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CHAPTER ONE

Amy Bancroft fought against the excitement rising inside her. As she drove toward the sea, toward the dock where the cabin cruiser she had inherited was anchored, she felt like breaking into song. Soon now, she would be on the high seas, on her way to Maine and the fortune that was waiting for her in a log cabin.

Life was very good to her, she reflected. Oh, sure. She had struggled and fought her way to fame in the fashion world—her slacks, jeans and blouses were the talk of Seventh Avenue—but now that she was well known, if not downright famous, she was being handed money on a silver platter.

Her rather full lips curled into a gentle smile. Imagine old Aaron Spencer thinking enough of her to leave her a boat and something else besides, way up there in the Maine woods. Of course, she’d been good to him as a neighbor, watching over him after his wife died, making sure he always had food, taking him to the theater and out to the finest restaurants. It had been fun for her—she had no men friends to speak of, and he was a good companion—yet she had done it as much for her own sake as for his.

Companionship. She nodded. Yes, that was it. He had been someone to talk to, to listen to about the stock market. She had made a couple of good investments, thanks to his advice. Now he had repaid her with all this!

She caught the smell of salt in the air, and as she swung her Mercury Monarch around a bend in the road, her eyes fell on the blue waters of Mertram Harbor, and the many boats anchored there. Her foot touched the brake and she slowed the car, veering downward. Which one was the Sea Witch?

No matter! It was down there, and it belonged to her.

Her heart thumped excitedly. She would be taking the Sea Witch out onto the ocean and up the coast to Maine. She was taking a few weeks off from her business; she would spend it in those Maine woods, enjoying the crisp air and daily walks, and marveling over the fortune that Aaron Spencer had willed to her.

She kept one eye only on the road, being too busy trying to find the cabin cruiser that was now her property. Luckily, there were few cars about. She came down into the paved yard that served as a parking place and maneuvered the Monarch into a space.

Amy sat back and drew a deep breath. This was so different from her everyday life! There were no designs to work out, no jobbers to meet, no buyers to take to lunch. Her time was her own. She would spend it on the boat just enjoying life!

She slid from the car and stretched. It was hot, she could feel a trickle of sweat run down her back, but it wouldn’t be long before she was out there on the ocean with cool sea breezes fanning her.

She laughed in anticipated delight. Then she snatched up her handbag and began to walk toward the long dock jutting out into the harbor. Someone around here would know about the Sea Witch. All she had to do was ask.

A man in tattered clothing but with a yachting cap set rakishly on his head was approaching. Amy angled her walk to intercept him.

“Pardon me, but could you tell me where the boat called the Sea Witch might be?”

The man squinted at her out of a sun-bronzed face. “You must be his girlfriend. Sure, lady. Just walk down the pier and keep your eyes open. You can’t miss it.”

Amy frowned. “Girlfriend? I don’t understand.”

But the man had tipped his hat and was walking on. She stared after him, telling herself she must have misunderstood him. Girlfriend? She was nobody’s girlfriend. No, she hadn’t heard him correctly. That was it.

She marched along the pier, her Pappagallo heels hitting the wooden planks steadily, surely. Her eyes studied each boat as she passed it, and a sense of disquiet began to rise in her. Where was the Sea Witch? There weren’t very many boats left, just that motorboat and—

Amy caught her breath. It couldn’t be!

She saw the words Sea Witch on the stern, and then her eyes drifted along the sleek white hull, the brass fittings, the classic contours of the cruiser. She stared at the cabin portholes, the highly veneered woodwork, the cushions of the bow seats. Her heart thumped wildly. All this was hers! All hers! Why, .this boat alone must be worth—well, a small fortune, anyhow.

Carefully she made her way to the edge of the pier, reaching out toward a pole to steady herself. Then she stepped down onto one of the cushions on the stern seats and then to the deck. She drew a deep breath as her eyes ran around her. She had never imagined old Aaron Spencer had money enough to own a vessel like this!

Amy took a step forward—then halted, freezing in her tracks.

A man was coming from the companionway, naked to the waist and wearing a pair of old, dirty dungarees. His feet were naked, too, and he was covered just about all over with grease and oil. He was wiping his huge hands on a piece of dirty cloth when he saw her, and came to an abrupt stop.

“Who’re you?” he growled.

Amy found her tongue. “I might ask you the same thing! What are you doing on my boat? Who are you?”

He grinned at her. At any other time, Amy might have admitted that he had a nice grin, that he was rather handsome in a big sort of way—his shoulders must be a yard wide!—and his thick mop of hair was colored golden. But right now she was too indignant to bother about anything but the fact that he was trespassing. Why, he might even be stealing.

“I asked you first,” he said.

“That’s neither here nor there. I own this boat, I inherited it. I want to know what you’re doing here and—and whether you’ve just stolen anything!”

“Good Lord! You must be Amy Bancroft!”

She was a little surprised that he knew her name. “Of course I am. But that has nothing to do with it. The Sea Witch is mine, all mine.”

He put out a hand like a ham and caught hers in it. Amy noted that her own hand was lost somewhere in that slab of muscular meat that he called his hand. He squeezed and grinned at her.

“Hi, partner.” He laughed.

She tried to jerk free but he was holding onto her, and rather than engage in a tugging match, she left it where it was. But she scowled up at him, into those blue eyes of his, and tried to think of something that would cut him down to size.

“Pa—pa—partner?” she stammered. “I’m not your partner.”

“Oh yes you are. You inherited a half share in the Sea Witch and so did I. Better go call your lawyer if you don’t believe me.”

Amy frowned. Now that she took time to think about it, there had been something her lawyer had told her over the phone. She had been too busy at the moment, okaying designs, to pay much heed to it.

“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “Not for one minute! If you don’t get off this ship immediately, I’ll call the police.”

“Boat,” he said, with that irritating grin.

“Ship, boat, what’s the difference? Just get off.”

He laughed and pulled her in against him, putting his arms about her and hugging her. Amy felt smothered.

“Partner, I love that sassy way of yours. Regular spitfire, aren’t you?”

Amy tried to reply but she was being crushed to that naked, hairy chest (which was stained with oil, a corner of her mind told her) so tightly that she could not move. Tears of fury came into her eyes. Amy Bancroft was not used to being manhandled like this.

“You . . . you . . . you . . . ” she managed to gasp.

His huge hands caught her shoulders and pushed her away so he could look down into her face. “Hey, that’s right. You don’t know who I am, do you? Let me introduce myself. I’m Bruce North. Some people call me ‘Bad Bruce,’ but don’t let that fool you. That’s only when I was playing football. I’m really a pussycat.”

Amy tried to catch her breath. She went on staring up into those blue eyes that seemed to be laughing at her, and her mind told her that if she went on arguing with this human bear, he might well throw her into a corner and have a good belly-laugh at what he had done.

“How—how dare you!” she all but screamed.

“How dare I what?” He looked puzzled, but after a moment his face cleared. “Oh! You mean hugging you like that. Hey, don’t mind that. I’m a very affectionate guy. Always have been. Except when I was playing football, of course. Maybe you’ve heard of me? Played tackle for Purdue. All-American. Played seven years with the Miami Dolphins.”

Amy found that she was shaking her head. Quite coldly she said, “I’ve never been interested in sports.”

“Too bad. I could tell you stories. But, hey! You must be hungry. It’s time for lunch.”

“I never eat lunch,” she announced, chin tilted.

He stood back and ran his eyes all over her, shaking his head. “No breakfast either, I don’t suppose?”

“Naturally not!”

“You’d better, if you’re going to stay on the Sea Witch. Salt air invigorates you, helps build an appetite.”

Amy merely sniffed.

His eyebrows rose. “What about supper? You eat that or not?”

“Certainly I eat dinner!”

He was grinning down at her again. “Glad to hear it. I was afraid you might starve to death.”

“Don’t worry about me. And now, are you going to leave the boat or not? I intend taking her up to Maine.”

His hand shot out and grasped her shoulder, shaking her a little. Actually, he rocked her back and forth. “Swell. That’s where I’m going, too.”

She gaped at him. “You are?”

“You bet your sweet little butt I am. Going to do some fishing. Brought along some rifles, too. Let you use one of them if you’re good. Now how about making me a sandwich while I clean up?”

Amy could not speak. Her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, she was so mad. The nerve of the guy, expecting her to get him his lunch! She was positive that her eyes were giving off sparks. Those sparks didn’t seem to bother the big lug any, though. He just turned and went back down along the companionway.

She swung about and stared out across the harbor, barely able to think. She had been so happy, just a short time ago. The Sea Witch was hers, she was going to run it up to Maine and take over that cabin that had been left to her, and have herself a fine vacation. Now everything was spoiled.

She had half a mind to call the police, but a thread of caution inside her told her not to go off half-cocked. The big man might be right. Maybe Aaron Spencer really had given him a half interest in the boat and the cabin. She would have to play this situation very cozily.

She turned and glanced along the boat, admitting that it was in perfect condition. Judging from all the oil and grease on the big bumpkin, he had been doing a lot of work here, getting the engine in condition. He had probably shined all the brass fittings, too.

Amy bit her lip. Much as she hated to admit it, it might not be a bad idea, having him along on this trip, to keep the boat running smoothly, if for nothing else. Amy thought about the boat and about herself, telling herself quite ruefully that she had been keeping her head in the clouds. She knew nothing about making a boat run. She had imagined it was something like operating a car, fill a tank with gas, step on the starter and just go.

Boats seemed to be very different.

She could hear water running. Apparently he was taking a shower. At the very least, he was washing himself. Getting nice and clean for a lunch she was supposed to be getting ready for him. Ha! Fat chance of that!

Tossing her handbag on the cushioned seat, she sat down and crossed her legs. She had good legs, Amy knew, and didn’t mind if her Jonathan Logan skirt showed a little too much of her thighs. Let him drool a little.

He came back to the stern rubbing a thick towel over his chest. It was a deep chest, matted with blond hair, and there were muscles rippling and bunching on his arms and shoulders. Amy thought about being held so tightly in those arms and against that chest, and shivered.

He came to a stop and stared at her, frowning a little. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to get lunch? Where is it?”

“I have no intention of getting your lunch. I want you to understand that. I am not your—your slave. I am here because I own this boat—”

She hesitated when he grinned at her. Amy licked her lips and went on. “At least, a half interest in it. But that does not mean that I have to wait on you hand and foot. You can get your own meals.”

His vast shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “Sure, honey. If that’s the way you want it.”

He turned and walked away. Amy stared after him, frowning. She was not used to such a cavalier attitude in men. Usually they were falling all over themselves to make certain that they pleased her. Her frown became a scowl. How dared he ignore her this way!

Amy got to her feet and followed him, into a kitchen that was all white woodwork and chrome. There was a skillet on the stove in which bacon was frying. Amy stared. It looked like a whole half pound inside that frying pan. Bruce was busy slicing a tomato. There was also bread in a toaster.

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at her. “If you’re hungry, help yourself. There’s another skillet somewhere around.”

“I didn’t come in here to eat.”

He chuckled. “In that case, stir those pretty legs of yours and get your gear. We up-anchor just as soon as I’ve finished my lunch.”

“Get my gear?”

He lowered the flame under the pan and turned to look at her. “You did bring something other than yourself and your handbag, didn’t you? Even you must have thought about a bag or two. Or did you intend to wear those clothes you have on all the way to Maine?”

Amy opened her mouth, closed it. The man was absolutely insufferable!

“Of course I brought other clothes. They’re in my bags in the car.”

“Well, better go get ’em. And hurry.”

She stared at him as he turned his back and gave his attention to the bacon he was frying. Tears of fury and outrage brimmed in her eyes.

“You—you mean I have to carry those bags myself? They’re heavy!”

“Who’d you figure would carry them when you got here? You pretended to be surprised to find me on board. Who’d you have in mind to wait on you, to carry those bags?”

Amy hesitated. Always, there had been men around to help her in any such emergency. Usually, those men fell all over themselves hurrying to do whatever she needed doing. This big oaf was ignoring her.

“They—they’re he—heavy,” she wailed.

“Tough,” he grunted.

He speared out the bacon and put it on a paper towel to drain. Then he removed the toast and spread mayonnaise on it. He placed bacon and sliced tomato on the bread, and put the sandwich on a plate. He carried the plate to a little table and put it down. Then he poured iced coffee into a tall glass and added skimmed milk.

Bruce began to eat, ignoring her.

Amy could not believe her eyes. He was enjoying himself! Every bite he took appeared to please him no end. He chomped away, took a sip of the iced coffee, and began chomping all over again.

She was near tears. She knew very well she could not manage those big bags that were in the Monarch. But she’d be damned before she’d beg for his help! Let the elephant sit there and gorge himself on his sandwich. She would find someone else to help her.

Amy wheeled and practically ran back through the companionway. She heard him bellow after her, “Hurry up! We cast off just as soon as I’m through eating.”

Oooooh! The nerve of the beast! Somehow, in some way, she would find some means to get even. Tears were in her eyes as she stepped upward onto the dock, nearly missing her footing and almost sprawling on the sun-dried planks. Rage made her shake. It was all his fault! She was aware that she had skinned her knee when she slipped, so that now she limped a little.

Tears blinded her so she could hardly see. Angrily, she brushed them away and looked around her. She saw no one. The place seemed deserted. So what? She would do her own carrying! She didn’t need anybody to help her. But she would make Bad Bruce pay. Oh, how she would!

She fumbled in her bag for the trunk key, getting it out and inserting it in the car trunk lock. The trunk lid came up and she stared in at the bags piled inside.

I can never carry them. I just can’t!

She tried. She wrapped her fingers around a bag handle and tugged. She tugged with all her strength but the bag never even budged. A sense of desolation came over her. The whole world was abandoning her. She was all alone for the first time in more years than she could recall.

Amy wept, leaning her forehead against the trunk lid. He was going to run off and leave her here, he would get to the cabin and find whatever money Aaron Spencer had left her, and he would be laughing at her all the time.

Oooooh! How she hated him!

“Stand aside. How can I get those bags out with you right in the way?”

Amy turned her tear-wet face to see Bruce towering over her, looking down at her out of his blue eyes. Slowly, he began to grin.

“Scared you, did I? Didn’t mean to. Just my way. I wouldn’t go off and leave you here. Jeez! You’d starve to death, you’re so helpless. Now will you stand aside?”

She could not move, she was frozen there, just looking up at him. She was so glad to see him, she wanted to yell out in delight. Before she could open her lips, he was putting those big hands on her, lifting her up and to one side.

“There. Now I can get at them.”

He put his hands on the bag handles and two bags came up so easily they seemed almost to leap at him. He got the bags out, took two of them under his arms and two in his big hands and looked down at her.

“Can you take that makeup bag and lock the trunk?”

She nodded, trying to smile. “Of course. And thank you ever so much. I really do appreciate it.”

“Forget it. Can’t leave you stranded here. You’d dissolve in tears. Now shake those pretty legs and get with it.”

Amy managed to get her makeup kit out of the trunk and then she locked it. She had made arrangements with the rental company to have the car picked up here, so she tossed the keys in the back of the car, then locked it.

Bruce was already far ahead of her, walking as easily along the dock with her bags as though they weighed nothing at all. How strong he must be! Amy shivered, imagining how it would feel if he wrapped those muscular arms about her and really squeezed.

She trotted after him.

Abruptly it occurred to her that she was quite content. Almost—happy. Now that was strange! She had been bossed around, made to cry, made to feel absolutely useless. Yet—she enjoyed it.

Or—did she?

Amy scowled. For so long as she could remember, she had been the one to do things. Her designs, her plans, her business, all depended on her. She depended on no one but herself. Yet here she was, letting a stranger take over and practically order her around.

Mmmmm. She would have to put a stop to that. And yet—and yet, if she did act the way she wanted, she would have to get her own meals, and Amy had not the slightest idea of how to go about their preparation. Always, she had eaten out. She frowned. If Mister Muscles refused to feed her, what would she do?

He was in the boat now, turning to watch her come aboard. She took a step downward, missed her footing, and started to fall. She gave a yelp, then felt two arms come out and catch her.

Those arms were like steel cables. They caught her, held her, brought her in against his naked chest. They hugged her.

“You’re a helpless little thing, aren’t you?” he asked.

“I’m not helpless. It’s just that this is all so new to me . . . ”

“Phooey. You can’t do a damn thing right.”

He was holding her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. Yet she made no move to get away from him. Now why was that? Actually, she found herself enjoying the way he was holding her.

“I’m a good designer. I make jeans and shirts and skirts . . . ”

He laughed at her. A rumble of mirth came up from his deep chest and seemed to explode above her. His arms tightened even more.

“I’m going to have to teach you, I suppose.”

“Teach me—what?”

He grinned. “I’ll think of something.”

She squirmed. “You’d better let go of me. I thought you were in such a hurry to get going.”

“The proper term is ‘underway.’ ”

“Whatever!”

His arms loosened a little. “All right. Can you go forward and throw off the ropes that hold us to the pier?”

“Certainly I can. If you’d let go of me, of course.”

His arms were withdrawn. Amy drew a deep breath, suddenly missing those arms. She had something to do, what was it? Oh, yes. Something about ropes. She turned and stared around her.

What ropes was he talking about?