Wicked Nights. Anne MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
of the ideas she had. All she had to do was win the Fiesta contract so she could convince the bank to loan her the money to buy out her partner.
Cal had driven her six-year-old self crazy. Twenty years later, he’d just gotten better at doing it. Of course, she also knew how to return that favor.
It was strange, though, how much he looked like her definition of a hero. He was a big man, pushing more than six feet. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw like he’d had better things to do than shave and didn’t mind living rough. Cal owned the space around him and not merely because he was tall, his wide-legged stance ensuring he easily rode the gentle swell and slap of the marina water against the boat’s hull. He was the kind of man who controlled any situation.
She stared at him and he watched her right back. She had the sudden feeling he knew exactly what she was going to do, before she did it. When she stepped away from him, however, his hand slid off her neck and he let her go.
“How are my business plans any of your business?” she replied. Not the politest of questions, but they had a history. He nodded, like she’d just confirmed something he already knew, and she couldn’t help but notice he didn’t smile. The fine lines around his eyes didn’t come from laughter, she realized, but from hours at sea. This man was 100 percent warrior.
And hot enough that she wanted to take him down to the deck herself...
He leaned back against the edge of her dive boat. “Because I’m bidding, too.” His dark brown eyes were unnervingly gorgeous. God had definitely not been playing fair the day Cal had been gifted with that feature.
“Tell me you’re joking.” She kept her voice steady, when she wanted to scream. Unfortunately, she wasn’t surprised. Of course Cal would go after the contract she had her eye on.
“Afraid not.” He said the two words calmly, as if he hadn’t just dropped the mother of all bombshells on her. She needed the contract. Had to have it or give up her dream of buying out Del, her partner, because every bank she’d approached so far for the loan had made increased cash flow a condition of borrowing the money.
“Why?” she demanded.
“Because I run a dive center.” He made it sound so logical.
“You run a command center,” she countered, going on the offensive. “You handle all the search-and-rescue ops for the sector. Why do you want to run dive trips for a cruise ship?”
“Look around you,” he said drily. “And then tell me how busy you think I am.”
“We’ve had one tropical storm this summer.” Which probably only underscored his point. One was singular and nowhere near enough to base a business on. She understood—she just didn’t like it.
“I want to bring in more former SEALs to lead dive trips, and it was still a free country, last time I checked. In order to hire more divers, I need to increase our revenue. When I win the Fiesta contract, I do exactly that.”
He said it as if the contract was a sure thing.
Maybe it was. He was a veteran and a highly experienced diver. He’d trained U.S. Navy SEALs, the same guys who ensured they did still live in the free country Cal had so mockingly mentioned, and there was no way the executives evaluating the proposals wouldn’t weigh his military service into the equation. Plus, his plan of hiring former veterans was unspeakably nice. Until he’d thrown his name into the ring, she’d seriously had her competition beaten. She narrowed her eyes. Fortunately, she still had a card of her own to play.
“You’re not the only one who needs to increase revenue.”
“So, business is down for you.”
It was, and at the worst possible time, too. She needed a beefed-up balance sheet to get her business loan.
She gave him an assessing look. “For you, me and everyone else.”
He shrugged. “I heard several other dive shops had submitted a proposal to Fiesta.”
“The cruise line has plenty of choices.” Unfortunately. No, she’d think positive. She was good at what she did and she’d win this one.
The other option wasn’t acceptable.
“That contract is mine,” she said. She’d visualized nailing each and every dive before she’d climbed the tower in a competition, and she’d do exactly the same here. Cal might be a decorated veteran and combat swimmer, but she was a U.S. national platform-diving champion and a heartbreak story. She didn’t like playing the celebrity card, but she’d do whatever it took to win. After her accident, she’d spent two years in the media spotlight, and her name on a dive roster would make people look twice.
He shook his head, shoving off the railing. “Again, it’s a free country. You can think what you like.”
His tone, however, made it perfectly clear he, at least, didn’t think she stood a chance.
“You bet.”
Dream Big and Dive was her dream and she wasn’t letting go. She might not have the cash to purchase Del’s interest in the business outright and the banks might have labeled her a poor risk for a business loan, but she’d never gone down without a fight, as Cal knew very well. If she won the Fiesta contract, she won her funding and her shot at making Dream Big and Dive one of the best dive programs for novice divers in California. She’d make it to the final round of bidding, and she’d be in it to win it.
She never lost. Ever.
* * *
PIPER CLARK WAS GORGEOUS. Objectively speaking, Cal knew that. What he admired more, however, was the way she met his stare without flinching or dropping her gaze. She was a fighter to the core and Cal’s instincts said she wouldn’t go down easy. The problem was, she was still his competition for a job he wanted.
Hell.
“You won’t win this one,” she warned. She stood there, hands parked on her hips as if she owned this competition, and he was certain she believed she did.
“I can.” He would, too. His business, Deep Dive, was hands down the best operation in town. Piper, however, clearly believed she had the number-one, go-to place on the island. She also radiated an attractive confidence, which would only help her sell it to the Fiesta executives. Her hair was starting to dry now, dark streaks of wet giving way to lighter brown, and for a woman standing there in a bikini, she looked remarkably sure. He definitely needed to date more—or at all—because he was fairly certain he was staring. And that he’d noticed exactly where her bikini top had left pale white lines on her shoulders. She had freckles, too, and lots and lots of bare, smooth skin.
Except for her right knee.
She took a step, staggered slightly when the wake from a passing boat rocked the deck, then righted herself. If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he’d have missed the lightning-fast correction. Her knee was the only part of her that wasn’t tanned perfection. The ridges of scar tissue were nothing gruesome—he’d seen far worse during his military career—and the lines were white. He put a hand out to steady her and then pulled it back. Yeah. The look in her eyes said she didn’t want help. He’d seen the same look on the faces of plenty of soldiers. He understood wanting—no, needing—to do things alone. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have his own gremlins riding his back, which was one of many reasons he wanted to bring more veterans and former teammates on board at Deep Dive. Sometimes, a guy needed a job and a place to work through his shit.
“You can’t stop me,” she said, her hands tightening on her hips.
He shook his head. “Honey, that’s where you’re wrong.”
She smiled at him. “I’m going to win.”
“You’re so certain?”
“You like to be in charge.” Her eyes narrowed accusingly