Sean
Donna Kauffman
Judge Laurel Patrick blamed it on the lush island paradise of St. Thomas.Why else would she make love to a virtual stranger? Laurel wanted Sean Gannon as much as he wanted her. The chemistry was irresistibly powerful, their passion intense. Then reality unexpectedly intruded on Laurel, forcing her to leave the island–without a chance to explain to Sean…or even say goodbye.Sean's gut instinct as a U.S. marshal is telling him something isn't right. Once back in the States, he confronts Laurel–and sees the hunted look in her eyes, the fear she can't hide. Sean ignores Laurel's attempts to protect him by pushing him away. The woman he loves is in danger, and he isn't going anywhere….
“We haven’t done the talking part yet,” Sean said
“We will…” Laurel rose up on her toes, took his face in her hands and kissed him. No gentle peck, no teasing come-on. She flat out kissed him. A heartbeat later he was kissing her back.
Sean pushed his hips against hers. “Damn, I still don’t even know you.”
“I don’t know you, either. So explain why this feels like one of the rightest things I’ve ever done.” Laurel laughed a little. “God, I hope I don’t feel like an idiot for saying that come morning.”
Sean leaned in and kissed her, only gently this time. “I don’t want any regrets,” he murmured. Although he already knew he’d have a boatload. Not for making love to her. No, never. He was going to regret not having more time with her here on the island. Time to get past making love…and falling into it.
Dear Reader,
I was thrilled to hear that the Men of Courage anthology was so well received that our editors wanted each of us to write a spin-off story. Brett, my hero from “Buried!,” has a great set of siblings that I was dying to write about. But none so much as his older brother, U.S. marshal Sean Gannon. Of course, given Sean’s dedication to job and country, he’d probably have preferred me to leave him alone. All the more reason to complicate things for him!
So I put a damsel in distress directly in his path, one he wasn’t going to be able to walk away from. The problem? Laurel Patrick is the type of woman who prefers to solve her own problems, thank you. Did I mention she was a district court judge? Sean suspects she’s in more trouble than she can handle…and he’s not backing off. Sparks fly, pulses pound, passion flares. All the ingredients I love best!
I hope you enjoy Sean and Laurel’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Happy reading,
Donna Kauffman
Books by Donna Kauffman
HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION
828—WALK ON THE WILD SIDE
846—HEAT OF THE NIGHT
874—CARRIED AWAY
HARLEQUIN BLAZE
18—HER SECRET THRILL
46—HIS PRIVATE PLEASURE
69—AGAINST THE ODDS
Sean
Donna Kauffman
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book is for Mark, Mitch, Spence & Brandon
My own personal heroes.
Contents
Chapter 1 (#ude9b52d2-7cf3-590e-be10-e2b7b62e9180)
Chapter 2 (#u22aabc8a-1198-5513-ae82-fbac6441e3fa)
Chapter 3 (#u5abe501a-d603-58c0-ad93-b08d8460c76e)
Chapter 4 (#u68bf2de4-c00c-5d02-b52e-ba117462181b)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
1
“WHO’D HAVE THOUGHT I’d be the first one of the Gannon men to tie the knot, eh?” Brett Gannon slung an arm around his older brother’s shoulders and tipped back the last of a beer.
Sean grinned and finished his beer in one long pull. “Well, Clay is too busy dating his way through the University of Louisiana’s cheerleading squad. And I knew it wasn’t going to be me.”
“Yeah, you’re already married. How is the Marshals Service treating you anyway?” he teased. “Still exciting as those early days, when the romance was fresh? Can we expect the pitter-patter of little agents’ feet anytime soon?”
Sean just grinned. “Yep, just as soon as I get through with my next class out at Beauregard. I’m sure my recruits are all going to make me very proud.” His grin widened. “Or die trying.”
Brett winced. “Glad I don’t have to impress you.”
Sean looked across the yard at Haley, at how happy she was. “You already have,” he said quite seriously. He grinned when Brett gave him a surprised look. “But I will admit I thought you’d play a much wider field first.”
Brett shot him his trademark cheeky grin. “In the end, it’s just more green grass.”
Sean looked back to Haley, radiant in the simple white gown she’d chosen. “You did find yourself a right sunny patch of it, that’s for certain.” He glanced back at the middle Gannon brother in time to see Brett staring at his wife of less than one hour, so totally besotted it should have made Sean want to roll his eyes and shake his head. Instead it created an odd little twinge somewhere down deep inside him.
Brett noticed his brother’s frown. “Is it weird for you? Because you used to date her? I mean, it was several lifetimes ago.”
“And I suppose that crush you had on her back then was just some youthful infatuation, huh?” Sean countered.
Brett was unabashed. “The only thing youthful was my inability to hold on to her. But I always knew a good thing when I saw it.”
“Unlike me, I suppose.” Sean had said it jokingly, but there was a thread of honesty in the statement that caused that twinge to sharpen.
“Hey, I figure you did us both a favor. She didn’t want to marry the U.S. Marshals Service. And eventually I did grow up and learned to hang on to something good when I had it.”
“Yeah,” Sean said, his gaze shifting back to Haley, serene and calm amid the other members of the raucous Gannon clan. “And may I say, when you hang, you hang with the best.” He looked back at his brother. “I’m happy for you, Brett. Truly. And I hope like hell you contribute more to the Gannon legacy than those four-legged animals you work with.”
“What, you having a yearning to play uncle? Carly’s brand-new little squaller isn’t enough for you?”
“Carly’s baby terrifies me,” he said quite seriously.
“Yeah, I know,” Brett said, admitting his terror for the first time. “How can something so tiny have such huge lungs?”
It wasn’t the screaming that bothered him. Sean had been referring to those perfect little delicate fingers and those teeny, tiny toes. How was a guy supposed to hold something like that without breaking it? Yet his younger sister had taken to motherhood as if she’d been born to it. And, truthfully, out of the five Gannon kids, she was the one most suited for the job. Although watching the way Brett was making googly eyes at his bride, he thought it wouldn’t be too long before he had another squalling niece or nephew. Brett had always been an animal lover, hence his job training rescue dogs. And Sean had to admit, the animals loved him. As far as he was concerned, that qualified him as well as anyone to be a parent.
“Ha,” Brett was saying. “You just figure if Haley and I can distract Mom and Dad by popping out babies on some kind of routine schedule, they’ll forget their two oldest offspring are still unwed.” He snorted. “Good luck.”
“Nah, we’ll just sic ’em on Clay.”
Brett leveled a look at him. “Are you kidding? He is a baby.”
“True. Having him make more would just be redundant,” Sean said, making them both laugh.
“So, you still thinking about taking the job at Camp Beauregard? Doing the full-time trainer thing for our country?”
In fact, he’d pretty much decided to do just that. But he wasn’t going to announce it now. This was Brett and Haley’s day. “It’s still under consideration.”
Brett elbowed him. “You could be closer to the family. And I’m sure Carly would love it if Uncle Sean dropped by to baby-sit every Friday night.”
“You know, you’re making that decision easier by the minute,” Sean warned good-naturedly. “Another Denver winter is starting to look good.”
His older sister, Isabel, wandered over, sipping a slender-stemmed glass of champagne. She glanced at the cans in their hands. “Beer?” She shook her head in disgust. “And we had such high hopes that a college degree would bring some element of civilization to you both.”
“Where do you think we perfected our beer-drinking skills in the first place?” Sean asked.
“Champagne is for sissies, Iz,” Brett added, sipping with exaggeration from his already empty can, then belching just to disgust his sister. Worked every time.
Sean contributed his share, just because he could.
Isabel sighed in resignation. “Well, it didn’t seem too much like a sissy drink earlier when you were making that toast.”
Sean grinned. “Yeah, but it’s a lot more manly when you’re sipping it from the maid of honor’s satin high heel.”
She shook her head. “Men.”
Brett caught Sean’s eye, then glanced down meaningfully at their empty beer cans. Sean chuckled. At exactly the same moment, they crushed the beer cans on their foreheads.
“Oh, jeez!” She quickly shifted so the rest of the gathering wouldn’t see them, protecting her brothers even as it was clear she’d just as soon throttle them both. “Don’t let Haley see you do ‘frat boy’ stunts. She can still get an annulment, you know.” She shot a look at Sean. “And don’t say a word. You’re a lost cause anyway.”
“You’re one to talk,” Sean countered, but she was already waltzing off. She did that particular exit very well. Much more effective than Carly’s standard stalk-off-in-a-huff. But then, Izzy’d had plenty of practice. Just ask any man she’d dated more than three times.
“Uh-oh,” Sean said as he surveyed the reception scene. “Uncle Padraig just grabbed his fiddle. You might want to save Haley before—”
“Don’t worry,” Brett reassured him with a smug smile. “She actually finds us charming.”
Sean just shot him a look. “Maybe she should get her head examined. That earthquake you two got tangled up in obviously harmed her more seriously than you thought.”
Brett just laughed as he headed across the lawn and swept his bride into a jig.
Sean thought about Haley’s family, none of whom had made the trip from their snooty east coast enclave to the banks of the Bayou Duplantier to see their only daughter marry beneath herself. He raised his crushed beer can to their absence. “Your loss,” he murmured, then slapped his thighs, and Recon, Brett’s rescue-trained dog, and Digger, Haley’s little Jack Russell terror, trotted over to him.
He looked down at the two of them and snorted. “Yellow bows? Whose idea was it to stick bows on your ears?” Carly’s probably. “Don’t you know all your dog friends will laugh behind your backs?” They just looked up at him, tongues lolling, eyes bright. He smiled. “But, hey, they got me into this monkey suit. So who am I to throw stones, eh?”
At the word “throw” Recon’s ears perked. Sean looked around, found a decent stick and hurled it down the rear hill of the Gannon property, then followed the two dogs as they raced to the edge of the river that chugged slowly by.
Loss. Marriage. The two words echoed in his mind as he watched Digger wrestle the stick away from Recon. The little dog was admirably confident against the bigger and very well-muscled Labrador—who immediately let him have the prize. “Women,” he said to Recon, who was female despite her macho moniker. “Why is it you feel compelled to let the guy win?” He grabbed the stick from Digger and threw it again. “Do you really think our egos are so fragile?” He looked up the hill at Brett, who was gingerly holding the baby a beaming Carly had just placed in his arms, and grinned. “More likely you’re just tricking us into believing we really stand a fighting chance.”
His smile faded as he continued to wander the edge of the property, uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were heading. Introspection—at least about big life issues such as marriage, everlasting love and raising a family—was something in which U.S. Deputy Marshal Sean Gannon simply didn’t indulge.
It surprised him that Brett’s wedding had done something as clichéd as make him think about his own life. When his sister Carly had married two years ago he had wished her well and been thankful as hell to get back on that plane to Denver.
Now? Maybe it was the danger both Brett and Haley had been in when they’d met up again in California and his realizing how close he’d come to losing his brother. How close his brother had come to losing his future wife. That was enough to make anyone rethink what was important. And though they drove him crazy, family was important to Sean. Important enough that he’d all but put in the transfer to the full-time, stationary position of trainer for the Marshals’ Special Ops team right here in Louisiana.
Of course, he hadn’t totally lost his mind. He was still a long way from seeing himself involved in a serious relationship, much less engaged, married or reproducing. But as the excited squeal of some of the Gannon cousins’ kids filled the muggy early evening air, he was forced to admit that, at the same time, he wasn’t exactly where he’d thought he’d be at this stage in his life. He’d surpassed his career goals a long time ago, but somehow he’d never figured out how to work in the wife-and-family part he’d been certain he’d have by now. Not that he’d wasted a lot of time worrying about it. Or any time, really. He’d always been too damn busy to worry about anything but his next assignment.
Which, of course, was exactly why he found himself in his present situation at this stage of his life. Highly trained, very successful, financially secure…and alone.
Recon trotted over and dropped the stick at his feet. He rubbed her head. “Ah, a loyal woman,” he told her, tossing the stick again. The Labrador looked at the stick, glanced up the yard to where Digger was begging food from one of the endless number of aunts and uncles, and promptly left the stick where it lay—not interested if Digger didn’t want to play.
“That’s a man for you, Recon,” he told her. “Always looking for the better handout. You’re better off taking care of yourself. That way you’ll never be disappointed.”
Panting, she stared up at him with those liquid brown eyes then turned and trotted back, snagged the stick and loped back up the hill. Sean watched as she sauntered by Digger, flashing the stick, then racing off around the buffet table. Digger took one last longing look at Aunt Miranda’s chicken wing, then went tearing off after Recon.
Sean hooted with laughter. “Well, I guess that’s my problem right there. I’ve never met the woman who wants me bad enough to keep waving her treasure under my nose when I get sidetracked by something else.”
Which was probably the closest he’d come to admitting his real problem where settling down was concerned. He always believed the right woman would come along and he’d just know it, and the rest would simply fall into place.
In the meantime he wasn’t averse to short-lived, very hot interludes. But he’d gotten so wrapped up in work lately that what little personal life he had had fallen by the wayside. Which had him thinking about his next assignment. Most men would kill for it. He was to deliver some documents and set up meetings with the head deputy in St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Five days of long meetings…but six nights of nothing to do but enjoy island life. He’d earned the assignment; he knew that. And it was pathetic to admit, but he was somewhat at a loss as to what he was going to do with those long nights.
Digger trotted up to him then, stick firmly clamped in his little jaws. Recon stood behind him, wagging her tail.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya,” he said with a shake of his head and a grin. “I’ll just make sure to pack my trusty stick.”
NINTH JUDICIAL COURT Judge Laurel Patrick stared at the plane ticket in her hand and smiled. She should be upset at her father’s underhanded tactics. But Seamus Patrick knew how to get what he wanted, had learned that skill even before being elected to the Louisiana supreme court bench nine years earlier. Any other time she’d have privately snarled at him for using the annual Christmas party at her courthouse as a platform for announcing his present to her. Of course, it had been his courthouse long before it had ever been hers. Not that it was solely hers now, of course.
She was one of a number of justices that heard cases in the Alexandria parish courtrooms. But she was part of the Patrick judicial dynasty, started in the United States by her great-grandfather, Donal, the first Patrick raised in this country, although originally established by several Patricks before him back on the bonny shores of Ireland. So it helped if she carved out her own spot, even if it was just in her own mind.
Naturally, Seamus Patrick didn’t understand her need to carve her own niche. If he had, she wouldn’t be a justice. Hell, she wouldn’t even have been a lawyer. But she hadn’t had the nerve as a child, much less as a teenager heading off, scholarship in hand, to the college of her choice, to tell her father, or her grandfather, that the footsteps she really wanted to follow were those of her mother. And her grandmother before her. That of being a wife, raising children, making a home for them. She’d dreamed of that, of becoming involved in the community, in her church, as the women in her family had a long tradition of doing.
All of which would have been a fine, even admirable, goal…if she’d had any brothers. Or even any sisters with a thirst for law. But she hadn’t. It had just been her. The last Patrick of the famous—though some would say infamous—Justice Patricks. The only one left to carry on the tradition. Skipping a generation to await any potential future justices she might procreate was simply not an option.
She glanced at the brochure that had come with the plane ticket, still stunned by the gift. Four Days In Paradise, it shouted in hot-pink letters. Underneath was a photo of a white sandy beach and crystalline-blue water.
But what Laurel saw was escape. Four days away from work that had, of late, caused a headache that wouldn’t cease, a stomach lining that a fistful antacids could no longer calm, circles under her eyes that makeup no longer completely covered, a complexion made sallow from too many nights pouring over filings, motions and briefs, and not enough time spent out in the real world having what other people called a life.
“It’s a wonder Alan wants me at all,” she murmured. She gritted her teeth against the burning sensation in her gut that just the thought of him brought on. Why in the hell was he being so persistent? she wondered for the umpteenth time. And, for the umpteenth time, she didn’t have an answer.
But what she did have was a plane ticket away from the bench…and away from Alan Bentley’s increasingly annoying and very unwanted attentions.
Her father made his way through the throng of party revelers and tucked her against his side with one beefy arm. At the towering height of six foot five, Seamus was intimidating enough without his booming Irish voice and stern visage, both of which he used to great advantage in all avenues of his life.
Despite the fact that Laurel had never been as passionate as he had been about the legal life they pursued, she did take great pride in her accomplishments, her stellar record and even the comparisons people made between father and daughter. Of course, he could still make her feel like a seven-year-old looking for his approval by memorizing all the liability torts in one of his ground-breaking civil suits with nothing more than a certain look…or an arm around the shoulder.
Any other time she might have pulled away…with a smile and a affectionate dig at his orchestrations. But he’d honestly stunned her with his gift. Had he seen the telltale signs of the stress she was under? Had he suspected she needed a break, a chance to get a grip on a life that suddenly felt as though it was spiraling out of control? It wasn’t unreasonable to think so. For all that he’d railroaded her into her career, he’d done so with a deep love and honest affection that was hard to thwart and an unfailing confidence in her that had carried her through many a long night, both in law school, during her years as an assistant district attorney, and even now, on the bench.
His gift had made her wonder if maybe she’d been wrong in keeping her escalating problems to herself. Right at that moment she wanted nothing more than to curl into his strength, his warmth, his security, and tell him everything. Tell him how concerned she was about her constant fatigue, about the emotional toll adjudicating cases was taking on her. How she respected the honor of her position, but wasn’t sure she wanted to continue on the bench.
How she was being all but stalked by the current district attorney.
“Hard feelings?” her father asked. “Don’t be cross with me. I knew if I’d done it in private, you’d have tossed that ticket right back in my face.”
How right he was, too. And it was because he was too often right—annoyingly so—she found the strength to pull away from him to deliver her best Judge Patrick look.
Her father merely raised his bushy eyebrows in anticipation.
“No hard feelings,” she said. “But you’ll want to remember three things.” She ticked them off. “One, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Two, I know when your birthday is and that you’ll be hitting the big seven-oh.” She smiled a smile that only a newly minted defense attorney would mistake as friendly—and then, only once. “Three, paybacks are hell when delivered by other people. But when delivered by a Patrick, there is no time off for good behavior.”
Seamus tipped his head back and roared with laughter, another trademark—and one often heard echoing throughout his chambers. “I wish your mother was here to see what a fine lass she brought into this world.”
“Are you kidding? Mom would be horrified to know how deeply you’ve corrupted her only child.”
Seamus and Laurel both smiled, as they always did when the subject of Alena Patrick came up. “She knew you were never going to be a princess.”
Laurel sighed. “I know. I’m beginning to think she was smarter than both of us put together.”
Seamus’s smile faded, replaced by the look of concern Laurel had hoped to avoid. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Is the upcoming Rochambeau case giving you a hard time, because we both know Jack Rochambeau is a horse’s—”
“Yes,” Laurel broke in, once again smiling. “As does the entire legal community. But he comes from a long line of them, many of them dangerous, so he’s gotten away with it. But if the D.A.’s case is as strong as it’s purported to be, that’s about to come to an end.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Maybe you could give the rest of his ‘family’ these tickets, though. Now that would make my life a lot easier.” She waved the resort brochure.
Seamus smiled, but the concern didn’t leave his brilliant blue eyes. “I know things have been rough lately, Laurel. That you’ve landed more than your fair share of difficult cases. And now this one.”
“You always said it was the benchmark cases that made a career. This one definitely qualifies.”
“Yes, but I believe I also said that a career was only worth the people who benefited from it.”
Stung, she said, “I think you can safely say more than a few people have benefited from my rulings. And it goes without saying that any damage we can do to organized crime scum like the Rochambeaus—”
“Laurel, I don’t mean the victims and their families. I’m talking about your family.”
“But you’re my family. My only—”
“Besides me.”
“There is no one besides you.”
“Precisely.”
Laurel sighed and remembered why she didn’t discuss her personal life with her father. Even when she was having one, which she wasn’t at present. “Dad, I do not want to hear the ‘biological clock’ lecture again. Being a judge makes it difficult to have—”
“Absolutely it does,” he broke in, as he always did. “And your mother was a saint and an angel for putting up with me. And you, for that matter,” he added with his charming smile. She didn’t fall for it. But then, she was more immune than most.
“You groomed me for this since the first time Mom used your law books as my booster seat,” Laurel reminded him. She might have followed in her father’s famous footsteps, but that didn’t mean she didn’t tug on the strings every once in a while. Too much Seamus in her not to. “So don’t complain I’m not popping out grandchildren for you to terrorize.”
“Terrorize is it now? Is that what you think I did to you?”
He was teasing, but she was too fatigued to play along. So she did the one thing guaranteed to end any argument she no longer had the stamina to continue. She didn’t resort to it often, mostly because it went right to his head. She stepped in and hugged him, pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “I’m proud to be your daughter.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” he sighed, squeezing her.
She’d have felt guilty, except she’d only spoken the truth. She was proud to be his daughter. And, truth be told, she’d followed in his footsteps as much to find out what it felt like to be even a tiny bit like him, as she had to make him proud of her. From day one he’d made the legal world seem like a thrilling classroom with endless boundaries begging to be explored. He’d also made her feel that she was incredibly lucky to be the student who could do that exploring. And she’d been a good student. A very good student. Good enough that, over time, she’d begun to believe that succeeding in the legal field was enough. And having his respect was proof she’d made the right choice.
“I’d give you a dozen grandbabies if I could,” she told him. “But we don’t always get to have it all.” She stepped back, feeling more than a little twinge when she saw the flicker of pain in his eyes as he thought of his beloved wife, her mother. She’d been gone for seven years now, yet there wasn’t a day that went by that they both didn’t still miss her. “And you never know,” she added, wishing now she’d opted for his lecture. “Maybe I’ll meet some island man, fall hopelessly in love and drag him back to Louisiana with me. Where I’ll force him to be my house husband and rear a whole pack of squalling Patricks.”
Seamus’s smile blinked back on and she sighed a little in relief.
He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You know I love you.”
She sighed a little and blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at the backs of her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.”
He tapped the ticket still clutched in her hand. “Enjoy this,” he instructed, once again Justice Patrick. “Use the time wisely. Leave the work here. Lord knows it’s not going anywhere.” He squeezed her elbow, then motioned to one of the court clerks who was trying to get his attention. He looked back down at her and winked. “And if you meet that beach bum, make sure he signs a prenup.”
Laurel’s mouth dropped open, but she laughed as her father disappeared in the crowd. A fling with a beach bum. Maybe that’s just what she needed. “Yeah, and the best thing about an island fling is he can’t resurface almost a year later, begging to be back in my life.”
She tapped the brochure against her palm, then tucked it in her suit pocket as a plan began to form. She’d leave a note for Alan, explaining—again—but this time with as much finality as she could muster, that there would be no getting back together. Then she would leave town for a while, let it sink in, give him time to come to terms with it.
Before they squared off again in her courtroom.
Four days to rejuvenate. To languish. To read a book. Get some sun. Drink something with an umbrella in it. “And maybe get laid,” she said, a grin curving her lips.
“Excuse me?” the young clerk next to her said.
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud and quickly said, “It’s getting late.” She waved her brochure and grinned, the first from-the-heart grin she’d felt in ages. “I have a plane to catch.”
2
“ARE YOU GOING to the bonfire tonight? Did I mention your hotel puts on a nice beach party?”
“Yes, you did,” Sean replied. Several times. He shook his head as he held the door for Trenton Warner, the head deputy of the Virgin Islands Marshals Office in St. Thomas. “But I don’t think so.”
Trent looked crestfallen. But then, he hadn’t been exactly subtle in his efforts to set Sean up with some extracurricular activities. “Come now, all work and no play—”
Sean laughed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to play. Just that I wasn’t planning on doing it at a hotel beach party.” He’d been put up in a nice little hotel on Morning Star Bay, a bit of a distance from Charlotte Amalie, the capital city of St. Thomas. And the place was definitely teeming with scantily clad women. Except for the fact that they were a tad bit too…well, nubile, for his taste. Which was likely exactly why Trent had booked him there. Even though Sean was only thirty-four, gazing down from his balcony at all that tanned, oiled skin on women barely old enough to vote, made him feel…well, old.
“Whatever you say,” Trent said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you.” He was fifty-five, married, with two sons currently enrolled at Florida State. “What good is staying single for so long if you’re not going to take advantage of it?”
“I imagine there are places other than that beach shindig to find a little company,” Sean responded, though he hadn’t the first clue where that might be and, in truth, had no real plans in place to find out.
“Ah, sly devil.” Trent laughed and nudged him in the side. “You’ve probably already hooked up with someone. What, did you meet her on the plane? Or in the airport this morning on your way in?”
“No, I haven’t ‘hooked up.’” And yet he couldn’t deny that the balmy air and white sandy stretch of beach had made him feel a bit…needy.
“Sure, sure. You just don’t want an audience,” Trent goaded. “A little island-magic-just-for-two. I get it.”
Sean flashed a grin. “I don’t mind an audience. Just don’t care for sand in my britches.”
Trent hooted then slapped him on the back as Sean opened the door of his rental Jeep. “Well, whatever the hell you have planned, you have a good time doing it. And if you’re looking for a good meal to bolster the stamina, give Sam’s a try. It’s past your hotel about a mile or so, right on the water. The snapper is incredible.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll catch you in the morning.”
“Nine sharp.” Trent sent him a mock salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But by all means do everything I’d like to do but can’t.”
Sean just snorted. “Hey, I saw that picture of your wife on your desk. I’m not feeling all that sorry for you.” He waved as he pulled out, leaving Trent laughing but nodding in agreement. Sean smiled, thinking Mrs. Warner was probably going to have a very good night.
He drove back to the hotel, wondering what it was like to head home to the same woman night after night, for years on end. Hell, he wondered what it was like to head home to any woman, any night, period. He used his job, and the dedication and time he put into it, as his reason—excuse, really—for remaining single. But if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit it went beyond that. He was so used to being captain of his own domain, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t imagine adjusting his lifestyle to include the wants and needs of another person.
He sighed and shifted his attention to the stunning island scenery. Maybe he simply wasn’t cut out for marriage. Considering the huge family he’d come from, it pained him to even think that, much less imagine telling his parents. Yet the evidence was piling up, the years were passing by. He felt a little twist in his gut at the notion of never having kids. But you sort of had to have the relationship and the wife to get to the rest, didn’t you?
Well, wife and kids or no, he sure as hell wasn’t planning on entering a monastery anytime soon, either. And while he hadn’t had much time to devote to extracurricular activities of late, he sure had some time now.
A whole week of it. Starting right now. He gripped the steering wheel a bit harder as he took the curving island road toward his hotel. So where in the hell did he begin? He’d apparently missed out on the airport love connection. Which left him with island social life. But he was too old to pick up chicks in bars. Not that he’d ever been all that keen on the bar-hopping and club-cruising scene, even when he’d been young and stupid. Which left…what? He snorted. “Call girls…and bonfire bunnies.” He wasn’t entirely sure which option scared him more.
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a bachelor, you know that?” Christ, he was still young, and although women’s tongues probably didn’t hang out when he walked by, he didn’t think he was too hard on the eyes. His body was in pretty damn good shape, thanks to all that Special Ops training. He wasn’t rich, but living alone hadn’t left him exactly hurting financially. And yet you can’t figure out how to get laid to save your life, he thought in disgust.
He slowed the Jeep as he neared the hotel entrance. Situated on a little jut of land, the hotel was not exactly remote, but not sandwiched in the middle of a cluster of other hotels or tourist traps, either. Off the beaten track. Like his love life of late, he thought with a dry smile.
Best of all, his room was on the top floor of the four-story building. It boasted a stunning view of Hassel and Water islands rising up from the clear blue of the water out past the harbor and the mountains bumping up behind the curve of the shoreline on the opposite side of the bay. He’d run the beach this morning as the sun had edged the horizon and thought he could definitely get used to such a daily routine. Living in Denver, his view was usually of mountain roads and snow-crusted peaks. He’d enjoyed his years stationed there, but he had to admit that the warmth of the sun was a welcome change. Reminded him of Louisiana. Of home.
He glanced up at the hotel, then down at the cluster of white-clad hotel staffers, dotting the beach, busily preparing for the evening’s festivities…and pressed the gas pedal. He drove past the parking lot and continued on down the coast road, out toward the east end of the island. He passed Sam’s, thinking maybe he’d take a long evening drive, come back for a nice fish dinner, then run the beach as the sun set. Be back in his room before the party began. Shower, sit on the balcony with a beer, put on that suspense thriller he’d picked up at the airport and listen to the festivities and music below while he relaxed. All in all, not a bad evening. Even if there wasn’t going to be any sex involved. Sex was great, but certainly a man could manage to survive—
Sean hit the brakes as he rounded a bend and swerved away from a woman pushing a small Vespa motor scooter along the edge of the road.
She was wearing snug navy pants that ended just below the knee, spanking-white sneakers and a loose white T-shirt knotted on one hip. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped her loose ponytail to cling to her cheeks and neck. Her face was flushed and her white cotton shirt clung to her back. Just how far had she pushed that thing?
Sean immediately tugged the steering wheel and pulled off the road. When she darted him a suspicious glance, he realized that his Good Samaritan act might not be so interpreted by a woman alone on a quiet stretch of road. So, along with a smile, he pulled out his wallet. The one with his badge tucked inside.
“Hey, there,” he called as he got out of the Jeep and flipped open his wallet. “Do you need some help? Sean Gannon, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” His smile widened as she paused. “In case you thought I was the St. Thomas stalker or something.”
He’d expected…Well, he didn’t know. Some flash of humor or even exasperation at his lame attempt at charm. He hadn’t expected the real flash of…Fear was too strong a word. But she’d definitely tensed up a bit at the term “stalker.”
“Is there one?” she asked, finally finding an amused smile. Her voice was smooth, a bit melodic…almost familiar-sounding.
“One what?” he asked distractedly. Then his brain clicked into gear. Damn, he really did have to get out more. “Oh, no, there isn’t. I just didn’t want you to be alarmed.”
She leaned the motor scooter against her thigh and turned to face him more fully. “You have an odd way of putting a woman at ease.”
“It really has been too long, then,” he murmured more to himself than her.
“Since what?” she asked.
He evaded answering that by saying, “Something tells me you’d hold up just fine, even if I wasn’t a Good Samaritan.”
She smiled fully then, and he found himself wishing she’d take those dark sunglasses off so he could see her eyes.
She nodded at the wallet he was still holding out. “So, Deputy Gannon. You here on business?”
“Yes, ma’am.” And listening to her, he finally realized why she seemed familiar to him. “What makes you think I’m visiting, though? We have offices here on the island.”
She nodded at his Jeep. “Rental.” She smiled again when he nodded in appreciation of her deduction. “Nice tan, though.”
He chuckled. “Actually, I just got here. That’s from sun glare off the snow back in Denver.”
“And you were forced to leave the cold and the snow to come here. Tough assignment.”
“Yeah, it’s hard work.” He grinned. “But they let me out nights.”
“Which you spend rescuing damsels in distress. Don’t you know how to take time off?”
“Are you asking because you also need help in that department?”
She looked surprised. “What do you mean? For all you know, I spend all my time scootering around exotic islands.”
He gestured to her scooter. “Rental.”
She fought a smile. “So?” she challenged. “Maybe I don’t like the burden of ownership.”
He pointed to her blindingly white shoes. “Your sneakers…brand new.”
“Maybe I’m obsessive about dirt.”
He nodded in appreciation of her savvy defense. A shame it wasn’t going to hold up. “And you have a tag. Hanging from the back of your shirt.”
She reflexively reached behind her and the scooter swerved around her leg, about to roll to its side.
Sean closed the distance between them in two long strides and grabbed the Vespa before it could hit the ground. “Sorry,” he said sincerely, tugging the scooter away from her and balancing it upright again. “I should have just said ‘it takes one to know one’ and left it at that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
She eyed him closely—at least as best as he could tell through those large, dark lenses. “I almost believe you mean that,” she said.
He laughed. “How else did you think I pegged you?”
“Because you’re trained to be astutely observant?”
He laughed, enjoying her quick wit. “Oh, absolutely. That and the fact that, other than the official attire you see right now, everything else I have to wear while I’m here was bought either in the Denver airport or in the hotel lobby this morning. I probably have the receipts on me somewhere.”
Now she flashed another smile. “I guess flowered shirts and bathing suits aren’t necessary in Colorado.”
He looked at her in mock disbelief. “How did you know I favor tacky island wear? What gave me away?”
She laughed and he felt…He couldn’t put a name to it. Freer?
“Just a guess,” she countered. “Although, to be honest, you look more like a faded-sweatpants-and-ancient-college-T-shirt kind of guy.”
He grinned. He’d jogged in that exact ensemble this morning. “You win.”
“My father would be so proud.”
“Is he back home in Louisiana, I hope?” He lifted a hand as she stiffened and backed away. “It was the accent that gave you away. I have family in Baton Rouge.” He let the South back into his voice as he said it.
“Ah.”
She didn’t offer any additional comment and Sean spent a moment casting about for something else to say. Then he just came out and asked what he really wanted to know. “So, are you here with family?” Not as clumsy as blurting that he wanted to know if she was married, but it ran a close second.
“No,” she said, but once again didn’t elaborate. “You?” she asked after a moment.
“No. I’m solo. Here and in Denver.” Oh, great, how desperate and pathetic did that sound? But, if anything was going to happen—and he’d be a fool to say no, right?—well, he didn’t want any misunderstandings. So he braved it out. “You?”
She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, as if it wasn’t of any consequence to her. “Solo. By choice.”
“Obviously,” he said with an appreciative smile, then winced when she merely rolled her eyes. “Too strong, huh? I’m a bit out of practice.”
That got a small snort out of her, which made him laugh.
“Honest,” he told her. “The workaholic thing. Makes dating and relationships a bit tough.”
“So you don’t make it down to the island office often then.”
“This would be the inaugural time, yes.”
“Hmm,” she said.
They both drifted into a short silence while Sean tried to come up with something clever and witty and unmoronic to say. It might have been a while since he’d done the verbal tango with a woman, but he usually wasn’t this rusty. “I’d be glad to take you and your scooter wherever you’d like to go.”
“Actually, I was only planning to push it until I came upon a place with a phone. The resort can come and get both me and this death trap.” She sent the bright yellow scooter a fulminating look.
“You two not getting along?”
She shifted the look to him.
He grinned. “I thought maybe you’d just run out of gas.”
“What I’ve run out of is enthusiasm for forced frolic.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. That sounds ungrateful and whiny. And though I’m feeling more than a little of both at the moment, neither is directed at you. I appreciate the offer of help. If you have a cell phone, I’d be in your debt if you’d allow me to use it to place a call.”
“Why don’t we pile this in the back of my Jeep and go find someplace that serves cold drinks and a hot meal? Then I’ll take you both to your hotel.” He lifted a hand when she began to protest. “It will allow me to meet my Good Samaritan quota for the day and it will keep you from committing scooter-cide.”
She laughed despite herself. “You have a point. I’ve listened to a lot of debate on the death penalty, but this is the first time I’ve considered administering it myself.”
“You haven’t listened to my dinner conversation yet.”
Her smile remained. “I’ll consider that fair warning.”
“Are you accepting then?”
She shifted her weight and he just knew she was going to turn him down. Hell, considering how dorky he was acting, he’d turn himself down. You’d think he’d never flirted with a beautiful woman before. Something about her though…just left him tongue-tied.
She paused just long enough in answering that he suspected she might actually want to say yes despite whatever reservations she had. He was surprised at how badly he wanted to sway her to a yes. Even more surprising was that he wanted her company and yet wasn’t already picturing them naked and sweaty. In fact, he doubted very seriously this would lead to anything of the sort. It was clear she wasn’t the one-night-stand type. And, frankly, a few brief flings aside, neither was he. Or he would have hit the bonfire.
But, at the moment, an attractive companion who would make dinner a lively and fun occasion sounded pretty good. And if there was a little spike of sexual tension to go along with it…well, he wasn’t going to quibble.
“Did you have other plans for dinner? Or did the Scooter of Death ruin that, too?”
“No,” she said. “No plans.”
“Then say yes.”
Her lips parted slightly in surprise. Maybe he’d said that a bit more commandingly than he’d intended.
“Please,” he added with what he hoped was a winning smile. Brett was the Gannon who’d been blessed with all the easy charm, although Clay ran a close second. Sean had always been a bit more serious by nature, had always had to work at the charming part.
“Would it be asking too much to head to where I’m staying first?” she asked.
He could have told her he’d take her to the moon and back first if she’d agree to dinner.
“I’d just like the chance to change. I’m a little—”
She broke off when Sean reached out. She instinctively pulled back, but he reached anyway…and tugged the tag off the back of her shirt. “There. Now you look perfect.”
“Oh, you’re such a liar. But my ego thanks you.” She shook her head and laughed a little as she contemplated what she was about to do. “I really shouldn’t do this.”
“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t rescue each other from our own inability to relax. We’ll force each other to sit and watch the world go by without being active participants in it for a whole hour or two.”
“Just one good reason?”
“What, you have a list? Am I handling this that terribly?”
Her laugh was fuller this time. “Just badly enough to be endearing and to make me less self-conscious.”
“Thanks. I think.”
She smiled. “You just strike me as someone who is way too used to getting his own way.”
“Oh?”
“Rusty flirting skills notwithstanding, you have this…commanding way about you.”
Any other woman would have said that and it would have sounded suggestive as hell. Not with her. She’d simply sounded…honest. Maybe it was the quirky way her brows furrowed when she said it, as if she couldn’t quite decide if she liked commanding, rusty flirts or not.
So why his body reacted the way it did…he couldn’t say. Dinner. This was just about dinner.
“I take it you don’t respond well to commands,” he said when she let the silence spin out. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Mostly because he had this absurd need to reach out and snatch her sunglasses off to get a better look at her eyes…and what was going on behind those glasses. “What about a humble request?”
She laughed lightly. “Somehow I’m thinking you didn’t make it into the Marshals Service by being humble and unprepossessing.”
“I didn’t say anything about being unprepossessing.” He slid his hands out, then shifted a little as he realized the fit of his trousers was being compromised by more than just his hands stretching the confines of his pockets. “Just a nice simple rescue and dinner.”
“And if I just want to be rescued?”
“I’ll be forced to eat alone, which probably means I’ll end up working to pass the time.”
“Ah, so now I would be doing you a favor in return for helping me get rid of this junk heap. And given as how I’m not all that keen on finding myself in need of rescue in the first place, this does make your case stronger.”
“If you decide against me, is there any hope for an appeal?”
She grinned. “Oh, I think you have a very good case for appeal.”
His grin widened. Maybe charm came more easily with the right inspiration. “Do I?”
She smiled, lifting her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “The court finds in your favor, Deputy Marshal Gannon. You are awarded one dinner—in which both parties will make equal payment,” she added with emphasis. “And a rescue, to take place prior to said meal.” She lifted a finger when he began to argue. “You’ve already pleaded your case. In exchange for the rescue, you will be prevented from overwork and exhaustion, which should be against the law anyway in such a gorgeous tropical setting.”
“Thank you, Justice—?”
She stuck out her hand, her smile a bit smug now. “Justice Laurel Patrick, of the Ninth Judicial Court of Alexandria Parish.”
“And here I was only kidding.”
She sighed lightly. “Sometimes I wish I was.”
But before he could ask her to follow up on that interesting little comment, she had taken the Vespa by the handlebars and was rolling it toward the rear of his Jeep.
He managed to haul it into the open back and wedge it, albeit somewhat awkwardly, in between the rear spare tire and front seat back. He motioned to the passenger side. “I’d open your door for you…but there isn’t one.” He’d never owned a Jeep before and was definitely enjoying the free feel of it. Having her beside him would just make it perfect. Which was when it struck him that, for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he was actually enjoying himself. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with work.
She got in as he slid back behind the wheel.
“Where to?” he asked.
She didn’t speak for a moment, then shook her head and, very quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear, said, “The Resort.”
He looked at her. “The Resort. As in…The Resort? The private club out on Flamingo Cay?”
“In my own defense, I didn’t pick it. My father did.”
“Your father? I have to meet this guy.”
“No. You don’t.”
She’d said it so emphatically, he had to laugh. “You’re only making me more curious, you know.”
She sighed. “He knew I needed a break. He probably had no idea about the resort’s…reputation. Neither did I, until I got here. The brochure looked totally tame.”
The Resort sat just off the south shore of St. Thomas on its own tiny spit of land. It was one of those private, all-inclusive clubs, like they had in Jamaica or Mexico, where certain rules of decorum were a bit more…relaxed. In this case, extremely relaxed, at least if the local island ads he’d spied in the morning paper were anything to go by.
He glanced at her and decided he didn’t want to risk losing his dinner companion. So he let the titillating subject of Flamingo Cay drop. For now, anyway. “Do you like seafood?”
“What?”
“Seafood? Stuff caught under water and cooked up for people to eat.”
She shot him a long-suffering look, which for some reason made him grin all the wider. “Yes, as it happens, I do. As long as someone else does the catching.” She wrinkled her nose. “And, for that matter, the cooking.”
“Fine, then we’ll go and ditch the Scooter of Death and head to a little place I heard about back closer to Charlotte Amalie.” He was already heading down the coast road as he spoke.
“Why do I get the feeling that I lost complete control the moment I got into this Jeep?”
Sean laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe the same reason that I feel like I lost all control the moment I swerved around that bend in the road…and found you.”
3
LAUREL LET THE WARM, early evening wind snatch and tug at her ponytail…and tried not to think too much about what she’d just agreed to do. A woman alone on an exotic island had no business standing on the side of the road talking to—okay, flirting with—a strange man…much less getting into his vehicle and riding off with him!
He’s a deputy marshal, for God’s sake, she reminded herself. He was hardly going to attack her. Yeah, but he’s still a man. And she knew quite well just how capable they were of causing a great deal of trouble, no matter their job description.
She shook that train of thought from her head. She’d given Alan far too much of her precious time back at home. She’d be damned if she’d let him ruin any part of her precious break. Break. She squelched the urge to laugh. So far she’d been on the island a grand total of twenty-four hours and this was the first time she’d felt remotely relaxed.
She’d wandered down to the pool just after checking in, but the sight of all that young, fit, taut and mostly naked skin—and dear Lord but there had been a never-ending sea of it—had dampened her enthusiasm for revealing her pasty-white, bench-sitting, thirty-two-year-old body. She’d spent her first evening in her room, sitting on her balcony with a glass of chilled wine, trying to pay more attention to the setting sun than to the somewhat startling goings-on in the club below. She didn’t consider herself a prude by any means but, for heaven’s sake, the nightclub in the center of the resort resembled something more of a Greek orgy than the open-air dance floor the brochure had purported it to be.
But not to be daunted, this morning she’d gamely pulled on her newly purchased vacation clothes and taken the water taxi over to the mainland, deciding to rent a scooter to see some of the island. And we all know how well that went, she thought wryly. From the engine conking out when she was miles from anywhere, to leaving the tags on her shirt, one would think she needed a keeper.
She skimmed a glance sideways, then hid the private little smile. Okay, so things were looking up. But she wasn’t sure, despite the badge and his claim to being a workaholic, that having Sean Gannon as her keeper was going to prevent her from getting into any more trouble. In fact, he made her think about all kinds of trouble she could get into. If she let herself go there. Which, of course, she would not.
It was just a nice dinner. And that alone was a heck of a lot better than the evening she’d envisioned just an hour earlier. Which had basically involved making it back to the resort, on her knees if necessary, showering off the road dust and sweat, then collapsing facedown on her bed. With maybe a room service meal later on, if she revived herself in time.
Dinner with the deputy was definitely a step up. Not that she planned on sharing that particular sentiment with him.
He wasn’t the kind of man one encouraged. He was quite bold enough as it was, without any provocation from her. Though for some reason she couldn’t quite name, he’d managed to provoke her a deal more than most men. It’s only dinner, she reminded herself yet again, firmly shutting out images of what she could be doing back on Flamingo Cay with a man like Sean Gannon. Suddenly the club’s atmosphere seemed a lot less sleazy…and a lot more sensual.
Not that she’d ever encourage that kind of lascivious behavior. Because, after all, she was a judge. And a Patrick. If her father knew where he’d sent her, he’d surely be horrified. At least she hoped he would be. So dinner it was. And nothing more would come of it, although just the realization that something more might made her body zing.
It had been a long time since she’d had zing. A really long time.
Sean turned at the sign indicating The Resort’s water ferry dock and Laurel shut out any and all trailing thoughts about Sean and Flamingo Cay…and zing.
“Everything okay?” Sean asked. “That was quite a sigh,” he added when she looked at him questioningly.
“Oh,” she replied. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t the company. Promise.”
He still looked concerned. “Just how far did you have to push that thing anyway?”
“Not all that far.” It had felt like a million miles. On the surface of the sun. “I’d love a quick shower, though, if you don’t mind.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she saw the potential suggestiveness of her request register on Sean’s face. To his credit, he didn’t respond to it. Which only made her envision exactly what it would be like to take a shower…with Sean. His face was all hard, tanned angles made more prominent by his almost brutally short haircut. His eyes were dark and they flashed dangerously when he smiled. His teeth were sharply straight and white, set between lips that looked as hard and chiseled as his face…that she bet felt anything but when pressed to someone’s soft skin—
His expression began to change and she vaguely realized he’d been staring at her as she’d fantasized about him. She jerked her gaze toward the water ferry. “I’m supposed to turn the scooter in here. They have depots all over the island, but the guy that rented it to me back in Charlotte Amalie said there was one right by The Resort’s ferry dock and—” She stopped, abruptly aware she was babbling to cover the sudden spike of sexual tension arcing—no, zinging—between them. And, God help her, the man gave very good zing.
To his further credit, when he smiled, it wasn’t smug or knowing. But then, it didn’t have to be. Neither of them could possibly deny the heat blossoming between them inside the tiny confines of the Jeep. And convertible or not, at the moment it felt downright intimate.
“I believe the depot is there,” he said in that flat uninflected tone he had. He motioned behind her.
But she didn’t follow the gesture. She was too busy wondering if it was the marshal’s training that had taken the South out of his voice, or just time spent away from home. When the drawl had crept into his voice earlier, even for those few words, the effect had been potent. It was every bit as commanding…but had an added lush underpinning that made her think of—well, the exact thing she’d been thinking of since she’d climbed in the Jeep. Or since he’d climbed out of it.
God, maybe she should have gone to the nightclub last night after all. Maybe rubbing bodies with some sweaty, mostly naked beach hunk was what she needed to dull this sudden sharp edge of need.
“Thanks,” she said, realizing she’d once again let the silence spin out. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. When he didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her, she rushed on. “If you’ll help me get the death machine out of the back, I’ll return it, then hop the water taxi over and be back as fast as I can.”
The look of disappointment was brief, so brief she’d have missed it entirely had she not been looking at him as intently as he was looking at her. But he was really nice to look at. And not just his hard face and wide, welcoming smile. His body, even in regulation pants and polo shirt, was rugged-looking and fit. Definitely…inspiring.
“Why don’t you let me handle the scooter return?” he said easily, covering his disappointment over…what? she wondered.
Had he expected she’d invite him to the resort to wait there while she cleaned up? And why did he want to go? To ogle the surroundings—and the guests? Or to, perhaps, ogle her up close and personal? She shivered a little at the idea and quickly slid out of the Jeep to cover her reaction. One thing she already knew about Sean Gannon—he didn’t miss much.
“I’d offer to have you come over to the resort to wait, but they don’t allow unregistered guests to—”
He raised his hand and smiled, his expression open and easy now. “No, that’s fine. I’m okay here.”
Maybe she’d imagined the look of disappointment. He certainly looked as though he didn’t care one way or the other. “Okay, then. It’s just…I thought…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
His smile flashed wider and he shifted his weight, but didn’t move closer. Still, somehow it felt as if he was. “I’ll admit that I can’t shake this feeling that as soon as I let you out of my sight, you’ll vanish. Like a mirage or something I just dreamed up.”
The sincerity of his tone made her pause. So…he did care one way or the other. Her skin warmed and her heart tripped just a bit faster. “I’m no mirage. And I won’t stand you up.” She smiled. “Besides, a Patrick ruling is never vacated.”
“I’ll remember that.” He slid out of the Jeep and dislodged the scooter from the rear before she could search out any deeper meaning in that statement. He rolled the scooter around to her side of the vehicle. “I’ll handle this and be waiting right here.”
“Wait, you’ll need the ticket stub and the—”
“No, I won’t. Trust me, you’re not only going to have no problem returning this, you’re going to get a full refund for the rental price, as well.”
“But—”
“Consider it your half of dinner. But you shouldn’t have to pay for a broken-down rental.”
She didn’t bother to argue. Partly because he was absolutely right, although she’d have probably just mentioned the malfunction to the attendant and let it go at that. She listened to arguments all day long in her professional life. She wasn’t about to have one on vacation. But mostly she dropped the issue because he had this set to his jaw that told her it wouldn’t have done her any good to argue anyway.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, then grinned. “And may I say that when you play Good Samaritan, you’re really thorough.”
“I believe in always being really thorough,” he said. Again, with no overt inflection to any word he’d uttered.
And yet she had to resist squirming in her capris. Probably it was just her overheated imagination. Or the overheated air. Or both. Then he smiled and she thought, Or not.
“Me, too,” she finally said. It was the best she could manage, because he was still holding her gaze with that direct one of his own.
They both continued to stand there, neither one of them making the first move to walk away.
A bell clanged, announcing that another water taxi had just docked and was taking passengers.
“I should go.”
He merely continued to stare.
“The water taxi—” She didn’t even try to finish when he propped the scooter against the Jeep and silently stepped closer to her. The rest of her breath left her when he lifted his hand. What would his touch feel like? she wondered as her pulse began to thrum inside her body.
She sucked in a small gasp as he almost brushed her cheek…then slid off her sunglasses instead. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed…or close to climaxing.
“There,” he stated quietly. When she raised her eyebrows in question, he smiled. “I had to know.”
“What?” she breathed.
“Blue or brown.”
She absently realized he was talking about her eye color. It was hard to think straight with him standing so close, almost touching her, and with her dying to know what it would be like to have him touching her, wanting, needing to know, ridiculously so. And all she had to do to find out was to reach up on her tiptoes and—“Did you win?” she said abruptly.
“Win?” he repeated, though he didn’t sound as if he really cared what she meant. He was too busy gazing at her, so directly…so intently.
“The b-bet,” she stammered, hearing her voice dip down an octave or so. “Blue. Or brown.” Her breath was shaky as he shifted another infinitesimal fraction of space closer. “Did you? Win?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice a shade deeper, a shade less flat. “I did.”
They were talking, but it was becoming rapidly apparent that the words themselves weren’t important as there was another dialogue going on entirely. The kind that didn’t rely on speech for communication.
“Good,” she said, the word barely more than a breath.
“I have another.”
“Bet?”
He merely nodded.
“About?”
“This.” He leaned his head down and just like that he pressed those incredible lips against hers. Not demanding, but not at all tentative. Just testing…exploring…finding out…whatever it was he needed to find out.
And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to respond, to lean into the kiss and do some exploring of her own. He tasted fresh, with a little salty tang from the sea air. She felt a moan build in the base of her throat as he opened his mouth and coaxed her to do the same. She had an almost desperate need for him to touch her. Her face, her hair, anywhere. This simple touching of lips was almost excruciating in how it could be so overwhelming…and yet make her feel so deprived at the same time. She wanted more.
He teased his tongue into her mouth and the moan was wrenched from her as she accepted it—almost greedily. She couldn’t have rightly given her middle name at the moment, her thoughts had scattered so rapidly the instant his mouth had touched hers. The world had tilted somehow and everything that made sense was suddenly all jumbled up. When she didn’t think she could stand the sweet torture one second longer, he finally—mercifully—slid his hands to her shoulders, turned her fully into him, leaning back against the Jeep so he could accept the weight of her body framed so perfectly against his.
She was sinking in the blissful cloud of ecstasy he’d created, completely willing to forget she was standing in a public parking lot, kissing a perfect stranger. Perfect. God knew the kiss alone was as close to perfection as she’d ever come. Come.
Dear Lord, could she ever.
Images of doing just that sprang fully realized into her mind at the same instant he settled her weight between his thighs. The contact was electric…and had the effect of splashing cold water on a hot wire. Sizzle and steam…and the fear of getting burned. She pulled away, gasping in a breath of air as the reality of what they were doing, where they might have taken it—right there in the parking lot, no less—sank in.
She couldn’t act horrified, though part of her—the part that had spent an entire lifetime understanding the role proper decorum played in the life of a public figure—wanted to. It had been too incredible, and she’d been too obviously enjoying it, to pretend otherwise. Sean pushed away from the Jeep and reached instinctively for her hips, to steady her as she stumbled a step back from him. As soon as she had her balance, he let her go.
She stemmed the urge to look around the lot, to find out just how big an audience they might have had. It wasn’t all that hard. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from his.
“I suppose I should apologize for that,” he said, his voice now delectably hoarse. “Or at least tell you that I don’t make a habit of kissing women I’ve only just met.”
She smiled, suddenly not caring who was watching. Sean Gannon had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if she was the only person in the room…or parking lot, as the case may be. And she decided maybe it was time to let go of a lifetime of proper decorum and do what she’d come here to do…relax. Enjoy life. Leave all her worries behind. “Actually, I’m more interested in finding out if you resolved that other bet you made with yourself.”
His smile twitched to a grin and his eyes flashed in that dangerous way. “I did. Except I lost this one.”
Surprised, she said, “Oh?”
He reached out, snagged the edge of her hand with his, hooking his finger around her pinky and pulling it up between them. “I bet you couldn’t taste as incredible as I imagined you could. And I was wrong.”
She looked down at their loosely linked hands, thinking it was almost a more intimate gesture than his kiss. But she liked the way he had the urge to continue touching her, connecting himself to her in some way. She understood the need, because she felt it herself. “Wrong?” she asked, lifting her gaze back to him and thinking, God, how long has it been since I so shamelessly flirted with a man?
Never, was the instantaneous—and honest—answer. But then, she’d never been alone on an exotic island. Alone with a man like Sean Gannon.
He tugged her pinky, just a little, but she shuffled a step closer. “Completely wrong,” he said, his smile lazy and the light in his eyes distinctly and unapologetically predatory.
She knew she had a decision to make, and that she had to make it fast. But in her day-to-day life, decisions were weighty matters, only being handed down after intense scrutiny and in-depth analysis of all the presented facts. Now, however, she didn’t have that luxury. Sean Gannon wanted her. Right here. Right now. And damn if she didn’t want him back. It should be more complicated than that.
But certainly he was a man who understood boundaries, a man who had built a life based on a code of conduct, knew that rules were made for a reason. A man who wouldn’t pursue beyond what she was willing to give. Which was, of course, the big question here.
What was she willing to give?
Everything, her body and mind screamed. At least for the next couple of hours. Maybe the next couple of days. Surely she could afford herself that luxury, here of all places. The luxury of letting go, of taking what she wanted. With no regrets. Only intensely wonderful memories of a place out of time, spent with a man far outside of her world.
“Completely wrong?” she repeated.
He dropped her pinky and reached for her hips, pulling her to him in one smooth yank, settling her weight on him, his grip just firm enough to discourage her from stepping away again. Not that she would have. Everything lined up so perfectly, so…She shuddered as she braced her hands on his chest.
“You far surpassed anything I could have dreamed up,” he murmured, already lowering his mouth to hers. “Are you a dream, Laurel Patrick? You sure taste like one.”
A shiver raced over her when he brushed his lips along hers.
“Maybe dreams aren’t such a bad thing to have,” she murmured, moving her lips to the sandpapery smooth skin of his jaw. His swift intake of breath when she pressed a kiss just beneath that hard curve was as intoxicating as it was seductive.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice a hoarse rasp. “Because, occasionally, one of them comes true.”
He slid one hand around her neck and moved her mouth back to his. This time the kiss was demanding, consuming. And she didn’t even consider holding back. She let her hands slide up his chest and leaned more fully into him. He was rigidly hard…everywhere. It made her feel soft, feminine and eminently desirable. Not a familiar feeling for a woman who spent most of her time in a shapeless black robe, dealing with men who mostly just waited for her to make the slightest hedge in passing judgment, to give them the slightest indication of a weak spot.
Well, Sean Gannon had only been in her company for less than an hour or two…and he’d found just about every weak spot she had. Certainly the sweetest ones anyway.
When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, they stayed where they were, all but mesmerized by one another. For how long, she couldn’t have said. But not too many seconds later yet another bell sounded, indicating the last water taxi had not only left, but they’d been tangled up in each other for so long, another one had arrived.
“About this resort,” Sean murmured. “Do you really think—”
Laurel smiled, judgment decided upon, ruling made. She would never have another opportunity like this one. Besides, she’d already asked herself the crucial question: would she regret it if she didn’t?
And didn’t she already have enough regrets in her life?
“I’m thinking that if a judge and a U.S. Marshal can’t figure out a way to get you on that island—” she began, but he stopped her.
“Actually, I was going to ask if you’d be willing to skip the shower and change.” He looked directly into her eyes in that way he had, and her fingers dug into his chest of their own volition. “Because the clothes don’t matter. And we’re just going to get sweaty all over again.”
Her pulse shot up like a skyrocket. And the muscles between her legs clenched almost painfully in response. “Are we now?” she asked, unsure why she was continuing to provoke him. Except to find out what would happen when she pushed him too far.
He slid his hand up from her neck and slowly pulled the soft band from her ponytail. Her hair dropped down to her shoulders in a wavy bob, which he pushed away from her face with surprisingly gentle fingers.
“Aren’t we?”
She knew what he was asking, just as she knew he already knew the answer. But she liked that he wanted them both to state their intentions. “I believe we are, yes.”
He skimmed his fingers along her jaw, then rubbed the tip of one across her lips. “Well then, I think we should ditch this little scooter and go find someplace to have a nice, quiet dinner.”
She was already nodding, assuming what he’d been about to say. It took a second or two for his words to register. “What? Dinner?” She’d already been mentally undressing them both and—
Now the wolf smile came out in full. “It’s a long night.”
Dinner as foreplay. The idea should have made her impatient. She was ready now, dammit. And it should have made her a bit worried. Worried that with too much time, she’d talk herself out of what she’d just finished talking herself into. Only the idea of getting to know him better intrigued her just about as much as the idea of letting him put those hands, and that mouth, on her.
“Yes,” she finally responded. “It certainly is.” And yet Laurel was pretty damn sure it was all going to go by way too fast. Maybe he had the right idea, after all. Savor each moment. Drag it out. Make it last.
Because when it was over…it was over.
4
WHAT IN THE HELL had he been thinking, asking her to dinner first? The wine hadn’t even been served and he was already dying to get her out of there and out of those brand-new vacation clothes…and into his bed.
He’d thought to stop at Sam’s, sit on the rear deck, eat broiled snapper as the sun set, and get to know each other better. He needed to understand if this unmanageable desire he suddenly had for her existed simply because she was an appealing and willing woman? Or if it was because of her, specifically…and he was just incredibly lucky that he’d stumbled across her at a time when he had nothing better to do than get to know her better. That made him think about the topic that had been occupying his mind just before he’d almost run her over. His earlier conviction that when he met the right person, he’d just know.
He shook off that thought. He had too much swirling around in his fevered mind as it was. He fiddled with the menu, which wasn’t for Sam’s. That parking lot had proved to be packed, so he’d driven closer to Morning Star and eventually found a small restaurant tucked below a resort on the opposite side of the cove from his hotel. He could see the lights twinkling from the rooms of his hotel and the glow of the bonfire still roaring on the beach.
“Do you know what you want?” Laurel asked.
He pulled his gaze away from the streaks of gold limning the water in the cove and laid his menu down without looking at it. He looked directly at her instead. “I think I do.”
Her grip on the menu tightened and she swallowed. Then she closed her menu, as well. “Me, too.”
His lips twitched. “Does it have anything to do with seafood?”
She smiled and he liked the confidence he saw in her eyes. “Not unless you plan on going swimming first as a way to draw out this torture even further.”
He slid his hand across the table, let his fingertips drift over the backs of her fingers, liking the slight shiver that raced over her. “Torture? Gee, most women I take out to dinner appreciate the chance to have someone else cook them a meal.”
She lifted one shoulder in a light shrug, the setting sun highlighting the teasing glint in her eyes. “I’m not most women.”
“On that we’re agreed.”
She arched an eyebrow, but he merely held her gaze steadily.
“So, is it the company then?” he asked.
“If your company was in question,” she continued, “I’d hardly have agreed to dinner. Much less…”
She let that last part trail off, her boldness faltering, then disappearing completely. She went to slide her hand away from his touch, but he covered it, held on.
“Laurel.” He waited until she looked at him again. “You know what? Let’s have dinner. Maybe a walk on the beach. Talk. I enjoy your company. I’d like to have it for as long as you’ll allow. Period.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again on a short laugh. “Thank you,” she said finally. “I guess I’m not as cosmopolitan as I’d wanted to believe.”
Now he laughed. “Suave is not exactly my middle name.”
“I don’t know, you were pretty smooth back there on the dock.”
“Then you didn’t feel my knees knocking together.” Or my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest. He sat there, knowing he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath, feeling a bit poleaxed by the intensity of it…and yet he’d settle for dinner, conversation, a short stroll. If it meant keeping her around a bit longer.
Which answered his earlier question. It was about her, not opportunity and availability. If he were home, yes, he’d be more than willing to date her, court her, do what was necessary to earn the right to intimacy with her. And he’d probably even enjoy the journey as much as the destination. Despite the nagging physical need, he was truly enjoying himself. Desire just added a nice edge to the whole thing, especially now that he knew she was feeling it herself.
Of course, the downside to this whole scenario was that he wasn’t home, which meant he didn’t have unlimited time to plan and execute a serious pursuit. In fact, what he had was dinner. And whatever time together she decided to give him afterward. And then…pfft.
He didn’t even know her yet, and it still pissed him off. Fate had finally put a woman in his path who literally stopped him in his tracks…only to serendipitously do it at a time when he couldn’t explore the possibilities with her. Beyond dinner.
Which he was wasting with all this meandering introspection.
“So…snapper?” he asked lightly, or as lightly as he was able. “Or steak?”
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