Page 3 of Devlin

Devlin's office was on the second floor of the massive building, which was about twenty-thousandsquare feet. Two additional offices, one belonging to her father, another to the operations manager, as well as a conference room, lined the interior hallway overlooking the first-floor workspace.

Downstairs, the cavernous room allowed for construction and restoration of yachts, with separate spaces for carpentry, painting, rigging, and mechanical services. Enormous doors opened onto aramp with a lift and a deep-water dock behind the building. Blackthorne Boatworks was a full-service operation offering everything from design to new construction, restoration, service, and sales.

As they walked down the stairs, she saw two boats currently in progress: one a skeletal hull, the other about fifty percent done. There were at least six men working between the two projects.

Her father should be there, too. He was a master craftsman. He wasn't only a designer; he was also a builder, and a sailor.

"You can't afford to lose my dad," she told Devlin as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "He's brilliant."

"It wouldn't be easy, but no one is irreplaceable."

Her anger returned. "Now you sound like your father's son. The Blackthornes rule theworld."

Irritation ran through his eyes. "My family doesn't rule the world, but we did build our businesses from the ground up, and we worked hard to get where we are. We offer our employees excellent benefits, and Frank has been treated like a member of the family for as long as you and I have been alive." Devlin paused. "You should talk to your dad. You might be surprised that you don'tknow as much as you think you do about the way things are around here."

She walked slowly out to her car, hoping he wasn't right.

As Devlin left his apartmenton the third floor of the Boatworks and drove to his parents' home a little before six, his mind drifted back to his earlier confrontation with Hannah Reid.

She'd certainly been hot under the collar—not that she'd been wearing a collar. No, her short, sleeveless light-blue linen dress had clung to her beautiful curves and showed off her tanned, slender legs. Her blonde hair had caught thelight every time she'd shaken her head at him, and her blue eyes had shot off more than a few sparks.

He didn't remember her being so pretty. Not that he'd paid much attention to her. She was five years younger than him, which had felt like a million years when he was a teenager. Now, not so much…

But his unexpected attraction was a non-starter. He wasn't going to mess around withHannah. He had enough problems. Not that she'd mess around with him. She clearly didn't think highly of anyone with Blackthorne for their last name.

While he respected her for standing up for her dad, it was clear she didn't have any idea of the dynamics between Frank and his father. Those two had always butted heads, but at times they'd also been friends.

Apparently, now they wereenemies, and he had no idea why.

His father refused to discuss it with him. But he would have to bring it up again, not just because he'd promised Hannah, but also because he needed Frank back at work.

They had orders to fill and designs to be finished, and, as Hannah had pointed out, Frank had always helped him race their newest boat in the Southern Maine Sailing Invitational, whichbrought together racers from all over the world on Memorial Day weekend.

He'd never sailed the race without Frank, and while he knew he could do it, he would miss him. It wouldn't be the same.

Although…this would be a good time to get his father on board. But while his father had a shelf of trophies from the race, they were all from more than a decade ago. His father had quit racingafter his brother Mark and his wife had passed away in a tragic plane crash, leaving behind three boys, who had subsequently been raised by his parents.

His father had always sailed the race with Mark, and he'd never wanted to do it with anyone else—not even his own son. But then, he and his father didn't do much of anything together, whether it was on a boat or not. It wasn't that theywere estranged or anything; they just didn't have much in common.

Usually, his dad left the management of the Boatworks to him, which made this Frank situation even more bothersome. Frank had to have done something fairly big for his dad to have stepped in the way he had. But hopefully, he'd had enough time to cool off and be open to reason.

He turned in to the driveway of the BlackthorneEstate and parked off to the side, preferring to have his car more readily available when he wanted to leave. Soon there would be a crush of vehicles in front of the house.

Getting out of the car, he walked down the drive, appreciating the unusually warm evening, and he also found himself looking forward to the night ahead. It was his mother's sixtieth birthday, and the entire family wouldbe there, including his three brothers, three cousins, and his grandmother. They hadn't all been together since Christmas, and it would be nice to see the house full of Blackthornes again.

As the three-story mansion came into view, he smiled to himself, thinking that the wordhousehad always been an understatement. The fifteen-thousand-square-foot home had been built by his grandparents,funded by Blackthorne Gold, the whisky that had built the Blackthorne empire. Surrounded by lush gardens, the mansion also boasted a white widow's walk overlooking the sea.

Growing up, the house had always been their summer base. During the year, they'd lived in an equally impressive home in Boston. And Boston was where many of his family members still resided. He, however, had decidedto take over the Boatworks five years ago, making his life and business interests much more suited to King Harbor and the Maine coast. While he could have lived at the estate, he'd felt a need for his own space, and the apartment over the Boatworks was more convenient and more his style.

When he reached the front door, he ran into Trey, his oldest brother. "You made it. When did you getin?" He gave Trey a hug, then grinned at his brother's always stiff response.

They were only three years apart in age, but they were light-years apart in everything else. Trey was executive vice president of operations for Blackthorne Enterprises, and he was all business, all the time. Even for tonight's party, he looked every inch the executive in his expensive designer suit. His facewas cleanly shaven, and his brown hair was neatly trimmed and styled so that not a hair was out of place. Looking at Trey now, he could hardly believe this was the same kid who had once built forts with him out of blankets and chairs.

"I got in an hour ago." Trey straightened his tie and gave him a frown. "You couldn't dress up for this, Devlin?"

"You're not in Boston anymore, Trey.This is King Harbor." He thought his tan slacks and light-blue button-down shirt were perfect for his mom's sixtieth birthday party. "And it's just family and a few close friends."

"Actually, that's not true. Not just the family is coming."

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