Free The Invitation (Matchmaker Trilogy) by Barbara Delinsky Page B

And he knew then, without a doubt, what he was going to do.
    He’d leave her now, but he’d be true to his word. He’d spend the next two weeks shadowing her, learning what made her tick. She might in fact be the prissy lady she wanted him to believe she was. Or she might be the woman of passion he suspected she was. In either case, he stirred her. That was what he read in her eyes, and though he wasn’t sure why, it was what he wanted.
    “Go back to sleep,” he said gently as he rose from the bed. He was halfway to the door when he heard her snort.
    “Fat chance of that! Can I really believe you won’t invade my privacy again? And if I were to fall asleep, I’d have nightmares. Hmph. So much for a lovely vacation. Stuck on a stinking pirate ship with a man who thinks he’s God’s gift to women—”
    Noah closed the door on the last of her tirade and, smiling, sauntered off through the salon.

4
    “A HH , mes belles amies. Notre dîner nous attend sur le pont. Suivez-moi, s’il vous plaît.”
    Shaye, who’d been curled in an easy chair in the salon, darted a disbelieving glance at Victoria before refocusing her eyes on Samson. She’d known he’d been busily working in the galley and that he’d refused their offers of help. But she hadn’t expected to be called to the table in flawless French—he was a professor of Latin, wasn’t he?—much less by a man sporting a bright red, side-knotted silk scarf and a cockily set black beret.
    Victoria thought he was precious; eccentric was the word Shaye would choose. But he was harmless, certainly more so than his nephew, she mused, and at the moment she was in need of a little comic relief.
    It had been a long afternoon. She hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep after Noah had left her cabin, though she’d tried her best. After cursing the sheets, the mattress, the heat and everything else in the room, she’d dressed, reknotted her hair and gone on deck.
    Noah hadn’t been there—he was sleeping, Samson told her, which had irritated her no end. He was sleeping, after he’d ruined her own! She’d seethed for a while, then been gently, gradually, helplessly lulled by the rocking of the boat into a better frame of mind.
    And now Samson had called them to dinner. The table, it turned out, was a low, folding one covered by a checkered cloth, and the seats were cushions they carried up from the salon. Noah had lowered the jibs and secured the wheel, dashing Shaye’s hope that he’d be too busy sailing to join them. To make matters worse, he crossed his long legs and fluidly lowered himself to the cushion immediately on her left.
    The meal consisted of a hearty bouillabaisse, served with a Muscadet wine, crusty French bread and, for dessert, a raspberry tart topped with thick whipped cream. Other than complimenting the chef on his work, Shaye mostly stayed out of the conversation, which involved Samson and Victoria and the other unlikely trips each had taken.
    Noah, too, was quiet, but his eyes were like living things reaching out, touching her, daring her to reveal something of herself as Victoria and Samson were doing. Since she had no intention of conforming, she remained quiet and ignored his gaze as best she could.
    Samson, bless him, was more than willing to accept help with the cleanup, and Shaye was grateful for the escape. By the time she finished in the galley, she was feeling better.
    Armed with a cup of coffee and a book, she settled in the salon. Hurricane lamps provided the light, casting a warm golden glow that she had to admit was atmospheric. In fact, she had to admit that the Golden Echo wasn’t all that bad. Sails unfurled and full once again, the sloop sliced gently through the waves. A crosswind whispered from porthole to porthole, comfortably ventilating the salon. The mustiness that had bothered Shaye earlier seemed to have disappeared, though perhaps, she reflected, she’d simply grown accustomed to it.
    She was well fed. She was