Make You Mine (8 page)

Luxurious as the
Belle
was, Allie’s feet itched for the firmness of solid ground. A flowery sundress and a pair of strappy sandals beckoned from her suite upstairs, and she couldn’t wait to get out of this uniform and into something pretty.

After shuttling the Danish into the main dining room, she boxed up a dozen to take to the fire station and clocked out for the day.

Two hours later, Allie tucked the remains of Regale’s melted cell phone inside her handbag, grabbed her box of Danish, and made her way onto the main deck, where Marc and his family lined the exit ramp to remind guests of the departure time and wish them a pleasant day. She waited for the passengers to clear out before approaching the ramp.

Marc shielded his face from the low morning sun, looking dashing as ever in his white captain’s uniform. It wasn’t until he turned to walk back inside that Allie noticed someone had blackened his eye—and done a thorough job of it. His upper lid was swollen half shut, the skin beneath it puffy and stained purple. His gaze widened when he noticed her, and for an instant, she thought she saw a spark there, excitement mingled with desire. But he snuffed it out just as quickly.

“What happened?” she asked him, pointing to her own face.

He grumbled to himself and tugged open the door to the side lobby, then left without another word. His pawpaw gave her the stink eye and followed.

Nick chuckled while taking a moment to appreciate the plunging neckline of her sundress. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

“Yeah,” Alex added. “But you should see the other guy.”

Allie started to ask about “the other guy,” but decided she didn’t want to hear any more. If Marc was going to ignore her, let him stay behind and stew all by himself. But before she had a chance to say so, Alex and Nick’s heads swiveled in perfect synchronization toward the bow ramp. She glanced over her shoulder to see what had drawn their attention.

It was a striking young woman—no surprise there—with hair the color of ripe strawberries and a smile that radiated easy sex. She wore a halter top and matching booty shorts paired with five-inch screw-me pumps. Allie wanted to ask how many pole tricks the girl could do, but Mama had raised her better than that. Instead, she darted a glance at Ella-Claire and raised an eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” Ella-Claire asked the girl.

“Yeah, I’m Nora.” The woman popped her gum and nodded toward the pilothouse. “Marc’s girlfriend.”

Funny how two seemingly harmless, intangible words had the power to suck all the oxygen from Allie’s lungs. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t breathe through them.

Marc had a girlfriend?

He’d neglected to mention that small detail when he was lying on top of Allie with his fingers inside her. As the moments ticked by, the shock began to wear off, replaced by hurt. Allie thought she’d made progress with Marc—she believed they were friends. Was she fooling herself the whole time? Had she only seen what she’d wanted to see?

Nick and Alex exchanged a concerned glance, the kind men shared when one of their comrades was in trouble. Nick smiled and indicated the row of rocking chairs lining the side deck. “I can’t let you inside, hon,” he said. “But if you have a seat, I’ll call Marc down to meet you.”

Nora pouted her overly glossed lips but didn’t argue. She strutted to the nearest rocker and sat in it sideways, slinging her bare legs over the arm of the chair.

Classy.

Allie told herself she’d dodged a bullet—any man who had such lousy taste in girlfriends wasn’t worth having. But there was no denying the slow ache opening up inside her like a sinkhole. If she stood there staring at Nora’s infinite legs any longer, Allie might cave in on herself. She tightened her grip on the box between her hands and ordered her feet to move toward the metal ramp.

“Allie, wait,” Ella-Claire called from behind. When she caught up, her blue eyes were full of sympathy. “I could use a break. Want some company?”

Girl time sounded perfect right now. Allie didn’t trust herself to speak over the lump in her throat, so she nodded.

As she led the way down the ramp, she heard Marc’s voice in the background, but she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t stand to watch him embrace another woman and lead her inside—and she especially couldn’t think too hard about what the two of them would do once they were alone.

When had she fallen so hard? Allie figured Marc would break her heart; she just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

Once her sandals connected with pavement, she pushed Marc from her thoughts and scanned the road signs to orient herself. “We need Main Street,” she told Ella.

“This way.”

Ella seemed to know the lay of the land, and God bless her, she didn’t say a word about what had happened aboard the
Belle
. They strolled through town at a leisurely pace, enjoying the gentle breeze on their shoulders as Ella filled the conversation with which movies she wanted to see next, and with which date. Turned out she’d been seeing a few different men, but none of them seriously.

Allie stopped at an intersection to wait for the crossing signal. “So there’s nobody special?” she asked. “No one you like more than the others?”

The light turned green and Ella crossed, shaking her head and setting her ponytail into full swing. “Not really.”

That wasn’t a firm yes or a no. Allie’s experience with matchmaking had taught her that
Not really
usually meant
Yes, kind of
. “My mama used to call that a liquid answer.” She slid Ella an encouraging grin. “Sounds like you’re not too sure.”

Ella shrugged. She didn’t say anything, but her hand darted to the frog pendant at her throat, and she worked it between her thumb and index finger. It was a nervous tell, sure as sunrise. Words lied, but body language didn’t.

“That’s a cute necklace,” Allie said casually. “Where’d you get it?”

A reflexive smile curved Ella’s lips. “Alex bought it for my birthday last year.”

Bingo.

“It’s an inside joke,” Ella went on. “When we were kids, we used to sneak off to the creek to catch frogs. One day my mama found a toad in the washing machine. I must’ve left it in my pocket.” Her smile widened at the memory. “It survived the washing, so Alex named it TIC, short for The Invincible Croaker. We put him in a shoebox and traded him back and forth for the summer—one week at my house, one week at his.”

“Joint custody,” Allie mused.

“Yeah,” Ella said. “But he died in captivity.” A wistful sigh escaped her lips, and she turned her gaze to a merchant’s window as they passed. “I guess some things aren’t meant to be caught and kept.”

“Mmm,” Allie agreed, then gave a nudge with her elbow. “Like Dumonts?”

A light flush stained Ella’s cheeks. “You have to admit they don’t have the best track record.”

Allie thought back to Marc’s surprise girlfriend, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Ninety-nine years of lying, cheating, and running around? I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Ella shoved both hands in her pockets and peeked at Allie. “Do you really think they’re cursed?”

The word
no
formed on Allie’s lips, but she hesitated. Right now, some redheaded hoochie was wrapped around Marc like a horny squid. For all Allie knew, he had a different woman at each port. “They sure act like it.”

After another block, they reached the fire department, and talk of curses and frogs turned to the science behind forensic investigations.

At first, the firemen shook their heads at Allie’s request, but once they’d filled their bellies with her legendary Danish, they took Regale’s cell phone and promised to call her in a few days with their findings. With a wave of thanks to her new admirers, Allie returned outside, where she and Ella made their way back down Main Street.

The temperature had ratcheted from warm to
whoa
in the last thirty minutes, so they kept to the shade and began looking for ways to stay cool. After browsing for antiques, they stopped at a hole-in-the-wall diner for lunch, then splurged on ice cream—a double scoop.

While they strolled along the river with their waffle cones in hand, Allie learned that Ella-Claire had secretly considered taking a job with a European cruise line, but decided against it when Marc’s daddy had handed over the reins. When it came to her brother, Ella had a clear case of hero worship.

“Listen,” Ella said when they’d come full circle and reached the dock. “I really like you, and I know my brother does, too. Don’t give up on him yet.”

Allie stared at the
Belle
’s vacant decks, seeing no sign of Marc or his girlfriend. Her heart pinched at the thought that the two might be holed up inside his quarters. “Thanks, baby. For you, the feeling’s mutual.” She licked a drip of ice cream from her wrist and frowned at the pilothouse. “But when it comes to your brother, I’m afraid he likes all the girls.”

A deep male voice boomed with laughter. “Glad to see nothing’s changed since I’ve been gone.”

Allie spun around and came face-to-face—or rather face-to-chest—with a gray T-shirt stretched tight over the largest set of pecs she’d ever witnessed outside a WWF ring. She craned her neck skyward and recognized a familiar pair of green eyes smiling down at her from beneath a thatch of short auburn hair.

Merde
.

The last time she’d seen this man, he’d left her sister holding the bag for two misdemeanors . . . and broken her heart. But that was on graduation night. No one had seen hide or hair of him since—and he was hard to miss.

“Beau Dumont,” she breathed. It sounded like an accusation, which it was. What in the world was he doing here?

“Hey, Allie.” He flashed that crooked smile, the same one that had brought her sister to her knees, probably in the literal sense. “You’re as pretty as ever, darlin’.”

“And you’ve grown.” Which she hadn’t thought was possible. “Where’ve you been?”

Beau lifted one massive shoulder and ran a meaty hand over his buzz cut. “Joined the marines. They kept me fed.”

And how.

“What’s new with Dev?” Though he kept a hold on his lazy smile, Beau folded his arms protectively across his chest and held his breath while waiting for her answer.

So Allie made him wait a few more beats. “She’s meaner than a sack full of rattlers, thanks to you.”

That wiped the grin off his face.

“Uh, Allie,” Ella-Claire said. “Meet our new head cook.”

Allie couldn’t help laughing. She wondered what Devyn would say when she discovered that Beau Dumont was not only back from the dead, but working in the
Belle
’s galley. She’d probably ask Allie to perform an “accidental” vasectomy with a dull butter knife.

“What’s funny?” Beau asked, opening his arms to hug Ella-Claire.

Ella smiled up at him while wrapping her arms around his waist. “Allie’s your pastry chef.”

That slippery grin lifted one corner of Beau’s mouth. Keeping Ella tucked against his chest, he slung his other arm around Allie, then towed them both toward the boat ramp.

“Now, ain’t that somethin’?” he said with pure sin in his voice. “I always wanted my very own pastry chef.”

Marc stood near the second-floor lounge window and watched Beau strut on board the
Belle
like he owned everything in his wake—including the two women squashed to his sides. Marc felt a headache pressing the walls of his temples, and he reminded himself to unclench his jaw. He’d have to jerk a knot in Beau’s tail, and soon. The wily SOB had some nerve blowing into town and moving in on Marc’s kid sister as well as his . . . well,
his Allie
.

He didn’t know how else to label her.

Allie wasn’t his girl, but he couldn’t deny she was a lot more than an employee. He’d drifted into uncharted waters with her, someplace beyond simple lust but outside the boundaries of a relationship. They had no claim on each other, but damned if that meant he liked seeing her in another man’s arms, least of all those of his asshole brother. Marc wanted Allie for himself, but he didn’t
want
to want her.

It was fifty shades of fucked up.

Worse than that, she’d stolen his mojo, making it impossible for him to enjoy other women. When Nora had paid him a surprise visit that morning, he should have led the flame-haired vixen to his suite and released a week’s worth of sexual tension.

But he couldn’t do it.

The moment she’d thrown her arms around his neck, his body had rejected her like an old splinter. She’d felt all wrong pressed up against him, and she stank of stale cigarettes—something that had never bothered Marc before. Now it was a complete deal breaker. Nora didn’t smell like sweet cinnamon. She didn’t taste of clean honeydew.

Because she wasn’t Allie.

“Up shit creek without a paddle,” he muttered to himself.

He focused again on Beau, who’d just leaned down to take a bite of Ella-Claire’s ice-cream cone. Cocky as ever. At least Ella had the good sense to give it to him afterward instead of sharing it. Allie glared at Beau as if warning him away from her ice cream, then ducked out from beneath his arm.

Good girl
.

Marc grinned and turned away from the window. It was time for a little family reunion.

When he reached the galley, he found the door propped open by a twenty-pound canister of flour, so he paused a moment to gain his bearings.

In other words, to spy. No shame in that.

Beau was alone with Allie, but neither spoke as they busied themselves gathering ingredients for the evening meal. Despite the companionable silence in the kitchen, Marc sensed clear tension in their movements. Something in the wide berth they gave each other and the stiff set of their bodies reassured him that Beau hadn’t succeeded in hooking Allie with that sticky “charm” of his.

Yet
.

Beau had a way of wearing folks down. Marc knew firsthand. By way of introduction, Marc leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms, then cleared his throat.

Allie glanced at him as a smile formed and simultaneously died on her lips. With a huff, she narrowed her mismatched eyes and turned her back on him, then flung her raven curls over one shoulder to rub it in. Marc suspected a certain redheaded waitress had put a burr in Allie’s bra, but he kept mum on the subject and nodded a greeting at his big brother.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Marc said.

Beau’s ugly mug split into a grin so wide it crinkled the tanned skin around his eyes. The reaction stunned Marc into a beat of silence. He’d seen a lot of smiles cross his brother’s face—the
I’m faster than you
, the
I ate the last cookie
, and the ever-popular
I’m gonna pound on you when Dad’s not looking
—but this one said
I’m glad you’re here
.

That couldn’t be right.

“Well, look at you.” Beau wiped his hands on a dishtowel and scanned Marc from the bill of his white captain’s hat to the tips of his polished black dress shoes. He shook his head in appreciation. “I don’t know whether to hug your neck or salute you, little brother.”

Neither of those options appealed to Marc. He extended his right hand, and Beau strode forward to shake it, his grasp firm but not overbearing. They pumped hands while sizing each other up. Beau appeared to have found four inches of height and twenty pounds of muscle while he’d been away. Marc wondered where his brother had been since he’d left the marines a couple years ago, but he didn’t bother to ask. If Beau had wanted him to know, he’d have called or e-mailed.

Which he hadn’t.

Finally the giant stepped back and nodded at Marc’s black eye. “I believe you had a shiner the last time I saw you, too.”

“Other eye,” Marc said. “You’re the one who’d given it to me.”

Beau chuckled quietly to himself. “That’s right. And you broke my nose.”

Damn straight. That fight was the first time Marc had dished out more than he’d taken, disrupting the pecking order in their daddy’s household for once. Marc grinned at the slight bend of his brother’s nose.

“What were we even fighting about?” Beau asked.

Marc remembered like it was yesterday. Beau had been horsing around on the dock with his idiot friends and thought it would be fun to trash Marc’s mama to score a few laughs. He’d said
Your mama’s so broke, when she goes to KFC she’s got to lick other people’s fingers
. But his big brother hadn’t talked any smack after that—kind of hard to do with blood gushing out of his nostrils. Every decent man knew better than to insult another guy’s mother.

Besides, he and his mama weren’t
that
poor.

Marc shrugged. “Don’t remember.”

“Probably something stupid,” Beau said.

“Probably,” Marc agreed.

A few beats passed in awkward silence before Beau changed the subject. “I talked to Daddy last month.” He sniffed a laugh. “Is he really having another baby?”

“Yep,” Marc said. “They’re due around Christmas.”

Beau stroked his jaw in disbelief, though Marc didn’t see why he was surprised. This was par for the course when it came to their daddy. “When I left,” Beau said, “Jack was still in training pants. I figured that’d be the last kid.”

Jack?
Marc furrowed his brow until understanding dawned. “Oh. We call him Worm. He’s fourteen now—busing tables for the first time. I’ll introduce you later.”

“Appreciate that.”

Allie made a noise of exasperation, standing on tiptoe to retrieve a stainless steel bowl beyond her reach. Just as Marc made a move to help her, Beau clopped over in two mammoth strides and plucked it from the shelf, then handed it over with a smile. Which she reciprocated with a bit too much warmth for Marc’s liking.

His headache made a sudden reappearance. Before thinking better of it, he announced, “Miss Mauvais, I need a word with you in the hall.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she ignored him and bent over to study a recipe card on the counter. Marc gave her a few seconds to acknowledge his request, and when she refused, he repeated himself more firmly. He wasn’t about to let her disrespect his authority—not in front of Beau, who’d lead the crew into mutiny if given an inch.

But Allie only hummed an indistinct tune and sashayed to the pantry for a bin of confectioner’s sugar. She didn’t even spare a glance in his direction.

Marc gritted his teeth. If she thought he’d let this go, she was dead wrong.

“Allie,” Beau said, resting an oversized hand on her shoulder. When she acknowledged
his
existence, Beau gave her a playful look and a squeeze. “The captain wants you. I think he needs to talk to you, too.”

What an ass.

She huffed a sigh and threw down her bowl scraper, muttering to herself in Creole. Still refusing to meet Marc’s gaze, she stalked across the galley and brushed past him into the hall.

Beau chuckled and began dicing a clove of garlic. “You must be losing your touch, little brother. They don’t fall at your feet like they used to.”

“Please,” Marc said with a sneer. “Let’s bring her sister on board and see how well you run your game.”

That shut his piehole.

Marc followed Allie’s trail of sweet perfume. When he didn’t find her in the service hallway behind the galley, he continued to the utility stairwell and pulled open the door. There she was, stewing on the third step with both hands gripping her hips. She glared at him hard enough to melt his face,
Raiders of the Lost Ark
style.

“Well?” she demanded. “What do you have to say to me?”

Marc froze for a few beats. He’d only wanted to get her away from Beau, but he couldn’t very well cop to that.

“Uh . . .” The only excuse he could pluck from his foggy brain was, “You should be in uniform when you’re on the clock. Especially when you’re working in the galley. It’s a hygiene thing.”

He knew he’d screwed up, even before two lines appeared between her brows.

“Are you serious?” she asked sharply. “You dragged me out here to tell me to
change
clothes
?”

“Now, don’t go gettin’ all—”

“Silly me,” she ranted on. “’Cause I thought you might want to come clean about your girlfriend—maybe even apologize for using me and acting like a lying sack of pig innards!”

Marc pulled off his hat and hung his head in frustration. Whatever had been brewing between him and Allie, he could end it right here. All he had to do was let her believe the whopper Nora had told everyone when she’d snuck on the boat—that she was his steady girl. He knew Allie wasn’t the type to pursue someone else’s man. If she thought he was taken, she’d quit tempting him with her lush body and those exotic whiskey-and-gray eyes. Maybe he’d find a moment’s peace then. But when he glanced up into those eyes, he saw pain shining there, and it hit him like a baseball to the chest.

Just like that, he broke.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he admitted.

Allie raised one skeptical brow. “But she said—”

“Nora lied.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Stage-four clinger, I guess. We met in a bar last month and we had some fun. Nothing more than that.” He turned his hat over in his hands and took a seat on the step beside Allie’s pretty little sandals. “Come on, you know me. The last time I had a real girlfriend was senior year.” Because that was the only way the cheer captain would put out. “I don’t do the whole ‘girlfriend’ thing.”

While she processed that, Marc leaned back on his elbows and studied the slender curve of Allie’s calves beneath the hem of that gauzy sundress. If he gazed upward and tilted his head at just the right angle, he could see the outline of her lacy French-cut undies. “Lord, sugar,” he said. “You need to sit down before I start looking up your dress.”

She laughed and finally relaxed, descending the stairs to take the spot next to him. She leaned forward to wrap both arms around her knees but sat near enough to fill his space with her heat. Curiously, she glanced at him over one shoulder. “Why is that, do you think?”

“Because you’ve got great legs,” he told her. “I’d stare at ’em all day if you’d let me.”

“No,” she said, bumping him with her shoulder. “I’m not talking about my dress. I mean, why don’t you ‘do the whole girlfriend thing’?”

Marc shrugged and wondered if he should tell her the ugly truth. The reason he didn’t do relationships was because there were only two possible outcomes when folks paired off—either they’d stay together until death, or they’d go their separate ways. And ninety-nine percent of the time, it was the latter, usually with a whole lot of tears and drama thrown into the mix. So why not be logical and avoid the hassle?

He decided to give it to her straight. Allie was a big girl—she could handle it. “Never works out anyway. Just makes sense to keep it casual.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “I can see why you think that, given your family history. And I won’t lie; dating can be painful. My last boyfriend moved up north for a job, and I spent the next week in bed with a gallon of fudge ripple.”

Of their own volition, Marc’s brows tugged down into a scowl. He didn’t know Allie’d had a semiserious man in her life. He didn’t like it, though he refused to ponder why he felt that way. “See? So what’s the point if it never lasts?”

“The point is,” she said, “you can’t know if someone’s a good fit until you try. As long as you keep nipping every relationship in the bud, you’ll never smell the rose.”

Marc’s lips twitched in a grin. “Never been a fan of roses.”

“You can’t win if you don’t play, baby.” Allie leaned back with him, shoulder to shoulder. “You weren’t afraid to take a risk on the
Belle
, right?”

He saw where she was going with this. But love and money were two different kettles of fish. “Apples to oranges.”

“Not really,” she argued. “By taking over your daddy’s boat, you’re risking bankruptcy, right?”

“Yeah,” he said cautiously.

“So you’re willing to risk your credit and all your cash, but not your feelings? Where’s the logic in that?”

It made total sense to Marc. “The difference is I know what I’m doing with the
Belle
. I have an actual shot at succeeding.”

“And you don’t at love?”

“Of course not.”

Allie turned and peered at him as if she’d just learned Santa wasn’t real. Her eyes overflowed with emotion, and it stirred something deep inside him—a warm swelling similar to the sensation he’d felt before kissing her. He couldn’t decide whether he liked it or not.

“Aw, honey, that breaks my heart,” Allie whispered, reaching up to cup his face. “You don’t even know what you’re missing, do you?”

Marc knew what he was missing.

One of his earliest memories was walking home from elementary school and finding his parents locked in battle because Mama had just discovered Daddy’s pregnant mistress. A month later, the other woman had delivered twins—Nicky and Alex—and Daddy had taken a hike to create a happy home elsewhere. Marc would never forget the look of hurt and shame on his mother’s face.
That’s
what he was missing.

Or so he thought.

Now, with his cheek cradled in Allie’s soft palm, her sweet breath mingling with his . . . he wasn’t so sure. He saw a flash of what could be: an image of Allie tangled in his sheets, the satisfaction of having her all to himself. It felt good for a moment, until he realized how deeply it would burn when it all fell apart.