Chapter 1

Samantha flung herself onto her bed to idle away yet another long, dull afternoon.

“Nothing interesting ever happens to me. Why is my life is such a drag?”

“You just need to get laid,” her best friend Marianne had advised her a few days ago. “You get laid first, and then you worry about the job. It’s not like your parents are going to kick you out or anything, are they?”

Samantha was forced to admit that no, her parents were far from likely to do that. In fact, they were very supportive and sympathetic to her plight. And though she’d been searching diligently for a job for several weeks now, the economy happened to be in bad shape just then, so she’d met with no luck whatsoever.

To make matters worse, her dad was threatening to make her come work for his contracting company as a secretary.

Samantha wasn’t used to everything going wrong at once and, in addition, she hadn’t had a date in a really long time.

A really long time.

She began to feel deeply depressed about the whole situation and wondered aloud how those less fortunately circumstanced than she was managed to make it, wondered upon what inner resources they depended.

All of a sudden the phone rang.

She glanced at it carelessly, assuming her mother would pick it up. By the third ring, however, she realized that wasn’t going to happen, so she picked it up herself.

“Hello?” she answered with a barely-concealed sigh.

“May I speak to Miss Samantha Wilkes?”

Samantha, her curiosity piqued, sat up at once, yanked abruptly from her boredom. The male voice coming over the line was very sexy and eloquent-sounding, and Samantha wondered what this mysterious stranger could possibly want with her..

“This is Samantha,” she told him.

“Hello, Miss Wilkes. My name’s Alex P. Shannon. I’ve just received your resume for the writer’s assistant job and I’d like to meet with you. I’ll be in town on Wednesday if that’s convenient for you?”

“Oh yes. Yes, of course.”

“Good. We can discuss the job over dinner. Can I pick you up at seven?”

And though she knew she ought to just meet him for coffee, in case he turned out to be some kind of a nut-job, he sounded so intriguing she agreed at once and gave him her address and directions to her house

She hung up the phone. She’d almost forgotten about sending that resume, but now she remembered it. Feeling more than a little excited, her mind raced ahead to Wednesday and she wondered where he would take her, what she should wear. She’d never been to this kind of job interview before, but she wanted to do it right. And, when Wednesday came, she sank into the bathtub for a long, hot bubble bath in the rose-scented salts she kept for special occasions.

Indulging herself, she shut her eyes and eased down into the water, breathing in the delicate aroma with a contented yawn.

Her mind wandered and she stretched out, trying to conjure up a picture of Alex P. Shannon. Unfortunately, she drew a blank.

She’d meant to Google him, but she’d forgotten to, and now she was out of time. She found herself wondering what he looked like as she reached for the rose-scented shampoo.

All she could remember was his ad in L.A. Weekly:

Research/Personal Assistant wanted for published author. Female with English Literature degree preferred. Must be willing to relocate, all expenses paid.

The name rang a bell, of course. Even she, who favored Chick Lit and Regency-style romances had heard of him. She wondered what sort of books he wrote, but couldn’t even hazard a guess.

She sighed and rinsed her hair, sitting up in the bath to check her fingernails. She’d given herself a fresh manicure the night before and her nails were perfectly long and elegant.

Climbing from the tub ten minutes later, she pulled on a thick terry robe and crossed the hall to her bedroom. She sat down in front of her dresser on the old-fashioned vanity stool to do her hair, gently towel-drying it. She knew from long experience not to try blow-drying it since, more often than not, her curls became hopelessly entangled. Instead she raked her fingers through them and arranged each strand until they lay in pretty little corkscrews.

Going over to her bed, she shed her robe and flung it onto the bed, and then she stepped into a pretty little cream-colored silk teddy she chose just for the occasion. She adored how the soft fabric felt against her skin, and she stopped to check her look in the full-length mirror nearby.

The silken lingerie clung admirably to her body and, emboldened, she stepped into her dignified little black dress, a feeling of perfect confidence sweeping over her.

When Alex P. Shannon arrived at her house, Samantha liked him right away, and was instantly struck by his resemblance to her favorite actor, Jesse Dent. He wore his hair a bit shorter than the actor did and there was just the slightest hint of gray at his temples, but he possessed the same kind of sweet, soulful brown eyes and sensuous mouth as Jesse Dent, the same determined jaw, the same mustache and soul patch. And, dressed as he was in an expensive Italian suit, he really did look more like a movie star than he did a writer.

Her father, of course, could barely stomach the idea of her going off with a complete stranger and started in on his usual nonsense at once.

Mr. Shannon quickly dismissed his concerns with aplomb.

“What do you think I’m going to do, exactly?” he asked, his brow creasing. “Rape her or something? I’m pretty sure my girl wouldn’t appreciate that.”

Her father, overborne by such hard logic, glanced away.

“A father can’t be too careful these days,” he told Mr. Shannon.

A short time later, he whisked her off in his rental car and Samantha discovered he was the Alex P. Shannon, author of espionage and historical adventures.

He drove them to West Hollywood, to one of those fashionable, exclusive restaurants she could only have dreamed of dining at. To her surprise, they didn’t have to wait for a table or anything, even though she knew the restaurant to be notoriously hard to get into. They were escorted to a prime table at once, and Samantha wondered if it was because the maître d’ knew him personally, or because of his resemblance to the actor.

Once they were seated and their orders were taken, Mr. Shannon addressed Samantha directly.

“What do you know about gardening?” he asked.

“Gardening?” she asked, thrown off guard. “Not much. Why?”

He grinned, sipping from his glass of wine.

“I like to live off the land at home, Miss Wilkes. I like to grow my own vegetables. But you know how to type and you can do research, so I guess you can learn to garden. ”

“I guess so,” she agreed. “But I must say, that’s different. I never expected I’d have to...what, weed?”

“Weed,” he nodded. “Weed, and water, and pick ripe produce, and plant things. I’ll be the first to admit it’s a lot of work, but I think you’ll find it very rewarding. I do. Not that you have to do it, if you don’t want to. It just happens to be my little thing. I do hope you’ll join me, though.”

He set his glass down and eyed Samantha carefully.

“Do you have any objections to relocating? I’m thinking maybe your father wouldn’t approve of it.”

She waved this consideration away. She was, after all, twenty-three already, old enough to decide how to live her own life.

“Where is this place?” she asked.

“Hawaii. Molokai. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there or not, but it’s kind of quiet. I do have a fully-furnished condo in Waikiki, though, and I’ll be glad to pay for a two-week vacation there every six months. You’ll have plenty of free time and the work isn’t all that demanding. In fact, I’m more concerned you’ll find it boring.”

“Boring? It sounds like my dream job.”

He chuckled a little.

“Well, I didn’t want to paint that rosy a picture,” he said, his easy smile fading. She watched as he grew serious, but the waiter was busy refilling their glasses, so Mr. Shannon was forced to wait until he left to continue.

“What do you like to be called?”

“Just Samantha.”

“Okay, Samantha, there are a couple of drawbacks to the place. The island’s small and kind of laid back and there’s nothing much to do. To be honest, that’s why I’m offering so much vacation. I don’t want my next assistant to go stir-crazy like the last one.

“You’ll make an excellent salary with me, but there’ll be no place to spend it-except for Waikiki-and no one ever dresses up, not even in the best restaurant on the island.”

Mr. Shannon stopped talking and took a sip of his drink. She saw him cast her an appraising glance, his eyes flitting over her hair, her clothes, and even the jewelry she wore.

“Do you get your nails done professionally?”

“No. I do them at home.”

“Good, because I doubt there’s even a nail salon on Molokai. And please don’t take this the wrong way, but if you like to go out and meet men, you might as well forget it.”

Samantha thought back to her last boyfriend with a sharp pang. Her brow creased and she swallowed hard, remembering her vow to just swear off men until she got her life in order.

Plenty of time for a boyfriend later, she told herself sternly, and meeting Mr. Shannon’s gaze, she shook her pretty little head.

“No. I really don’t go out all that much. I...I pretty much stay home and read.”

She knew it sounded boring and old-maidish, and she found herself blushing again. Their eyes met and Samantha caught his amused expression.

“Pretty dumb, huh?” she asked, with a self-deprecatory laugh.

“The island’s beautiful,” he went on, ignoring her question. “The work’s easy. And I might be a little moody at times, don’t take that personally. That’s just me. There’s a Japanese woman and her grandson who take care of the place, so you don’t even have to bother with the housework. So what do you say, Samantha? I leave next Tuesday. You want to come?”

She met his gaze.

“I’d love to, Mr. Shannon, but what about this girlfriend of yours? Won’t she mind us living together?”

“Listen, call me Alex, will you? I don’t have a girlfriend, Samantha. I just said that so your dad would back off.”

“Oh. Then all right. I guess I’d love to.”