Queen For A Night Read Free

doorway to where Ross stood at the boat's controls. He appeared relaxed, his feet spread slightly for balance. His hands on the wheel were firm and sure as he sent the boat along the winding waterway. The rose-tinted light of the evening slanting through the windscreen caught the angles and planes of his face, turning them to copper and gold, while blazing in the depths of his eyes. His gaze, however, was not on the vista unfolding ahead of him. He was watching her.
    The expression on his face was suspended, less easygoing than before, and more enigmatic.
    A shiver caught Caroline by surprise. It rippled over her, leaving a prickle of gooseflesh in its wake. Strange. She might be hyper-aware of him, but had no reason to be so tense. No, of course not. In defiance of that idea, she swung from the railing and stepped into the cabin, closing the glass-paneled door behind her.
    Teakwood and brass, nubby fabric and carpeting in heather tones of cream, brown and nautical blue formed the interior of the yacht. From the upper cabin where she stood, and where the control panel with its blinking lights was located, a short flight of steps led down into the aft, stern section. She could make out a galley down there with the usual small-scale stainless appliances and storage cabinets. A teak dining table was flanked by a bench on one side and armchairs on the other, while a sofa of the kind that could be made into a bed sat across the far end. The space was comfortable without being overly big or luxurious.
    There was also a sofa in the upper cabin, set back behind the forward controls. A set of steps wound down behind that control panel, descending into what was most likely a cuddy cabin, or compact sleeping area, in the prow. Caroline gave those cuddy steps a wary glance as she moved toward the far end of the sofa, a good distance from Ross at the boat’s wheel.
    “You could make us a drink, if you don't mind,” he said over his shoulder. “Jack Daniels and soda for me.”
    The wet bar was at the foot of the sofa. It took only a moment to locate glasses, liquor and the separate ice maker. She mixed the drink and brought it to him, leaning past his wide shoulder to set it in the holder built into the console.
    “I suppose I should have asked if you get seasick.” He half turned toward her, as he spoke, his forearm brushing the curve of her breast.
    She drew back quickly while hot color flared into her face once more. Her voice was not quite even as she spoke. “Not really.”
    “There's no point in being brave about it. The truth will out in more ways than one if we start to roll.”
    His gaze did not waver from hers, nor did he show any other sign he had noticed the contact between them. That was at least marginally reassuring.
    “When we start to roll, you mean. My dad was a shrimper before he died, if you’ll remember. I used to go out on his boat, so know what it’s like.” A corner of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I can't vouch for what might happen if we hit rough weather, but I'll be fine as long as things are halfway normal.”
    “Remember you were warned,” he said.
    “Yes,” she said dryly to his broad back as he turned back to the wheel. “I'll do that.”
    Caroline placed her glass of chilled Chablis on the heavy brass table next to the sofa. Making herself comfortable in a cushioned corner, she sat staring out the sliding glass doors across from her, watching the overhanging trees that edged the bayou as they slid past.
    An odd, perilous content stole through her veins. It was an effort to shake free of it as Ross spoke again.
    “Tony talks about you all the time, you know, carries a wallet full of your pictures. Next to Murielle, you're his favorite person in the world.”
    He’d recognized her from those pictures, no doubt. It was good to have that explained. “My dad was Uncle Tony’s closest brother out of four, the next in age. On top of that, he's my godfather as well yours.”
    “Looking