The Guy Next Door - By Lori Foster, S Donovan, V Dahl Page 0,54
bright white captain’s cap with a navy blue bill, the barest hint of a smile spreading across his clean-shaven face. For some reason, he’d gotten rid of the salt-and-pepper scruff and the hoop earring. Why? Why would he do that? It was a tragedy!
Equally tragic was the fact that he was now fully clothed, wearing a pair of pressed white slacks and a pale blue golf shirt embroidered with the words “Luna Cruises, Captain J.D.” He knocked playfully on the front gate, though it was unnecessary. Gail had been staring at him, openmouthed, for a good three seconds.
She flew to her feet, a brochure for therapeutic massage skidding across the porch floor.
“Good afternoon. My name is Jesse,” he said in the same baritone voice he’d used to curse the shutter hinge about an hour before. “I’m your neighbor. Just thought I’d introduce myself and welcome you to Key West.”
Gail’s throat had seized shut. She couldn’t speak. She felt like an idiot—a mute idiot. “Guh,” she finally croaked out. “Guh-ail. From Pennsylvania.”
The man approached the porch, stopping on the bottom step, careful not to invade her space. He held out his big, browned hand.
Gail shoved her damp palm toward him. After an instant of contact, he withdrew, hiding his hand in his trouser pocket. It was almost as if he couldn’t stand the idea of touching her, even though he’d initiated it.
“Well,” he said, looking down toward the porch floor uneasily. “Here. You dropped this.” He scanned the cover of the brochure before he returned it to Gail. “So you’re thinking of getting a massage?”
Gail blinked several times and continued to stare. She couldn’t help it. He wasn’t George Clooney. He was better. And he wasn’t a pirate. He was a legitimate boat captain! And all she could think of was how the clean-shaven captain’s big hands would feel rubbing her naked flesh, some type of aromatic tropical oil providing a friction-free slide from her heels to her hairline, and everywhere in between.
“Oh, yeah, that would be so great,” she whispered.
He studied her for a moment, then his dark eyebrows drew together in a scowl. She thought he had the sultriest deep blue eyes she’d ever seen in her life—even with the grimace.
“Okay, then. Enjoy your visit.”
Just then the front door flew open, and Hannah and Holly literally stumbled onto the porch, laughing loudly and dripping pool water at their feet. They stopped in their tracks, backs straightening. Holly’s gaze went from the man to her mother, eyes wide in wonder.
“Girls, this is our neighbor, Jesse,” Gail said, somehow regaining the ability to speak in full sentences. “Jesse, this is my daughter, Holly, and her best friend, Hannah.”
“Hi,” Holly said.
“Hey there,” Hannah said, shifting her weight and sliding a hand along the slope of her well-rounded hip.
“Hello,” Jesse said, averting his gaze.
Gail rubbed the back of her damp neck, anxiety coursing through her. She’d never seen that bikini on her daughter before. The garment—if you could call two partially shredded strips of fabric a garment—was not appropriate for a high school student, or anyone who didn’t make their living thrusting her pelvis onto a pole. However, Holly’s swimsuit was a burka compared with the three triangles Hannah was sporting, and Hannah was far more endowed than her daughter.
“Excuse me, but I need to get to work. Enjoy your stay.” Jesse smiled politely and tipped his cap to the ladies before he left. They watched him walk from the house, out the gate and down the sidewalk.
No one said anything for many long seconds.
Hannah broke the silence. “Who knew Cap’n Crunch was such a bangin’ hottie?”
The girls broke out into an attack of the giggles. Gail continued to stare down the sidewalk, awash in some kind of stunned awareness, long after the bangin’ hot captain had disappeared.
JESSE REVIEWED THE manifest with the crew chief. There’d be forty-four passengers on board Fred’s customized sixty-foot motor yacht tonight, sixteen of whom had made a vegetarian meal selection and one who needed handicapped access and seating. Once he completed the yacht’s safety check with the first mate, Jesse grabbed a cold drink and watched the crew carry on the necessities—containers of fresh shrimp, grouper and red snapper, hamburgers, barbecued chicken and pork, and veggie burgers. There were vats of several varieties of salads, sandwich fixings, guacamole and salsa. There were several varieties of chips and pretzels. Sodas. Fruit juices. Bottled water. Liquor and more liquor. Mixers. Enough beer for a football stadium.
Jesse knew that every