Marooned With A Millionaire. KRISTI GOLD

      As if he’d literally been burned, Jack pulled her arms from around his neck and placed her hands on the rail to steady her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t feeling all that grounded, and it wasn’t due to his lack of sea legs. “I don’t know why I did that.”

      She touched her lips with long slender fingertips. “I know why.”

      “Yeah? Mind explaining it to me?”

      Her grin came with the force of a gale. “You’re a boy, and I’m a girl. It’s nighttime, and we just enjoyed some fireworks.”

      He couldn’t deny that. He also couldn’t deny that he wanted her in a big way, but he couldn’t act on that need. He had to remember she was pregnant and needed much more than he could give, emotionally speaking. He had to remember that in a matter of days she would be gone, and he would be back to his old life, exactly the way he wanted it—alone, with no concerns beyond his own welfare. With no worries of letting anyone down.

      “Sorry,” he said. “It won’t happen again.”

      With one hand braced on the railing, Lizzie slipped the other down her side, over her hip, and back up to her waist where she planted it, as if displaying her wares. And some nice wares they were. “You’re sounding mighty sure of yourself, Ahab.”

      At least he’d sounded that way. “I am. Now let’s go. It’s time for bed.”

      “Is it really now?”

      He balanced on releasing a very descriptive oath. “Yeah. You can sleep in my bunk, and I’ll take the fold-down sofa.”

      “Isn’t your bunk big enough for both of us?” she asked in a raspy, seductive voice.

      Not in this lifetime. “I’d probably roll on top of you.”

      “What a horrible prospect.”

      Did the woman know no shame? Did she know what she was doing to him with every innuendo she uttered? Damn straight she knew. For some bizarre reason, she’d decided to play with him, in every sense of the word. And as bad as he wanted to play, Jack wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

      A woman like Lizzie needed stability, not a man who had spent his adulthood recklessly searching for adventure at every turn. She needed something solid and secure, a man who wouldn’t fail her.

      His first priority—his only priority—was to keep her safe until they again reached shore. Even if he was having a helluva hard time avoiding the fantasy of making love to her.

      Lizzie had never been one to put much stock in fantasies, at least where men were concerned. Yet every night since the day she’d tried to get pregnant, she had fantasized about her baby’s father. She knew only what the fertility clinic had volunteered— German heritage, mid-twenties, just over six—feet tall, brown hair, hazel eyes, a recent college graduate who happened to be very smart. Magna cum laude, in fact. She really liked that part. Not that she hadn’t been proud of her accomplishments. Just because she’d chosen the creative route instead of academics didn’t mean she couldn’t hold her own in the intelligence department. After all, she had been top in her cosmetology class. The best darned aesthetician in the whole school, as a matter of fact. She had a gift for transforming women into what they envisioned themselves to be, at least from a superficial standpoint.

      Unfortunately, she’d never been able to physically transform herself, not that she’d really wanted to. She had no use for makeup. Who needed the hassle of flaking mascara and reapplying lipstick on an hourly basis? Maybe she wasn’t anything special in the looks department, but she knew who she was and what she wanted from life. She had scrimped and saved, squirreled away her tips in order to try her hand at the balloon business. With the demise of Bessie, it looked as though it might be a while before she could start over again.

      No problem. She would still have her little one. She only hoped that her child would inherit her creativity and his father’s brains. A nice balance.

      Lying back on the pillow in Jack’s “bunk”—which happened to be queen-size—she allowed the steady rock of the boat to lull her into bliss, but it did nothing to bring about sleep. Oh, well. She would just try to imagine the man who had fathered her child.

      She saw only Jack Dunlap.

      If only she could get him out of her mind. But how could she? The man was sleeping in the next cabin wearing who knew what. Maybe nothing. That consideration brought about both chills and steam running helter-skelter through her body.

      How silly she’d been to think that she could actually seduce him. They certainly hadn’t taught her that technique in school. How ridiculous to believe that he would fall into her bed with the bat of an eyelash. If she chose to consider she couldn’t even entice a man who’d obviously been by himself for months, then she would definitely be depressed. So she just wouldn’t think about it at all.

      But she couldn’t quit thinking about him, his handsome features, his sober demeanor, his occasional smile that could knock the floor out from under her if she hadn’t had good sense to ground her. Not to mention his strong arms earlier on the deck. Boy, had he smelled great. He’d felt great, too. And come to think of it, he’d kissed even better.

      Though he hadn’t taken her up on her offer for a little night magic, he had shown some signs of life when, for reasons unbeknownst to her, he had decided to give her mouth a try. Maybe he’d been trying to shut her up.

      Rolling to her side, Lizzie curled up into a ball and attempted to generate some heat. Thoughts of the good captain’s lips aided her somewhat, but she could still use some extra covers. Might not hurt to tell Ahab good-night since an hour ago he’d pointed her in the general direction of the bedroom then left her alone. She didn’t like being alone.

      On that thought, she slipped out of bed and padded into the adjacent living area. The room was shrouded in darkness, the boat continued to sway and she accidentally knocked her knee on the sofa’s arm.

      She stifled her urge to yell out in pain for fear that she would startle Jack, and he might have found more bullets.

      “Are you awake?” she whispered.

      No answer.

      “Ahab?” she called, this time a bit louder.

      Still no answer.

      Having somewhat adjusted to the limited light, she moved toward the sofa now made into a bed and used her hands to feel for Jack, a rather pleasant prospect. He wasn’t there.