“Safety rules state you’ll strap in down below,” she snapped, and then walked around the man who was working on her last nerve. She yanked over the T handle. Cripes. First he’d had the balls to argue with her in the water, and now he was questioning her authority on her boat? Sooo not going to happen. Calla didn’t wait for an answer. She started to climb below.

  She barely caught Jim’s low warning to their guest over the outside howl. “Better go, Ross, and watch your ass.”

  Ross’s heavy footsteps negotiated the short ladder as Calla hit the floor and went to one of the lockers to retrieve some blankets. Arms loaded and facing away from the insolent male, she counted to ten and tried to bring herself back under control.

  It wasn’t at all professional of her to show anger. It had always been one of her shortcomings, but this guy…this guy? Why was she so specifically prickly with him? In her career, Calla had faced her share of men who didn’t like to be told what to do by a female, and she’d learned to deal with them all. So why was this Ross person any different? Damn.

  Something about him had instantly gotten under her skin when their gazes had met over that first cresting gray wave. Maybe it was the rugged, outdoorsy vibe he exuded that said he should have known better than to be out on the water. Perhaps it was just the implacable way that he had looked at her that for some fucked-up reason had made her tingle right down to her size-seven deck shoes. No. It couldn’t be that. It was probably the excitement of the nor’easter that she could tell was now blowing at its height outside their tiny boat. Shit. She could hardly stand up, so why shouldn’t her brain be a little off kilter along with her sea-legs? That had to be it.

  When she finally disciplined herself into a semblance of civility, Calla turned, expecting to maintain a calm and authoritative demeanor. Instead, the minute she looked at him she felt like she’d been sucker punched.

  Ross stood six feet tall, his shoulders broad and muscled from what Calla figured was years of pulling traps. The hair she’d imagined curly now tickled his nape as it dried and showed appealing bits of gray at the temple that begged for fingers to comb it through. But what really held her, in a mouthwateringly heart-stopping way, was his face. Weather-beaten and tanned, there was nothing gentle in his look. His dark eyes, misshapen nose, and square chin all screamed hard and determined. This was one man who didn’t like being told what to do. Well, fuck him. As attractive as she found him, Calla had a job to do, and nobody screwed with protocol on her watch. First things first, he’d left the hatch behind him wide open.

  She threw the blankets on one of the survivor seats and strode past him to close the QAWTD. “It’s called a water-tight door for a reason.” Trying to regain her equilibrium, Calla gave her next order. “Now take off those clothes.”

  Shit. Calla almost groaned out loud. She didn’t mean for the words to come out like that. She only meant that he needed to get warm…not naked. Hell, no! Where were her brains? Probably in her perky and attentive nipples, which were suddenly picturing him stripped to the skin and weren’t getting the memo to behave. But damn it, how could she back off now?

  “Excuse me?” Ross’s imperious eyebrows rose.

  Calla had the misfortune of meeting his gaze again and was nearly singed from the lustful heat in his slow appraisal of her, from head to foot.

  “You heard me,” she blustered while wondering what he could possibly see, covered in bulky foul weather gear as she was. Calla straightened. Business only, she chastised herself. “Wet clothes. Hypothermia. Get out of them and wrap up.” She brusquely indicated the blankets she’d retrieved.

  “Bossy much?” he asked, and Calla could see amusement seep into his face.

  “My boat, my rules,” she snapped, not liking that he seemed so comfortable while she was not.

  They had a stare-down. Calla crossed her arms over her chest. The part of her on autopilot realized she’d stopped having trouble keeping her feet. The seas must be calming. She kept her stance with ease now, which made her feel much more in control. She sent Ross a pointed look.

  Calla saw the minute he decided to comply…and to perversely add a little something of his own if his smug little grin was any indication. Oh shit. Why did she feel like she was suddenly in trouble? Perhaps even in over her head.

  “If you insist.” His hands went to his belt, and slowly he undid the buckle. He popped the button on his cotton trousers and reached provocatively for the zipper. The move was worthy of any stripper Calla had ever seen…and a million times more enticing. Reddening, she spun to face the wall. Mentally scrambling, she tried to direct her mind back into her official capacity and began removing her own foul weather coverings.

  “I’ll be filing a report on your actions,” Calla said, unzipping her slicker.

  She heard him kick off his heavy boots. The soft sound of cloth hitting the deck followed, assaulting her senses.

  Biting her lower lip, she shed her leggings. “I’ll need to know what prompted you to be out when a small craft warning had been posted,” Calla refused to think of the naked body behind her as she kicked her discarded suit aside, “and the events leading up to your mayday call.”

  Ross pulled his shirt over his head. Reasonable requests, he thought. But something he couldn’t afford to do. His foolish bit of business today needed to remain secret, even if it made him look careless and irresponsible. He’d already lost his boat. What was a fine from the federal government? Just insult heaped onto injury. He risked her anger.

  “My reasons are my own, and I don’t feel like sharing,” he replied, wrapping one blanket around his naked lower torso and draping the other around his shoulders. “You can turn now.” Why did he have this sudden devilish wish that he’d asked her to turn sooner? His cock stirred. Hmm. Even with her tersely set mouth, those green eyes had mesmerized him, had grabbed him by the balls the minute he’d looked into their imperative emerald depths despite the unflattering gear that had covered her petite frame. Now that she’d shed them, the little Coast Guardsman had uncovered some delicate curves that even her standard blues couldn’t hide. His libido kicked up a notch.

  Average size breasts, smaller than usual ass—not his normal type. No. But more than her body had him attracted. There was something else to her. This spitfire wasn’t like the women in his past who had been easily charmed by his quick smile, a smile that more often than not led to a satisfying interlude between sheets, no strings attached. Uh-uh, the coastguards-woman would make him work for what he wanted. And he wanted.

  This woman’s turned up nose, tightened jaw, and lacerating glare told him that she wasn’t easily beguiled. Damn. He was intrigued. Was she all business? How would she handle it if he let his blanket drop? How would she take his refusal to answer questions? He didn’t have to wait long for at least one answer.

  “You pompous ass!” she spewed.

  Ross’s heart actually beat double when she came close and jabbed a hard finger into the center of his bare chest. His mind rocked, but blood was pumping through more parts of him than just his brain. The little witch smelled like summer ocean, salt, and brine overlaid with the perfume of beach plum. Her nearness made him crazy. She backed off, retreating a few steps and it was all he could do not to grab her hand and pull her up against his hard and seeking shaft.

  Maybe his buddies had been right. It had been over a year since his last relationship, and he wasn’t much into casual sex since the caliber of female who wanted it always disappointed him. They’d told him he was going to blow a head gasket if he didn’t find release soon, and it seemed like this one woman in uniform was about to cause the boil over.

  “Do you have any idea the danger you put yourself and my personnel in today?” Calla asked, getting close again. Ross took a deep breath. He knew when to lie low and let the storm roll.

  “Because of your stupidity, we risked life and limb, and now you’re refusing to cooperate? Arrogant prick!” Her nostrils flared.

  Why was that such a turn on? Wait…had she just called him stupid…and worse, an arrogant prick? He growled low in his throat and advanced a step.

  “What did you call me?” His voice was deceptively low and calm. He’d been called an asshole before, but no one had ever accused him of arrogance. Dammit! His middle name was practically humility.

  “You heard me. Arrogant asshole! You endangered my men, refused to abandon ship, unclipped from your life raft, and then thought we were going to give your scow a tow to shore in gale force seas! What would you call that behavior?”

  Ross sputtered, tongue-tied, his thoughts derailed by the sudden urge to brush his hands across her heaving chest and dip to get a taste of her pursing lips. He dropped the blanket from around his shoulders and stalked toward her. She stopped her tirade and sent her tongue out for an exploratory swipe. He expected her to back up. It didn’t happen. He saw fire in her eyes, but this time it didn’t seem like it was all from anger.

  Ross’s normal eloquence deserted him when her hands came up and gripped his biceps as if gauging his strength. They slipped to his pecs, and then brushed through the soft hair on his chest. He heard her swear under her breath. Shit. His skin was suddenly on fire. What the hell was she doing to him? He brought his hands to her waist, and pulled her close, then stared down into fathoms of green. He sensed her impatience.

  “Kiss me, asshole.” Quite the come-on, but the malediction had never sounded so sweet.

  “Aye, aye, skipper.” His mouth lowered and brushed against hers, the softness of his delivery made false by the hard cock pressed to her stomach. Screw it then. He deepened the kiss, forcing her mouth to part, breathing in her sigh. He’d never felt anything so right in his entire life. What the fuck?

  Ross backed her against the wall, wanting full body contact, never lifting his mouth from hers. Her hands were already inside the blanket, cupping his ass and rocking him closer. It was madness to think of taking her here, but his lizard brain was in control. Sanity didn’t stand a chance.

  He pulled away long enough to free the tail of her shirt from her pants and groaned as his hands roamed the softness of her belly. He felt the fine layer of muscle as he reached around her back to caress her ribs and searched ineffectually for the clasp to her bra. He needed to fill his hands with her breasts.

  “Sports bra,” she murmured, tearing her lips away to find air. He caught them again. No oxygen for her. If he was on the verge of passing out from pleasure, she’d damn well follow. He ran his hands under the elastic that hemmed her in and lifted. Her warm mounds sprang free, and he eagerly filled his cold palms with breasts that fit his hands as if they were born for them. Mmm. Velvety smooth, soft, except for the hard protrusions of her pliant nipples which he expertly plucked. She instantly filled his mouth with her moan, and his balls responded by drawing up into his already taut body. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have an accident on her very official Coast Guard blankets. That wouldn’t do…but dammit, she was so fucking responsive. His cock was one big ache.

  When her questing hands finally found his pounding dick, the blanket dropped, baring his backside to the cold. Ross moaned deep in the back of his throat. He felt her fingers all the way to the root of his shaft, and there was nothing tentative or dainty about her grip. Hell. All she would have to do is work him up and down once or twice…wait a minute.

  Sanity crept back in—barely. He tore his mouth away and gasped for air. “What are we doing?” he asked in a sexual daze, making a last ditch effort at being a gentleman.

  “Fucking.”

  Oh Lord. Lucky him. There had been no hesitation in her reply. She captured the back of his head and brought him back down, keeping one hand on his cock, stroking him from base to tip. As she spread a teardrop of moisture around the head, he thought he’d come right in her hand.

  “Need to be inside you.” He pulled her fingers away, pulsing with near completion.

  She brought his hand to cup her pussy, where she held him and whispered, “Yes. Now.”

  He went for his back pocket…no…no pants. Hell. He almost roared with displeasure. His pants were on the floor and… “No condoms,” he moaned, filled with lust and regret.

  She went still. Then she pushed him away. Efficiently she wiggled her bra back down, tucked her shirt-tail in, and ran her keen gaze over his still turgid form.

  “Go home. Change your clothes. My office, nineteen hundred.” She turned and climbed the ladder. “We have…paperwork to fill out,” she huskily enticed him, and then disappeared through the bulkhead.

  Had it been a dream? A fairy tale? Ross shook with cold, heat, and pleasure. No. It had been real, and his rescuer was no fairy princess. Whoever she was, she sure was cool under fire.

  Chapter Three

  Calla had never done anything so crazy in her life. What had she been thinking? What had started as a dressing down for Ross Bennson had nearly ended up with a complete undressing…for both of them. Once she’d had her hands on him…hell, once she’d come under the spell of his dark, searing eyes, she had wanted that magnificent cock seated deep inside her. Damn. She’d heard about instant attraction before, but this was insane. Just add cold water and stir, she thought hysterically.

  No. That wasn’t it. If she was going to be honest, it was more than his hot body that had Calla heated. She’d always liked her males cocky and sure, and as her confidence and rank had increased in the Coast Guard, fewer and fewer men had even dared to have the balls to go after her. Ross, however, hadn’t been cowed. Wasn’t that a huge turn on? And his face—she thought back to the crooked nose and deeply etched laugh lines—nothing affected her imagination more than a visage that told a story, and Ross’s told volumes.

  She eyed the clock. Ten minutes ’til she had to put up or shut up. She’d invited him back to her office, ostensibly for paperwork, but both he and she knew better. They were going to finish what they’d started in the survivor’s compartment. Could she go through with it?

  Calla was thirty years old. She’d spent the last twelve years of her life dedicated to the Coast Guard and her quest for the rank of surfman. It hadn’t been easy. In an almost all male environment, she battled doubt and ridicule while never letting her guard down and never getting involved with any of her fellow servicemen. Eventually, overtures had stopped due to her rank, and it had been a blessing.

  She’d had some sexual encounters with civilians, but so long ago she could barely remember, and they’d all been far from satisfactory. Why had she taken one look at the Down Easter and been consumed with need? There was no precedent, no good reason, and no way should she have let it happen. The lack of condom had been a buzz-kill, a sign from above to stop the foolishness, but had she listened? No. She’d invited the luscious lobsterman back to her office for a re-do. Calla groaned.

  She’d gone from regulation blues to dress whites, this time donning a skirt instead of slacks. Hidden beneath the crisp uniform was the wickedest looking push-up bra she owned in nearly see-through pink lace along with a matching thong that barely covered her now damp pussy. She might as well have gone commando.

  Could she go through with it? She looked at the cold, hard desk, the only piece of furniture in the room if you didn’t count the plastic chairs, and envisioned herself spread across it like a picnic for Ross. It wasn’t an appealing fantasy, and probably the picture of the permanent station captain and his family smiling down from the wall above didn’t help the mood. Hmm. So not the desk. Maybe Ross would take her standing up like they’d started earlier, but the spontaneity had gone out of that, and now it didn’t seem as much romantic as tawdry.

  The light rap of knuckles sounded at the door. Shit. All thoughts fled her brain as she pulled it open. Damn. She hadn’t been hallucinating. Ross was fucking gorgeous. She fixated on the small bit of gray at his temples, the craggy sun-lines on his face, and the permanently crooked nose that made him so much more approachable than if he’d been perfect. She wondered how many women had kissed their way down his weather-beaten face to be assaulted by those scandalous lips. Hundreds if her imagination was correct. Hell, he could very well have a wife or girlfriend waiting at home while he came to explore some new territory. She should probably ask.

  “You have a boyfriend?” Ross beat her to the punch. He scanned the office, not daring to settle on her. Wow. He was as nervous as she was.

  “Nope. You?”

  “No. No boyfriend,” he quipped with a small grin.

  “You know what I mean.” She almost blushed. “I don’t take other women’s men.”

  His expression softened. “No relationship…for over a year.”

  Calla nearly gave away her astonishment. Were the ladies in Lobster Cove blind? “You want to have a seat?” she asked nervously.

  He ignored that invitation and perched on her desk instead. “You know you have the advantage on me,” he began. “I don’t even know your name.”

  She stood at attention to hide her nervousness, giving him a saucy salute. “Petty Officer, 1st class, Surfman—”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  She sighed and dropped the rigid stance. “It’s Calla…as in the lily.”

  “Calla,” he breathed. “That’s a beautiful name.” His gaze ran over her hair. She’d had it pulled back earlier, but now it was captured tight in a bun and looked even more prim. If he delivered on the action he’d wanted earlier, Calla knew he’d have it down around her shoulders before long, ends curling at her naked breasts.

  She cleared her throat and sidled up to the other end of her desk.

  “I have paperwork for you to sign.” She moved a folder from a pile in the corner and pushed it toward him. She’d spent the afternoon filling out her report, although she had very little to go on. That shouldn’t be a problem. She was only a temp at this station, and if the captain didn’t like it when he returned tomorrow, he would take it upon himself to wrench any additional information out of the reluctant native.

 

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