Will Work For Love (7 page)

“You enjoy it?”

“It’s more play than work, what’s not to like?” he
said.

“More play than work,” Whitney said. “That sounds
like something I’d like to try.”

“What do you do in Boston? You never said.”

“I own a small business.”

“Revolving doors?” he asked, flashing her a look she
found irresistible.

She laughed. “Sportswear. We customize team
uniforms.”

“Like for kids soccer teams and schools?”

“And some professional teams,” she said. “It’s
growing.”

“Is it more fun than work?” Chris asked. He steered
with one hand and turned to face her, giving her his full
attention.

“I keep thinking it’s going to be someday,” she
replied, gazing at the blue sky framed by the boat’s windshield. “I
have some changes to consider soon,” she finally said.

Chris nodded, his blue eyes slightly darkened in the
shaded light under the half roof. Focused on her. It would have
been nice to tell him the whole story about how her business
manager and her friends were urging her to take a leap of faith and
expand the business into manufacturing jerseys, T-shirts, and
uniforms they were only silk-screening and embroidering now. The
profits could eventually really grow with a move like that, but
she’d have to make a big investment in a building, equipment, and
lots more employees. Big risk.

A risk she was not sure she was up to taking right
now. And at this very moment, looking over the beautiful water and
watching St. Thomas disappear was a lot more appealing than
thinking about the bottom line back home. She didn’t say anything,
and Chris didn’t ask.

When they approached the harbor and docks at St.
John Island, the sun was sinking a little lower in the western sky.
Whitney noticed the sundown at about six o’clock yesterday, so she
knew they only had about two hours of daylight left. Maybe she
would get to enjoy the sunset from the water tonight. At the dock,
a man with an ancient battered pickup truck waited.

“Hey, Chris,” he said, with a sweeping, full-armed
wave “Thanks for making a special trip over here.” He grabbed the
ropes Chris threw onto the dock.

“No problem, Sammy,” Chris said.

Sammy glanced onto the boat and saw Whitney sitting
in one of the captain’s chairs. She waved. “I can see that. No
problems today,” he said.

Sammy was middle-aged with ebony skin and thick gray
hair cut very short. His face was permanently wrinkled into laugh
lines. Although he effortlessly tied the boat to a post on the dock
with one hand, the lower half of his other arm was missing.

“Got my truck waiting here,” Sammy said, gesturing
at the end of the dock. “If I help you unload, you’ll still have
time for a sunset cruise,” he added, grinning at Whitney.

“I can help, too,” she said, extending her hand as
she stepped out of the boat. “I’m Whitney Oliver.”

“Sam Flemond.”

They worked quietly for the next ten minutes or so,
carrying supplies off the boat, down the short dock, and stacking
them in the bed of Sammy’s truck. Whitney and Sammy carried heavy
items together, both unsteady and staggering a little on the narrow
dock. Once, Whitney nearly stepped off the dock, but she felt a
steadying hand on her back.

“Be careful,” Chris said. “Good help is hard to come
by.”

She turned around and saw Chris’ infectious grin
that had them all laughing as they finished unloading the boat and
loading Sammy’s truck.

“Thanks, Chris,” Sammy said. “What do I owe you for
the delivery?”

“Nothing at all, I was coming over today
anyway.”

Sammy looked doubtfully at the empty boat.

“Sightseeing tour for Whitney. She’s never been here
before.”

Sammy’s face lit up. “Never been to St. John? It’s
the best island in the Caribbean.”

“I can see that already,” Whitney said.

“How about showing her the view from your place?”
Chris suggested.

Sammy looked shrewdly at Chris. “I know what you’re
up to, and I appreciate the offer, but I can’t keep you. Not when
you’ve got other plans.”

“I was just thinking that maybe your wife had been
up to some baking today. You know I never turn down food.”

“If you want to come along down the road, we’ll see
about some pie.”

Chris winked at Whitney and put an arm around her.
“Do you mind a little side trip?”

“I’m all yours,” she said.

The three of them squeezed into the cab of Sammy’s
truck and drove five minutes down the road. Sammy stopped in front
of a dilapidated group of houses missing windows and showing
weathered boards. Several of the small homes had tarps covering
parts of their roofs.

“I didn’t know you needed shingles, too,” Chris said
quietly. “I can bring those next time.”

“You’ve done enough. Wait here while I see if the
wife has some extra pie to send with you for the return trip.” He
winked. “Just in case you get hungry.”

Chris got out of the truck and Whitney slid out
after him. He went to the bed of the truck and started unloading
the construction supplies. Just helping haul a few things back on
the dock with Sammy’s help made her really appreciate how much work
Chris was putting in on this. He had already moved all the windows
and boards three times. His broad shoulders and strong arms didn’t
even look tired, but she wanted to reach out and knead those
muscles with her fingers anyway. He was so…nice. And that wasn’t
all.

At home, Whitney was always the hardest working
person around. The one everyone went to when something had to get
done. Just spending one day with Chris made her realize how nice it
was to be around a man who could literally work circles around her.
A man like that could make her life easier. He wasn’t anything like
her old flame, Logan. She hadn’t even asked him to help with the
simplest of tasks, even to open a jar of olives. Ever. She watched
Chris’ capable hands unloading construction supplies. He could open
a case of olive jars.

The stack of windows and boards on the ground grew
as Whitney tried to help. By the time Sammy came back carrying a
wicker basket covered with a bright colored towel, the supplies
were all unloaded and stacked neatly on the ground near the first
house.

Sammy looked at the pile and then he met Chris’
eyes, a serious expression on his face. “Can’t tell you how much we
appreciate it,” he said.

“Can’t tell you how much I love pie,” Chris said.
“Now, how about a ride back to the docks so I can sail off into the
sunset with this beautiful…pie.” He looked at Whitney as he
finished his sentence. She laughed.

When they got back on the boat and pulled away from
the dock, Whitney said, “That was really nice.”

“St. John is beautiful,” Chris replied.

“Not that. I mean you. You didn’t have to go to his
house and unload all that.”

Chris shrugged, concentrating on backing out of the
dock and turning the heavy boat around.

“And you weren’t coming here anyway,” Whitney
continued.

Chris met her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ll bet you’re going back another day to help him
put in those windows and fix his roof,” she said.

Chris kept one hand on the wheel, but reached out
with the other arm and pulled Whitney tight against him. His arm
wrapped all the way around her, practically crushing her against
his chest. “If I kiss you, will you stop talking?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said, unbalanced but strangely steady.
“I can’t tell you for sure.”

“Because I need to test the theory?”

“No,” she whispered, “because I can’t think when
you’re touching me.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head to hers. The
thrum of the boat’s engine under her feet was no match for the buzz
electrifying her body where it met his. Chris’ scent, sun-warmed
skin, was the first sensation. Fingers brushed her cheeks, stroking
outward and tangling in her hair until his hands held her head
firmly.

Not that she would have moved. His lips found hers
at the very moment she was sure she could not wait another second.
Gentle at first, then more insistent, his mouth covered hers.
Leaning into him and slipping her hands under the back of his
T-shirt, she surrendered to the kiss like a diver leaping from the
beam into warm inviting water. Eyes closed, Whitney focused on
every square inch of connection between them. Lips, hands,
bodies.

A loud boat horn shattered the kiss like glass.

Chris pulled back quickly, steadying his hand on the
wheel, his eyes searching her face and free arm encircling her.

“Better pay attention to what I’m doing,” he
said.

Whitney laughed. “I thought you were.”

“I mean the boat,” he said, breathing deeply and
concentrating on the sparkling blue water ahead. “I want us to live
to do that again. On dry land.”

Whitney stood close to Chris as he steered and kept
one arm around her. The air between them was charged with leftover
sparks from their kiss. Fighting for control, Whitney nodded and
smiled, as Chris pointed out some tiny islands, naming them and
telling her about sunken hazards and tales of shipwrecks. The ride
back to St. Thomas made time a liar, going fast and slow all at
once.

When they pulled into the harbor in Charlotte
Amalie, Whitney jumped onto the dock and took the ropes Chris
handed her.

“Just loop it around that post,” he said. “I’ll tie
it up in a minute.”

Chris eased the boat into place like he’d done it a
thousand times and shut off the engine.

“Should we eat this pie now or find something a
little more substantial?” he asked.

She smiled. “Hungry?”

“You have no idea.”

“You’ll have to choose the place again. Aside from a
few visits with my friend Taylor in college, I’m pretty clueless
about where to go on this island.”

“Taylor?” Chris asked, a slight frown wrinkling his
face.

“Taylor East. The family owns a home here on the
island,” Whitney explained. A home that is a disaster, she
remembered with a twinge of guilt. A good friend would rush out to
East Pointe to check on the construction progress instead of
lingering for a sunset dinner downtown.

Chris finished tying the boat and straightened up.
He towered over her and the setting sun glowed from behind him.

“Dinner, right. I know about twelve places we could
walk to that will make your mouth water,” he said.

It already is, she thought.

Chapter Eight

They found a quiet place with a killer view. A short
walk from the tourist restaurants and shops, it overlooked the
harbor. Looking west across the harbor, Whitney settled back in her
chair. She wanted this night to go on and on. She had no one to
hurry home to, no work to do. There was nothing she could do about
the problem of the East Pointe Estate tonight. The only thing she
could do right now was relax and enjoy dinner. For a girl who
always did the sensible thing, it was the only sensible thing to
do.

They ordered drinks and an appetizer to share.
Neither placed a dinner order yet, but there was plenty of time.
Chris didn’t seem to be in a hurry any more than she was.

“So,” Whitney began, “I don’t really know much about
you. Except that you are a really good kisser.”

“That about sums it up,” Chris said as he leaned
back in his chair and put one hand on her bare thigh.

“I know you must live here on the island
somewhere.”

“I do. Small house that was rescued from the
wrecking ball when a new, uh, development was being put in a few
years back.”

“A rescued house?”

“More of a shack really. Good enough for a single
guy, not the kind of thing that’s ever going to make a magazine
spread.”

“It’s more than what I have,” Whitney said. “By the
time I get home, my lease will be up on my apartment. I can’t
decide whether to just renew it or look for something that suits me
a little better.”

Chris looked at her like there was something he
wanted to ask, but he didn’t say anything. Their waiter placed
drinks on cardboard circles on the glass-topped table. No
Virgin-esia tonight, Whitney was going a slightly safer drink
route.

She took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri and
grinned at him over the rim. “I never liked the place anyway,” she
explained.

“Too small?”

“Too ex-boyfriend. And the parking is a real pain,
even with my little hybrid.”

“I’ve heard that about Boston.”

“Ever been there?” she asked.

“Family vacation when I was about twelve. Freedom
trail, the Old North Church. Old Ironsides. All the standard
tourist stuff.”

“And was a boy of twelve fascinated by all
that?”

“Boy? I thought of myself as a man, of course, when
I was twelve,” Chris said, flashing the sexy smile that announced
he was definitely a full-grown man right now. “Family vacations
weren’t a whole lot of fun when I was a kid. My dad was always in a
hurry to get it over with so he could get back to work. Profit
margins, you know.”

Chris said it in a light way, but the small crease
that appeared between his eyebrows as he spoke made Whitney think
that it wasn’t funny at all to him.

“And your parents?”

“Live in Maine,” he said, cutting her off. “I assume
your family is in Boston?”

“Sort of,” Whitney said. She met his eyes and
considered telling him the truth about her family. Not that there
was anyone to tell him about. The Easts were her only family now,
and it was for them that she needed to stay focused on her
job—getting their family vacation home in perfect shape for the
wedding which was getting closer with each passing hour.

Chris set his drink down and looked intently at her
face. Whitney was afraid he was going to ask about her family, and
she was afraid she felt like trusting him enough to spill the whole
story. Now was not the time.