back in the office. "Why?" he asked softly.

She smiled. "Because," she said, wondering how he'd handle the truth, but not yet ready to risk it, "you happen to be a far better dancer than Robin Ames." She tucked her arm through his. "You're a better dancer than any man I know. Now, are we going to stand here and discuss it, or are we going to go out there and boogie?"

"Boogie," Rolph laughed, capitulating. "Let's go."

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