Will Work For Love by Amie Denman

Whitney asked as
she stood uncertainly on the dock and tried to stay out of the way.
How low could the boat go without taking on water?
    “At least once a week. There’s no airport on St.
John, so my freight business makes a lot of deliveries over there.”
Chris stacked another window carefully on the back of the boat and
looked up at Whitney. “Lots of nice people there,” he said.
    It was enticing watching him work in the afternoon
sun, the rays glinting off his muscles as he lifted the supplies
onto his boat. He took off his shirt. She sighed. She could use a
man like him to clean up East Pointe in time for the wedding.
    “Everything okay?” Chris asked.
    Whitney decided to leave her worries behind and
enjoy the scenery which included an incredibly sexy man inviting
her aboard his boat. She nodded brightly at him and stepped
aboard.
    Flying over the blue waters of the Caribbean paled
in comparison to dangling her hand in the shimmering waves as they
cut a path eastward out of Charlotte Amalie toward the neighboring
island of St. John.
    “It’s mostly nature preserve,” Chris said as she
stood next to him where he steered the boat. It was a wood boat
that had seen better days, but it seemed seaworthy. At least so
far. The open floor plan was perfect for stacking supplies and
cargo, and there was a small roof over the cockpit where the
steering wheel and two older vinyl seats were bolted to the
floor.
    Whitney sat in one of the seats, escaping the
blistering sun and giving her eyes a break. Looking at Chris was
definitely easy on the eyes.
    “Do they need windows and boards at the nature
preserve?” she asked.
    “Nope, but quite a few people live there, too. They
mostly work in the restaurants and hotels.”
    “And they’re doing some building?” she asked,
gesturing toward the supplies.
    “Hurricane cleanup still,” he said. He didn’t look
at her as he spoke, his hands on the wheel and his eyes glued to
the channel ahead.
    Whitney was glad he was distracted. Just the thought
of hurricane damage gave her a sinking feeling. She was tempted for
the tenth time to pull her cell phone out of her purse and call
Blue Isle to check up on the progress and blast a few more threats
just in case. She was going to resist making that call for now,
though. Ruining her trip to St. John, even if it was on a freight
boat loaded with construction supplies, was not a very fun idea.
Besides, she had given them nine days. They knew what they needed
to do.
    Perhaps by the time she got home in the evening…she
glanced at Chris’ handsome profile…whatever time that happened to
be, she would find things much improved already at East Pointe. She
would think happy thoughts. Which was easy to do looking at the
green hills and white houses that dotted the island of St. Thomas
as they cruised by.
    “How long have you worked for ‘Flying Island
Freight’?” she asked.
    Chris looked at her with raised eyebrows and took a
minute before he answered. “I own it,” he said. “I’ve been doing
this since I came to St. Thomas three years ago.”
    “You enjoy it?”
    “It’s more play than work, what’s not to like?” he
said.
    “More play than work,” Whitney said. “That sounds
like something I’d like to try.”
    “What do you do in Boston? You never said.”
    “I own a small business.”
    “Revolving doors?” he asked, flashing her a look she
found irresistible.
    She laughed. “Sportswear. We customize team
uniforms.”
    “Like for kids soccer teams and schools?”
    “And some professional teams,” she said. “It’s
growing.”
    “Is it more fun than work?” Chris asked. He steered
with one hand and turned to face her, giving her his full
attention.
    “I keep thinking it’s going to be someday,” she
replied, gazing at the blue sky framed by the boat’s windshield. “I
have some changes to consider soon,” she finally said.
    Chris nodded, his blue eyes slightly darkened in the
shaded light under the