“Ally,” Chris whispered, the sound slowly filtering though the erotic haze around her, and she shivered at hearing her name on his lips.

She opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her, his fingers still tangled in her hair and his thumbs gently stroking her temples.

“If you plan on actually having dinner tonight, we should probably stop.” His fingers slid out of her hair; a rueful smile played on his lips.

Dinner? She didn’t give a tinker’s damn about dinner. The only thing she was hungry for was the man plastered against her like some kind of fantasy in the flesh.

Chris shifted his weight and Ally tightened her grip to keep him from moving away. Indecision nibbled at her. She should let him go. A lifetime’s experience of responsibility and rationality told her to backtrack to the getting-to-know-you steps they’d leapfrogged over with that kiss.

I don’t want to.

The realization shook her to the soles of her plain brown sandals. Her sandals that were practical, boring, and suddenly symbolic of her entire existence. She didn’t even have sexy, pretty shoes in her life—much less men like Chris.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, dithering with herself. When she looked up to meet his eyes she saw the heat and the question there, and her decision became crystal-clear.

“I’m not in the least bit hungry. But if you are I do know a place that delivers to my hotel.”

Dear Reader

My home has a deep philosophical divide. It doesn’t stem from the fact that my husband is an engineer and I’m a writer, or even the fact that he’s British and I’m American. No, our home is deeply divided over the fundamental nature and purpose of boats. I firmly believe that boats should have powerful motors so they can go very fast, preferably while they pull a water skier, and he thinks boats should have sails. There’s no easy way to meet in the middle on that one.

I have to admit, though, there is something amazingly romantic about a sailboat, and it was easy enough for me to identify with my heroine, Ally, when she fell in love with a sailor. Ally and I also share an ignorance about all things sailboat-related, so I’m deeply indebted to my husband, my father-in-law Jayk, my baby brother-in-law Jono, and Jay Cook from the Charleston Ocean Racing Association for their help with the sailing technicalities of this book. Any mistakes you find are mine—they tried very hard to educate me, but my learning curve was steep.

Ally and Chris were so much fun to write—I just loved their chemistry and spark. I hope you find it as easy to fall in love with Chris as I did—ahem, I mean Ally. Ally falls in love with Chris.

(And, you know, the whole sailboat thing is really starting to grow on me…)

Happy Reading!

Kimberly

Kimberly Lang hid romance novels behind her textbooks in junior high, and even a Master’s programme in English couldn’t break her obsession with dashing heroes and happily ever after. A ballet dancer turned English teacher, Kimberly married an electrical engineer and turned her life into an ongoing episode of When Dilbert Met Frasier. She and her Darling Geek live in beautiful North Alabama with their one Amazing Child—who, unfortunately, shows an aptitude for sports.

Visit Kimberly at www.booksbykimberly.com for the latest news—and don’t forget to say hi while you’re there!

Recent titles by the same author:

THE MILLIONAIRE’S MISBEHAVING MISTRESS

THE SECRET MISTRESS ARRANGEMENT

MAGNATE’S MISTRESS…ACCIDENTALLY PREGNANT!

BY

KIMBERLY LANG

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my beautiful, clever, and all-around

Amazing Child—although it will be many years

before you are old enough to read this book

(thirty, at least, if your father has any say in the matter), let me remind you that tonight, at dinner, you told me you wanted to be a romance writer like me when you grew up because it was ‘cool’.

You know what? I think you’re cool, too, and you can be

anything you want to be when you grow up—

well, except maybe a flamingo.

CHAPTER ONE

NOTE TO SELF: never prepay your honeymoon.

Ally Smith sat on the beach under a tattered umbrella nursing her watered-down piña colada and wondered why that caveat didn’t make it into any of the wedding planning books. Probably because no one plans a wedding with escape clauses.

She should write her own book for brides-to-be. She’d definitely include a chapter on cancellation clauses, the folly of prepayments and how to mitigate the financial toll of lost deposits. Oh, and some fun stuff like how to build a nifty bonfire with three hundred monogrammed cocktail napkins.

And a chapter on how to know you’re marrying the wrong guy.

She dug her toes into the warm sand and watched the sailboats bobbing on the waves as they made their way into and out of the marina just down the beach. Why hadn’t she pushed harder for the trip to Australia where she could at least be snow skiing right now? June in Oz was supposed to be fabulous. Why had she let Gerry talk her into this when they lived just twenty minutes from the Georgia coast—a popular honeymoon destination in and of itself? She could go to the beach anytime she wanted. She didn’t have to fly to the Caribbean for sand and surf.

Because I was too happy to finally be engaged.

In the four months since she’d happened home at lunchtime to find Gerry having a nooner with their travel agent—which explained why he’d insisted they use her to begin with, and probably also why Ally was booked into the worst hotel on the island—she’d come to realize some hard truths: she’d picked good looks and charm over substance, and she should have dumped Gerry-the-sorry-bastard four years ago.

Now, two days into her “honeymoon,” she was bored out of her mind.

“Is this seat taken, pretty lady?”

The low, gruff voice pulled her out of her reverie. Shading her eyes from the late-afternoon sun, she turned to find the source of the question.

And nearly spit out her drink as she ended up eye level with the smallest swimming trunks ever made, straining over a body they were never designed to grace.

In any decent movie, the voice would have belonged to a handsome tennis pro with a tan and bulging biceps. This was her life, though, so while her admirer did sport a tan, his body bulged in all the wrong places—like over the waistband of his Speedo. Ally bit her lip as her eyes moved upward, past the gold chain tangling in his furry chest hair to the three-day salt-and-pepper stubble, the ridiculous iridescent blue wraparound sunglasses and wide-brimmed Panama hat.

She was being hit on by a bad cliché. This horrible vacation experience was now complete. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You look like you could use some company. How about we have a drink and get to know each other?” Without waiting for her response, the man lowered himself into the adjacent lounge chair, took off his sunglasses and stuck out his hand. “Fred Alexander.”

With no excuse to deny the tenets of her proper Southern upbringing, she shook the proffered hand. The palm was damp. He held her hand a bit too long, and she fought the urge to wipe it on her towel once released. “I’m Ally. It’s nice to meet you, but—”

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be sitting out here alone. No telling who might come along to bother you.” He winked at her.

Yeah, no telling. There were plenty of people on the beach. Why had Fred picked her to hit on? Because you are a loser magnet. First Gerry and now this guy. At least Gerry had been good-looking, a fact he’d never let her forget.

She had to escape. She should have just stayed in Savannah. Oh, but no, she’d been steamed over the loss of so many other down payments that she wasn’t going to let a vacation go to waste, too. It had sounded so practical at the time. She knew better now.

“I was just about to go in, actually. I think I’m getting too much sun.” She reached for her bag and slid to the edge of her seat, ready to beat a hasty retreat. Fred placed his hand on her wrist and stroked his thumb over the skin. Ally gently moved away from his hand and out of arm’s reach as she stood.

“I’d be happy to rub some lotion on you.” Fred’s eyes roamed slowly down her body and back up to her cleavage, making her skin crawl. With a slow shake of his head, he said, “That’s a crime, Ally. A girl with a body like yours should be showing it off in a bikini.” She’d never been so glad to be wearing a one-piece in her entire life, and as he licked his lips in appreciation, Ally felt as if she needed a hot shower.

“Thanks, but no. I’m—”

“Dinner, then. I saw you checking in alone yesterday and figured you’d be looking for some company.”

Ugh. She took another step back. “Um, well, I…”

“I’m staying here, too. Suite sixteen. It must be fate that we’re both here on our own…”

It was in her nature to make people happy, but this crossed the line. There was “nice” and then there was “stupid.” She’d made enough stupid decisions—no more.

“Enjoy the beach.” She could hear Fred muttering something about her attitude as she left. Whatever. What little enjoyment she’d had just relaxing to the sounds of the surf evaporated in the wake of being hit on by some creepy guy old enough to be her father.

Maybe the TV in her room had a movie channel. She could take that shower, order room service for dinner—if they even did room service in this hotel; she hadn’t seen a menu when she’d checked in last night—and plan to do some sightseeing on the island tomorrow.

This was the most pathetic vacation ever. Or was she the pathetic one?

The lobby was mostly empty as she waited behind a couple checking in. More honeymooners. The young woman carried a bouquet, and the red-haired man at her side was having a hard time checking in since he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off his new bride. They seemed happy, and Ally silently wished them well as they headed for their room.

“I’d like to see about ordering room service to suite twenty-six.”

The hotel clerk shook his head. “Sorry. No room service. Just the restaurant.”

Lovely. She thought she’d hit her low spot on this vacation with the arrival of Fred, but obviously there was much more awaiting her over the next few days. Like eating every meal alone.

“But I do have a message for you, Mrs. Hogsten.”

“Miss Smith,” she corrected automatically. Another good reason not to marry Gerry. She’d never liked the sound of his last name.

The clerk’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he rechecked his computer screen.

Ally sighed. “I know. It says Hogsten, party of two, but it’s just me. Miss Smith.”

She saw the flash of pity in the man’s eyes as the implications of staying alone in a honeymoon suite registered.

No sense trying to explain she wasn’t the least bit sorry to still be single. “The message?”

He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks.” She flipped it open for a quick peek as she walked back to her room. Her mother’s number.

Good Lord, what now? She’d hadn’t been gone that long, and she’d made sure all of them were squared away before she left.

Kicking the door closed with her foot, she dug in her bag for her cell phone, only to flip it open and remember she didn’t have service here.

The minifridge in her room was well stocked after her trip to the local liquor store last night, and the bottle of Chardonnay called her name. She poured a glass and took a drink before dialing the long string of numbers to call home.

“Oh, honey, it’s so good to hear from you!”

Her mom sounded as though the phone call was a nice surprise, which meant nothing was seriously wrong on the home front. That didn’t mean she was off the hook, though. Ally drained her glass before she spoke. Instead of refilling it, she took the bottle with her over to the bed and sat down. She might need the whole thing. “You asked me to call. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, we’re fine. I guess.”

Ally waited.

“Well, other than the fact your sister is going to put me in an early grave with her dramatics…”

Oh, goody. Ring the bell for Mom versus Erin, round 427. Did she really need to be discussing this long-distance?

Breathe in. Breathe out. How typical. Could her family not function for at least a few days without her there? She’d like to think that if she’d really been on her honeymoon, no one would expect her to deal with this. Who was she kidding? If her family tree were any nuttier, squirrels would start showing up at Thanksgiving dinner. She loved them, but not a one had an ounce of sense.

Maybe she’d been adopted. Switched at birth. Or had she been intentionally placed in this family simply to keep them all from spiraling out of control with their dramatics? It sucked to be the grown-up all the time.

When her mom finally paused for a breath, Ally started her peacekeeping duties. “Mom, it is her wedding—”

“Maybe so, but you’d think she’d understand how important this is.”

It was a wedding, not the trials of Hercules, for goodness’ sake. But it took another half hour for Ally to convince her mom of that, albeit temporarily. She banged her head against the headboard gently in frustration.

“And, Ally, honey, the state sent a notice about the property taxes.”

“I took care of that before I left.”

“So what do I do with the notice?”

“Just set it aside, and I’ll get it when I come home. I’ll double-check with the state to be sure, but I wrote the check along with your other first-of-the-month bills.”

“Oh, then that’s good.”

The small headache her mother always caused after more than twenty minutes throbbed behind her eyes. “Mom, I’m going to go find some dinner now. I’ll see you when I get home, and we’ll sort everything out then.”

“Of course, honey. Have a wonderful time. We’ll talk soon.”

With the phone safely back in its cradle, Ally leaned back against the headboard of the king-size bed and hugged the bottle of wine to her chest. I’m so glad I don’t have cell service here.

Out her bedroom window, she could see the sun setting over the water. Dammit, she was on vacation. Granted, it was the strangest vacation ever, but it was her vacation nonetheless. She was alone in a honeymoon suite, in a place she hadn’t wanted to come to, and staying at a low-end hotel because her travel agent was both spiteful and incompetent. And she’d paid top dollar for this disaster. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but there were worse places to be. She should make the most of it.

She’d earned a vacation, by God. She’d put up with Gerry for three years longer than she should have in the hopes he’d shape up and be worth the investment of her time and energy. Instead she’d carried him—financially and emotionally—for all that time. Planning and then canceling the wedding had been stressful, and when she added in her family’s constant stream of crises, it was no wonder she’d had a headache for as long as she could remember.

She needed a vacation. She deserved it. She would take advantage of it.

After one last long drink straight from the bottle, Ally reached for the phone again. By the time the desk clerk answered, she had a whole new perspective.

“This is Ally Smith in suite twenty-six. No, not Mrs. Hogsten. Miss Smith. I’d like your help in finding a restaurant that delivers and a masseuse who can come to my room tonight for an hour-long massage. And I need to know where the closest spa is. I’d like to get a facial and a manicure tomorrow. Oh, and I’d really love some fresh flowers in here.”

“She’s a real beauty.”

Chris Wells nodded, even if he didn’t fully agree. She needed quite a bit of work, but she still held great promise. He’d wanted to have a closer look before he’d know if the problems were just cosmetic or if they ran deeper.

“She’s fast, too,” the man continued, pride evident in his voice, “but responsive and easy to handle.”

“Her reputation certainly precedes her.” Chris stepped onto the weathered wooden deck. At just over forty feet, the yacht was compact, yet elegant in design. Sadly, though, she had suffered from too many years of poor mainte-nance—the cleats were spotted with rust, the leather cover of the tiller was cracked and peeling. Twenty-five years ago, he’d watched his father skipper the Circe to her first win, and he’d known then that he’d race one day, too. In a way, he owed much of his career to the boat rocking gently under his feet.

The Circe was long retired, her heavy wooden hull no match for the newer, lighter racing yachts made of aluminum or fiberglass. But he wasn’t here to buy a new racer—he was here to buy a piece of history and make her into a queen.

His crew had called him crazy when he’d told them he was taking time off to go to Tortola to see Circe, but Jack and Derrick would come around eventually. And he wouldn’t trust anyone but them to refit her properly.

“Is she seaworthy? Any reason why she wouldn’t make it home?”

Ricardo, the boat’s current owner, smiled, obviously pleased with Chris’s interest. “A few minor things you might want to look at…”

Chris listened to Ricardo’s list with half an ear as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and called home. “Jack. Send Victor and Mickey down here on the next flight. She needs a little work, but I should be ready to start for home by the end of the week.”

“So you’re going through with it?”

“Definitely.” He was handing the check to a bug-eyed Ricardo even as he spoke.

“Why don’t you come on home and let the guys bring her back instead?”

Chris took a deep breath as a feeling of rightness filled him. He was meant to own the Circe. “Because she’s mine now.”

“But we need you here. Paperwork is already piling up on your desk. And, if you’re really going to break a record in October, we don’t have time for you to putter around the Caribbean.”

“I have an assistant to handle the paperwork. Grace can call if she needs anything. October is still a long ways off, and the Dagny is ahead of schedule. There’s nothing for me to do but admire your handiwork.”

Jack sighed and muttered something, but Chris didn’t need to hear it. He’d heard it all already. Jack was the world’s most compulsive planner—which was great when it came to planning around-the-world trips and designing new boats, but a bit of a pain any other time.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks. Have Dagny’s sails ready for me when I get home.”

“No dawdling in the Bahamas this time, okay?”

Flipping the phone closed, Chris turned back to Ricardo. “I assume you can get me access to the maintenance shed here.” He was already making a mental list of what he’d need for the long trip back to Charleston; now he just hoped he could find a good outfitter on the island.

Feeling better than he had in weeks—months, probably—Chris grabbed his duffel bag off the dock and tossed it below. Ricardo was already halfway back to the marina office, presumably to cash the fat check in his hand before Chris changed his mind.

But Chris was already unbuttoning his shirt as he headed below to change. He was looking forward to getting to know his new addition.

Whistling, he got to work.

A massage, a mud bath and a mani-pedi had worked wonders on Ally’s outlook. Tortola was definitely growing on her.

After a fabulous morning of being pampered and polished, she returned to her room feeling so relaxed she wasn’t sure how much longer her legs would hold her upright. A short nap and a shower later, her attitude adjustment was almost complete. She just needed to find somewhere to eat—napping through lunch was great for the psyche but left her stomach growling.

The nail tech at the spa had recommended she try the little café next to the marina in order to get a true taste of the local cuisine. It was a short walk, and it gave her the opportunity to appreciate the amazing scenery she’d ignored in her foul mood. Until now.

A smiling teenager led her to a small table overlooking the marina. The same breeze that teased her hair out of its braid also gave her background music as it moved though the rigging of the boats. Sunshine warmed her shoulders, and the fish chowder soothed the grumble in her stomach. By the time she’d finished her second mango daiquiri, she knew she was in paradise.

The bustle of the marina fascinated her. Even though Savannah was close to the coast, she herself wasn’t all that familiar with boats. Here, though, sailing was obviously a serious pastime, and the marina buzzed with activity. Curious, and with nothing else on her afternoon agenda, she went to explore.

There were no gates blocking access to the docks like the few she’d seen at home, so she wandered aimlessly. Boats of every shape and size and type bobbed gently in the water, and everyone greeted her with a wave as she passed.

Tranquility. Miss Lizzie. Lagniappe. The fanciful names painted on the backs of the boats made her smile. Tailwinds. Skylark. The Nauti-Girl made her laugh out loud. Spirit of the Sea. The Lorelei. The Circe.

The Circe was smaller than the boats around it, and while the others were tidy and gleaming, the Circe looked as though she’d seen better days. Planks from her deck were missing and long scrapings marred her paint. A second look, though, showed the scrapes had uniformity to them and a pile of fresh planks was stacked neatly on the dock.

The Circe was getting a face-lift.

“I assure you, it’s for her own good.”

Ally jumped at the voice and the thump of something landing on the dock behind her. She turned and realized Tortola had spectacular scenery indeed.

Holy moly. He couldn’t be real. No mortal man had a chest like that. She blinked, but the image didn’t change. Muscles rippled under bronze skin as he off-loaded the supplies in his arms. His pecs bunched, then flexed as he moved, and Ally felt a bit dizzy. Struggling to regain her equilibrium, she forced her eyes upward to the man’s face.

But it didn’t help to steady her. Sunglasses hid his eyes but not the adorable crinkles that formed as he smiled at her. He wiped his hands over the battered khaki cutoffs hanging low on his hips, then slid the sunglasses up and off his face. Eyes the color of the water surrounding them grabbed her, and she found it hard to breathe.

Real or not, she knew he’d be starring in her late-night X-rated fantasies for years to come.

“Her previous owners neglected her a bit, but she’s going to be beautiful once I’m done with her.”

The slight drawl made her think of home, and something about the pride and determination in his tone tugged at her. “I’m sure she appreciates it.”

“I certainly hope so.” He reached to her right to grab the faded T-shirt hanging on the piling, bringing that bronze skin so close she could smell the sunshine and the musk of clean, male sweat. As he pulled it over his head, she stamped down her disappointment at the loss of the lovely view of his pecs. “I’m Chris Wells.”

“Ally.” She shook the hand he offered. It was warm and strong and slightly calloused, indicating he worked with his hands. The thought of those hands on her…She snapped back to the conversation. “I’m sure she’s enchanting.”

Chris cocked his head, sending a lock of blond-streaked hair over his forehead before he pushed it back. Those highlights were real—he obviously spent a lot of time in the sun.

Ally cleared her throat. “Circe. The enchantress queen from the Odyssey.”

“Yes, I know. I’m just surprised you do. Not too many people know who she is.” He crossed his arms across that unbelievable chest and leaned against the piling.

“I guess I’m a bit of a mythology geek.”

Chris’s eyes traveled appreciatively down her body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. “I definitely wouldn’t consider you a geek.”

The heat of a blush replaced the tingles, and her brain turned mushy. “She so rarely gets the credit she deserves.”

“She turned Odysseus’s crew into pigs.”

Was that a challenge? “Some might say it wasn’t exactly a stretch.”

“Ouch,” Chris said.

“But she also gave Odysseus the information he needed to find his way home and avoid the Sirens. Odysseus owes Circe one.” Why am I babbling on about this? She needed to quit while she was ahead. Find another topic of conversation before he decides you really are a geek.

But Chris egged her on with another of those smiles. “But they were lovers. That’s what Circe wanted from him.”

Ally laughed and took the opening. Maybe he didn’t think she was babbling. “True, but I think that worked out better for Odysseus than for Circe.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked at him levelly. “Odysseus and Circe have a fling. After which, Circe gives him much-needed information, and he’s gone without a backward glance, leaving her pregnant with triplets. Not so great an ending for Circe.” She shook her head sadly.

“What, no romantic sympathies for his desire to get home to Penelope?” Chris teased.

This was fun. She leaned against the opposite piling and mirrored his crossed arms. “Oh, now Penelope has my sympathy. Odysseus, the original golden boy of ‘all style, no substance,’ goes out adventuring, leaving her at home to weave and take care of the kid. She remains faithful while he starts the tradition of a girl in every port. Odysseus was a player.”

Chris laughed out loud. “You don’t sound like you like Odysseus much.”

“I won’t deny there’s something attractive about him, but smart women don’t fall for that—at least not more than once.”

A blond eyebrow arched upward. “You sound bitter.”

She shrugged. “Let’s just say I know better. If you ask me, Odysseus got much better than he deserved.”

“That’s a different take on a classic.”

In her primmest voice, she said, “Homer was a man. I don’t think he sees it quite the same way a woman would.”

“You have a point, Ally.”

“Maybe.” When he didn’t respond, she was disappointed. Were they done now? Should she move on? She didn’t want to, but Chris did have a major project underway. He hadn’t moved from his lazy pose against the piling, but maybe he was just too polite. She’d wrap it up and let him get back to work. “But you’re doing a good thing, bringing Circe back to her former glory. I’m sure she’ll be lovely.”

“She will be. Right now she’s just a money pit. I can see now why Odysseus left her. Too needy.” He punctuated the statement with a wink.

Feeling better than she had in months, Ally let a giggle escape. “You’re terrible.”

Chris shrugged. “You started it.”

“Well, I stand by my earlier statement, regardless. Your Circe deserves the face-lift. I’m sure she’ll be a beautiful, enchanting ship when you’re done.”

“Yacht.”

“Pardon me?”

“She’s a yacht. Not a ship.”

“Really? There’s a difference?”

“Definitely.” Chris levered himself back to his feet. “Ships are those big ones that move cargo and such. These,” he indicated the boats around them, “are yachts.”

Maybe they weren’t done just yet. He didn’t seem in a hurry to run her off and get back to work. A little spurt of excitement warmed her blood. This trip was getting better by the second…

“Ally! Ally-girl, I thought that was you.”

The voice hit her between the shoulder blades and crawled down her back. I spoke too soon. She knew that creepy, gravelly voice. She turned, and, sure enough, Fred was lumbering down the dock toward her like a duck to a June bug. Why me? Why? I find a hunky guy to talk to and the slimy one has to come and ruin it. It wasn’t fair.

She saw Chris’s eyebrows go up in question as Fred lumbered to a stop beside her. “Ally,” he puffed, “I saw you headed this way. If you’re interested in boats, darlin’, I’d be happy to oblige.”

At least he’s wearing more than he was yesterday. The polo shirt and shorts were an improvement, but that didn’t mitigate the fact he was here ruining her day again.

Fred looked Chris up and down, then glanced dismissively at the Circe. “How about that dinner now? We can let this swabbie get back to work.”

Chris stiffened a bit at the insult, but he didn’t take the bait. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Swabbie? How arrogant could one guy be? And how was she going to gracefully extricate herself this time? Short of jumping off the dock and swimming to shore, she was trapped.

She felt, more than saw, Fred reach for her elbow to lead her away. Desperate, she turned to Chris and mouthed, Help.

The corner of Chris’s mouth twitched. Dammit, this wasn’t funny. She didn’t want to be outright rude to Fred, but this needed to be nipped in the bud.

Fine. Rudeness begat rudeness, and this jerk started it. Her conscience could be salved by that, at least, as she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to be intentionally rude for the first time in her life. “Look—”

“Ally,” Chris interrupted smoothly, “I know you’re upset I’ve been spending so much time on the boat, but you don’t need to get even by flirting with another man.”

She let out her breath in a rush at the save, but then gasped as Chris looked at Fred and shrugged. “You know how women are about these things. They get so jealous over the ‘other woman.’”

Her mouth was open to argue with such a sexist statement when she realized Fred was nodding in agreement. She closed it with a snap and accepted the hand Chris held out to her. One quick tug, and she was against his chest with his arms wrapped around her.

And everything else ceased to exist.

The men were talking, but Ally couldn’t hear the exchange. The heat from Chris’s body and the solid wall of muscle surrounding her had her blood pounding in her ears. Closing her eyes, she inhaled, and the summertime smell of him filled her senses. Every nerve ending sprang to life, and she fought against the urge to rub sensually against him but lost. Her breathing turned shallow and her inner thighs clenched. But when Chris dropped a warm kiss on her bare shoulder, lightning raced through her, causing her to arch into him in response.

His arms tightened around her, and she melted into the pressure…

“Ally?”

The whispered question sent chills over her skin as his breath caressed her ear. Her eyelids felt heavy as she attempted to open them.

“He’s gone. You’re safe now.”

The words hit her like cold water. Reality snapped back into focus, and…Oh, no. She felt the hot flush of embarrassment sweep up her chest and neck.

She’d been writhing against him like a stripper against a pole, and her humiliation was now absolute.

This vacation sucked.

CHAPTER TWO

ALLY WAS A WONDERFUL ARMFUL, but the situation was about to become embarrassing for them both if he didn’t release her. The colorful sundress she wore had concealed the lush curves he could now feel as she fitted perfectly into him like a puzzle piece. Curly dark tendrils of hair that smelled like sunshine and citrus caught the breeze and tickled over his skin. When she’d sighed and moved against him, he’d been unable to resist tasting her.

Her plea for help might have spurred him to reach for her, but in reality it had only provided an excuse to act on the need to touch her that he’d felt the moment she’d lifted her chin and started her defense of Circe. A need that had intensified when that Euro-trash wannabe had tried to stake a claim on her.

But now that he was gone, Chris no longer had a reasonable excuse to continue holding her—beyond his own enjoyment, of course. But that enjoyment was beginning to press insistently against her, and in another moment he was going to take advantage of the situation.

As he gave the all clear, Chris felt her stiffen. Ally extricated herself awkwardly, clearing her throat as a red flush colored her chest and neck.

Maybe I’m not the only one who got a thrill from the contact, he thought.

“I, um, ahem, uh—” Ally paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Thank you for the save. Fred must not have gotten the hint yesterday that I wasn’t interested. Maybe now he’ll find someone else to stalk.”

“My pleasure.” Definitely. He’d never been one for saving the damsel in distress before, but if this was what it was like, he’d reconsider playing Lancelot.

Ally attempted to smooth the loose hair back from her face, then smiled uncomfortably. But she wasn’t beating a fast path off the dock, which was good since he was already hoping he’d have an excuse to touch her again soon.

“Would you like to come aboard? See the Circe up close?”

He was treated to a brilliant smile that lit up her deep brown eyes. “I’d like that a lot. I’ve never been on a boat before. A yacht, I mean.”

“You can call her a boat, just not a ship.”

“Good, because yacht sounds a bit pretentious.” Her cheeky smile was contagious, and he knew he was grinning like an idiot as he stepped onto the deck and held out a hand to help her board.

“I can’t believe you’ve never been on a boat before.”

“Never. Well, unless you want to count a canoe at camp one summer.”

He’d spent his entire life on, in or around boats. Sailboats, speedboats, rowboats, tugboats—if it went on the water, he’d built it, raced it or at least crewed it. He’d never met anyone who hadn’t even seen one up close before.

Ally seemed to be taking the inspection seriously, as she asked questions about the sails and the cleats and how it all worked. As she trailed a hand along the tiller, his blood stirred, wanting that hand to caress him instead.

He cleared his throat. “She was designed to race, so she’s lean. No frills to weigh her down.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Fix her up and race her?”

“No, I can’t race her. Her hull is too heavy to compete with what’s out there now.”

Ally looked at him. “But you do race, right? Or you’re wanting to?”

Was she serious? A look at Ally’s heart-shaped face told him she was. She honestly had no idea. How long had it been since he’d had a conversation with someone who didn’t know who he was? Wells Racing and the OWD Shipyard really had consumed his life—to the extent that it had probably been at least five years since he’d met anyone who wasn’t as obsessed as he was. Maybe more like ten. And while part of him wanted to impress Ally with his list of credentials, he held it at bay. It was nice to be incognito for once.

“I race…among other things.” It wasn’t a lie. Pops still kept his command in the offices of the OWD Shipyard—in name at least—but Chris found more and more of the day-to-day business crossing his desk these days. He juggled a lot, but Wells Racing was still his main focus.

Ally grinned at him. “But do you ever win?”

He laughed before he caught himself. “Occasionally.”

“Is it dangerous?” She didn’t meet his eyes as she asked that, but the too-casual way she poked at the deck line belied her interest.

“Not really. You can get hurt, don’t underestimate that, but it’s pretty hard to kill yourself.”

Her shoulders dropped in relief. “That’s good. My brother races dirt bikes for fun. It’s pretty easy to kill yourself doing that.” Ally poked her head into the hatch. “Not a lot down there.”

“Like I said, she’s built for racing. Bare necessities only.” He liked watching her explore the Circe. As the breeze molded her dress to her curves, he realized he liked watching her, period. The erection he’d only recently got back under control stirred to life again.

Ally sat on the edge of the cockpit and ran her hands over the smooth planks of the deck. “This is neat. Thank you for showing me.”

Unable to resist, he sat next to her. Possibly a little closer than was called for, but Ally didn’t move away. “Neat?”

“Yes, neat. I like to learn new things.” She looked sideways at him and shrugged. “In fact, I’ve decided that this vacation is going to be all about new things. I came by myself, which was definitely a first. I’ve—”

“You came on a Caribbean vacation by yourself?” Even though she’d been wandering the dock alone, he assumed she had friends or family somewhere on the island.

“It’s a long story, but, yes.”

He started to ask another question but she cut him off.

“Seriously, it’s a long, boring story. But I’m here now, and I’m making the most of it. I’ve tried new foods, let the spa spread mud all over me, and now I’ve been on a boat for the first time. I’d say I’m off to a good start.”

He was still reeling at the mental image of Ally nude while mud was painted sensuously across her breasts. He cleared his throat. “You’re quite the adventurer.”

She beamed, her brown eyes lighting up. “I wouldn’t go that far. But I am taking baby steps.” Ally closed her eyes and leaned back to enjoy the sun. It was an artlessly erotic pose—back arched, breasts thrust temptingly toward him, the gentle curve of her neck exposed. “This is wonderful. The wind and the water are very relaxing.”

He was anything but relaxed. “Would you like to go out?” he blurted.

Ally sat up and opened her eyes, the shock readily apparent. “I’m sorry, what?”

Well, that hadn’t been his smoothest move. He cleared his throat. “Sailing. Would you like to go out sailing tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I’ve never—”

“I thought you were being adventurous on your vacation.”

Ally shifted uncomfortably. “There’s adventurous and then there’s the fact that I’m not a very good swimmer.”

“The chances of you going overboard are pretty slim unless you jump.”

Ally looked over the mess he’d made of the Circe, a wary look in her eye. “But—”

He followed her gaze and laughed. “Not on the Circe. She’s not up for company yet. I’ll borrow a little cat or something. Start slow.”

Confusion furrowed Ally’s forehead. “A cat?”

“Catamaran. Like the ones you see on the beach down there.”

She looked to where he was pointing and nodded. “It’s kinda big, don’t you think, for my first time? Maybe something smaller, like those over there?” She pointed to some dinghies tied up at the dock.

“Ah, Ally, you don’t want to start too small. You want to get the full experience.” He dropped his voice and teased, “Bigger really is better, you know. It’s not the same sensation at all.”

She caught her lip in her teeth, the picture of indecision. “Um…”

“We’ll take it really slow and give you some time to get comfortable. We won’t go very far until you’re sure you’re ready. Just nice and easy.” He stroked her arm and gooseflesh rose under his fingers. “We won’t go too fast, I promise—unless you decide you want to, of course. And I think you will once you get into it. Otherwise, you can relax and let me do all the work while you just enjoy yourself.”

Ally’s eyes were wide and dark as she exhaled gently. “Are we still talking about sailing?”

Who cares about sailing? He stopped and gave himself a strong mental shake. “Of course. Well? Are you game?” He could see the indecision in her eyes. She wanted to go, but something was holding her back. “Are you afraid? Of the water?”

She hesitated as she looked away. “No. Not afraid, just not any good—I mean, I’m not a good swimmer.”

“Do you trust me?”

One eyebrow went up. “I’ve known you for less than an hour. No, I don’t trust you.”

Ally was a breath of fresh air—and honest to a fault. “I’m hurt,” he teased.

Looking sideways at him, she amended her statement. “But I don’t distrust you, either.”

That easy smile was really starting to work on him. “It’s a start.”

“And you did save me from Fred.”

“Very true. Surely that merits something.”

“If you were a Boy Scout, maybe a badge of some sort.” She bit her lip again, sending a jolt through him. “But I don’t think you’re a Boy Scout.”

“You do know how to wound a man. I may not be a Boy Scout, but I am a good sailor. You needn’t have any worries about surviving the experience. I’ll bet you’ll even enjoy it, despite your reservations.”

She didn’t pick up the gauntlet, but she was coming around. “How about the medium-size one? I can work my way up from there.”

“How about dinner instead? If you still want to start small after that, then I’ll get the dinghy. But I think you’ll come to see the benefits of not setting your sights too low.”

Confusion crinkled her forehead, and it took all he had not to reach for her and drag her below, but there was nothing below but a couple of narrow bunks, completely useless for what he had in mind. “Dinner?” she asked.

He feigned shock. “Of course. You don’t expect me to go sailing with a woman I barely know, do you?”

Ally laughed and nudged him with an elbow. “I don’t know what to expect from you.”

“Just a good time, that much I can assure you.” For us both.

“Then it’s a deal.” Ally stuck out her hand, but instead of shaking it, he squeezed it gently.

Slightly flustered, she stood and brushed at her dress with her free hand. “Should I, um, go change?”

“You look amazing.” She blushed at the simple compliment, and something primal and protective stirred in his stomach. It was an odd feeling. “I, on the other hand, need to shower. You can’t be seen in public with an unwashed swabbie.”

Ally squeezed his hand back as she apologized. “Fred’s a jerk. That comment was uncalled for.”

“I’ve been called worse by better.”

“But still…”

She seemed so earnest in her apology and need to console. “Forget it, Ally.You’re not responsible for the actions of others.”

A shrug was her only response.

“Where are you staying? I’ll come get you around seven.”

“The Cordova Inn. How about I meet you in the lobby?”

He nodded, and steadied her as she stepped onto the dock. The Circe bobbed as she did, and the boat felt a bit empty once she’d left. He was admiring the gentle sway of her hips when she turned and gave a small wave. Another moment and she was around the building and out of sight.

Well, this was an expected turn of events. He’d come to Tortola to get the Circe and found the delicious Ally, as well. His father had called the Circe a lucky boat, and now he had proof. Not that he was ever one to question his luck—he’d learned early on to take advantage of whatever winds came his way.

He went below to get his shaving kit and wished the repairs were further along. Or that he’d at least gotten a proper bed installed. He didn’t mind crashing on the narrow bunks, but the Circe’s cabin was low on creature comforts and not exactly conducive to pastimes other than racing.

That would change, just not soon enough.

Of course, the arrival of Mickey and Victor tomorrow would also put a damper on any on-board activities with Ally. Which reminded him—he still had supplies to stow and he needed to call home.

He’d call and check in with Grace, just to be sure there wasn’t anything too pressing, then he’d call Pops and mollify him over the extended absence.

Thanks to the Circe, the company, the Dagny, and his grandfather were all far away and would remain so for the next few weeks. He stretched, and his fingertips grazed the Circe’s bulkheads. He was a free man. Somewhat free, he amended as his phone alerted him to an incoming text message.

It could wait a while though. Ally was far more interesting than another discussion of the Dagny’s sails or OWD business.

He grabbed his shaving kit and a clean shirt and headed to the marina to shower.

Ally held her composure until she was sure Chris was no longer in sight, then she sagged against the wall of one of the marina buildings. Her legs felt shaky as she let out her breath in a long, unbelieving sigh.

Had that really happened? Had she really just met a real-life Adonis and agreed to…to…She shook herself. Technically, she had only agreed to dinner and a sail, but deep down she was pretty sure she’d agreed to something far more. Chris’s interest went beyond taking her sailing. She wasn’t that naive.

She was, however, completely out of her league. Men like Chris just didn’t appear in her world every day. Men like Chris were the stuff of fantasies. Or movies. They certainly didn’t appear out of nowhere like a dream come true and take an interest in mousy little accountants.

“God, I love this island.”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach and enjoyed the thrill. She had an urge to find that fiancé-banging stupid travel agent and give her a big kiss. Checking her watch, she was amazed to realize dinner wasn’t that far off. She only had a little over an hour to wait, but at the same time, that hour seemed like an eternity. Not that she was interested in food. That feeling in her stomach definitely wasn’t hunger pangs.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed off the wall and found that her legs still weren’t completely stable. Which was appropriate, since she wasn’t sure she was mentally stable at the moment, either. These things just didn’t happen to her. But it had, and she was willing—make that more than willing—to grab this moment and run with it.

She covered the short distance between the marina and the inn in record time and hurried to her room. The light on her phone blinked, indicating she had a message waiting at the front desk, but she ignored it. She wasn’t the least bit interested in her fruity family or whatever crisis they’d concocted for themselves today.

Her wardrobe was limited, as she’d never considered this possibility while packing, and she grimaced at the selection. All of it plain, boring, unexciting—rather like her at times. She wished she had time to go shopping, to find something better, but the clock was ticking. When she got home, she’d do some serious shopping to remedy the sad state of her wardrobe. She did find another sundress that was dressier than the one she had on and wasn’t shaped like a potato sack. It would have to do.

She showered again and took extra time getting ready, wanting to look as good as possible, but her hair wasn’t cooperating. Sighing, she settled for another braid, tucking in the frizzing strands as best she could. At one minute after seven, she took a deep breath and headed for the lobby, half expecting Chris not to show up.

But he did, looking like something out of a magazine in loose linen slacks and button-down shirt with his blond-streaked hair brushed back from his face. That fluttery feeling in her stomach bloomed back to life, followed rapidly by the urge to suggest a quiet dinner in her room.

Chris leaned in to kiss her gently on the cheek, an innocent enough greeting under any other circumstances, but in this case, one that melted her insides and made her knees wobble.

“You look fantastic.”

“Thanks. So do you.” Those blue eyes were going to be the end of her. Seriously. She could stare into them for hours, but when he smiled and they lit…

“Mrs. Hogsten!” The desk clerk approaching her was a wet blanket on her rapidly heating thoughts. She sighed in disgust. Whatever happened to impersonal hotels where none of the employees knew or even cared who you were? She’d love that about now.

“Not Hogsten. Smith. Or even Ally is fine.”

“Of course, my apologies.” At least the pitying look was gone. Instead the desk clerk looked amused as he saw Chris standing so closely beside her. “We have a message for you.”

“Thanks.” She took the piece of paper and glanced at it quickly as the clerk left. “Call home.” Not tonight, she thought, as she stuffed it into her purse. Turning to the far more interesting Chris, she smiled. “Let’s go.”

“Is everything okay?” The concern she saw in his eyes was kind, but she wanted that other light back. The light that said he was interested in her, not what was on a piece of paper in her purse. The one that made her insides turn over and her skin tingle.

“Just my family checking in.”

That other look came back into his eyes, and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered to life. “Good.” Chris took her hand and led her toward the door. “It’s a beautiful evening and the restaurant’s not far. Mind if we walk?”

At the moment she’d gladly walk to hell and back if he’d keep looking at her like she was dessert. Pull yourself together before you jump on him. At least try to act casual about this.

The evening was beautiful and warm, and Ally inhaled the hibiscus-scented air deeply as they walked. This was the stuff books were written about, walking at night on a tropical island hand in hand with a gorgeous man who—

“There seems to be some confusion about your name at the hotel.”

I will not let reality spoil this moment. “Yeah. Well, it’s kind of a—”

“Long story?” Chris finished for her, flashing a smile that made her gooey inside.

“Exactly. And boring to boot. How about you tell me where we’re headed instead?”

“Have you ever had pepper-pot soup?”

She stomped down the urge to skip. “Nope, but it sounds great. Remember, I’m all about new experiences this week. I’m game for pretty much anything.”

Chris stopped walking and pulled her into the shadow of a huge mango tree. Warm hands settled on her shoulders, and Ally forgot to breathe. “Glad to hear it. In fact…”

It was all the warning she got before his mouth touched hers.

His lips were warm and soft and gentle, but she could feel the restraint, the tension in his hands as they moved up to cup her face and his thumbs stroked over her cheekbones. Rising up on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around him as his tongue touched hers.

And everything changed.

This. This was the kind of kiss myths were built around. Heat and hunger radiated from Chris’s body, warming her blood and making it sing through her veins in answer to the need he stirred in her.

She’d never been kissed like this before, and her world shrank until all that existed was Chris and the feel of him against her and the taste of him on her lips.

A brief jolt of anger moved through her at the thought of all the kisses she’d wasted on Gerry. His lazy, perfunctory, be-happy-you’re-getting-anything kisses had never moved her like this.

Like this, she thought, and banished Gerry from her mind as Chris’s fingers massaged her scalp, and her knees turned to water. Chris caught her weight as she wobbled, fitting her tightly against him, and what little sanity she had left fled at the sensation: scorching kisses along the tender skin of her neck; the play of muscles under her fingers and the thump of his heart against the chest pressed tightly to hers. The bark of the mango tree bit into her back, but she didn’t care.

“Ally,” Chris whispered, the sound slowly filtering through the erotic haze around her, and she shivered at hearing her name on his lips.

She opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her, his fingers still tangled in her hair and his thumbs gently stroking her temples. But there was nothing gentle in the way he looked at her, and the fire burning in those blue eyes sent a shiver deep into her stomach.

Chris shuddered, his breath coming in quick pants like her own. She was glad to see she hadn’t been the only one to be shaken by the power of that kiss. She didn’t have much experience to draw on, but she knew the feeling was mutual. Tightening her fingers on the fabric of his shirt, she pulled him closer, wanting more.

“This isn’t exactly the right place.”

Belatedly, she realized he was right. While not crowded by any stretch of the imagination, there were other people on the street, and several of them were watching the display with interest. She should be mortified, slinking away in embarrassment, but surprisingly she didn’t care in the least.

“And, if you plan on actually having dinner tonight, we should probably stop.” His fingers slid out of her hair, and she could feel the braid hanging drunkenly to one side as he toyed with the loose strands. A rueful smile played on his lips.

Dinner? She didn’t give a tinker’s damn about dinner. The only thing she was hungry for was the man plastered against her like some kind of fantasy in the flesh.

Chris sighed and shifted his weight and Ally tightened her grip to keep him from moving away. For a brief moment indecision nibbled at her. She should let him go. She should go on to dinner. She should act nonchalantly about what just happened. A lifetime’s experience of responsibility and rationality told her to backtrack to the getting-to-know-you steps they’d leapfrogged over with that kiss.

I don’t want to.

The realization shook her to the soles of her plain brown sandals. The sandals were the tipping point. They were practical, boring and suddenly symbolic of her entire existence. She didn’t even have sexy, pretty shoes in her life, much less men like Chris.

Chris.

He hadn’t moved since she’d tightened her hold on him, but she wasn’t sure how long she’d stood there dithering with herself. When she looked up to meet his eyes, she saw the heat and the question there, and her decision became crystal clear.

“I’m not in the least bit hungry, but if you are, I do know a place that delivers to my hotel.”

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