“I say we stop picking up random women,” Marcus said. “Full stop. We try to get to know them before we sleep with them. We haul all kinds of fish into the boat, then take some time to decide which fish to throw back.”

  “I think I date some pretty decent women,” Declan said.

  “Ha!” Ian leaned back in his chair. “What about Danielle? She ties you to the bed during sex, then goes out to get breakfast for the two of you. On the way back, she gets distracted by…”

  “A sale at Bloomingdales,” Dec said. “It was Bloomingdales. Purses, I think. The girl really liked purses. More than sex.” He turned to Marcus. “What about that woman you dated who couldn’t get excited unless you spanked her.”

  “It was exciting the first few times, but when she pulled out a whip, I had to draw the line,” Marcus murmured, shaking his head.

  “Remember Giselle, that dancer from my building?” Dec asked. “What happened to her?”

  “Exhibitionist,” Ian said. “She liked to do it in front of the windows of her apartment, with the curtains open. I guess she’s known in the neighborhood for her…performances. There were guys across the street with binoculars and video cameras.”

  “I’ve seen those guys,” Dec said to Marcus. “I always thought they were watching birds.”

  “So we’ve all had our share of strange sexual encounters. If we want things to change, Marcus is right. We need to make a plan,” Ian said. “I say we go out there and look for keepers. No bleach blondes or fake boobs or overbaked bodies.”

  “No aspiring Playboy models or ex–beauty queens or former professional cheerleaders, either,” Dec added. “And no strippers.”

  “They prefer exotic dancers,” Ian corrected.

  Marcus shook his head. There was a benefit to being reserved around women. He’d never had the courage to dip a toe into those dating pools.

  “Just regular girls. I say, the three of us make a pact to meet one normal woman this week,” Ian suggested. “We report back here and compare notes.”

  Marcus smiled inwardly. Ian had always been the competitive one. If an activity could be turned into a game, he found a way to do it. And he rarely lost. “I’m going to have to pass on this,” he said. “I’m stuck out in Newport on a boat for the rest of the summer. Alone.”

  “Just you and your precious tools?” Ian asked.

  “You took that job with Trevor Ross.” Declan nodded. “I hope he’s paying you well. He certainly can afford it.”

  Dec had provided security at a number of Ross’s parties and also advised his corporate security office on a variety of matters. He had referred Marcus to the wealthy tycoon. “I figure if I impress him, I might be able to talk him into investing in my business,” Marcus said. “More capital means bigger yachts.”

  “What’s his boat like?” Ian asked.

  A grin curled the corners of Marcus’s mouth. “You should see her. She’s a beauty. Built in 1923. Schooner-rigged. Ninety-foot wood hull. He had the cabin completely refurbished and it’s sweet. But he wants more detailing so I’m adding some vintage carvings and a new figurehead. The crew is on vacation. I’m living on the boat while I work. He’s got it anchored off his place on Price’s Neck.”

  “So you’re out of the game for now,” Ian said. “You can get in later. But you still have to pay up every week.”

  “You’re turning this into some kind of pool?” Marcus asked.

  “Every week we throw a twenty into the pot,” Ian explained. “First guy find a keeper—and keep her—wins it.”

  “Fifty-two weeks, twenty dollars a week times three, that’s over three thousand in a year,” Dec said. “Not bad incentive to start fishing. But who’s to judge.”

  “We all have to like her and agree that she’s worth marrying,” Ian said.

  “But we don’t have to marry her, right?” Dec asked.

  “Nope.” Ian held out a clenched fist. “Deal?”

  Dec bumped his fist against Ian’s. “Deal.”

  Marcus had never liked being left out of his older brothers’ games. Though he didn’t have a lot of extra cash, he could afford to play. And considering the track records of the two guys sitting at the table, he probably had a decent shot, even if he did join the game late.

  “Deal,” Marcus finally said. “I’m in.”

  A SHAFT OF SUNLIGHT filtered through the porthole and warmed Marcus Quinn’s face. He slowly opened his eyes and for a moment, he was transported back to his childhood, to those days spent playing in the stable at Porter Hall.

  He rolled over in the narrow berth and grabbed his wristwatch from the small shelf above his head. Wiping at his bleary eyes, Marcus tried to focus on the time, ignoring the dull ache in his head. “Eight-thirty,” he murmured, sinking back into the pillows.

  The schooner rocked gently in the water as the waves slapped against the hull. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, the movement of the boat lulling him back toward sleep. He’d stayed out with his brothers until well after one, playing pool and shooting darts at Finnerty’s.

  He sat up and raked his hands through his rumpled hair, then swung his legs over the edge of the berth. When he’d come on board a week ago, he’d claimed an empty berth in the crew quarters next door to the captain’s cabin. But now that the crew had left, Marcus had the boat all to himself, luxurious accommodations for a guy who was used to a three-room apartment above an old boathouse.

  He dug through his clothes scattered over the opposite berth, searching for something clean to wear, then gave up. It was about time to check out the small laundry room aft of the engine room—right after he started a pot of coffee. Marcus wandered sleepily down the narrow companionway, past the two spacious guest cabins.

  From the time he could stand on a deck, Marcus had loved being on the water. His earliest memories were of his father, standing in the wheelhouse of the Mighty Quinn, the family sword-fishing boat. Paddy Quinn had been forced to sell his interest to Marcus’s uncle Seamus to help pay for his wife’s medical bills. The family moved to Rhode Island and Paddy worked for a boat repair business on the eastern shore of Narragansett Bay, a business he later bought from the elderly owner.

  Before they were sent to Ireland, Marcus remembered one glorious summer spent racing little Sunfish sailboats on the bay, skimming across the water in hastily planned regattas. When they weren’t sailing, they were fishing from a small skiff their father had restored.

  The ensuing years took them away from the water and their older brothers, Rory and Eddie, but the moment Marcus returned at age fifteen, he began to build his own sailboat in his father’s workshop. From that moment on, he knew he wanted to design boats—beautiful sleek sailboats that could cut through the water like a razor.

  Four years of college at MIT followed by another two years working at IYRS—International Yacht Restoration School—set him on the path to opening his own business. He’d built his first boat while still at IYRS. The twenty-three-foot wooden day-sailer took three months, and by that time Marcus had three more commissions and enough money to hire two employees. And now with the job from Trevor Ross, things were really beginning to look up.

  Marcus glanced around the spacious lounge of the Victorious as he passed through, his feet brushing against the cool teak sole of the boat. The ninety-foot schooner was a designer’s dream, an inspiration for Marcus’s future projects. He enjoyed discovering all the interesting nooks and crannies of the vintage yacht, examining the expensive restoration work that Trevor Ross so easily paid for.

  As he turned the corner into the galley, Marcus stopped short, the breath leaving his chest. A woman, dressed only in lacy black panties, was bent over the refrigerator, her underwear riding up on the curves of her backside. She was dripping wet, water puddling around her feet, her long hair plastered to her back.

  Marcus glanced over his shoulder, deciding if he ought to step out and throw on some clothes or stand his ground. He didn’t want to give the stowaway a chance to escape. Brushing aside his modesty, Marcus braced his hands on either side of the door, then cleared his throat. She straightened, then turned and faced him, her face registering mild surprise. Her gaze slowly raked the length of his body, resting a long moment in the area of his crotch. “Good morning,” she murmured, a smile twitching at her lips.

  She didn’t seem to be concerned about his lack of clothing—or hers, for that matter. He tried to avoid looking at her breasts, but he couldn’t help himself. Her body was perfect, long-limbed and slender, with a tiny waist that flared out to lovely hips. His eyes drifted back to her breasts and he lingered there for just a moment, wondering how it might feel to touch her, to cup each perfect breast in the palm of his hand.

  “Are you finished?” she asked. “Or would you like to take a closer look?” She held up her arms and slowly turned in front of him, offering him yet another glimpse of her backside.

  Marcus’s gaze darted back to her face, taking in the wide green eyes, high cheekbones and lush mouth now curved in a wry smile. Hell, this was every man’s dream, the stuff of fantasies, stumbling on a nearly naked woman. Marcus swallowed hard. If he didn’t find something to cover his crotch, she was going to see exactly what kind of effect she was having on him.

  “Excuse me,” he murmured. “I’ll be right back.” He turned and hurried toward his cabin.

  “Is there coffee?” she shouted, poking her head out of the galley.

  Marcus cursed softly as he dug through his clothes looking for a clean pair of boxer briefs. In the end, he tugged on baggy surfer shorts and made a quick stop at the head to brush his teeth. When he returned to the galley, she was still rummaging through the cabinets in the same state of undress. He cursed to himself, wondering why she hadn’t taken the chance to put on some clothes.

  “May I ask what you’re doing?” he said.

  “Coffee,” she muttered impatiently. “Is it too much to ask that you start a pot of coffee in the morning?”

  He stepped inside, moving past her. Her body brushed his, her breasts soft against his chest. He focused on the coffee, determined not to let her rattle him. The bag of beans was tucked behind a canister of sugar. Marcus pulled it out and dumped a healthy measure of the beans into the grinder. As the grinder whined, he glanced over his shoulder to find her perched on the counter, her hands braced at her sides, her long legs crossed at the ankle. He groaned inwardly, fighting back an impulse to reach out and touch her, just to see if this was all just a very vivid dream.

  He dumped the ground coffee into a filter, then popped it into the coffeemaker, grateful for any distraction. Grabbing the pot, Marcus passed it over to her and she filled it with water from the tap. They both watched until a stream of coffee began to drip into the pot. Then she reached around her back and found a coffee mug.

  “I can’t wait,” she murmured, nudging his shoulder with the cup.

  He filled her mug and handed it back to her, keeping his attention firmly fixed on the coffee. “How did you get on board?” he asked.

  “I swam,” she said. “I left my clothes and my bags on the dock. Maybe you could take the dinghy over later and get them for me?”

  “Yeah,” Marcus muttered. “Maybe.” He’d put that little task off for as long as possible. It wasn’t every day he got to enjoy the company of a naked woman, especially a woman who seemed more comfortable out of her clothes than in them.

  “You’re new,” she said. “You’re a bit older than the boys Daddy usually hires. Are you here to take over for that old barnacle Captain Davis? Please tell me he’s finally retired to the Crusty Old Sailor’s Home. Or was he swallowed by some accommodating white whale on his last cruise?”

  Marcus bit back a curse. Daddy? Bloody hell. The only person she could be talking about was Trevor Ross, which meant that the naked woman sitting behind him—the one he’d been drooling over—was his boss’s daughter, Ariel Ross.

  Pictures of her as a little girl hung in the master cabin. But the rest of the world knew her from her tabloid exploits. She looked different in person, without the clothes and makeup and celebrity hair. Her skin was smooth and flawless, with a tiny sprinkling of freckles across her upturned nose, and her hair was a much darker blond when it was wet. She looked almost…virginal. No, this was not the girl who jetted around Europe, dated princes and attended fashion shows.

  “You’re Ariel,” he said flatly.

  “And you are?”

  He turned and faced her, leaning back against the edge of the counter. “The new barnacle.”

  She giggled at the answer and to Marcus’s surprise, the sound sent a rush of heat through his bloodstream. “So do you prefer Barney?” she asked, holding out her hand.

  He wanted to touch her. At that moment, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. He took the offered greeting, grasping her fingers in his, and Marcus instantly wondered how those delicate fingers would feel wrapped around him.

  “Marcus. Marcus Quinn. I’m…” He scrambled for the words. Fighting off a serious case of lust…fantasizing about dragging you to my bed…wanting to know if you taste as good as you look. “Working for your dad,” he finished, quickly dropping her hand.

  He took a quick sip of his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup. Was he expected to carry on a conversation with her? She didn’t seem to be at all interested in getting dressed. The polite thing to do was keep his gaze fixed on her face. He risked another glance at her breasts. Easier said than done.

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “Your father hired me to do some wood carvings for the boat. I’m working on a figurehead for the bowsprit and piece for the wall in the dining area. And I’m carving some corbels for the lounge area and adding some ornamentation to the cabinets in the master suite.”

  “Well, well,” she said, jumping down from the counter, “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you.” She stepped toward him and lightly skimmed her palm down his chest, stopping when she reached his belly. Marcus held his breath and she sent him a provocative grin. “I’ll try to stay out of your way. It’ll be nice to have some company on board. Don’t work too hard, Barney.”

  “It’s Marcus. And you can’t stay,” he protested. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate on work with Ariel Ross prancing around the deck naked? There was just so much a normal guy could take and in a short ten minutes, he’d already reached his limit. All he could think about was finding a way to ease his sexual frustration. “Your father said I’d have the boat to myself. I can’t work if you’re here.”

  “Why is that?”

  Was she that dense or was she simply toying with him? He’d already managed to lapse into a few brief and inappropriate fantasies. Given more time, Marcus knew what his imagination would provide—full-blown, erotic daydreams that would only be erased by prolonged physical contact with a beautiful woman—like Ariel Ross. From the moment he stumbled upon her, all he’d been able to think about was how long he’d have to wait to touch her. No, there was no way she could stay! “You just can’t,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t care what you want. This is my father’s boat and I’ll stay as long as I like. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with your boss.” With that, she turned on her heel and disappeared down the companionway to the master suite.

  Marcus stuck his head out of the galley just in time to see her slam the door. “Oh, hell.” This was trouble just waiting to happen. Ariel Ross had a reputation that was known worldwide—she was a man-eater, about as far from a “keeper” as he could get. And if she started nibbling on him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to defend himself.

  A month didn’t go by without a scandalous photo or article in the tabloids or a report on one of those Hollywood news shows. Ariel went through men as if they were trendy fashion accessories, something pretty to keep on her arm and enjoy for the moment, then to toss aside once she found another boy who pleased her more.

  Marcus shook his head and headed back to his cabin. So she’d hang around for the weekend. A woman like Ariel would grow bored with the solitude and be off to more exciting places before she could even unpack. “Two days,” he said. “I’ll give her two days and then she’s got to go. If she doesn’t, I just toss her overboard.”

  Marcus chuckled softly. He wouldn’t get a whole lot of work done in the next forty-eight hours, but that really didn’t matter. If entertaining the boss’s daughter was part of the job, then he’d do his best—just short of sleeping with her.

  But in such close quarters, there was no telling what might transpire. If his desire did eventually overwhelm his common sense, at least he’d have a decent tale to tell his brothers about the sexy little socialite he’d reeled in, then tossed back.

  …NOT THE END…

  Look for THE MIGHTY QUINNS: MARCUS in

  bookstores October 2006 from Harlequin Blaze.

  Drive Me Crazy

  by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Even though Josh Gregory had told her he wasn’t ready to get married until he built up his limousine company, Pris Adams thought she could change his mind. After all, they had a great relationship and even better sex! With her biological clock ticking, Pris gave Josh an ultimatum: Marry me or lose me! Josh chose option B.

  Now, determined to get on with her life, Pris is engaged to marry someone else—and has hired Josh to drive the limo on her wedding day so that he’ll see what he’s lost! But then a funny thing happens on the way down the aisle…

  CHAPTER ONE

  A LIMO FULL OF BEAUTIFUL, twenty something women. Ordinarily that would have thrilled Josh Gregory from the brim of his chauffeur’s cap all the way down to his spit-shined dress shoes. Not today.

  Priscilla Adams, a gorgeous blonde he used to date—a woman he used to have fantastic sex with, to be truthful—sat in the back of the limo with her bridesmaids. Within the hour, she and her luscious body would be lost to Josh forever. He told himself it was for the best.