“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.”