Checking in went smoothly,aftershe’d managed to rouse a desk clerk from some deep, secret room in the back. It almost seemed like she was the only guest in the place, it being off season and the middle of the week.
Having been given her key, she walked back out into the chilly night, retrieved her bags, and entered her room. It wassparsely decorated with a decidedly sea-like motif. It was small, but clean, and that would do for the one night she’d be here. After this, she’d be staying on the Atlaua until her job was complete.
It didn’t take long to shower and change for bed. Normally Tabitha slept in a cami and boy shorts, but she’d known Maine wasn’t going to be exactly balmy, so she’d brought sweats, and she was very happy about that now.
Slipping between the sheets, she set the alarm on her phone, then emptied her head of everything. She’d learned how to fall asleep in most every location and in any situation, which served her well, now.
It didn’t take more than a few minutes before she drifted off.
CHAPTER 3
Spencer yawned.It was approaching eight o-clock in the morning, and he was more than ready to head below, grab some quick chow, then crash in his bunk. The night had been uneventful, and the morning, normal, but a few minutes earlier—with the rest of his crew mates now milling about, post-breakfast—he spotted a small craft, still far off their stern, but clearly approaching. He’d been told to expect the submarine operator at approximately this time, so Spencer assumed it was their guy.
Lifting his binoculars, he took a long look. Blinked. Then looked again. The pilot of the skiff was a woman. And not just any scientific-looking, nerd-like researcher.Hell no.The female approaching was tall and confident in her straight-as-an-arrow stance as she stood at the helm.
But it was the brilliant disorder of her red curls that caught Spencer’s attention and had him unable to look away. The woman’s hair danced in the wind, the sun glinting off the flying strands with kaleidoscopic abandon, highlighting a multifaceted cache of spun gold. Her crowning glory immediately made Spencer wonder what color the woman’s eyes were, hidden as they were behind dark sunglasses. Were they brown, with hintsof the same brassy color as that which flamed in her locks? Or might they be green; fathomless like the depths of the ocean? Spencer found himself inordinately curious, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the rail to continue his perusal as he focused on her approach.
“What have we got?” His shipmate, Pietro came up behind him, almost causing Spencer to drop his field glasses. That was how focused he’d become on the advancing woman.
“Uh, I guess it’s the submarine pilot,” Spencer managed, reluctantly drawing his eyes away. “I didn’t know we were expecting a female,” he added with a shrug he hoped looked nonchalant.
“A signora? Caruccia?” his Italian shipmate questioned with a lascivious waggle of his brows. Spencer didn’t like Pietro’s sudden interest, even though he was quite familiar with the man’s normally hilarious over-the-top antics when it came to the fairer sex.
“I’m not sure if she’s pretty,” Spencer prevaricated somewhat grumpily. He didn’t know why, but he felt the need to warn Pietro off. “You can put your tongue back in your mouth. She’s here for a job, not to fraternize.”
Pietro grinned and snorted. “Ah, my friend, after two weeks stuck in dry dock, and five days at sea,anywoman is fair game. She could be mia madre, and I’d still take note.”
Spencer knew Pietro was kidding, but he sent a quick cuff to the man’s shoulder as a subtle warning. “Let’s keep this professional. You know the skipper won’t like it if we ogle our client.”
“Hah,” Pietro laughed. “Just because Cap is an old married man, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to pretend we’re castrato.”
Nope. Pietro certainly wasnotgelded.
Pietro squinted in the direction of the approaching craft as it came closer, his mouth falling open. “My God. Bellissima,” he breathed. “Look at that hair.”
As if Spencer could getthatpicture out of his brain. His eyes traveled back to the fast-approaching vessel. Amongst the tangle of her tresses, he could now make out an uplifted chin and a pert little nose.
Pietro inched closer to the rail and continued on a groan. “Dio. I’d like to wrap my fist in all that lusciousness as I take her from behind.”
Oh, hell no.
Spencer lost his normally unconfrontational patience.
“Cut the shit.”
Something about the woman headed toward them made him want to stop his friend’s raunchy speculation in its tracks. “She’s here for a job.”
Pietro raised a brow, consternation clear on his face. “Stai dicendo che hai la precedenza? Are you calling dibs?” he self-translated.
“No,” Spencer rebutted a bit too forcibly. “I’m just saying you shouldn’t make the lady uncomfortable. She has work to do. She’s not here to socialize.”
Pietro smiled knowingly, as if he could see inside Spencer’s head. He shrugged in a very Italian way. “Maybe not now, but after she’s finished for the day, she’ll have to join us in the mess for food. Who knows. Once she’s off the clock, she may react well to…someone’s charms.”
Right.Spencer already knew how that would go. If Pietro locked, loaded, and deployed his beguiling arsenal of Italian endearments toward the woman, no other man in sight would stand a chance. Spencer had seen it time and time again. When hitting up bars, his Italian friend always got the girl.
“What? No response?” Pietro quipped, slapping Spencer on the back. “Ah, my friend, I think you are already smitten.” He got serious for a moment. “If you want to make a move, I promise I won’t get in your way.” He made a “cross your heart” motion. “That’s what a good amico I am.”
Spencer sucked in a breath. “What? No. You’re reading into things. I have no interest in the lady. Now get lost. Go help Manny and Lethabo get her boat tethered up. I’m officially off watch. I’m gonna grab some food and hit the hay.”
