‘Nina, you can’t stay.’

‘You’re sacking me.’ Not a question. Rather a flat-line statement.

He stopped less than an arm’s length away, and instantly the space between them crackled with heat. The grooves in his mind slotted back into blistering memories of last night and the undeniable force that clawed at him whenever she was near.

He set his jaw. Got a grip. Slapped that mental wall back up.

‘Nina, you can’t continue to work here.’

Her slim nostrils flared before she slowly nodded. ‘I understand. I do.’ She glanced over their cold meals. ‘If it’s all the same with you, I won’t stay for dinner.’

She turned and, as his throat and chest burned, walked through into the main room.

Cursing under his breath, he strode off to catch up. This woman would drive him nuts.

The pull—this fierce physical attraction—was too strong to ignore. No matter how many times she walked away he would have to bring her back. Because what he’d tried to block from his mind all the long day would happen. He knew it as well as he knew his own name.

They would make love again, and she’d better prepare herself.

Dear Reader

Remember the movie Sliding Doors? Sometimes a closing door can be a blessing in disguise!

My heroine in FIRED WAITRESS, HIRED MISTRESS harks from a prestigious background. From a young age Nina Petrelle has expected, and received, the best of everything. Gabe Steele, on the other hand, comes from humble stock. Despite the difference in family bank balances, Gabe was Nina’s brother’s best mate. Fourteen-year-old Nina couldn’t pinpoint why Gabe’s dismissive behaviour towards her should rankle so much, but she evened the score by jibing Gabe about his station in life every chance she got.

Then those doors slapped shut.

When Nina’s father died, ultimately so did the Petrelle fortune. Nina, who would have continued along her privileged path, now struggles to meet bills. Conversely, the tragedy that struck Gabe’s world set a fire beneath his determination to succeed. It is as a cool, wealthy playboy that he meets Nina again.

A more mature and modest Nina scorns the hedonistic world in which Gabe now reigns supreme. Gabe, however, knows Nina is simply cut over their changed circumstances: beneath her waitress garb she’s still that spoilt brat. As mismatched as they were in the past, they are doubly so now. Yet neither can deny the explosive magnetism which, time and again, draws them together and fights to keep them close.

Life is a series of twists and turns. When one door shuts, another will surely open. But travelling a new road isn’t always easy—particularly where pride and love are concerned.

Hope you enjoy FIRED WAITRESS, HIRED MISTRESS!

Warmest wishes

Robyn

One Christmas long ago, Robyn Grady received a book from her big sister and immediately fell in love with Cinderella. Sprinklings of magic, deepest wishes come true—she was hooked! Picture books with glass slippers later gave way to romance novels and, more recently, the real-life dream of writing for Mills & Boon.

After a fifteen-year career in television, Robyn met her own modern-day hero. They live on Australia’s Sunshine Coast with their three little princesses, two poodles, and a cat called Tinkie. Robyn loves new shoes, worn jeans, lunches at Moffat Beach and hanging out with her friends on eHarlequin. Learn about her latest releases at www.robyngrady.com, and don’t forget to say hi. She’d love to hear from you!

Recent titles by the same author:

Modern Heat™

CONFESSIONS OF A MILLIONAIRE’S MISTRESS

NAUGHTY NIGHTS IN THE MILLIONAIRE’S MANSION

DEVIL IN A DARK BLUE SUIT

Desire™

FOR BLACKMAIL…OR PLEASURE?

BEDDED BY BLACKMAIL

Fired Waitress, Hired Mistress

by

Robyn Grady

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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With thanks, as always, to my fab editor Kimberley Young for helping to bring out the best in my work.

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About The Author

Other Books By

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright

Chapter One

FROM the moment Nina Petrelle opened her eyes, she was painfully aware of three things.

One: she had a pounding great bump on the back of her head. Two: her ankle was stuck in what felt like a soggy, splintered vice. Three: cool, salty water was lapping the length of her prostrate body…was filling her mouth and her lungs.

Choking on seawater, Nina came fully to. She sat bolt upright and, an instant later, yelped in hair-raising agony. Gritting her teeth, she clutched at her thigh. When the red-tipped arrows firing up her shin gradually eased, Nina withered back down.

But she wouldn’t give in to the tears. Damned if she would. Instead Nina thumped both fists hard against the sand.

Little by little over the last two months she’d felt tiny pieces of herself falling away. The sense that she was losing the battle kept rubbing and chipping at her strength until this afternoon, after a gruelling shift, she’d fixed her heart upon escape. But what she’d truly wanted to leave behind—the question she didn’t want to face—had followed her.

Lately it had haunted her.

Who am I?

She didn’t know any more.

Once life had shone out before her like a glittering golden path. Her father had owned a highly successful engineering firm and, growing up, she’d thought nothing of her family’s numerous house staff, nor her expectations of having the best clothes, the best food—the best of everything. Of course that had been before her father had died, her manic mother had stripped the family coffers clean and her usually responsible kid sister had got pregnant by a deadbeat who hadn’t hung around.

While her mother had gone into a tailspin, Nina had pulled up her sleeves. After completing her university degree, she’d landed a job in publishing—a fast-paced, intense world she adored. Until recently she’d worked as the features editor for an acclaimed teen magazine, Shimmer.

Then the blunt axe had fallen.

Along with a number of other staff she’d been retrenched. With a sizeable mortgage, and other commitments, she’d needed a job, but well-paid positions weren’t so easy to come by, particularly in her field. With everyone tightening their belts, the shrivelled industry grapevine was as quiet as a church.

One morning, while prioritising her mounting bills, a long-time friend had called. Alice Sully’s family owned a travel agency and, if Nina was desperate, her dad could wangle her a stint working on an exclusive holiday retreat; he knew the owner. Waitressing hours there would be long, Alice had warned her, but the money was great.

Slumping with relief, Nina had accepted, and these past six weeks she’d worked her butt off at Diamond Shores, Australia’s premier Great Barrier Reef resort.

And not one moment went by when she didn’t wish herself back home.

Most of the other staff had let her know they weren’t happy that she’d swung a ticket here via the back door. A job at what many considered Australia’s holiday Mecca was supposed to be hard-won, and two years helping part-time at the uni cafeteria didn’t make muster.

But, needing the work, she’d been determined to do her best. So she held her head high, when most of the time she felt like a big fat pretender. She smiled till her face ached. Even when pampered patrons accused her of getting their orders wrong. Or commanded her to do silly things, like massage their temples for ridiculous amounts of time if they felt a headache coming on. And that was only the beginning. When she crashed, late at night, her dreams were a jumble of spilled cocktails, tumbling plates and an endless parade of growling, super-rich guests.

That was the hardest.

Once Nina Petrelle had lounged on the A list. She’d sipped chilled Cristal cocktails and worried about little other than her designer tan, acrylic tips, or the lack of room to accommodate her ever-expanding wardrobe. Now, existing on the other side of the glass wall, that kind of over-indulgence near sickened her. She wanted to shake these out-of-touch squillionaires and let them know there were real people out there and they were doing it tough.

But alongside her indignation lived another emotion. A desire that, in the still dead of night, made Nina’s cheeks burn with shame.

Envy.

Secretly she craved to cast off her uniform and rest her weary limbs. She wanted to sprawl out on one of those sunwashed deckchairs and beg, borrow or steal the chance to return to the decadence of her previously worry-free life—if just for a day or two.

She hadn’t thought she’d miss extravagance. Had never imagined ever wanting to be a society princess again. She had a new life, and obscene luxury simply wasn’t her any more.

Yet here she was—torn between opposing selfindulgence and desperately wanting it back.

A monster of a wave crashed on the shore and Nina was brought back to the harrowing present. As the sea rushed in, a cry slipped from her throat, but, with water flooding her windpipe, her “Help!” came out a spluttering cough.

Who would hear anyway?

Determined to keep her mind off her troubles, and maybe trim up those saddlebags, this afternoon she’d strolled along the powder-soft sand until she’d reached the island’s unpopulated southern tip. Collecting shells and other flux, she’d happened upon a tree fallen across the full width of the beach. Its trunk had looked solid enough, but as she’d leaped over, her foot had broken through a patch of rotting wood. Off balance, she’d tumbled back, and had struck her head on something hard.

Nina touched that stinging lump now, and winced at the same time as another vivid memory flashed to mind.

A heartbeat before passing out she’d seen an angel standing on a nearby cliff…a brilliant vision, arched against the unsettled sky, which had made her heart hammer as well as melt.

She pushed up onto her elbows and angled her throbbing head. Tropical sunshine struggled through darkening clouds to bounce off the jagged ledges, but no angel adorned the cliff’s peak.

Pity. The image burned into her brain was of a male with raven’s wing hair, linebacker shoulders and a set of windblown white wings. Given the distance, those few delicious details ought to have been it. And yet a deeper, unshakable impression remained…

Strong, chiselled features. Mesmerising ice-blue eyes. A bare chest bronzed the colour of warm oak. His confident stance had conveyed not only a sense of authority but also…

What was it?

Destiny? Perhaps purpose? And what about the raw sexuality that had rippled off him in blistering waves? Did angels have dibs on that stuff? She’d never seen anything more powerful.

More beautiful.

Before she’d slipped into darkness Nina imagined their eyes had met and a message had passed between them. He’d told her not to worry, that he knew and would protect her.

She looked around, and a slightly hysterical laugh slipped out.

How wild was that? And how fitting. These past months she’d needed a guardian angel and, with another enormous breaker rolling in, never more than now.

The rush of cool water flooded in, higher this time. As the wash ebbed out Nina tried to rotate her trapped ankle, but bit her lip when splinters pierced the skin. She tried sitting up to pry the wood away, but while the area her foot had penetrated was weak, the surrounding timber felt like concrete.

Slumping back, she covered her face with both wet, gritty hands and prayed.

Before her father had died her brother had also passed away, in tragic circumstances. Now her mother, her sister Jill and nephew Codie were the only family Nina had left. She would give anything—everything—to get out of this and get back home to see them all again.

Another wave smashed on the sand. Frothy scallops swirled up, and this time Nina barely held her chin above water. Jill had always said her sister’s one big flaw was her reluctance to accept help. Nina only wished Jill were here now. She wouldn’t merely accept help, she’d happily beg. That roller about to break looked big enough to drown.

Assessing the dense grey-green foliage behind her, she waited for the cackle of a kookaburra to fade. Then she filled her lungs and, giving it her all, cried out—

“Heeeelp! Can anyone hear me? I need help!”

Long before Gabriel Steele heard the distant cry for help, he was hyper-aware of three things.

A: the thousand branches lashing at his flesh as he tore down the slope hurt like a bitch.

B: his new track shoes were worth their weight in gold.

C: he was running out of time.

His heart belting against his ribs, Gabriel kept his eye on each footfall as he rushed to negotiate the rugged decline. Fast was good. Reaching the bottom in one piece was better. He’d be as useful to that woman as a tiger with no teeth if he broke his leg—or his neck.

And why, in high heaven, had she wandered so far from the resort complex anyway?

Standing atop that cliff earlier, contemplating its drop and the danger, he’d seen her advance along the beach—had watched, unconcerned initially, when she’d skipped across that log. As if the wood were paper, her foot had plunged straight through. She’d toppled back, and when her head had hit that rock he’d felt the thwack to his bones.

Out cold.

And, because things could always get worse, the tide was pushing in.

He could boast better than twenty-twenty, but a blind man could see the situation looked grim.

Now, with shirt-tails flapping behind him, Gabriel bounced down the same steep track he’d climbed half an hour earlier. So much for stealing time to face a challenge that, for once, had nothing to do with corporate tax law.

In truth, he loathed taking time out from his position as director of Steele Chartered Accountants. During his decade-long rise up the corporate ladder he’d accrued a sizeable fortune, but he still had a way to go before his personal worth equalled that of his more affluent clients. He’d worked too damn hard to slack off now—particularly after breaking a cardinal rule.

Never over-extend.

Four weeks ago he’d taken a huge gamble, investing nearly all his equity in a venture he felt to his bones would pay off. The business’s solvency had dropped close to bankruptcy, but if he made every move the right one he knew he could not only turn the entity around, he would also make it the envy of every tycoon in Australasia.

Now was “make or break” time. There was zero room for sentimentality. Less room for weak links.

“Help. Pleeease. Help!”

Brought back, Gabriel upped his pace. When a surprise branch whipped his forehead, his roar of a curse rattled the treetops. Once he’d shaken off the stars, he pushed all the harder. He had to reach that woman in time. He’d do the same for anyone.

Wished he could have done the same—

He tamped down futile memories to concentrate on his task, on that woman…and on the not unpleasant sensation that had curled in his stomach as he’d watched her from his vantage point earlier.

She seemed somehow familiar, her hair a caramel-gold waterfall pouring down her back, her legs endless, shapely and tanned. Stooping to collect a shell here and there, she’d conveyed a grace that only fine breeding could assure.

And yet her cut-offs were ragged around her firm thighs, and her feet were bare. No Manolo Blahnik flats in sight. Not that those legs needed expensive accessories. He could have watched her toned calves flex all day as she’d sifted through the powder-fine sand and—

A boulder sprang up out of nowhere. Gabriel hurdled and landed safely at the same time as a notion struck.

That was why she seemed so familiar. Watching her in those cut-offs had reminded him of a long-ago childhood vacation by the sea, when he’d gone barefoot twenty-four-seven and his fishing rod hadn’t left his hand. Aunt Faith had been a gem, providing her studious nephew with plenty to eat and lashings of love. Despite the tragic circumstances surrounding his mother’s disappearance, from the age of four Gabriel had enjoyed a well-rounded, relatively hassle-free upbringing.

Then his best friend had died.

At last Gabriel tore through the last layer of brush and burst into the light. His lungs burning from lack of air, his body lathered in sweat, he spotted the woman twenty metres away. He dug deep to mine what remained of his strength, then sprinted as the spill from a colossal wave consumed her.

His gaze held the circling froth where she’d disappeared until, plunging into the wet cool, he found her and urged her head clear of the torrent. As her arms shot out, and she gasped and coughed, he summed up the dire situation. Her ankle was locked at an ugly angle. No telling if bones had been broken.

One arm supporting her shoulders, he cleaned the filigree of clinging hair from her face as she struggled to take in air. If he’d had time to dwell he’d have said she was beautiful, in a bedraggled, drenched kitten kind of way.

“Can you hear me?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

She grasped the top of her leg and found a grateful smile. “I am now. I’m just a little—” She flinched. “A little in pain.”

As the wave sucked back out he laid her down, then manipulated his fingers between her ankle and the wood. It seemed her foot had slipped through a knot; sadly, the surrounding shell felt tough as nails. She wouldn’t have been able to budge it even if she’d had the strength to try.

After a couple of tugs, attempting to weaken the wood, he was quietly worried. He inhaled, rallied determination, and gave another, more serious wrench. A small piece broke off, then a bit more. No screams of pain; she gave little more than a thankful shudder as he freed her foot a second before water swept up and their world became a muted, cold-rush blur.

Fully submerged, holding his breath, he relied on his sense of touch to scoop the woman up and heave them both clear of the churning pool. He trudged well out of tide range and, on a sparsely grassed knoll, laid her down. Any minute the steady pump of adrenaline would give way to the burn of muscle fatigue, but for now he’d keep moving.

How bad were her injuries?

As she worked to catch her breath, Gabriel knelt close and collected her ankle. No compound fractures. When he rode two fingers over the arch of her foot, her peach-polished toes flexed up. Cupping her heel with one hand, his other palm resting on her shin, he applied a token amount of pressure to test the ligament. When she didn’t complain, he applied a bit more. She cringed, but didn’t cry out.

Brave girl.

There were nasty scratches and welts that would ripen to bruises. She’d need an X-ray, and a day or two of rest, but—fingers crossed—in a month or so her ankle would look as good as new.

Searching for other wounds, his gaze travelled the length of her leg, and higher. But at a tug low in his gut—a kick of kindling heat—he averted his eyes and cleared his throat. Inviting as she looked—wet tee-shirt moulding to the swell of her breasts, nipples puckered beneath transparent white interlock—this was so not the time.

He swept sand into a slanting step with one hand and then, to help with the swelling, set her foot upon the “pillow.” Finally falling back on his rump, he laid one forearm on a raised knee, dragged down a settling breath, then blew it out in a rush. His heart was chugging like a steam train. He hadn’t felt this juiced in years—not since torturing himself competing in triathlons in his late teens. Great for building stamina. Not so good for fending off ghosts.

He told her, “Nothing appears to be broken.” Thank God.

Her chest deflated as she wheezed out a breath. “You sure? Coz it really isn’t my day.”

He grinned at her impish tone, her slight but sexy lisp. “You’re scratched up, and—”

“My God—” Her eyes went wide in horror. “So are you.”

As if to prove her point, a warm trickle slid past the corner of his eye. He ran his thumb over his temple, inspected the smear of blood, then swiped the red on his soaked chinos.

No headache. No sting. “Nothing serious.”

Her unconvinced gaze zigzagged over his scored torso. “That’s a whole pile of ‘nothing serious,’ if you ask me.”

Her concern was appreciated, but he’d live. Thankfully so would she.

“There doesn’t appear to be any ligament damage.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“An accountant.”

She looked uneasy. “No offence, but I thought accountants were supposed to wear black-rimmed glasses and look kind of nerdy.”

He smiled. “No offence taken.”

He’d worn just that type of glasses once—not that she needed to know. They were strangers, thrown together by situation and sheer luck. Of course that didn’t mean they couldn’t get to know one another. Might be the extraordinary circumstances, the overload of adrenaline, but somehow she seemed…

Different.

Oh, he dated. Hard not to when he was considered one of the country’s most eligible bachelors, and friends constantly set him up with “possibilities.” And, sure, women were nice. Hell, he wouldn’t want to live in a world without them. But he was way too busy to worry about relationships. Too busy for anything other than casual.

As if that thought were a wish, an alternative vision of this woman swam up in his mind. With the tee removed, shortie-shorts too, her tan would be all over, her breasts mouth-wateringly full. The vee at the apex of her thighs shone with a tantalising tuft of caramel-gold—and why, dear heaven, was he letting his imagination run away on him like this?

Gabriel scrubbed his bristled jaw and shook his head clear.

Okay. Cold showers—and/or oceans—weren’t cutting it any more. It had been way too long. Still, he could control his overloaded testosterone levels. Willpower, in everything, was his speciality.

He squared his shoulders, then moved to check the contusion on her head. After parting the clotted hair, his fingertips circled the injury and she hissed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, then, “No cut. But you’ve got an egg.”

“Laid by an emu, feels like.”

Cupping her chin, he checked for uneven dilation of the pupils. When her large jewelled eyes blinked up at him, his groin flexed. Clearing his throat, he reminded himself of their circumstances and edged away.

“You were knocked out. Do you remember how it happened? Your name? Is there any ringing in your ears?”

What were the other signs of concussion?

But she didn’t appear to be listening. Rather, those sparkling topaz eyes, surrounded by lush damp lashes, were examining him with new, almost innocent wonder.

“You were standing up there, weren’t you? On that cliff.”

His brows jumped. “You saw me?”

“Only for a moment.” Her gaze dropped before catching his again. “This’ll sound crazy, but as I blacked out I thought you were…Well, I thought you were an angel.”

He chuckled at her almost reverent tone. “Sorry to disappoint you again.” Not a doctor. Definitely not an angel.

As a late afternoon breeze rustled through the palm fronds, and seagulls squawked overhead, her eyes glistened and her brow furrowed more.

“Still, you…you seem familiar.”

Really?

Maybe it was more than seaside memories that made her seem familiar too. Had they met before? At a dinner? Maybe they lived in the same neighbour-hood? Potts Point, Sydney, was pricey, but then anyone vacationing at Diamond Shores had money and plenty of it.

Before he could ask, she held her head and groaned over an apologetic smile.

“I’m all muddled. My head feels like it’s packed with cotton wool.”

“I’m not surprised.”

She needed that knock checked out properly, along with some painkillers and an appropriate bandage for her foot. She needed civilisation, asap.

“Give me a moment,” he said, determined to ignore the creak of tightening hamstrings, “and I’ll get you to a doctor.”

The island enjoyed a full-time physician, as well as a seaplane and an emergency helicopter, both of which, he believed, served French champagne. Luxury at its decadent best.

“That’d be great,” she said, tipping up. “You can lend me an arm. Or I could use a branch for a crutch.”

He urged her back down. She needed to rest and lie flat. “You’re not walking anywhere.”

Her doubtful gaze drilled his. “What’ll we do, then? Close our eyes and click our heels three times?”

He grinned. Cute.

“I’ll carry you.”

“All the way to the resort?” She half coughed, half laughed. “Your arms will break off.”

He cocked a brow. “I assure you they won’t.”

Her cheeks pinked up before she gave a conciliatory sigh. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done. You’ve been two hundred percent chivalrous and I’ll be forever grateful. But I’m not exactly a flyweight.”

Correct. She was shapely. Voluptuous, really. Precisely how a woman ought to be.

He cut short his discreet assessment at the same time as she pushed back up on her elbows and sent over an all-settled, I’m-used-to-getting-my-own-way smile. “So, we’re agreed?”

His hand on her shoulder eased her down again. “Lie flat.” She didn’t need to risk nausea or dizziness. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

“That can’t include giving yourself a heart attack.” Her eyes lit up. “I know. You can go for help and I’ll wait here.”

“You need medical attention now, not later.”

Besides, he wouldn’t leave her alone. She might get it into her head that she knew best and try to limp back to the resort.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I was big-boned before getting friendly with the food here. If you’ve tried the desserts, you’ll know you can’t stop at one.”

Her lush lips were soft and parted now, and a delicate pulse beat at the base of her throat. I wonder what that pulse would feel like against my tongue? Gabriel thought.

Wonder what she’d be like in bed?

“Hello?” she cooed. “Are you listening?”

He grunted, drove a hand through his hair. “Sure. Delicious. No control.”

She nodded, then winced and touched her head. “You’re all fired up, and obviously capable, but I can’t have you putting your back out.” She pushed up again. “And, seeing I have final say in the matter—”

“Absolutely you have a say.” He tipped her back down. “You can say, Yes, sir.”

Her mouth dropped open and a mew of outrage escaped.

Doubly determined, she pushed up again. “I didn’t realise I’d joined the army.”

“I’ll count to three,” he warned, half hoping she’d defy him.

She didn’t disappoint. “I’m more than capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much.”

Done with words, he pointed at the ground. When her face hardened with a you-can’t-make-me look, his jaw shifted. He admired spunk, but only one person was in charge here and it was time she learned who that was.

In one smooth, purposeful movement, he angled closer, crowding her back as he bent forward until, eyes gone wide, she lay horizontal again. By the time he stopped crowding, his head was slanted over hers and their mouths all but touched.

His gaze licked her lips as he grinned.

“You were saying?”

Chapter Two

STARING into the wicked eyes of a beast, Nina kept still and swallowed hard.

There she’d been, wondering if she could possibly get out of that fix alive, then pow! So broad through the chest, so capable and infuriatingly confident, this superhero type showed up out of nowhere.

But she was confused. Where did he fit on her character chart? Was this man exceptionally good, or primarily perfectly bad?

Anyone with half a brain and a pair of scales must see he couldn’t carry her all the way back to the resort. Nevertheless, he hadn’t merely dismissed her suggestions. He’d gone so far as to pin her body beneath his to get his point across.

She was trapped. She should be fuming!

Instead her nerve-endings simmered with indisputable awareness, and her fuzzy brain kept wondering how well his lips might fit closed over hers.

“You’re quiet,” he noted, his mouth a hair’s breadth from hers.

Wondering if he might manacle her wrists next—and not wholly against the idea—she squirmed. “I’m thinking.”

“About behaving, I hope.”

His voice was rough, dangerously deep, and the whisper of his breath against her lips felt far less invasive than it ought to.

“Do I need to point out,” she said, “that I’m not the one behaving badly?”

“Won’t make a difference. If I let you have your way, you could do yourself another injury.” Wet dark hair flopped over his brow when he cocked his head. “Or would you rather I ignore the fact you might have concussion?”

“I’d rather you quit with the caveman mentality.”

He growled and leaned a smidge closer. “You’re only alive because that caveman mentality got me to you before the sharks tucked in for dinner.”

She held her breath while her heart thumped high in her chest.

Oh, crap. She hated to admit it, but his brutish logic made sense. He would never convince her he could carry her all the way back to the resort, but her head did feel light. If she stood up now, tried to walk, she might very well fall over. Maybe even knock herself out a second time. Like it or not, in a roughish kind of way, he was still rescuing her—protecting her—this time from herself.

She issued a reluctant nod and, fire fading from his eyes, he curled away.

As he repositioned himself beside her, the sinking sun fell behind his head, bathing his splendid form in a golden-rose halo. Nina squeezed her eyes shut, then looked again. He wasn’t an angel. She was certain of that now. And yet his presence, this scene, everything about this time here with him seemed surreal. Make-believe.

Maybe she was still unconscious? Maybe her lungs were filled with water and she’d hallucinated all this while succumbing to the final phase of drowning? Was she experiencing some incredible dream on her way to the hereafter? That wasn’t so unlikely. She’d heard stories before.

Was any of this real?

Determined to find out, she reached and touched his pec, an inch above that small flat nipple. Her fingertip sizzled like creamy butter on a hotplate, at the same time as her centre glowed and blood tingled with fresh life. As her fingers fanned over the black, crisp hair, bolts of crackling electricity ripped through her veins. His flesh was so firm, so masculine and—

She stopped.

Inched her gaze up.

He was looking down his aquiline nose at her fingers—which were kneading the warm cushioned steel as if they belonged there.

Tilting his cleft chin, he raised a dark brow and his entrancing eyes met hers.

“Let me know when it’s my turn.”

She snatched her hand away. Her breathing was all over the place again and her face was flaming. Simply put, she wanted to die.

“I was just…er…just making sure they were—I mean, that you were—” Embarrassed beyond words, she spat out the rest. “I was making sure you were real.”

“Oh, is that what you were doing?”

His lopsided grin drew a crease down one side of that highly kissable mouth. And his eyes…

They were so clear and bright and laughing.

Laughing at her.

She understood why. She was acting like a loon. A suspicious, ungrateful, concussed, groping loon.

But then his gaze sharpened and his expression changed.

“Are you cold?” he asked, edging close again.

“I don’t think so.” But that noise…Were her teeth chattering? Checking out the clouds building to black overhead, she shivered and instinctively hugged herself. “I am kind of shaky.”

A line cut between his brows and he cupped her chin, turned her head gently one way then the next. His gaze intensified, and for a giddy moment Nina imagined she’d fallen head-first into those amazing ice-blue eyes. When he checked her pulse against his platinum Omega, she relented and played compliant patient. After six weeks of serving other people’s every whim, there was part of her that needed this one-on-one attention, mandatory though the attention might be.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” Did he want her to open her mouth and say ah?

Her answer came when he rolled his shoulders back and peeled off his shirt. Her eyes popped out of her head. Mamma mia. What a specimen.

“You need to be kept warm,” he told her, stripping a sleeve off one dynamite arm and then the other.

“Thanks,” she managed to wheeze, “but I don’t think a wet shirt will cut it.”

“Body heat will.”

“Y-you’re going to hold me?”

He blindly tossed the shirt on a bush, then loomed over her, the chiselled planes of his face unforgivably close. “Any objection?”

Her gaze zeroed in on his mouth, on the dusky pink of his full bottom lip, and her pelvic floor muscles squeezed.

She’d tried to refuse him before and her opposition had got her nowhere. If anything, being obstinate had made matters worse. An air of entitlement, albeit tempered by GQ looks and bad-boy charm, was a quality that stuck in her craw. She’d kow-towed to similar sorts too often these past weeks…people who would once have classed her as their equal.

All that aside, this guy was no idiot. If he said she needed to be held—hell, he was probably right. And if she must be gathered up against some unknown body…heck, it might as well be his.

When she mustered a haughty look and shrugged one shoulder, he scooped an arm beneath her neck.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, careful of her bump and her foot as he lay beside her.

He drew her close until her ear rested on the plateau of flesh and muscle below his collarbone. Despite her irritation, she almost sighed when one iron-warm palm splayed over the small of her back, pressing her deftly against his powerhouse length.

His breath brushed her ear. “How’s that?”

She could be smarmy, could fib and say she was uncomfortable; she was in a way—only because he had, indeed, been right. It seemed those remarkable arms gathering her near were exactly what her traumatised body had needed.

Comfort…a masculine mountain of it.

She buried her nose in his chest and mumbled, “Better.”

She imagined his grin. “Good.”

He was damp but hot, as if a furnace were blazing away beneath the skin, and when she closed her eyes everything but the impression of security and strength faded from mind. His earthy scent, mixed with a lingering hint of aftershave or soap, burrowed into her pores and played havoc with her rag-taggle reason.

This felt nice. He felt nice. Nice and strong and not-so-plain-or-simple sexy.

She inwardly sighed.

Oh, why not admit it? The throb in the base of her belly wasn’t a consequence of relief or gratitude, or even exasperation. It was desire—the forbidden, molten lava kind that blocked out other stimuli, heightened each sense and alerted every fibre. It was the kind of intense physical attraction that had her half convinced she needed to dissolve into this man right here, right now, or simply cease to be.

Crazy.

Clearly the knock on her head had bumped the arousal lever in her brain up to high. Every synapse seemed to have direct dial to the pulse ticking merrily away between her thighs. Every nerve-ending was wired to zap the burning tips of her breasts. All of which made her horribly nervous.

And terribly curious.

They were strangers, brought together by near tragedy. She was a level-headed woman who, admittedly, hadn’t had a man in a while. A good while. And certainly never one like this. But her urge to gaze up, look into those incredible eyes and offer him her lips…

It was wrong. Totally off beam.

Wasn’t it?

A moment ago his bedraggled kitten had wanted to know if this was real. Now Gabriel wondered too. He hadn’t peeled off his shirt and drawn her close for any reason other than her shaking. She needed to be kept warm.

Sure, he was benefiting too. Lying on this cushiony spread of sandy grass and listening to the rhythmic wash of waves gave him a chance to recuperate. His system needed a break. Only…

He didn’t feel all that relaxed.

His body was a simmering mass of anticipation. His heartbeat was a booming bass beat in his ears. Those symptoms weren’t a consequence of exertion any more than the ambitious tightening in his groin, or the groan of awareness building like thermal movement deep in his chest.

He was a man who lived well—the finest food and accommodation, state-of-the-art high-powered cars. But holding a beautiful woman was on a shelf all its own. She seemed to be on a shelf all her own.

He was no stranger to sex. Slow sex, hot sex—wild sex even better. But, no matter how stimulating the company, he’d never needed to worry about maintaining a certain level of control. He never truly lost himself in the moment. And yet the desire rippling through his veins now was distinct. Unique.

Disturbing.

It had to be the setting, the extraordinary circumstances, but it was all he could do not to tug this woman’s supple curves closer, coax her shapely hips nearer, tilt her chin higher and kiss her.

Hard.

Normally he knew when a woman was interested too. A lidded look. An arched brow. A sensual smile when she caught his gaze and held it. That kind of nonverbal communication had been perfected by nature over eons to ensure the survival of the species. I’m available. Me too. No genius there.

But, lying beneath this palm tree with Miz Crusoe nestled alongside him, he was stumped. She’d been grateful, stubborn, teasing, and finally accepting. It couldn’t be his imagination that she was enjoying this contact as much as he was.

So where did pumped-up high-stakes drama end, and good old-fashioned foreplay with an attractive, might-as-well-be-naked woman begin? If he rolled more towards her, how would she react? With outrage, as she’d done earlier, before he’d flattened her against the ground to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself? Or would her gaze become heavy with an I-feel-it-too glow?

When she gave a violent shiver, the choice was made for him. Before she trembled a second time Gabriel held her more firmly, grazing a warming palm up and down her chilled arm.

After a moment she looked up, and her full lips twitched. “You must think I’m horrible.”

He grinned. “Worse than Godzilla and the giant Powder Puff man combined.”

Her perfect smile fanned wider before she sobered. “While I can’t condone all your tactics, I truly am grateful. For everything. You’re right. I’d have been fish food if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

“I’m glad I was able to help.” More than she’d ever know. “How’s your foot?”

Her leg moved and she flinched. “Hurts a little.”

“We ought to get moving before the pain gets worse.”

She hummed out an affirmation, but then only laid her cheek back upon his chest.

He gauged the sun’s heavy position in the sky, the storm clouds meshing together overhead, then closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her hand on his ribs.

Ah, what the hell? A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

His palm trailed her arm again, up over the slender shoulder, down to her elbow. Seagulls wheeled and squawked above while time wrapped around them like a promise-filled cocoon. If anyone had happened along they’d have mistaken them for lovers.

“Guess we really should get going,” she murmured. “You’ve probably got someone waiting.”

He nailed the quality in her voice: overly blasé. People came to Diamond Shores to fulfil their island fantasy while soaking up every laid-back luxury. Make the rates exorbitant, and it was a licence to print money. It added up that kitten here was looking to be indulged too. But in what way? And to what extent?

Time for a test line.

“There’s nobody waiting in the way you’re implying,” he said.

“What way is that?”

“How many ways are there?”

“Let’s see. You could be here on a reckless weekend with a bud.”

“Nope.”

“Could be showing a client a good time, hoping to tie the bow on a multi-million-dollar deal.”

“Good guess, but no banana.”

“You’re here with your girl?”

“Don’t have one.”

Two beats of silence, then her breath brushed his chest again. “Maybe you’re here to find one?”

“Is that an invitation?”

She gave a humourless laugh, but didn’t search out his gaze. “Believe me, I’m not your type.”

“What type are you?”

“I should start with clumsy.”

“So this kind of incident isn’t a one-off?”

“Yesterday I spilled a drink in the lap of an Arab prince.”

He cringed. “Bet he offered to buy you another one.”

When she groaned, the vibration blew a pleasant tingling rash down one side of his body. “Hardly.”

“International model types weren’t the Prince’s thing?”

She lifted her head to give him a pull-the-other-one look. “Models are super tall and thin.”

“So, not a model?” he conjectured. “More athlete, then. You compete in the European show-jump circuit?”

“Horses make me sneeze. And I’m clumsy, remember? I’d break my neck, and the poor horse’s too.”

“Okay. Your father’s one of the country’s leading barristers and you’re fresh out of law school, ready to fry your first bad guy’s butt,” he surmised, and she laughed.

“I like your imagination,” she said, “but…”

“I’m off track?”

“Way off.”

“A hint would be good.”

“But not as fun as hearing what you come up with next.”

Her eyes were dancing now, and a stream of hair had fallen down the centre of her forehead, criss-crossing her slim straight nose. He scooped the hair behind her ear and his blood heated more.

“Got it.” He lowered his hand. “You’re a misunderstood heiress running from the press.”

“Not this year.”

He chuckled, so she did too, but then she winced and touched her head.

His stomach muscles crunched and welts stung for the first time as he sat up. “How’s the lump?”

“Only hurts when I laugh.”

He mock-frowned. “I can be serious.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I want to hold you closer.”

Her hand drifted away from her bump. “You want to do what?”

“Hold you closer.”

Her eyes rounded to saucers.

“That’s not a command, by the way,” he added. “More a suggestion.”

“If I say no?”

“We head off to the resort.”

“If I say yes?”

“Then I’ll add another wish to my list.”

She blinked several times, as if she were having trouble taking it all in, but she didn’t try to wriggle away. In fact she leaned nearer. “Tell me.”

He craned his neck to graze his lips over the satin and grit of her brow, and the contact made the skin tighten over his flesh. “I’d do this.”

He heard her intake of air, felt her slight tremble as he grazed again.

Her hand bunched slowly on his chest, sending positive signals to regions below.

“And then?” she asked.

He cupped her nape, his thumb circling the base of her neck before his hand slid around to her chin. His lips skied down the slope where a moment ago he’d brushed her hair away.

“I’d tip your chin higher.” With a knuckle, he angled her mouth towards his. “Like this.”

Her lips parted as she inhaled, silent but deep, and her heavy gaze sparkled into his.

“Then what?”

Smiling softly, he moved closer.

“Then this.”

Chapter Three

THE touch of his kiss was faint, yet the intensity of sensation was all-consuming. The promise of what was to come gave Nina a heady rush and goosebumps down to her toes. Today she’d nearly lost her life, but this—dear heaven—was almost worth dying for.

With his thumb guiding her jaw, he steered her chin higher and kissed her again, this time with his mouth slanted at a different, more exacting angle.

Nina sighed.

He felt like magic…omnipotent, skilled, sultry. This caress was barely there, yet somehow it lifted her to another plane, where warm hands understood how to stroke and leisurely lips knew how to thrill. If there was an advanced school of kissing, this guy had graduated top of the class.

As his mouth reluctantly drew away, the tip of his nose brushed hers. She opened her eyes, and when he opened his, they were a dark, stormy blue-grey, and filled with a latent hunger Nina’s surging blood recognised too.

This man was every woman’s dream. Masterful, challenging, sexy to a fault. She’d never met anyone like him. She wanted him to kiss her a second time, and then she wanted him to do it again.

One problem.

Did she tell him before or after she wasn’t who or what he thought? Not an heiress fleeing from the paparazzi, not the genius daughter of a world-famous barrister, but a rather average, stressed-out waitress, struggling to get through a difficult time.

Good thing he had track shoes on. He might want to run a mile.

“I have to say,” he murmured in a rich, drugging voice that spoke directly to her G spot, “that felt good.”

Despite her concerns, she couldn’t help but smile back. “I second that.”

His absorbed gaze dropped to devour her lips. “I vote we get more inventive.”

“Which entails…?”

“For you…simply lie back and enjoy.”

“Oh, I have to enjoy it?” she teased.

He nipped her bottom lip. “That’s the idea.”

At the notion of total surrender—arms draped over her head, taking every wonderful delight he had to offer—syrupy warmth condensed at the heart of her. The idea of making love with a thoroughly gorgeous man she barely knew was not only reckless, it was irresistible. Who said she wasn’t allowed to forget her problems for an hour or two? Wrapping herself in his silver lining sounded pretty good about now.

With a cooling breeze blowing over her skin, teasing her nipples, she wet her lips.

“What about you? Do you get to enjoy it too?”

He shifted up, so that one side of his impressive chest hovered over hers. His arm curled possessively above her head.

“Ask me a hard question.”

He kissed her in earnest then, his warmth flashing heat-lightning through her blood, his mouth irrevocably claiming hers. But not in a gulping, feverish fashion. More with the finesse of a man who knew what women liked. What this woman needed.

His slightly roughened palm trailed down her neck. His thumb rested in the hollow of her beating throat before his touch skimmed down her decolletage, then slid to encircle her upper arm, coaxing her up and in. The suggestion of ownership in the gesture was unmistakable, as well as enthralling—all the more so given the way his mouth worked unhurriedly yet intently with hers.

Her arms coiled around his neck and she pulled herself up, offering more, as delectable desire built and bubbled away—a steaming kettle ready to boil. She was physically, helplessly drawn to him, like a tide to the moon or a bird to blue sky. When his tongue probed deeper Nina whimpered with mind-tingling longing, and a strange sense of belonging seeped through her.

This embrace wasn’t merely great, it was fated. In this thin slice of time she wasn’t Jill’s sister or little Codie’s aunt. She wasn’t the pampered princess who’d once had everything, or the twenty-year-old who’d slogged her guts out to ace her journalism class. She wasn’t a magazine editor who’d found herself at a crossroads.

At this moment she was pure woman, hovering at the pinnacle of creation’s best ever kiss. She felt so fired up she could barely breathe—but, unlike during her near drowning moments ago, she didn’t want to come up for air. She’d much rather relinquish herself to her mystery man’s caress until she expired from exhaustion and sheer joy.

When his thumb brushed the outside of her breast she groaned. The sensitive peak tightened and her leg instinctively moved in. But the scratches on her ankle rubbed and, wincing, she jerked back an inch. When he pulled back too, the set of his jaw and refocusing eyes said he’d remembered where they were.

Oh, but this couldn’t end now. What were a couple of scratches compared to the chance to truly escape and float on cloud nine?

Her arm still around his neck, she tugged. “I’m perfectly fine—honest.”

His chin kicked up a notch. “You don’t know how much I’d like to believe that.”

Her fingers filed up through the back of his hair. “Believe it.”

He set his forehead upon hers. “I’m afraid this, my dear, is not the time.”

She pouted. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

Sorry. She couldn’t accept it. Her hand snaked down and she drew a suggestive circle around his right nipple, smiling when the disc hardened beneath her touch.

Folding her hand up in his, he pressed his warm lips to the palm. “Doctor first. Advanced introductions later.”

“Maybe one more quick hello?”

He laughed, a gorgeous black velvet sound she would never tire of hearing. This guy had it all. Looks, charm, Herculean strength. Sure, he was a little overconfident, but, given the circumstances, after that kiss, she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

“Later,” he confirmed, and cocked an enquiring brow. “Maybe over dinner?”

Nina’s expression dissolved into a walking-on-air smile.

Fate was so unpredictable. A couple of months ago she’d had the next ten years mapped out—work her way up the magazine industry ladder and ultimately secure a spot on a top international rag overseas. By that time Jill would have met the guy of her dreams and Codie would be a real little man. One day Nina had hoped to find her soul mate—someone who truly understood and respected her.

Then her life had landed in a dumpster.

From heiress to editor to wayward waitress. What came next?

When her Galahad sprang to his feet and dusted himself off, Nina sighed. The most amazing few minutes of her life were over. But there was always dinner tonight.

Or was there?

The clientele here seemed oblivious to everything other than their own over-inflated issues and comfort. They lived to compare carats over a leisurely back rub or two. Was this man cut from that same cloth? How would he react when he found out he’d been making love to the hired help?

And, if that wasn’t enough to dampen those dinner plans, there was always the resort’s staunchest staff rule. No socialising with guests. Ever.

His shadow crept over her a second before his strong arms scooped beneath her shoulders and knees. Jolted back, she pushed against his chest. “What are you doing?”

“We’ve had this discussion.”

“I’m not sure we came to any decision.” None that she’d been happy with.

“If memory serves, you called me a caveman, I beat my chest, and the matter was settled. Now, we need to hurry. Rain’s on the way.”

Folding her arms over her waist, she tried to weigh herself down—not that she wasn’t heavy enough. Nevertheless, he swooped her effortlessly up.

His white teeth flashed. “Light as a feather.”

Uh-huh? Veins were already popping at his temples. She could sense the strain in his arms. Why-oh-why had she taken that slab of chocolate torte back to her room last night?

“Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered.

“So you’re intent on doing this?” Giving yourself a hernia.

His response was a sexy wry smile.

She held his gaze, then finally exhaled. He was implacable. What choice did she have? She only hoped he didn’t keel over from a coronary before he’d finished saving her.

She was securing her arms around his hot neck when a light bulb went off in her head. “Hey, I’ve had another thought. You could make a tray out of a big banana leaf and pull me along. Like a snow sled, only on sand.”

His eyes narrowed even as he smiled. “No bananas growing here.”

“Well, you must have a cellphone. You could call for the helicopter to chopper me out. We could make a giant X on the beach with driftwood so they know where to land, and—”

Her words were cut off when his mouth took hers. And just like that the magic was in full swing again, drifting over her like tingling confetti as his kiss worked its spell and he urged her against his granite-like frame.

She dissolved into him. Melted completely. Of its own volition a hand wandered to the centre of his hard chest, fanned over the rock of a pec, then sailed higher, tracking the topography of the bulging cords in his neck, the sandpaper bristle of his firm square jaw. Only when his mouth left hers did the fog partly lift and she realised.

It was sprinkling rain.

Lifting her face, Nina blinked as another drop hit her cheek, then her arm. When he looked up too, as if waving a green flag, the rain came down in earnest.

She let go a shriek. Could her poor body take another beating?

But, while the rain fell in buckets, the water felt soft and revitalising on her skin. Perhaps it was her near brush with death, the lingering effects of that better-than-bliss kiss, or the fact that for the first time in weeks she felt truly free, but a jet of abandon surged up from her centre and a bubble of laughter escaped. Going with impulse, she shut her eyes and tilted back her head. When she opened her mouth wide, sweet rain filled her throat.

She gulped twice, three times, then, through the gauzy mist of rain, searched out his eyes.

Streams were coursing down his ruggedly handsome face, running off the tip of his nose. He studied her, his head slanted, before a crooked smile broke and he rocked back his neck as she had done. Laughing again, she joined him, and as he held her beneath the opened sky, she felt their strength restored.

Some quenching moments later he shook his head, like a dog after a bath, then near shouted over the water clattering through the layers of thirsty foliage behind them.

“We need shelter.”

From beneath sodden lashes, she cast a glance around. The sea had darkened and whipped up too, each slate-green crest rising ever higher before smashing on the shore. The evocative scent of fresh rainfall seemed to rise off the earth’s every pore. No birds in the sky, no tiny soldier crabs scurrying over the sand…every thing seemed hidden away, as if nature had called a time out.

As the rain fell harder still, he took matters into his own hands—but he didn’t charge north towards the resort. Rather he headed inland, weaving with precise guerrilla-like movements through a break in the bush.

“Cover your face,” he called as he strode through the underbrush.

She did as he asked and protected herself. “Where are we going?”

Was there a cave close by?

But he didn’t answer, and she didn’t push. Curling into him, making herself small against the branches lashing by, once again she put her faith in this remarkable man.

Finally his gait slowed, and she was jolted when his shoulder crashed against something hard. Then the rain stopped, although she still heard it…

Thrashing on a roof?

Gingerly she uncovered her face and swiped sopping hair from her eyes, in time to see him kick a crude-looking door shut. The noise of the rain outside was cut off and they were alone, dripping puddles at the inside entrance of what looked to be a cabin—boxy, barely furnished, and located in the middle of the island’s dense tropical forest.

He crossed to a single wooden chair set beside a small round table. In the shadowy light she saw a coffee cup pushed near the plastered wall. When he lowered her upon the chair her arm unravelled from around his neck, and as his warmth drew away a violent chill racked her body. She hugged herself as he moved to a kitchenette and flicked a switch. Over the din on the tin roof, her ears picked up the hiss of a kettle.

She twined her legs around one another and, hunching her shoulders, rubbed the gooseflesh on her arms. The exposed beam ceiling was low. An old sepia-tone photo hung on the opposite wall. A gnarly wooden coatstand guarded the door. The only other furniture was a double bed to her right. Shivering, Nina clutched herself tighter. That plump blue and yellow patchwork quilt looked mighty inviting.

The photo on the wall drew her eye. A gently smiling woman sat sloped towards her husband. Humour shone in the man’s dark eyes, and Nina almost felt his hand lying upon her shoulder, as it did on his wife’s in the picture. The hairstyles and garb said mid last-century.

“How did you find this place?” she asked. Had he stumbled upon it during his walk?

The kettle had boiled and he was sliding a coffee bottle over the counter. It was overly large, with a palm tree embossed on one side. It must have been here as long as that picture.

“This isn’t what you’re used to, I expect.”

An unpolished wooden floor, a square-paned window with no curtain to draw against a view of the deluge. The cabin was austere, but also dry and cosy…and, in its intimate isolation, rustically romantic. But foremost it was somebody else’s property. Were the people in that photo still alive? Given the circumstances, she supposed the owners wouldn’t mind them sheltering here, but she frowned as he poured water from the kettle.

“Do you think we should help ourselves to the pantry?”

He paused, setting the kettle down, but then sent over a smile. “This place is mine for the week—along with a bungalow back at the resort.”

Nina lifted her brows. So this millionaire liked to rough it? And this was about as rough as it got.

He asked about sugar and milk. It seemed they both liked their coffee black, so he added some cold water from the tap and brought the much appreciated drink over.

Taking the warm mug in two hands, she sipped. The bitter but tasty brew filtered heat through her blood and most of the goosebumps faded.

Running an eye over the kitchen—retro orange tiles, super-old stove, modern microwave—she pressed the mug to her cheek, then her breastbone. “How did you know this even existed?” She hadn’t heard a murmur about a rental bush cabin from the staff.

He heeled off his shoes near the cold ashes of the fireplace. “The owner built it decades ago.” She had her mouth open to ask more, but he changed the subject. “You need to get out of those clothes.”

The nerves high in Nina’s stomach kicked—firstly at his words, then at the thought of that double bed and its come-hither quilt. But he wasn’t suggesting anything other than the obvious. The rain had set in, and sitting here, shivering and sopping, wasn’t smart. They both needed to get dry.

Striding past her towards the bed, he threw back a filmy curtain, which was hooked up to a chrome rail. “I’ll run a tub and you can get that grit off.”

Nina craned her neck. A chipped porcelain clawfoot bathtub. Hardly five-star—she set her mug aside—but if hot water was involved, she was there.

After he had twisted the stiff faucets, unseen pipes shuddered and groaned to life. He tested the water and, with the other hand propping his weight on the tub’s rim, sought out her gaze.

“You okay to undress and get in?”

His question came at the same time as she found her feet. Her blood pressure dropped and, suddenly giddy, she closed her eyes and withered back down.

He was concerned she mightn’t be able to manage with her ankle, but for her this last half-hour had moved too fast. First the appearance of her angel on the cliff, then the rescue, heightened by that once-in-a-lifetime kiss. Finally she’d been whisked away to this delectable man’s secret lair.

On the beach, as his hands had traced over her body and his mouth had covered hers, she’d craved far more than his kiss. Here was her opportunity. Maybe she ought to take up his offer to help her undress.

She felt a familiar heat and opened her eyes. He was hunkered down beside her, dark brows drawn, the bristles on his jaw rough and close enough to touch.

“Hey…you all right?”

Genuine concern shone in his eyes. For so many reasons, it wasn’t the time to think beyond what was relevant. Salt had dried on her skin where the rain hadn’t reached. Sand, stuck to her shorts and her back, rubbed against the seat. And her scratches should be washed out properly too. Never mind about getting naked. Right now she needed to get clean.

Carefully she pushed to her feet again. “I think a hot bath is exactly what I need.”

He loaned her an arm, collected the chair in his free hand, and she hobbled with him over to the tub. He set the chair below a tarnished brass rack and, before drawing the curtain, said, “That’s a fresh towel.”

Then the curtain whizzed closed and she was alone.

She slipped out of her clothes. When a perfect fan-shaped shell fell from her shorts pocket she set it on a rickety shelf. A few minutes later she slipped into warm liquid heaven.

Her ankle twinged briefly before she slid against the porcelain until she was fully under. Working her fingertips over her skull and through her hair, she shifted the stubborn sand and salt. After coming up for air, she repeated the exercise twice more. Then she closed her eyes and, resting her neck against the rim, simply floated.

When her nostrils blew air into the water, she yanked herself up with a start. She’d drifted close to sleep, and the bath had lost its steamy edge. Past time to dry off.

But as she reached for the towel her attention honed in on the rain, still thumping on the roof, and the wet clothes piled near the chair.

Her throat closed.

She had nothing to wear.

A gust of wind blew the curtain in, and she snatched the towel to her breast. But the wind dropped just as suddenly as it had appeared and the curtain fell straight again.

Wet hair running rivers over her shoulders, Nina first straddled the bath’s rim then, careful of her foot, stepped out and secured the towel under her arms. The door had opened and shut; her companion must have left while she’d been submerged, rinsing out her hair. But where had he gone?

Wondering if she should call out, she instead peeked around the curtain’s corner—and her legs all but buckled.

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