Excerpt

“So I’m a hustler now, is that it?”

Too caught up in her own fury, Larkin missed the gathering tension. “I don’t know, are you? Kind of funny how things changed. One minute, you’re just some guy flirting. Then you see me with my father, the futures trader, and suddenly you go all continental on me, with the hand kissing and the heavy stares and…” She swallowed, remembering the flare of heat and need, noticing for the first time the palpable tension that hung around him.

“And?” Christopher bit off, a dangerous flash in his eyes.

She flushed. “And nothing. If you’re going to try to get alongside my father through me, you’re going to have to do a lot more to convince me than just kiss my hand.”

“Gladly.” And before she knew what he was about, he’d dragged her to him, lips coming down hot and possessive on hers.

Kristin Hardy has always wanted to write, and started her first novel while still in grade school. Although she became a laser engineer by training, she never gave up her dream of being an author. In 2002, her first completed manuscript debuted in the Mills & Boon® Blaze® line; it was subsequently made into a movie by the Oxygen network. Kristin lives in New Hampshire with her husband and collaborator. Check out her website at www.kristinhardy.com.

Always Valentine’s Day

By

Kristin Hardy

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the usual suspects for doing what they usually do (you know who you are), to Least Goat, for daring to dream, to Harlequin, for giving us happily ever after for sixty years, and to Stephen, for giving me happily ever after for eleven years. And counting.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

About The Author

Title Page

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Preview

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements Thanks go to Laini Fondiller of Lazy Lady Farm, and Kristan Doolan and Layla Masant of Doe’s Leap Farm (www.vtcheese.com) for teaching me about goat dairying, and to Andy and Jenny Tapper of Via Lactea Farm (www.vialacteafarm.com) for introducing me to their goats and showing me what life on a working farm is like.

Chapter One

Larkin Hayes looked across the glassed-in lido deck of the Alaskan Voyager to Vancouver Bay beyond. When she’d left L.A. that morning, the mercury had been headed for the mid-nineties. Here in Vancouver, it hadn’t even cracked sixty degrees.

A snatch of the Lost theme song had her pulling her BlackBerry from her pocket.

“Hello?”

“I’m just leaving the airport,” a voice said without preamble.

Five years might have passed since she and her father had spoken regularly, but Carter Hayes seemed to have no doubt that she’d recognize his voice.

And she did. She just couldn’t believe what he was saying. “You’re only now leaving the airport?”

“My flight got delayed in Tokyo.”

“You’re aware the ship sails in a little over half an hour, right? We’ve already done the lifeboat drill.”

“I think I can find a lifeboat on my own.”

“The question is whether you’re going to be able to find the ship in time.” Then again, Carter had always been able to do just about anything he wanted—except maybe make a marriage last.

“They won’t sail without me,” he said confidently.

“If you’re lucky.”

“I’ll be lucky.”

One corner of her mouth tugged up. Quintessentially Carter. What wasn’t quintessentially Carter was booking fare on a commercial cruise line for their trip. He could have chartered a yacht; hell, he probably could have bought a few dozen of them.

Except that cruising for a week or two on even the largest yacht would have left them with a few too many silences to fill.

Across the way, a family had commandeered two tables and still spilled over the edges in a three-generational confusion of bodies and laughter. What would it be like to be a part of that kind of happy tangle of relations? she wondered enviously. Someone to joust with, someone to travel with. Someone else to try to talk some sense into Carter. Instead, she had a handful of disgruntled stepbrothers and sisters, all of whom wanted no part of the man they now loathed, except for maybe his money.

Larkin shook her head. No point wasting time on pointless thinking. “Our first port of call is Juneau,” she said. “You can always catch up with the ship there.”

“Forget Juneau. The cab driver tells me we’re twenty minutes away. I’ll be there.”

“In that case, you’ll find me on the lido deck.”

“Good. Order a bottle of Clicquot. We’ll drink to the future.”

To the future, Carter’s favorite toast. Not surprising for a man who’d made the bulk of his fortune from futures trading.

Larkin ended the call and walked through the doors that led outside onto the fantail, not sure whether she was amused or annoyed. Then again, Carter had that effect on people. He could be, by turns, infuriating, surprising, generous, charming, brilliant and astonishingly pigheaded. As a husband, he’d been a miserable failure in marriages two, three, four and, she assumed, five. As a father, he’d been like a football team—good seasons and bad seasons.

And, for the previous five years, off seasons.

She pulled her duster-style coat more tightly around her to ward off the chill and shook her head. A trip to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, he’d said, but she’d recognized it for what it was—an olive branch. A fine idea, in theory. What she and Carter were going to do with one another for a week solid, though, heaven only knew.

Staring at the islands across the bay, Larkin watched a floatplane as it dropped down from the sky and scudded along the waves. How did it feel to land on water the first time, on shifting waves instead of the solid concrete of a runway?

Like finding out she was going to be living with a new stepmother. And another. And another.

“Stop right now!”

The man’s shout had Larkin whirling to see a small girl pelting out of the doors, glancing back over her shoulder and laughing. And then it seemed to happen in slow motion, the girl tripping, falling, pitching toward the deck with a yelp.

“Hey!” Reflexively, Larkin reached out to catch the wiry little body before it hit. She didn’t reckon on the momentum, though, and instead wound up tumbling to the deck with her, her BlackBerry spinning away.

“Whoops.” The girl grinned at her from under a mop of curly dark hair.

There was a rush of steps. “What the hell?” A man skidded to a stop and stared down at them a little out of breath. “Sophia, you know you’re not supposed to run.”

“Maman says hell is a bad word.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t say it.” He hoisted her to her feet.

His cropped hair was as dark as his daughter’s, Larkin saw. Matching stubble darkened his jaw, a frankly delectable jaw with a chin that had just a hint of a cleft, the kind that made Larkin want to nibble it.

Lucky Maman.

He held out a hand as Larkin sat up. “Need a lift?”

He might have had the cheekbones of a model but he had the beat-up hands of a man who worked for a living, scarred, sinewy. She was prepared for his palm to feel hard and callused. She wasn’t prepared for the jolt of heat that surged through her, as though he were connected to some hidden power source. She swayed as she stood.

“Easy, there. Take a minute to get your sea legs.”

“We’re not at sea yet.”

“Which is why you should start now.”

He retrieved her BlackBerry and handed it to her. An irresistible humor hovered around the corners of his mouth, glimmered in his brown eyes. “Christopher Trask,” he said. “And this little heathen, who will be apologizing any minute, is my niece, Sophia.”

Niece.

“I already apologized,” Sophia complained, squirming.

He gave her a stern look. “What did I hear your mother tell you about running?”

“That you were supposed to stop me,” she returned with an impudent look. “Anyway, you said a bad word.”

They stared at each other a moment, at an impasse. “How old are you again?” Christopher asked finally.

“You know I’m six.”

“Do you want to live to blackmail again at seven? Apologize.”

Sophia eyed him. “You won’t tell Maman I was running?”

“Not if you say you’re sorry.” And not if she didn’t out him, Larkin realized with silent laughter. “Now please apologize properly to Ms.…”

“Hayes,” she replied obediently. “Larkin Hayes.”

Christopher folded his arms and cleared his throat.

Sophia shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. I shouldn’ta been running.” She looked up at Christopher beguilingly. “Can I go tell Keegan about the stuffed penguins now?”

“Sure, but don’t…run,” he finished as Sophia dashed back inside. He watched her for a moment, then nodded to himself as she apparently reached her destination. He turned back to Larkin, dusting off his hands. “You can see how she respects me.”

Larkin gave him an amused look. “Your mastery of the situation is obvious.”

“I was afraid of that.” He scrubbed at his hair ruefully. “It’s harder than it looks, you know. Especially when they run in packs.”

“Family vacation?”

He nodded. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

“It always does.” She walked over to the rail. “I take it you don’t have experience with kids?”

“Nope. Bachelor uncle. Or, I don’t know, first cousin twice removed? They’re my cousins’ kids, whatever that makes me.”

“Uncle Soft Touch?” she suggested.

“Not if I can help it.” He came to a stop beside her.

“Of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said sweetly as she leaned on the varnished wood.

“The trick is to break their spirits while they’re young.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “And I can see how good you are at it. Shouldn’t you be getting back inside? Their parents must be desperate without you.”

His glance at the doors was a little hunted. “I’m sure they won’t miss me. I’ll just soak up a little more sun.”

“You’re aware it’s fifty-eight degrees and cloudy, right?”

“I’m an eternal optimist.”

This time she grinned outright. “So how many of them are you up against?”

“Five. All under the age of seven. If you see me in a bar later mainlining Shirley Temples, you’ll know I cracked.”

“I’ll be sure to send over some peanuts.”

Gulls circled over the whitecap-dotted water. Christo pher wore only khakis and a deep blue flannel shirt against the fresh breeze that sent the pennants over their heads snapping, but he seemed not to mind it.

“Do you work outside?”

He blinked. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t seem to mind the cold.”

His teeth gleamed. “I run a farm in Vermont. This is balmy.”

“Vermont,” she said. “Maple syrup.”

“You’ll warm my cousin Jacob’s heart. He and my aunt have a sugar bush. They make maple syrup,” Christopher elaborated at her uncomprehending look.

“Seriously?”

“Well, someone’s got to. Or are you one of those people who thinks that food comes from the grocery store?”

“Of course not. Everybody knows it comes from restaurant kitchens.”

It was his turn to grin. “You take some keeping up with, Larkin Hayes.”

“Get your running shoes handy. So what do you farm?”

“These days mostly bills.”

“Not much money in that,” she observed.

“There is for my creditors. For me, it’s a miracle cure for being rich. Anyway, what about you? What’s your story?”

Improbable, at best. “Not nearly as colorful as yours. I’m traveling with my father. It’s his birthday.”

“Figured it would be nice to celebrate?”

“Yes.” And even nicer if Carter actually made it onto the ship.

“So where is he?”

“Oh, around,” she said vaguely.

“Had to take a breather already? We haven’t even sailed.”

Larkin gave him a sharp look. “He’s not here yet. He got delayed. We were coming from different cities.” Different continents, actually, but the less said about that the better. She pushed away from the rail to walk.

Christopher ambled alongside her. “So what was your city?”

“L.A.”

“Yeah? You an actress?”

She laughed. “Why would you ask that?”

Humor glimmered in his eyes. “Because you’re not big enough to be on American Gladiators.”

“It’s not the size, it’s the viciousness. I’ve got tricks up my sleeve that would turn your hair white.”

“In that case, could you show me a few so I can defend myself against my nieces and nephews?”

She gave him a sly look. “I only use my powers for good.”

“Oh, come on, I need all the help I can get.”

“Sorry, Gladiators’ code.”

He shook his head sadly. “You didn’t look like a cruel woman when I picked you off the deck.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“In other words, you really are an actor.”

“Isn’t everybody?” She glanced beyond him to see Sophia giggling at the door, next to a little boy with the same midnight hair. “I think you’re being summoned.”

Christopher turned to see them both waving madly at him. “Time to go play uncle,” he said.

“Well, it was nice to meet you.” She put out her hand. “I guess this is goodbye.”

His look held pure devilry. “Just how big do you think this ocean liner is?”

Small, he thought as he followed Sophia back inside to the staterooms. With luck, as small as a tugboat. Larkin Hayes was far and away the most interesting person he’d met on the cruise so far. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? She was far and away the most interesting woman he’d met in years. Four years, to be exact. There was something about her that made it hard to look away, some inner sparkle, a confidence in the way she stood, long and slim. Not to mention the fact that she was flatout gorgeous with that wide, generous mouth and that mane of blond hair that made a man want to sink his hands into it. It wasn’t that that got to him, though (really), but the smarts. Was there anything sexier than a clever-tongued woman?

She put that intelligence to good use, he figured, judging by her outfit: pea-size diamonds in her ears, a cashmere coat and, unless he was very much mistaken, a forty-thousand-dollar Patek Philippe watch. You noticed that kind of thing when you’d spent over eleven years as a financial industry lobbyist. Between Washington and Wall Street, he’d seen pretty much all the trappings of wealth that were out there.

Which had eventually sent him running back to the farming life he’d grown up with, but that was a different story.

And Larkin Hayes had a story. It showed in her eyes, sea green and dancing with fun, yet guarded in some indefinable way. They might have talked but she’d told him very little.

Which only made him want to find out more.

It was an ocean liner and there were only so many places to go. Sooner or later—sooner if he had anything to say about it—they’d run into each other again. Yep, by the end of the week, he was going to know Larkin Hayes a whole lot better.

“We’re moving!”

“No standing on the deck chairs, Adam,” Molly Trask reminded her grandson as they stood on their suite’s veranda. Her bobbed hair, once a glossy black, had turned full silver, a color that made her eyes look even bluer. She’d stayed trim, though—anyone with a family and a business like she had spent way too much time running around to let the pounds pile on.

“I wanna see,” Adam said obstinately.

“You just had your turn,” Jacob Trask said, turning from where he held Adam’s twin sister, Sophia, and their brother Gerard. Tall and burly as a lumberjack, Jacob looked like he could easily hold them up forever. And as their father, he probably would. “When your mama comes back from making her spa appointments, we’ll go up top where we can see everything.”

“But—”

He came by it honestly, Molly thought. Adam senior, her husband, had always been impatient himself. Impatient to work, impatient to live, impatient to love. And, it seemed, impatient to die. Ten years had passed since he’d left her, suddenly and unexpectedly. Ten years and it still felt fresh. In the time since his death, she’d focused on her family, watching her sons marry and start families of their own. How her barrel-chested, booming-voiced Adam would have loved being surrounded by his half-dozen grandchildren, rolling on the floor and playing with them. Spoiling them unmercifully, no doubt.

Well, she was no slouch in the spoiling department herself. Nor, she thought, were her sons, spiriting her off on an Alaskan luxury cruise just because she’d read an article in the Sunday travel section. To see the glaciers, they said, but she knew what it was really about. It was the tenth anniversary of Adam’s death, and they wanted to take her somewhere she’d be surrounded by family and things to see and do. Sweet of them, she thought fondly. They never asked, but she knew they worried and wondered why she’d never remarried. How could she explain that a love like she’d had with Adam left little room for another?

So she stood outside her plush stateroom and counted herself the luckiest woman around because she had the most precious of things—family.

She rose. “Come on, Adam, I’ll take you to the top deck.”

The movement took Larkin by surprise. One minute, she was sipping at her appletini and idly chatting to the couple next to her at the bar. The next, she’d realized that the pier was farther off. A lot farther off.

So that was it, then. They were under way, and Carter hadn’t arrived.

It shouldn’t have surprised her. It shouldn’t even have made her pause. She’d known when he’d called that there was no way he was going to make it. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d promised something he hadn’t come through with.

So why did she feel let down?

The reality was that she missed him. She hadn’t wanted the five-year schism between them, she just hadn’t been able to stand by and see him rush down the aisle halfcocked yet again. Perhaps the first time she’d watched him had been the hardest, when she’d been thirteen, pale, still grieving the loss of her mother the year before. After that, she’d gotten better at it, and it had gotten easier. She’d grown accustomed to the cycle, learned how to get used to the new faces in the house but not attached.

In marriage, Carter had taught her hope, but he’d also taught her cynicism. With her mother, it had been ideal. In the marriages since, the affection, the white lace and taffeta had a way of morphing all too soon to arguments and hostility, to an angry crescendo followed by a few months of quiet after the wife of the moment had swept out and before the next began to make his eyes twinkle. Over and over Larkin had watched it happen—the rash decisions, the headlong rush, the racing disillusionment, like high-speed footage of the phases of the moon. Marry in haste, repent in court. The last time, though, at twenty-two, she’d refused to sit by and watch it all play out again.

And she’d told him why.

Carter hadn’t taken it well. The words had been bitter and echoed through the silence between them in the years since.

The partially successful legal battle to break his prenuptial agreement had lasted longer than the marriage, or so she’d heard. There’d been no rumors of a new Mrs. Hayes on the horizon. Perhaps, approaching sixty, widowed and with four subsequent divorces under his belt, Carter had finally decided to take a breather. His voice on the phone that hot August morning a few weeks before had almost made her drop the handset in shock, but she’d listened. Come with me, he’d said. We’ll have fun.

A chance to get through to him, Larkin had thought, a chance to make things right. Of course, making things right was kind of hard to do with someone who wasn’t there.

She downed the rest of her drink and rose.

“I thought you were going to order champagne,” a voice said behind her.

And in a rush of gladness, Larkin turned to see her father face-to-face for the first time in five years.

He looked the same, she realized in surprise. Oh, a pound or two more, maybe, and a bit less hair, but there was still a spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, an energy in the way he moved. Carter Hayes had grown older, perhaps, but on the dawn of his sixtieth birthday, he was not yet old.

He pulled her to him for a hug.

“I thought you’d missed the boat,” she said into his shoulder.

“I told you I’d make it. One of these days you should learn to trust me.” He held on a moment more, then released her. “So,” he said as he pulled out a chair, “where’s that bubbly?”

“Look at this place,” Christopher said as he walked through the open door of his cousin Gabe’s suite. “You could fit my room in here three times and still have some space left over.”

“Is it our fault we know how to live in style?” Gabe stepped in from the veranda.

“It’s not the knowing that’s the problem,” Christopher told him.

The color scheme was tones of peach and gold, to contrast with the ocean blues. Mirrors on one wall made the spacious suite look even bigger. Below the mirrored panels, the bed held pride of place with its snowy linens, puffy duvet and embarrassment of pillows. The built-in couch that ran along the opposite wall before curving out around the broad glass coffee table would hold three or four visitors, or sleep his cousin’s two rambunctious boys, unless they wanted to curl up in the armchairs that finished off the conversational grouping. But it was the wall of windows giving out onto the broad veranda that truly spoke of luxury. It was the windows that brought the sea inside.

“So your room’s small?” Gabe asked.

“Not so much. It’s at least the size of your bathroom.”

“That’s what you get for taking over the room of a halfbroke public servant.” Gabe was referring to his firefighter brother, Nick, who’d had to cancel his trip because of his wife’s unexpected pregnancy.

“You’re right. I should have held out on coming until you agreed to swap me for your room.”

“You’d have held out a long time.”

“How’s Sloane doing, anyway?” Christopher asked.

“Still the size of a house, last time I heard.” Gabe’s eyes twinkled. “Twins will do that to you.”

They stepped outside into the fresh sea air.

“Hi, Christopher.” Gabe’s wife, Hadley, stood at the rail with their sons, Keegan and Kelsey, her pale hair blowing in the breeze. The slender blonde gave an impression of fragility, but there was a core of strength there as well. And excitement to rival that of her sons, he saw as she waved at the pine-covered islands that dotted the waterway. “Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?” she demanded.

Gabe stepped forward and kissed her. “Yes.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes, but she didn’t move away, Christopher noticed. “I’m going to take the boys down to play with the other kids and leave you two to relax. There’s some sort of rumor about stuffed penguins somewhere on the ship.”

Gabe dropped a kiss on her temple. “I have a better idea. Let Uncle Christopher show them the penguins, and you can help me find my phone.”

“You’ve lost your phone?” She frowned. “When? Do you remember where you saw it last?”

“On the bed, I think. Under the pillows. Maybe under the covers.”

“I’ll find it, Dad.” Keegan raced inside and began throwing pillows industriously off the bed, chiefly in the direction of his little brother Kelsey, Christopher noticed. Who threw them right back.

“Now you’ve done it,” Hadley said, as the pillow fight escalated.

Gabe put his hands up. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“Thanks for the thought.” She leaned in and kissed him thoroughly just before the chorus of yelps started inside. “I’d better get in there before they tear the place up. You two have fun.”

Gabe walked in and supervised pillow cleanup, then watched her herd the boys out the door. He headed back outside, this time with the addition of a couple of beers.

“Quite a woman you’ve got there,” Christopher said, taking one.

“Ain’t she, though?” Gabe Trask sat back in one of the deck chairs with a beatific smile.

“Too bad kids put a hitch in the cruise romance stuff.”

“Not at all.” Gabe twisted the cap off his beer and took a swallow. “You just get friendly Uncle Christopher to take them for a walk. A really long walk.”

Christopher eyed him. “What’s it worth to you?”

“You’re not going to make me call in a marker, are you? Who was it who got you the date with Lulu Simmons?”

“Did you forget how that turned out?”

“It’s not my fault that you shut the door on her skirt and ripped her—”

Christopher winced. “Can we talk about something besides my worst high-school moments?”

Gabe gave him a sunny grin. “But it gives us so much to talk about.”

“How about your life as a hotel magnate and sexually deprived father of two?”

“Funny thing about hotels,” Gabe said thoughtfully, “all those beds. I’m betting you’re more sexually deprived than I am.”

“It’s a depressing thought, but you’re probably right.”

“You ever hear from Nicole at all?”

“Not since the divorce came through. I see her in a magazine every now and again.”

“It’s been, what, four years? How long since you’ve had a date?”

“It’s been, what, four years?” Christopher gave a faint smile. “The goats are beginning to look really good.”

“Sick bastard,” Gabe said. “How is life on the farm, anyway?”

Christopher took a swallow of beer. “Hey, how about those Red Sox?”

“I take it that means not so good?”

“There’s a reason they call it subsistence farming. Although I’m not doing all that well on the subsisting side.”

“That’s because you blow all your money on hay parties.”

Once, money hadn’t been a problem, back when he’d been working in D.C., living in the corridors of power with a glossy model wife, an architecturally notable condo on the water, a Manhattan apartment and a stock portfolio that was the envy of any broker. What did it mean that he’d spent a dozen years in pursuit of a goal, only to realize it was the wrong goal, a dozen years in pursuit of the perfect life, only to realize that it was the wrong life?

It had taken him only a few weeks to be sure that farming was what he wanted. He couldn’t say how long it had taken Nicole to know it wasn’t. The drift had been gradual. A modeling job here and there. Weekends in Washington and New York with her friends, then full weeks. Then more.

It had taken a while for him to clue in enough to call it quits. Of course, by that time it had become pretty clear that without the endless round of parties and receptions and dinners, there was little between them. As with a juggler, it had been the furious motion that had given the illusion of substance. Once the motion had stopped, there were only a few small balls on the ground. Or knives, more like, he thought, remembering the acrimonious end.

“So how serious is it?”

Christopher looked out at a hawk circling over a stand of pines on a passing island. “Pretty damned. When I get back, I brush up my resume and start getting the place ready to go up on the block.”

“What the…But what about that deal with Pure Foods you were working on?”

“I’m still working on it. A year and a half into it and we’re no closer to inking a supply agreement than we were at the start.” He rose and walked to the rail. “Their northeast division has twelve grocery stores across New England. I doubled the size of my herd to be able to supply them with the amount of product they wanted. I’ve got chèvre coming out of my ears, but now they’re dragging their feet and telling me I need to be certified by some sustainable agriculture group before they’ll start buying from me. That’s going to cost a few grand and take at least another six months. In the meantime, the money just keeps bleeding away.”

“Get a loan to tide you over.”

“Gabe, don’t you get it?” he said sharply. “I can’t. I’m cut off at the bank. The money’s gone, all of it. Even if Pure Foods comes through, it still might be too little, too late.”

“Borrow money from the family.”

“From who? My mom and dad are retired. Molly and Jacob are just barely running in the black after they lost all those trees. You and Hadley are still paying off the note on that national historic landmark you run.” He shook his head. “I’m out of options, Gabe. Face it. I have.”

“What about—”

“Give it a rest,” he snapped. Letting out a long, slow breath, he counted to three. “Look, I just want to have a week here to relax and not think about it, okay? Not worry about how to pay the feed bill, not wonder if my payroll checks are going to bounce. Just forget it all and…chill.”

Gabe stared at him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “You got it, Vanilla Ice. Just one more thing.”

“What?”

“I think it’s going to take a few more beers to do it right.”

Christopher relaxed and dredged up a smile from somewhere. “You know, you’re probably right.” He came back to his chair and picked up his beer to take a drink, then stopped. “Vanilla Ice?”

Gabe smiled broadly. “I’m thinking somewhere inside you there’s a blonde.”

Chapter Two

“So how did you manage to get them to let you on?” Larkin asked Carter as a white-jacketed waiter appeared from behind them to top off their wineglasses. The main dining room filled the stern of the ship. Chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, crystal gleamed by candlelight. A wall of windows ran around the edge of the room, revealing the rocks and pines of the Alaskan coast in the preternatural 9:00 p.m. daylight.

“How did I get on? I had to run for it. Paid a couple of stevedores a day’s wages to carry my bags. A bargain, if you ask me.”

“And they let you through security and customs?”

He raised his glass. “Amazing how a few tips will grease the skids. I paid, we all ran and I got there just as they were starting to pull the gangway in.”

It was impossible to miss the gleam in his eyes. “You enjoyed it.”

“Anyone can do things the easy way,” he said by way of answer as their waiter set appetizers of saffron langoustine in puff pastry before them.

Larkin’s lips curved. “So where were you coming from this time?”

“Shenzhen, China. There’s a factory out there I wanted to get a look at.”

“A factory? I thought you worked the market.”

He forked up a langoustine. “I’ve been dipping into a little bit of venture cap activity the past few years. I’m looking at funding a company with operations out there.”

“You’re dealing with actual companies now? I thought you said hands-on stuff was for suckers,” she said, cutting into her puff pastry.

Carter shrugged. “Everything gets boring after a while, even making money.”

Fork in hand, Larkin stared. “Wait a minute, you can’t be my father. You must be an impostor.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still like working the market. That’s never going to go away. But I need a change of pace. Something different.”

“And was the factory different?”

“That’s one word for it,” he said in amusement.

“I take it you’re going to hold on to your money for now.”

“You take it right.” He took a swallow of wine. “Speaking of money, I talked with Walter a couple of weeks ago.”

At the name of her father’s lawyer—and her trust-fund administrator—Larkin glanced up. “Is that how you knew where to find me?”

Carter nodded. “He tells me your fund is getting pretty low. Says you’ve been tapping into the principal.”

She flushed. “Not much. I’m doing all right.” Okay, maybe that was overstating the case a little. The fund she’d come into when she’d turned eighteen hadn’t been enormous, and she could have been smarter in the way she’d managed it. She’d spent the better part of her early twenties living in one city after another, until one day she’d realized that she wasn’t looking for a home, she was looking for herself. That hadn’t made what she was looking for any easier to find, but it made it easier to stay in one place.

“You need more money?” Carter asked.

“I seem to remember you telling me once I needed to get a job,” she said. “I got one.”

“I heard. Modeling, right? I had the impression you were dabbling more than anything.”

“I’m happy to dabble for a thousand dollars an hour.” She gave a faint smile. “There’s a certain cachet to being the daughter of somebody who shows up on the power lists from time to time.”

“Nice to know I can be helpful,” Carter said dryly.

For a few moments they just toyed with the food on their plates. Larkin was the first to jump.

“So what made you pick up the phone?”

“Outside of the fact that we haven’t spoken in over five years?”

She looked down at the tablecloth. “I never wanted that to happen.”

“Neither did I.” Long seconds went by. “I suppose you heard that Celine and I split up.”

Larkin didn’t say anything.

“It’s killing you, isn’t it?” Carter said.

“What?”

“Not saying ‘I told you so.’”

She looked at him directly. “That was never what it was about.”

“What was it about?”

“Not wanting to see you make another mistake. Wanting you to be fair to yourself for once, to look at a wife as closely as you did a stock.” She stopped, aware she’d gone too far—and far too soon. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the place or the time…”

He watched her, eyes steady. “You’ve grown up.”

“Five years will do that.”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You could have called sooner.”

“So could you.”

“Celine,” she said simply.

He sighed and looked out the window at the shoreline, white sand broken up with the dark lines of beached logs.

Bitter words, bitter times, hard to get past. Larkin remembered staring at the invitation written on handcrafted linen paper, announcing Carter’s impending wedding to a woman she’d distrusted on sight. Don’t do this, she’d pleaded. Give it time, for once. The argument had escalated, somehow turning back on her. Suddenly it wasn’t about Celine being after his money; it was about Larkin. For every point she’d taken Carter to task on, he’d returned a barb that had unerringly struck home. She had no business accusing him of being rash and impulsive when she’d never once finished anything. Who was she to talk about Celine when she’d never done anything constructive herself?

The battle had reverberated through both of their lives long after the echoes of the words had faded away. She hadn’t expected it to last, but somehow the years had worn on. And now, it appeared, bridging the gap wasn’t going to be as easy as either of them had hoped.

The silence stretched out as the waiters removed their plates and set out their entrées, chateaubriand for Carter and butter-poached lobster for Larkin. In the background, the pianist played “Blue Moon.” Across the room there was a burst of laughter from a large table, the enormous family she’d seen that afternoon. That was how it should be, she thought. Not silence but joy.

They were all grouped together any old way, brothers and sisters, fathers and daughters. The silver-haired matriarch threw back her head in delighted laughter. Larkin glanced over and realized that Carter was watching them, as well, her own wistfulness mirrored in his eyes. Once upon a time they’d been a family like that.

Once upon a time, when her mother had been alive.

Abruptly she had to get out. “Excuse me.” She rose. “I’ll be right back.”

In the ladies’ room, she washed her hands in cold water, touching her cool fingertips to her forehead, adjusting the straps of her ruby silk halter dress. Fifteen years had passed since Beth Hayes had been killed by a drunk driver. Months at a time could pass without Larkin thinking of her, but every once in a while, like an ambush, she’d find herself overwhelmed by a wave of loss, an absence screamingly present.

She shook her head. Pointless to think of what might have been. Carter had done what he’d been able to, and if it had left her permanently wary of any and all relationships, that was her problem.

She ran her fingers through her hair and walked out the door.

Her destination was the dining room. Somehow, though, she found herself climbing the stairs that led to the fantail, instead, stepping outside to gulp deep breaths of the cool air. To either side, tree-covered mountains rose straight up from the water in a landscape that looked too wild for human habitation. The sun was finally setting, its ruddy rays slanting across the deck. The space was empty, quiet, with just the breeze for company.

Something different, Carter had said. Larkin knew how he felt. The restlessness had been brewing for months. Usually when it hit, she moved to another city, but she’d sworn off that. A change of scenery wasn’t the cure. She needed something more.

There was a sound behind her. “I thought that was you,” a voice said.

And she turned to see Christopher Trask.

She’d breathe, Larkin thought, in a moment. When she’d met him that afternoon, he’d been casual, appealingly rumpled. Now he stood before her in black slacks and a charcoal-gray silk shirt that made his shoulders look very wide. The effect was simple, sophisticated and sexy as hell. The man she’d met that afternoon clearly worked with his hands; the man before her belonged in an expensive gallery or on the scene of a sleek nightclub so new that celebrities didn’t even know about it.

He grinned. “I told you the ship wasn’t that big.”

She turned to face him, her back to the rail. “Nice to see you’ve survived so far.”

“Nice to see you, period,” he said. “Dinner dress suits you.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself.”

“I do my best. So how’s the first night aboard going?”

“It’s been…interesting,” she decided.

“It can’t be too interesting if you’re standing up here all alone. Didn’t your father make it onto the ship? I thought I saw you with him earlier.”

“Oh, he’s here,” she said. “Back in the dining room, actually. I just wanted to step outside for a minute. I just can’t get over all the daylight.”

He stepped closer to her. “It’s that whole midnight sun thing. It must make it hard on kids. No sneaking out at night.”

“And why do I think that that was an integral part of your repertoire growing up?” she asked, slanting a look at him.

“Ah, come on, it’s a part of summer, like watermelon and baseball. Are you telling me you never snuck out at night when everyone else was asleep? Just to see what it felt like to be outside and on your own when nobody knew about it?”

She could feel that sense of freedom beckoning just outside the window, that breathless sense of adventure. Or maybe she just felt breathless because he was so near, close enough she could feel the heat from his body.

“You’ve sneaked out now, haven’t you?” His voice was low. “You’re supposed to be in at dinner but you’re here.”

“I just—” Wanted something different. “Wanted some air. What are you doing up here?”

“I saw you.” The sunset turned his skin copper and made his eyes look dark. For an instant, she couldn’t look away. For a humming moment, a kind of a pure, distilled need surged between them. On a ship with three thousand other people, it felt like they were alone in the fading light. She could get lost in this man, Larkin thought suddenly.

She swallowed. “I should get back,” she said and turned to the doors. The motion of the ship sent her steps off course.

Christopher caught her arm to stabilize her. “Careful.”

She felt the imprint of each individual finger on her skin, warm, distinct from the growing chill in the air. Anticipation jumped in her stomach. Careful.

“You don’t want to fall,” he added softly, slipping his fingers down to her hand and raising it to his lips.

Heat bloomed within her. The seconds spun out as it flared into desire, and all she could do was stare. There was something hypnotic about his eyes, the warmth of his lips against her hand, something that made it impossible to think of anything except how they would feel against hers. She didn’t intend to lean in toward him. She simply had no choice.

His mouth was soft on hers. It was barely a kiss, just a light brush, yet she felt it everywhere. That so little could take her so far would have been terrifying if she’d been able to think of anything except the flush of heat, the shiver of excitement, the coursing of a need that could become all-consuming.

He hadn’t moved to hold her. He didn’t touch her otherwise except for that tantalizing brush of lips, that light graze that fired up every neuron in her body, making her pulse with the need for more. It was tease. It was invitation.

It was promise.

The restlessness she’d been feeling flared into hunger. Intellectually, she knew that whatever it was she yearned for couldn’t come from another person, any more than a quartet of wives had done it for her father. But she wanted Christopher Trask, oh, she wanted him.

Behind them, the doors opened and a chattering group of people walked out. “Whoops,” someone said loudly, “looks like we’re interrupting.”

It had her stepping back, her eyes flying open only to leave her feeling that she was still in a dream. “Well,” she said blankly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘wow.’”

Larkin shook her head to get her mind working again. “I should…”

“Have a drink with me,” he supplied.

Forget about the drink, she just wanted him. But she had obligations. “It’s the first night. I haven’t seen my father in forever. I need to go back in.”

Christopher nodded and touched his hand lightly to the small of her back as they started toward the doors. “Later, then.”

Just a flick of a glance from him was all it took to start the pull again, but she couldn’t just disappear on Carter. She wasn’t twenty years old and here to find a guy to hook up with.

But what a guy.

She moved a little bit away from him as they walked through the doors to the dining room, but when she glanced toward her table, she stopped.

“What?”

“My father’s gone.”

“You sure you’ve got the right table? It’s a big dining room.”

“Of course it’s the right table. Over by the window, beyond the planter.”

Christopher looked where she gestured and raised his eyebrows. “You were gone a long time. Maybe he had to go see a man about a dog.”

“I suppose,” she said, and hesitated. “Let me see how dinner goes. Maybe we can have that drink after all.”

“Better yet, come to our table.”

“But my fath—”

“At least until he comes back. You can protect me from the nieces and nephews. Show off some of your American Gladiators chops.” He steered them that way before she could protest further.

She shouldn’t have been even remotely surprised that he walked up to the family at the big table. Up close, the sense of fun and pleasure shimmered around them. Although they were finishing up dessert and coffee, nearly everyone in the Trask family appeared to be more interested in talking and laughing than in food. A blond beachboy type held a woman on his lap—girlfriend or wife, judging by the kiss he planted on her hair. A pair of men with enough similarity in their dark good looks to make them brothers held an energetic debate about baseball and someone named Papi. Sophia was absorbed in a fast, complicated version of patty-cake with a tow-headed little boy who was the spitting image of the delicate-looking white blonde next to her, who in turn laughed with a mischievous-looking woman with a pixie’s cap of brunette curls. It was a chaotic, all-ages blend of people thoroughly enjoying being together.

“Hi, Larkin!” Sophia broke off her hand-slapping to wave.

“Hey, guys,” Christopher said to them all. “I brought a stowaway for dessert. This is Larkin. Let’s see, Larkin, this is my sister Lainie and her husband J.J.—” He pointed to the beach boy. “You know Sophia, and she’s playing with Kelsey, who’s the son of Hadley, there, and my cousin Gabe.” One of the dark-haired men raised his hand. “The guy next to him is my other cousin Jacob, and his wife Celie’s the one talking to Hadley, and—”

“Stop, Christopher,” protested Celie, the brunette pixie. “You’ve got her head spinning. Just let the poor thing sit.” A hint of a French accent colored her words.

“So where’s Aunt Molly?” Christopher asked, standing near Larkin.

“She went to the ladies’ room. A while ago, now that I think about it. She should be back soon.”

“In fact, she’s here now,” said an amused voice.

Larkin turned, and found herself startled into silence. There was no doubt where the Trask boys had gotten their good looks. Molly Trask’s face held a quiet loveliness, enough to have attracted an escort, Larkin saw. She extended her hand. “I’m Larkin.”

“The one who caught Sophia? I’m so pleased to meet you, Larkin,” Molly said warmly. “I’m Molly Trask. And this is—”

“My father—”

“Carter Hayes,” Christopher said simultaneously.

“What?” Larkin whipped her head around to stare at him.

“What are you doing over here?” Carter asked.

“You weren’t at the table. I came over with—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“This is Larkin, my daughter,” Carter told Molly.

“We’re going to need a bigger table,” Gabe said.

There was an after-dinner quiet to the decks as they all walked back to their rooms. The group of them had lingered over coffee and liqueur until the children had started yawning, worn out by the excitement of the day. Now Jacob carried his youngest son while Celie and Hadley shepherded the rest.

“We’ll be leaving at nine tomorrow morning for the glacier flight,” Carter said to everyone as they stepped out of the elevator. “We’ve got four open seats, so whoever wants to come is welcome.”

Christopher wasn’t surprised that Carter and Larkin had rooms on the luxury deck. Carter probably could have booked every suite on the ship with his pocket change alone. He walked along with Molly now, to escort her to her room on the portside hallway. Judging by the weather eye Jacob gave him as the rest of the family followed, that was all he was going to do.

“I guess we’re on our own,” Christopher said to Larkin as they stood at the entrance to the starboard hallway. “I take it you guys are down here?”

“I am. Carter’s on the other hall. We only got our reservations a few weeks ago. We had to take what they had.”

He nodded. “It’s still early. How about that drink?”

“I don’t think so.”

There was a kind of tension gathered about her. It was different than the restless curiosity he’d sensed on the fantail. It hadn’t come from the kiss, that much he was sure of. He knew when he held a willing woman in his arms. Somewhere around the time Carter had shown up, though, it had started to simmer. Christopher found himself subtly on edge. Something was going on with her, and he wasn’t the type of man to just let it go.

“It’s a big ship. We don’t have to go to a bar. There are other things to do, the casino, the piano lounge, the show. What do you think?”

“You want to know what I think?” Larkin asked coolly. “I think it’s very strange that a farmer from Vermont would recognize a man like Carter Hayes.” She turned down the hallway toward her room.

Christopher blinked and followed. “It shouldn’t be all that surprising. He’s a prominent guy.”

“Only in some circles.” They moved aside for an older couple to pass. “Carter lives pretty quietly. He doesn’t show up in the news. It’s not like he’s Malcolm Forbes or Warren Buffett.”

“I think you underestimate him.”

“Apparently, I underestimate farmers in Vermont,” Larkin returned. “Here I figured you spent your time talking about the price of grain, not futures traders. Who knew?”

“We do talk about the price of grain. And at my old job, we talked about futures traders like Carter.”

“Your old job?” She stopped to stare at him.

“I was a lobbyist for the financial industry.”

“A lobbi—” Suspicion bloomed into anger. And betrayal. “So you know who Carter is.” Probably right down to his net worth, Larkin thought as she strode down to her door, key card in hand.

“I followed the industry, and Carter was a part of it,” Christopher responded. “I don’t get what the problem is here.”

“Let me catch up a minute. You were a Washington mover and shaker, and then one day you just decided to throw it all away to become a farmer?”

“I wouldn’t use the words throwing it all away,” he said curtly. “I decided I wanted something else.”

“Except it sounds like that something else isn’t treating you too well.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “If you knew anything about farming, you’d know that’s pretty common.”

“How convenient for you that you met me.”

He frowned. “Meaning?”

Larkin gave him a bright, hard, merciless smile. “It’s funny how it works when you’re the daughter of a man like Carter. The whole world wants to be your best friend. Every guy with any ambition wants to date you—hell, forget dating, they want marriage, as long as it comes with a piece of the pie. They want to get close to the man. I’ve been offered five-carat diamond engagement rings.” She ran her key card and opened her door. “And you thought you were making progress with just a kiss or two?”

She started to walk inside but he caught at her shoulder. “That’s nuts. Paranoid.”

She whirled on him. “You want a list of the times it happened?” She’d had a lifetime of sharp-eyed people who wanted to use her to get close to Carter and his money.

She just hadn’t expected Christopher to be one of them.

“Are you saying I kissed you because of Carter?” Christopher asked tightly, anger stirring in his words.

“Are you trying to say it had nothing to do with it?” She’d felt the chemistry when they’d met, but between the flirtation of the afternoon and the raging need that had flared that evening lay a vast gulf. Between the flirtation of the afternoon and the heat of the night, Christopher had seen her with Carter. Christopher, who knew exactly who Carter Hayes was, and how much money he had. “Why didn’t you tell me you recognized Carter?” she demanded, striding inside.

He stalked after her. “Because I didn’t. When I saw you guys before, you were down the hall. I didn’t get a good look.”

“Yeah, right.”

There was a subtle change in his stance, even though he didn’t move. If she’d been paying attention, Larkin would have seen it. “So I’m a hustler now, is that it?” he demanded.

Too caught up in her own fury, she didn’t register the gathering storm. “You tell me. All I know is that it’s kind of funny how things changed. One minute, you’re just some guy chatting on deck. Then you see me with Carter—or excuse me, someone,” she qualified elaborately, missing the narrowing of his eyes, “and suddenly the next time we’re together you go all continental with the hand kissing and the heavy stares and…” She swallowed, remembering the flare of heat and need, noticing for the first time the palpable tension that hung around him.

“And?” he bit off, a dangerous flash in his eyes.

She flushed. “And nothing. If you want to try to get to Carter through me, you’re going to have to do a lot more than just kiss my hand.”

“Gladly.” And before she knew what he was about, he’d dragged her to him, lips coming down hot and possessive on hers.

This wasn’t a soft whisper of invitation; it wasn’t about tempting. This was frustration and challenge, anger and need. It was an all-out assault on her senses. Desire whipped through her in those first few stunned seconds, and she was helpless to do anything but feel. Every fiber of her being focused on the hot press of his mouth, the demand of his hands, the male flavor of him as her lips parted and he took them both deeper.

He kissed her with an almost arrogant ownership, as though he’d already plundered every inch of her body. As though he already knew exactly how she liked to be touched.

And he did.

The ship moved beneath them, but it was the arousal surging through her veins that had her clinging to him as she swayed against him on legs that would no longer hold her. The feel of his palms running over her bare shoulders made her shiver. She breathed in, open mouth to his, as though it was him she needed, more than sustenance, more than air. Her world had reduced to just this: his lips, his hands, his body against her.

He had no business kissing her like this, Christopher knew. But he’d been holding back practically since he’d first seen her. Somewhere along the line, the goading had loosened the tight grip he kept on his control. It wasn’t just irritation at the insult that had the passion and frustration inside him bubbling over. He needed more. He needed for her to acknowledge this pull between them. He needed to know that it clawed at her, too.

She was soft and pliant against him. The silken strands of her hair brushed at his cheek. She tasted dark and sweet and sinfully delicious, like some stolen treat to be scooped up with a fingertip and savored.

He worked his way across her cheek to the line of her jaw, tasting her skin. With a helpless noise, she let her head fall back. He pressed his lips against the curving line of her throat, inhaling her scent, half devouring her. The desire drummed through him, the need to take, the compulsion to satisfy the howling demand.

She wrapped herself around him, mouth moving avidly under his, making soft purring noises of pleasure.

He could take her at this moment, he knew. The bed was mere steps away. He could have them both naked in seconds and be sliding into that purely female softness, sliding into heat and sensation and inevitability to take them both over the edge. Instead, he made himself pull away, leaving her to stare at him, eyes dazed, mouth swollen from his.

“Wha…” She blinked. “I…”

“Trust me, Larkin.” He looked down at her. “Whatever happens between you and me has absolutely nothing to do with Carter.”

And he pulled open the door and walked away.

While he still could.

Chapter Three

Juneau was possibly the narrowest city Larkin had ever seen, clinging stubbornly to the tiny strip of flat ground that lay between the Gastineau Channel and the high mountains that rose abruptly a few hundred yards inland. What it lacked in width, it tried to make up for in length, stretching out along both sides of the inlet.

Larkin walked down the gangway, buttoning her coat against the chilly air. There must have been other days she’d started the day so cranky, but she couldn’t remember when.

“Flying over glaciers,” Carter said from behind her. “Now there’s something you don’t do every day.”

“Forget about the glaciers. Let the Trasks entertain themselves. We should do the zip line,” Larkin said. “What’s a zip line?”

Strenuous, risky, adrenaline-laced. Just the ticket for the mood she was in. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“Next time. For now, we’ve got a plane and pilot to ourselves for the day. We’ll see parts of Alaska you can’t get to on foot.”

Impatient to the last, Carter had hired a private plane and pilot. Forget about group excursions, he’d said. They’d see what they wanted to see, when they wanted to see it.

Them, and now their new guests.

Molly Trask stood on the pier beyond the bottom of the gangway, her cheeks pretty and pink with cold. “Good morning,” she called out as they approached.

Great, Larkin thought. Carter’s new crush.

“Ready to walk on a glacier?” Carter asked. Molly shook her head. “I must be out of my mind. I couldn’t walk without help across a solid deck last night. God only knows how I’m going to do it on a sheet of ice.”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Trust me, it won’t be a hardship,” Carter assured her. “Keeping an eye on you will be the easiest day’s work I’ve ever done.”

Molly blinked. “Oh. Well.” The pink that crept over her cheeks had nothing to do with cold. Flustered, she turned to the steep peaks that rose behind city.

“How do you like Alaska?” Carter asked, amused.

“Gorgeous,” she said. “It’s even more beautiful than home, and I never thought I’d say that.”

“Where’s home?” “Vermont.” “Well, how about that? I’m from your neck of the woods.”

“Really? Where?” She pulled out a pair of sunglasses.

He rubbed his chin. “Manhattan.”

“I’m not sure that qualifies as my neck of the woods,” she said, sliding the glasses on.

“Are you kidding? It’s the Northeast. We’re practically neighbors.”

Her lips twitched. “I see. Well, next time you need a cup of sugar, feel free to stop by.”

“I’ll do that. So is anybody else coming?”

“Christopher should be along in just a minute.”

Christopher, Larkin thought, gritting her teeth. Of course.

“What about the rest?” Carter asked.

“Gabriel and Jacob and their families just left to go dogsledding. The kids have been talking about it for weeks. Lainie and J.J. decided to do the zip line.”

“Just what the heck is a zip line, anyway? Larkin’s pushing me to do it.”

Molly patted his arm. “Better not to ask,” she advised.

“Is this something I should know about?”

“Probably best that you don’t.”

He glanced suspiciously at Larkin, who gave him her most innocent look. “It’s a sad day when you find out that you can’t trust your own child.”

“She didn’t say you wouldn’t have fun,” Larkin pointed out.

Carter glanced over to the transportation apron where the excursion buses were lined up, then turned back to Larkin. “There’s supposed to be a van here to take us to the airstrip. We’ll go find it and check in with the driver. You wait for Christopher. We should be down at the far end, past all the buses.” He held out his arm for Molly. “So tell me what you do with yourself all day up in Vermont.”

Larkin watched them walk off and resisted the urge to sigh. If Carter wanted to have a shipboard romance, he would. Being an adult was about learning to release what you couldn’t control, and she couldn’t control Carter any more than she could the tides. If he was set on pursuing Molly Trask, Larkin had no business trying to dissuade him.

Christopher Trask, now, she definitely had business with him.

She’d spent a long, sleepless night being rocked by the motion of the ship while she imagined wreaking detailed vengeance on him. The death by paper cuts scenario had pleased her most. Unfortunately, no matter how furious she was with him, down beneath it all the wanting still thrummed. And it was for that that she cursed him most of all. He’d made her yearn, taken her to surrender, and they both knew it.

And despite it all, she still wanted him.

Where was a voodoo doll when you needed one, Larkin wondered, jamming her hands in her pockets. Even something to throw would make her feel better. Especially if it was at Christopher Trask’s head.

She pulled out her BlackBerry to check messages.

It was a testament to the depth of her hostility that she knew, somehow, when he was approaching. Definitely hostility, for all that it felt like a buzz of anticipation. She turned back toward the Alaskan Voyager.

It was that easy stride that gave him away. He walked with the relaxed, confident self-possession of an athlete. He wore a leather bomber jacket over jeans and a thick cream-colored fisherman’s sweater. A navy-blue watch cap sat atop his head. When he saw her, he gave that killer smile. Larkin found herself responding reflexively before she could remind herself that she hated him.

“Hey,” he said as he stopped before her. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Carter and Molly went to look for the van.” She stood there with her arms crossed before her, shoulders square and stiff. “They told me to wait for you. Lucky me.”

His smile was very wide. “No. Lucky me.”

She was seriously ticked, Christopher thought. Every movement of her body shouted it. Fair enough. He’d been pretty ticked off himself. The clash of wills had drawn blood—and heated it—on both sides. The question was, what happened next?

She stood in her long black coat and jeans, along with one of those round white fur hats that made her look like some expatriate czarina. Silver teardrops swung at her ears. The wind tossed around the honey-gold strands of her hair and brought out a flush of cold in her cheeks. And maybe the sparkle in her eyes was at the thought of telling him to go to the devil, but he’d take it as long as she kept looking like that.

Anyway, he was betting he could talk her out of being mad.

“So this is Juneau, huh?”

“Feel free to stick around and explore,” she said. “We’ll just head on out to the airfield.”

“No way, we’ve got glaciers to see. Where’s the bus?”

“Down near the end, Carter said.” She started walking without looking to see that he followed. He saw her smother a yawn.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

She shot him a venomous look. “Never better. And you?”

“I kind of liked it.” Even if it had taken him a couple of hours to drift off. “Sort of like sleeping in a hammock, with all that swaying. And then I wake up and there’s someone knocking on the door and bringing me coffee. I mean, what’s not to like?”

“I’m sure if you went back to your cabin right now, someone would bring you coffee again. Why don’t you go on board and find out?”

“I’d say nice try, but that wasn’t even a very good one. What are you pissed off about,” he added, “that I kissed you last night or that you liked it?”

“Does the caveman routine usually work for you?” she asked pleasantly.

“It’s not my usual MO, but I figured you deserved something special.”

“Pardon me for not appreciating it.”

“You wanted a demonstration. I figured the least I could do was oblige.” And it hadn’t been a hardship he thought, watching her now and remembering the scent of her skin. Walking away when she’d been heated and avid against him had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. And she remembered it, too. He saw those green eyes darken before she shook her head and turned away.

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering talking to you,” she muttered.

“Because it’s a gorgeous morning. We’re in an incredible place. You’re too smart to spend the day pouting.”

“I don’t pout,” she returned in outrage.

“My mistake,” he said. “Isn’t that the van?” He pointed toward the minibus where Carter and Molly waited, already inside.

At the airstrip, they pulled up to an unprepossessing vinyl-sided building with a green sign that said Taku Glacier Excursions. As soon as the minibus doors opened, a staffer who looked like she was fourteen—if she was lucky—stepped on board. “Hi, everyone,” she said as they rose. “I’m Amy.”

Carter rose. “I’m Carter Hayes, the one who rented the plane. We’ve brought along a couple more people than we were planning, but it shouldn’t be an issue. There’s room.”

“Actually,” she shifted uncomfortably, “we’ve sort of got a problem.”

“We?” Carter repeated. “What kind of problem do we have?”

“Uh, the plane’s not here.”

Carter’s brows lowered a fraction. “I had my assistant pay for it a month ago. What do you mean it’s not here?”

The girl coughed. “A couple of climbers got lost on Denali. There’s a big search under way, and the, uh, plane that was supposed to take you to the glaciers is part of it. We’ve got a substitute, though,” she rushed to add. “A local ’copter pilot, Buck Matthews, is going to take you up.”

Buck Matthews, Larkin thought, looking out on the pads where the helicopters crouched like metal and Plexiglas dragonflies. Perfect. “Dad, maybe we ought to skip it.”

“I think you’ll really like the helicopter,” Amy told her. “It’s better than the plane because you can hover over anything you want to see. And Buck’s been flying for years. He really knows the area. Oh—” she paused “—you don’t have any problems with animals, right?” Puzzled, they shook their heads and Amy exhaled in relief. “Great, let’s get you into some glacier boots, and then you can follow me out to the helicopter pad.”

The boots were black and puffy and slipped over their regular shoes. Larkin sensed rather than heard Christopher sit on the bench beside her as she strapped hers on.

“It’s a good look for you,” he said. “Very stylish.”

She scowled at him and rose to follow Amy out to the helicopter pad.

“It kind of gives you that astronaut experience, doesn’t it?” Christopher asked. When she didn’t answer, he leaned in. “You’re going to have to break down and talk to me sometime.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, and cursed herself the minute the words were out of her mouth.

His grin flashed. “Like I said.” He winked as he walked past her.

The closer they got to the helicopter, the more uneasy Larkin became. She’d been expecting a nice twin-engine Cessna with individual seats. Instead, they had a helicopter that looked like it had been borrowed from a TV traffic report team in Anchorage.

Assuming Anchorage had anything remotely resembling traffic.

The aircraft sat on the pad, doors open. A stocky, bearded man stood beside it, looking large enough to fill it entirely himself. Little backward opening doors on either side gave access to a backseat barely worthy of the name. On the grass strip that ran between the tarmac and the landing pad, a gray brown mutt nosed around, which pretty much said all she needed to know about the professionalism of the operation.

“This is Buck,” Amy said.

“Y’all ready to fly?” He nodded at the helicopter.

“In there?” Larkin asked faintly. “Are you sure we’re all going to fit?” The backseat looked barely wide enough to accommodate two people, let alone three.

He winked. “You’ll get to know each other up close and personal.”

Larkin glanced over to see Carter and Molly.

And Christopher.

Up close and personal.

“Molly, do you want the front seat?” Carter asked.

“Nope.” Buck shook his head. “That’s where Scout rides.” He whistled, and the dog—more of a hound, really—came loping over, tongue out and a big doggy grin on his face.

“No.” Stubbornness glimmered in Carter’s eyes. “The front seat is for one of us. The dog stays here.”

“Nope,” Buck said genially. “Scout always flies with me. If you want to go, he goes, up front. Unless you want him in the backseat with all of you,” he added.

Molly laughed and bent over to rub Scout’s ears. “I don’t mind giving him the front seat. A flight over the glaciers with a big old dog, now that’s an adventure,” she said. “Look at this harness you’ve got, boy. You’re all dressed up and ready to go.”

Amy gave a pained smile. “Buck is helping us out here, sir. It’s the only way we can get you up to the glaciers.”

“We’re here,” Christopher said. “I’d say give it a try.”

“If you’re not completely happy with the excursion,” Amy added, “we’ll refund your money.”

“We’ll see,” Carter grumbled, but he was watching Molly make friends with Scout, who seemed very close to being in love.

Larkin only wished she was feeling so good about it. “I’ll stay here. All four of us can’t possibly squeeze into that backseat. There’s no room.”

Buck looked them over. “Sure there is. None of you’s too wide. It’ll just be cozy. Hop in.”

Cozy. Exactly what Larkin wanted. She heard a smothered laugh and glanced over to see Christopher watching her.

“I’ll take the inside seat. You have the window,” Carter told Molly.

“Of course not. You were the one who paid for the trip. You should sit by the window.”

“I’m taller than you are,” he argued. “You sit on the inside, you won’t see a thing. Take the window.”

Molly folded her arms. “Only if you take it on the way back.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“Get used to it,” she returned.

He considered. “I guess I’ll have to.”

Christopher glanced over at Larkin. “I’ll give you the window seat, too,” he told her. “Just to show you chivalry’s alive and well in Alaska.”

“Gee, I’m so relieved.” She watched him fold his long body into the small space and looked at the postage-stamp patch of seat that remained. Right next to the door.

“Need a hand?” Christopher asked.

“I can do it myself.” Reluctantly, she raised a clunky boot to the threshold of the cabin, hoisting herself in and settling back into the alarmingly small space. There was no way to do it halfway. Even staying as close to the edge as she could, she was still unable to keep from touching Christopher.

“All right, over all the way,” Buck ordered. “I gotta shut the door.”

She wasn’t about to look at Christopher and see the humor that she knew would be dancing in his eyes. Instead, she stared studiously ahead and shifted over. Then the little back door slammed and latched with a clunk, leaving her wedged in place.

It was impossible to shut out the awareness of his body. They were practically welded together from ankle to shoulder. It didn’t matter that there were layers of clothing between them. What she felt most of all was strength. He might have looked rangy, almost lanky at a glance, but with her body glued up against his, Larkin could feel that he was solid with muscle.

Buck hoisted himself into his seat and whistled. “Scout, load up.” Scout hopped up into the helicopter, panting as Buck snapped a pair of chains onto his harness. The pilot put on a bright yellow headset and busied himself for a few moments, checking dials and flicking switches.

He turned to them. “Each of you grab a set of those headphones hanging above you. Once I start the engine, you won’t be able to hear a thing unless you got ’em on. It’s two-way, so holler if you got a question or want to get a better look at anything.” There was a click and the rotors started turning. “Okay, guys, we’re ready to go.”

Larkin tensed.

Christopher turned to hand her a headset, then gave her a double take. Frowning, he leaned in close as the whine of the motor grew to a roar. “You okay?”

She nodded and tried for a careless smile as the helicopter began to shudder, but it felt more like a grimace.

Because Larkin had a secret. A seasoned traveler she might have been, but she’d never ridden in a helicopter. Jets, yes, Gulfstreams, of course. Even the odd Cessna, they were all fine.

Helicopters scared her silly.

Everybody else seemed totally confident about the ride. As far she was concerned, they were crazy. Something about a helicopter seemed a bit too improbable to really work. After all, straight wings were everywhere you looked in nature—birds, dragonflies, even mosquitoes.

She couldn’t think of a single critter that had blades whirling around over its head.

The sound of the motor changed. Larkin stared out the window, feeling panic clog her throat.

Suddenly her fingers were caught up in a strong grip. She looked down to see Christopher’s hand clasping hers and glanced up to see him wink.

“We’ll be fine,” he mouthed at her over the din.

“Okay, folks,” Buck said. “Here we go.”

And with a bounce, they lifted off into the air.

She’d endure the flight, Larkin told herself grimly, even if she wound up sweat soaked and emotionally exhausted by the end. But as Juneau fell away and the helicopter rose over the ridgeline that ran behind it, an almost giddy magic took hold of her.

She’d had no idea it would be like this. They were surrounded by Plexiglas, but it felt more like really flying, soaring over a snow-covered landscape like a bird. Then ahead of them rose a ridge higher than the rest. And Buck aimed directly for it.

Larkin’s heart pounded a little bit, equal parts excitement and nerves. Her grip on Christopher’s hand tightened, and she felt him squeeze back. It seemed simply too high for the helicopter to get over, as though they would hook a skid and go tumbling down the mountainside. But instead, with an almost insouciant flick of the control stick, Buck sent them up and over.

And she caught her breath.

The glacier unfurled below them, a long sweep of gray-white snaking between ridgelines, looking almost incongruously smooth amid the rugged landscape. “That’s the Taku glacier below us,” Buck said. “It’s the only one you’ll see today that’s still growing. All the others are receding.”

He sent the aircraft tilting a little bit, edging in toward the ground.

“Oh, look.” The words just burst out of her. One minute, they were flying over the striated, dirty gray snow of the glacier. The next, she was staring down into a long crevasse at the most intense, most luminous blue she had ever seen. Impossible to believe such a gorgeous, glowing color existed. She couldn’t stop looking at it, turning to glance back as they flew past.

“Can you take us by that again?” someone asked, echoing the words in her head. It was Christopher, she realized.

Larkin glanced over at him quickly to see him watching her, not the glacier. Something flipped in her stomach, something she didn’t think had anything at all to do with the motion of the helicopter. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.

“There’s your crevasse.” Christopher pointed beyond her. It released her from the spell, and she turned, gulping air. It was just the close confines of the cabin, she told herself. Too many people, not enough air, all of it making her light-headed. That was all.

She stared down at the glacier, amazed at how clearly she could see it. The surface, she realized belatedly, was coming closer. They were dropping, lower and lower still, until, soft as thistledown, the helicopter settled onto the ice.

Chapter Four

“Okay, you got to be smart here,” Buck said as the rotors ran down. “Watch yourself on the ice. Even with them boots, you can slip. And be careful around the crevasses. You want to look into ’em, do it from the ends. You do it from the sides and you’re gonna get a closer look than you bargained for. And if you fall in, I guarantee Scout and I ain’t comin’ after you.”

Larkin put on her hat and stepped carefully down on the ice. She started to walk a little ways away and turned back to the helicopter, only to see Christopher watching her. “What?”

“Don’t let that hat fall off. Scout’s likely to think it’s a rabbit.”

“Don’t make fun of this hat. I like this hat.”

“I like that hat on you, too. You look like you should be sitting in Red Square drinking Stoli.”

She sniffed. “You’re lucky there’s no loose snow here I could make a snowball from.”

“You’re from L.A. What would you know about snowballs?”

“Certain things come naturally,” she said silkily and walked over toward a fissure on the face of the glacier. She wanted to see that blue, that impossible, luminous pale blue-green that was almost ethereal enough to make her believe in angels.

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