Praise for VICTORIA DAHL

“Dahl delivers a fun, feisty and relentlessly sexy adventure in her first contemporary.”

—Publishers Weekly on Talk Me Down

“Sassy and smokingly sexy, Talk Me Down is one delicious joyride of a book.”

—New York Times bestselling author Connie Brockway

“Sparkling, special and oh so sexy—Victoria Dahl is a special treat!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips on Talk Me Down

“[A] hands-down winner, a sensual story filled with memorable characters.”

—Booklist on Start Me Up

“Dahl has spun a scorching tale about what can happen in the blink of an eye and what we can do to change our lives.”

—RT Book Reviews,

4 stars, on Start Me Up

Dear Reader,

A few years ago, my family and I moved from the mountains of Colorado to the coast of Virginia. If you and I are ever stuck together in an elevator, I’ll happily tell you the horror story of that cross-country move, but for now, let’s just say it was an adventure. Yes, an adventure!

Before then, I’d only seen the ocean a handful of times, but during our two years in Virginia we traveled up and down the coast and spent hours exploring the Chesapeake Bay and the Great Dismal Swamp. Every day was an exciting discovery (ever heard of biting flies?) and I loved it.

I knew that any story told in this setting would have to have some thrills, but I had no idea it would be quite so chock-full of them! A plane crash, a federal investigation, tabloid scandals, a runaway groom, the paparazzi, sunken treasure and lies, lies and more lies! Plus, of course, a steamy vacation fling on a nearly deserted island. And perhaps the strangest part of the whole story…there’s a nice, normal, average girl at the center of it all. (This is reminding me more and more of that cross-country move.)

So how does a nice, normal girl find herself in the middle of an international tabloid scandal? I hope you don’t mind the quick detour from the mountains to the beach to find out. After all, the wild coast of Virginia is perfect for adventure, and who couldn’t use a few days in a beachside cottage? With a handsome treasure hunter. And ice-cold margaritas.

Enjoy!

Victoria Dahl

Crazy for Love
Victoria Dahl

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Bridezilla on the Loose

Where in the world is Chloe Turner? Less than a week before her fiancé’s day of reckoning in a Virginia courthouse, the infamous Bridezilla is nowhere to be found. Her family denies knowing where she might be hiding, but at least one of them is concerned. “I don’t know what’s going on with her,” her cousin Tiffany Capshaw says. “She won’t call me back now that the wedding’s off. I just want to know how she’s doing, but she refuses to return my calls.”

It’s unlikely that her fiancé Thomas DeLorn has any idea where she is either. By all accounts, Chloe hasn’t tried to reach him since the world discovered that he’d survived the plane crash that destroyed his PIPER AIRCRAFT in the depths of the Great Dismal Swamp. “They haven’t spoken,” a source close to the runaway groom has said. “It’s really weird.” Why? Because Thomas and Chloe were supposed to have been married on the twentieth, and would’ve been finishing up their honeymoon this very week. But while Thomas prepares to face possible felony charges related to his escape from the engagement, not to mention possible civil suit over search and rescue costs, Chloe Turner maintains her silence.

Thomas has released the occasional statement, but Chloe hasn’t said a word about either his ill-planned escape from their engagement or the charges that she pushed him to that recklessness with her increasingly overbearing behavior.

“She was impossible,” cousin Tiffany claims. “She was always a little stuck up, but once the wedding plans started, you’d have thought she was marrying the president of England.” England, of course, doesn’t have a president, but Tiffany clarified her statement. “Everything had to be perfect. The groomsmen had to be handsome. Her bridesmaids couldn’t be fat. I found out why she didn’t ask me. I’m too short. She said I’d throw off the pattern from medium to tall. I heard she rejected another friend because her coloring didn’t go with the dresses Chloe wanted.”

Despite the stories of tantrums and bad behavior, a few people deny that Chloe was a bridezilla at all. “It’s ridiculous!” her best friend Jenn Castellan shouted when pressed for a comment. “She’s never been anything but nice. Never!” Jenn, who recently accused the paparazzi of chasing Chloe Turner down like a wild animal, has been her constant defender, but even she can’t explain what could’ve driven a man to fake his own death in order to escape a perfectly nice girl. “You’ll have to ask Thomas,” was her terse reply.

But Thomas has been a gentleman, at least in that regard. He has yet to comment on any of the stories about Chloe’s alleged mood swings, and a new story seems to emerge every day. “She seemed nice at first,” said LaShawna Hays, who sold Chloe Turner her wedding dress. As owner of Unique Bridal, she’s had years of experience with every type of Bridezilla, but says her internal alarms didn’t go off at first. “She came in with Thomas the first time. He was sweet to her, and she acted pretty excited.” But as the weeks went on, LaShawna explained, Chloe started making demands. “She wanted changes made to the dress, but when something didn’t turn out the way she wanted, she lost it. I never saw Thomas with her again.”

Of course, brides are under an enormous amount of pressure, explains Hollywood psychologist Harold Woolsey. “For aggressive, perfectionist personalities, this can push them to a sort of emotional break. They need the day to be perfect. They can’t accept that mistakes are inevitable. So they force everyone around them to perfection too. But once the wedding plans are in place, the idea of stopping the process is a devastating prospect. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Mr. DeLorn simply felt he had no other option but to disappear.”

The world first became aware of Thomas when his small plane crashed into Virginia’s Great Dismal Swamp. Rescue crews searched the dense woods for two days, assuming he’d wandered injured from the plane. But authorities soon found clues that Thomas hadn’t been in the plane when it crashed. The four-day manhunt for the missing bridegroom captivated the nation, and the mystery only deepened when he was found lounging on a beach in Florida.

Clearly, Thomas DeLorn was in dire straits when he chose to parachute out of his personal plane and make a run for it. But what, exactly, was going on behind the scenes? He’s already been charged with fraud, but we’ll undoubtedly find out more on Monday when the Commonwealth of Virginia is expected to file additional charges against Thomas DeLorn. The District Attorney is being close-lipped, but there’s increasing talk that Thomas was helped by someone.

“He was waiting for someone,” says an anonymous source who works at the beachside resort where Thomas hid during his disappearance. “He looked relaxed the first couple of days, and then he started getting nervous. He kept wandering into the lobby, trying to look casual.” Pictures of Thomas taken at the beach in Florida show him wearing sunglasses and a hat as he relaxes near the water. There’s no word on whether the tropical drink in his hand was a nod toward celebration or stress relief. One thing we do know for sure, Thomas wasn’t planning on returning to Virginia. He’d registered at the hotel under the name Simon Bale, and arrest reports confirm that he was found with thousands of dollars in cash. The charges on Monday may reveal more details of his plans to escape the clutches of his crazed bride.

So where is the spurned Bridezilla? Despite rumors that she’d decided to take her honeymoon without the groom, Daily Net can confirm that Chloe is not at the luxury resort in Hawaii where she was supposed to spend her first two weeks of wedded bliss. “Those reservations were canceled,” says a hotel spokesperson.

A fellow employee at the accounting firm where Chloe Turner works has confirmed her disappearance and that of her friend, Jenn Castellan. “They’re out of town,” the anonymous source alleged. “Partying. A girls’ week. They were planning to celebrate.” But what could Chloe have to celebrate the week before her fiancé faces such dire consequences? “I heard she got an offer from Playboy,” the coworker revealed. “But I don’t know about that. She’s kind of average.”

Average or not, Chloe Turner has captivated the nation’s attention. By all accounts, the couple was perfectly normal before the proposal. A video of the engagement party shows a cheerful woman toasting her future husband before draining the whole glass of champagne. But only eight months later, Thomas DeLorn would risk death rather than face the terror of calling off the wedding. What changed for this couple? What secrets have yet to be revealed?

Stay tuned to Daily Net for daily breaking news on the Bridezilla scandal, the trial, and the search for Chloe Turner.

CONTENTS

Cover

Praise for VICTORIA DAHL

Dear Reader

Title Page

Dedication

Bridezilla on the Loose

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

CHLOE TURNER STARED DOWN into the black, roiling water, squinting her eyes against the cool spray. The wind ate into her skin. When the boat dipped into a trough, the water rose up, reaching for her, trying to pull her under. She drew her head back as if she could avoid the swipe of the watery paw. Before she could recover from the fear of that close call, the boat tipped up, climbing toward the crest of another wave. The storm had come out of nowhere. She suspected they were in big trouble.

A slender hand settled on her shoulder, offering faint comfort.

“I think we might die out here,” Chloe murmured.

The hand smacked her arm. Hard. “Oh, for God’s sake, Chloe. It’s a frickin’ ferryboat. Get over yourself.”

Chloe tossed a glare at her best friend, Jenn. “We’re in the middle of the ocean. In a storm.”

“First of all, we’re barely out of the bay. Second, there’s a nine-year-old kid a few feet away who’s having the time of his life.”

The boat rose on another storm-tossed wave, and Chloe’s stomach dropped. When the boy hooted with excitement, she glared in his direction. “Idiot,” she muttered.

Jenn smacked her again. “If a reporter heard you say that, you’d be screwed.”

“They can’t find me on a boat. Isn’t that the reason we’re sailing straight into the perfect storm?”

“Be nice or I’ll call and alert them to your whereabouts.”

Chloe shrugged and pushed a strand of wet brown hair out of her eyes. “I’ll be tipped off when you put on makeup and turn on the cleavage show.”

A smile pulled up the corners of her friend’s mouth. “I did look pretty hot last Saturday.”

Chloe smiled back. “You did. Especially when you put your hand in front of the camera and yelled, ‘She is not an animal!’”

“Oh, God,” Jenn groaned, using that very same hand to cover her eyes. “I still can’t believe that. It was so chaotic.”

“The good news is that a nineteenth-century London freak show called to offer me a stall. I get to keep half the coins the public pelts at me.”

Jenn shook her head, the hood of her windbreaker slipping back to expose her gorgeous blond hair. “You’ll never get tired of that joke, will you?”

“Never.” As Chloe’s laughter faded, she glanced over her shoulder, as if she could still see the Virginia coastline behind her. “Do you think they followed us?”

“The photographers?” Jenn’s eyes clouded with worry, but Chloe was already feeling silly. No speeding car had followed them from Richmond. No black van had screeched up to the ferry landing to disgorge a pack of paparazzi. Chloe might feel infamous and trapped by the notoriety thrust upon her by her ex-fiancé, but she wasn’t hunted day and night. Not quite.

“No one saw us leave, Chloe.”

“I know, I know. Sorry, it’s just—” The ferry swayed forward and a loud thump vibrated up through her knees. “Oh, God!” she cried out, grabbing for the railing. “This is it. We’re going down.”

Mouth flat with obvious disgust, Jenn shook her head. “We’re at the dock, you coward.”

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe looked around, eyes widening at the dark shadow of the dock looming out of the mist. “We made it? Oh, my God, we actually made it!”

“You won’t have to fight that kid for a seat on the lifeboat, so I’m pretty relieved, too.”

“I totally could’ve taken him,” Chloe murmured under her breath as she followed Jenn to the walkway. Jenn must’ve heard her, because she twisted around to give Chloe a narrow look.

Chloe had been a nice, happy person just a month before. The kind of girl who’d never joke about fighting a kid for a seat on a lifeboat. Hopefully, somewhere deep inside, she was still nice, but she’d taken so many brutal blows in the past few weeks that she couldn’t feel anything but the dull pain of layered bruises.

But not right now. Not this week. Jenn had arranged this trip to get Chloe away from the insanity created by her broken engagement. They’d managed to ditch the paparazzi back on the mainland, and there was no roaring speedboat looming out of the mist to catch them.

Jenn had assured her that the tiny resort on White Rock Island didn’t have any TVs, and the whole island was limited to fuzzy reception on old-fashioned antennas. This might be the one place where Chloe wouldn’t be recognized.

The deckhands lowered the walkway to the narrow wooden dock. Drawing a deep breath, Chloe watched a spot of sunlight on the dock expand into a wide patch. When she glanced up toward the heavy gray clouds, the sun burst through like an omen of good days ahead. Her luck was changing. She was sure of it. Even the wind shifted toward the east, warming away the chill she’d caught earlier.

“Come on,” Jenn called out, waving toward the short line of people filing onto the dock. At the end of May, the weather wasn’t consistent enough to draw people to the little island. Today, for example, had brought forth a wicked thunderstorm, but now the clouds were shrinking and breaking up, and summer temperatures returned.

When Chloe set her foot on the dock, which rocked only a little less than the boat, she drew in a deep breath of relief.

Jenn slipped her arm through Chloe’s. “Are you ready to relax?”

“Yes.”

“The resort will pick up our bags. Let’s grab some groceries and head over.”

Sand crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward the buildings gathered around the tiny harbor. The resort was less than half a mile away, according to Jenn, and they could walk or ride bikes while they were here, which meant they’d have to be choosy about their groceries.

“You brought the margarita mix?” Chloe asked.

Jenn patted her gigantic purse, and a quiet clunk echoed from its depths. “Safe and sound.”

“So we should be good with Lean Cuisines and doughnuts?”

“I don’t see why not.”

In the end they added a few more essentials to the list: chips and guac, Diet Coke, marshmallows, and some grapes to counter nutritional guilt. Half an hour later, they were on the porch of their seaside cabin, legs propped on the porch railing and iced margaritas in their plastic cups.

“This is going to be a great week,” Jenn said brightly. Chloe wasn’t so sure, but the longer she sat there, the more likely that seemed. The Richmond courthouse and Chloe’s ex-fiancé were a whole world away. Maybe two. And Jenn had been right: their little two-bedroom cottage had a kitchen and a bathroom and a porch facing the waves, but one thing it didn’t have was a television.

Better yet, her cell phone showed only one flickering bar, so even if a reporter did manage to get through, Chloe wouldn’t be able to hear him over the constant crash of the waves. She was off the grid, and the idea melted her into the ancient gray wood of her deck chair.

Miracle of miracles, she was relaxed. More herself. But it didn’t feel like she was becoming herself again, exactly. She was reverting to something more primitive. A feral cat sunning itself on the sand.

Her muscles gave up their tight hold on her bones. Her joints loosened. Chloe slipped her sunglasses on and gave her body and soul up to the beach.

MAX SULLIVAN GRIPPED the boat’s railing in numb hands and told himself that everything was okay. His brother was at the helm of his new boat—he’d turned out to be a quick learner—and the storm was subsiding. Max didn’t need to rush over and take control. Elliott was fine. Still, he stared daggers into Elliott’s back, willing him to turn around.

Finally, he did. “You want to bring it in?” Elliott called over the wind, tilting his head toward the wheel. “I’m not sure I’m skilled enough for this.”

Max sucked air into his starving lungs and released his death grip on the railing. He hated being on the water. More than that, he hated being on the water during a high wind with a man who didn’t know the first thing about boating. But that was the point. Max couldn’t have let his brother learn the ropes by himself on the open sea. People died like that. So Max just offered his trademark grin and sauntered toward the captain’s chair.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll take her in.”

“Her,” Elliott repeated. “Right. Sea lingo.”

Elliott had bought the boat to try to prove to himself that he wasn’t a workaholic, but now he looked troubled by the idea of learning how to have fun.

“It’ll be great,” Max said as enthusiastically as he could, considering that he was looking out at waves instead of solid ground. One careless move and the ocean would happily suck both brothers into its dark maw. Max was exhausted from constantly guarding against the danger.

Six weeks on dry land had sounded like pure heaven after three months on the southern Mediterranean searching for treasure. Max had the perfect damn life…and he hated it. Not that he was ungracious enough to let anyone else know that.

He glanced back to Elliott, who was starting to gather up their gear. Elliott was supposed to be learning, and Max knew he should call his brother over and guide him through docking, but he told himself it would be better to wait for nicer weather. Then again, if Elliott rocked the boat into a piling with enough force, the boat would need repairs and they could abandon this so-called vacation.

A wave swelled beneath them, throwing Max into the wheel as if in punishment for his fantasy. “All right,” he muttered into the wind before waving his brother over. “Come on. I’ll guide you through it. You shouldn’t take her out in crud like this, but you never know what’s going to blow in unexpectedly.”

He talked Elliott through the danger of the narrow breakwater and into the marginally calmer waters of the tiny harbor. Five minutes later, his jaw and hands ached from tension, but the boat was safely tied in at one of the slips.

“Good work,” he said to Elliott, instead of blurting out what he really wanted to say. Why couldn’t you take up golf like all the other high-level guys at the CDC?

Elliott jumped onto the dock and Max handed the bags up to him so they could start the walk to their cabin. “How’d you find this place?”

Elliott shrugged. “Somebody on one of the boating sites recommended it.”

“Looks nice.” Max jumped up and they walked in silence for a while before he took another look at his brother’s tight shoulders. “Elliott…” he started, wondering if he should mention the ex-wife. What the hell. “You’re not doing all this just because of Rebecca, are you?”

Though Max had worried about offending him, Elliott didn’t even look surprised, much less offended. “She was right.”

“Aw, screw her,” Max muttered. “You’re a great guy. You know how many women would kill to marry a guy like you? You’re totally stable. You’re hardworking and honest and—”

“I’m not plugged in, I work too damn much and I’m boring as hell.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit.”

Max scowled, shifting the duffel bag to his other shoulder. “You love your job.”

“Yeah, I love my job, but it can’t be everything. I always worked too much, but after the last flu crisis… I wasn’t even surprised when she left, man. She’d given me enough warning.”

Thinking of Rebecca, with her shiny black hair and bright blue eyes, Max shook his head. He’d first met her at his brother’s wedding rehearsal, and his initial impression had been positive. She was lively, a real firecracker, only slightly overwhelmed by the stress of pulling off a perfect wedding.

Six months later, Max had returned from another long stint on the water and found that her liveliness had shifted toward restlessness and impatience with Elliott. Her hostile remarks about Elliott working on weekends had been interspersed with pointed observations about Max’s work. Travel and excitement and weeks in exotic locations. She’d oohed and aahed until Max had been uncomfortable enough to leave early.

The truth was that life on the sea was utter boredom punctuated by moments of alarm. The tanned skin and windswept hair threw people off. But Rebecca hadn’t been interested in explanations. She’d only been needling her husband. Max hadn’t been surprised by the news that she’d left the day after their first anniversary. Apparently, Elliott hadn’t been, either.

Max cleared his throat. “You’re not trying to get her back, are you?”

Elliott surprised him by laughing. “Give me some credit. I know we weren’t right for each other. I just don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

“You dating somebody?”

“Would I be spending a week at the beach with you if I were?”

“Hell, you’ve already admitted to being bad with women. Wasn’t sure it would occur to you to bring a girl.”

“Bite me,” Elliott muttered.

“Again, better with a girl.”

The punch to his shoulder hurt like a bitch. Despite spending sixty hours a week behind a desk, Elliott wasn’t exactly a weakling, and they’d had plenty of practice whaling on each other as kids. Just as he had when they were young, Max laughed like it hadn’t hurt and pushed his younger brother hard enough to make him stumble.

The sound and smell of the ocean still pressed in on him, but with his brother’s laughter bouncing off the surrounding boats, Max decided maybe this vacation would be okay after all. But he’d stay on guard against disaster, just as he always did. The ocean had a way of serving up surprises.

CHAPTER TWO

“I THINK I’M DRUNK,” Chloe murmured. The clouds had drifted away, and she was floating in a pool of sunlight and alcohol. “When did we eat lunch?”

Jenn rolled her head and looked sleepily in her direction. “We were on the ferry during lunchtime. We forgot.”

“Huh. We should probably eat then, or this could get ugly.”

“Uglier than being drunk at 3:00 p.m.?”

“Way uglier. Should I fire up the microwave?”

Jenn groaned in answer and shook her head. “Maybe we should eat some big cheeseburgers to celebrate the start of our vacation. There’s a seedy bar just past the resort office.”

Though Chloe’s eyes had started to drift shut again, they popped open at the thought of bar food. “Really? We do want to start this week off on the right foot…”

“Exactly.”

Just beyond the blond halo of Jenn’s hair, Chloe spotted movement. Leaning forward a little, she slid her sunglasses down her nose and narrowed her eyes against the warm breeze. “Hello.”

“What?” Jenn asked before her mouth opened wide in a yawn.

The approaching men had come fully into view now, so Chloe relaxed back into her seat and pushed her glasses up to hide her eyes. “I think we’ve got neighbors.”

Jenn’s nose wrinkled. “Not those gossipy old ladies from the store?”

“Not even close.”

Her friend finally roused herself enough to roll her head in the other direction, and Chloe knew the moment Jenn spotted the two men, because she inhaled sharply enough to send a nearby seagull flapping away. The men were still too far off to have heard, but they were getting closer, obviously headed toward the cabin next door.

They both had dark brown hair and wide shoulders. Both wore cargo shorts that showed off strong calves dusted with dark hair. Brothers or cousins maybe, as the hard lines of their jaws were exact replicas, though one of the men was taller and had a dark tan that set him apart. The other wore cute wire-rimmed glasses and held his mouth in a far more serious line.

The tanned one turned his head in the direction of Chloe and Jenn, and he hesitated a bit over his next step, probably surprised to find he had an audience. Still, he didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable as he jogged up the steps to the porch, the movement smooth despite the big duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

Before the men had even disappeared through the door, Jenn’s head whipped toward Chloe. “Holy smokes! Do you think it would be wrong to have a torrid affair with twins?”

“You think they’re twins?”

“Close enough that I could pretend.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, choking on laughter. “If you take both of them, who does that leave me with?”

Jenn sat up, dropping her bare feet to the floor as she took off her shades to meet Chloe’s gaze. “Are you interested? I’ll let you have both if you’re serious.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to cleanse Thomas from your palate.”

Blood rushed to Chloe’s face, though she didn’t know why she felt shy.

“You need to,” Jenn insisted.

“No one wants to date an infamous Bridezilla. I’m kryptonite to the male sex drive. After the first date, a man would expect to wake up and find me standing at the foot of the bed in a tattered wedding gown, rattling a pair of leg shackles.”

“So this is the perfect place. No one here knows who you are.”

Chloe shrugged and slipped her feet into her sandals. “Those guys aren’t from the island. For all we know they could be paparazzi.” She regretted her flip words when her friend’s eyes widened with alarm.

“You think they’re paparazzi?”

She glanced toward the cabin again, thinking of the healthy glow of the taller man. “No, I was just being rude. Those guys look way too healthy to be paparazzi. But as for dating…I just can’t do that.”

“So you’re never going to date again?”

Despite the humiliation burning through her chest, Chloe had to smile at the worry in Jenn’s voice. “It’s only been a month. I’ve got some new trust issues, Jenn. That’s what happens when your fiancé fakes his own death just to get away from you.”

“Thomas was obviously enormously screwed up.”

“Yeah, it seems so clear now.” Chloe let herself relax back into her wooden deck chair. “He was nice before though, right? That wasn’t my imagination.”

“Yes, he was nice, but—”

“So there’s another issue I’m trying to figure out. If he’d really been so nice, he would’ve at least called me after he faked his own death and humiliated me in front of the entire world, right? He’s never even called. Though his mom left me a couple of messages this week. Maybe he talked her into calling for him.”

Jenn cringed and swallowed hard, so Chloe forced a smile. “There’s no hope for me, Jenn. I can’t handle a pair of hot twins right now. You go on without me. Save yourself.”

Jenn opened her mouth as if to argue, but after a moment, she took a deep breath and shook her head. “So I can have them both?”

“You’re such a faker. You’ve only had sex with two guys in your whole life. Individually. I don’t think you’re ready for a threesome.”

“Shut up. You’re ruining my fantasy. And as you pointed out, fantasy is all I have most of the time.”

That was true. Jenn, who was willowy and beautiful and outgoing with her girlfriends, became a nervous wreck around men. A threesome was definitely not in her future. In fact, she was blushing already, just from talking about it.

Chloe rolled her shoulders and stood up, amazed that her neck had lost the ache that had resided there for the past month. “We’re both pitiful and hopeless, so we may as well have those cheeseburgers. The seagulls won’t give a damn what we look like in our bikinis.”

Jenn slipped on her flip-flops while Chloe grabbed her wallet, and they headed off across the sand, not bothering to pretend they weren’t trying to look into the men’s cabin as they passed. “They’re probably a couple,” Chloe murmured.

“I was serious about you going for it,” Jenn said. “Not with both of them, but at least one.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“You need some fun, Chloe. I can’t stand seeing you this way. Screw Thomas. Live it up. Be Island Chloe!”

“Island Chloe, huh?” She shook her head in resolute denial. Her life was crazy enough as it was. “It’s not in me. Not right now.”

“Just…keep an open mind.”

Two minutes later they were standing in front of the rough gray walls of the bar, brushing sand off their feet.

“This place is great,” Jenn assured her. “It’s packed during tourist season. We used to swipe beers off tables and hang around on the deck.”

Nobody was on the seaside deck today, but the locals probably got tired of ocean views and sun.

When they finally walked in, the first thing Chloe noticed was the arctic air-conditioning. She was about to suggest that they sit outside when she noticed something else. A lot must have changed since Jenn had worked on the island ten years before. There were plasma-screen TVs in all four corners of the bar, and there was nothing static-y about the baseball games playing on any of them.

“Oh, no,” Jenn breathed.

Fields glowed in vivid green contrast to the bright white uniforms on the closest screen. “The wonders of satellite,” Chloe muttered, trying not to feel bitter, even as a familiar sense of panic boiled up in her chest.

“Chloe, I’m so sorry! I had no idea!”

“It’s not your fault, and it’s no big deal anyway. It’s just a sports bar. Nobody here cares about me.” And it was true, at least at the moment. There were only six customers in the place, and though heads turned in their direction, the games drew their attention again quickly enough.

Chloe let out a deep breath. Slowly. “Will you order while I grab a table on the deck?”

Jenn nodded and shooed her out as if there were a scrum of people at the door, all jostling for a seat outside.

Chloe spun and reached for the handle, but she froze with her hand wrapped around the cold metal. She didn’t like the fear creeping along her spine, didn’t like the panic making her fingers shake. Over the past month, she’d turned into a coward who jumped at every shadow and couldn’t even trust people enough to eat dinner near them. The mere sight of a working television squeezed her stomach into knots.

She didn’t want to run outside. She hadn’t been in a bar with a girlfriend in…forever.

Fear turned to rage for a brief, shining moment, and Chloe spun back to face the bar, determined not to run…just this one time.

No one was watching her. Not even Jenn.

She let go of her death grip on the door handle and took a deep breath. Thomas’s stupidity and cowardice had turned her into a paranoid freak. Or, if she were feeling fair, the twenty-four-hour media culture had turned her into that freak, but Chloe wasn’t feeling the least bit fair.

But she was feeling wonderfully anonymous, so she put her chin up, ignored the icy air-conditioning and took a seat at the nearest table. One baby step at a time, she’d find a way to start a new life for herself. After this was over, she’d dye her hair and get a new apartment and walk through life as if her name hadn’t become synonymous with psycho-bitch. But for now, she’d have a drink in the bar and not look over her shoulder while she was doing it. Baby steps.

TRYING HIS BEST to ignore the incessant sound of rumbling waves, Max prodded the hot coals in the grill he’d set up on the sand.

“Hey!” Elliott called from the porch. “You sure you don’t want me to do that?”

“I got it,” he shouted back. Elliott lived in a high-rise condo in D.C. He likely didn’t understand the dangers of wind-whipped fire. If Max didn’t man the grill himself, he’d just stand on the porch, arms crossed, watching Elliott to be sure he didn’t let the flames get too high. It was more relaxing to simply take control of the situation.

“All right,” said Elliott from right behind him. “I’ve got beer duty covered, though.” He handed Max an ice-cold Corona and stood a little too close to the grill for Max’s comfort. Max shifted toward his brother to edge him farther away.

Jaw set as he stared out at the waves, Elliott moved a few inches to the side. Jesus, he looked even more miserable than Max felt. Max rolled his shoulders and put on his smile.

“Say,” he said, slapping his brother on the back, “there are women on this island.”

The creases in Elliott’s forehead deepened. “I think wild vacation flings are more your kind of thing.”

“Mm,” Max grunted, aware, as he always was, that the persona he’d crafted for himself fit him about as well as an extrasmall wet suit. Fun-loving, carefree adventurer. It couldn’t be further from the truth. But the wild woman part? That struck a little closer to home. “Yeah, well, I thought you were trying to add some spark to your life.”

“That last girl you dated sure threw off sparks,” Elliott offered, his mouth finally curving up in a smile.

“Don’t remind me,” Max groaned.

The smile twisted into a full-on grin. “What was her name?”

“Genevieve.”

“Right, the infamous Genevieve Bianca. She…”

“Hey,” Max cut in, “weren’t we talking about you?”

“What’s the point? Your life is a hell of a lot more interesting. It always has been.”

“The fucking plague is interesting, too.” Max deserved the laughter he got in response. Interesting was a mild word to describe his love life.

His woman problems had started out innocently enough. He liked to take care of things. To make sure the details of life were addressed. To make sure that people were taken care of.

There was no mystery about the origins of this neurosis. Their father had been an irresponsible, selfish bastard with no interest in taking care of anyone but himself. As the older son, Max had found himself stepping into that role. But something about the responsibility had gotten stuck deep inside him like a barbed hook. He couldn’t ignore it, even when any rational person would be able to walk away. The need to guide people out of trouble was a painful tugging in his brain. And women in trouble…

Christ, his love life had been a goddamn catastrophe from the moment he’d turned sixteen. Everyone thought he was attracted to bad girls. The truth was, they were attracted to him, and he was pathologically unable to turn his back on someone in trouble.

Nine months ago, in an era he liked to refer to as post-Genevieve, Max had taken a vow of celibacy. No more women, no matter how vulnerable and needy they were. He was strictly hands-off. Life since then had been perfectly lonely. As isolated as he could manage. He’d loved it.

In fact, he felt a stark envy for Elliott’s life. His quiet apartment. His office filled with papers and books and computers. His complete lack of any hint of drama. Elliott would never believe it, but Max would switch places with him in a heartbeat. Let Elliott deal with a wild, globe-trotting heiress like Genevieve. Max would live like a monk.

A monk who still took pleasure in watching the approach of two pretty women walking across the sand. “See?” he murmured. “Women.”

Max took a swig from his beer and poked at the coals while Elliott did a double take. When the women looked in their direction and both smiled at the same time, Max did a double take, too.

They were nearly the same height—about five-six, he’d guess—but the similarities ended there. The blonde had long wavy hair and delicate features. The brunette was curvier, but wholesome-looking, like a hybrid of Ginger and Mary Ann from Gilligan’s Island. Both Ginger and Mary Ann had been staple fantasies in Max’s early teen years. He was intrigued.

No, you’re not, his stern inner voice assured him.

Turning back to the grill, he grabbed the pack of hot dogs to keep himself busy. A vacation fling was the last thing he needed.

But his brain replayed the image of wind-whipped hair and swaying hips on an endless loop in his brain. That brunette looked peaceful, and Max craved peace the way a pirate craved treasure.

Perhaps a deserted island wasn’t the best location for a man who’d sworn off booty.

CHAPTER THREE

JENN GRABBED ANOTHER ROCK from the pile and added it to the fire ring with a worried glance toward the other cabin. “He’s watching you,” she whispered to Chloe.

“He’s probably watching you,” Chloe answered with a distracted frown. “But I thought you wanted him to watch me,” she continued. Jenn watched her scoop up a handful of sand and let it drift through her fingers.

“Now I’m suspicious.”

“Hot guy checking me out? I don’t blame you.”

Jenn rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

Chloe just sifted more sand, her brow furrowed.

“Aren’t you having fun?”

“What?” Chloe glanced up and her face cleared a little. “No, I’m having fun! This is great. Very relaxing.”

“Relaxing, huh? I was hoping we’d make it all the way to Funtown.”

Chloe laughed, but Jenn regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth. “Funtown! God, I haven’t heard that in forever. I never see Anna anymore. Maybe we should’ve invited her, too.”

“Mmm,” Jenn answered, trying for nonchalance, wishing she hadn’t mentioned anything associated with Anna Fenton. “You know how busy she’s been with her job. I hardly see her anymore, either.”

“She could’ve gotten off work if she’d wanted to. Her dad owns the damn hotel chain.”

“Yeah…” Jenn’s heart thundered in her chest as the weight of her lies pressed down on her. She shook her hair back, hoping to shake off the worry, as well. This vacation was meant to be fun, and she assured herself that everything would be fine. “I think he’s grooming Anna to take over the kingdom or something.”

“Too bad. It would’ve been nice. Like revisiting college. You two could’ve shared a room, and I would drop by at inconvenient times to sprawl on your bed and mope about boy trouble!”

“That does sound vaguely familiar.”

“Well, we’ll have to all get together again soon. After the trial. She can help with my makeover. I need her to tell me which era is back in style. You’re as hopeless as I am.”

“I just go to Ann Taylor and let them sell me stuff.” Jenn rolled the last stone into place and dusted off her hands. “Anyway—”

“Why did she decide not to go to culinary school? I haven’t talked to her since she was looking at applications last November.”

Jenn wanted to drop the subject, but she didn’t want to look suspicious, either. “She didn’t decide. Her dad told her that working in the kitchen was a good experience for a woman who was going to own a dozen luxury hotels someday, but she’d become a chef over his dead body.”

“Oh, yikes. I had no idea. How’s she taking that?”

“Okay,” Jenn answered with a forced smile. Chloe had never been as close to Anna as Jenn was, thank God, or there would’ve been no way to cover up this disaster. “Anyway, what’s the big deal? I’m not enough for you?”

“You’re enough for me. Plus, she probably wouldn’t have been able to relax without cell access. But it sounds like she needs a vacation as much as I do.”

Jenn pushed up from her knees to dust off the sand. “I saw a bunch of driftwood at that first dune. I’ll be right back.” Even though Chloe lay back on the cooling sand as if she didn’t have a care in the world, Jenn breathed a sigh of relief as she hurried off.

She wasn’t cut out for deceit and never had been. As a kid, when she’d lied to her parents, all it had taken was one stern look from her dad to break her, forcing a weeping confession. Now the tears seemed to push behind her eyes, waiting for a chance to escape.

But it was too late to confess. There was no point. Chloe needed to move on and Jenn was going to help her do just that.

Anna couldn’t understand that. She’d tried to convince Jenn that this time on the island would be a great opportunity to clear the air, get the truth out. Jenn had pretended to consider it, but, in reality, she wanted the truth buried under a hundred feet of earth where air would never touch it.

Jenn stole a look over her shoulder at Chloe stretched out on the sand, the slanting rays of the setting sun gleaming over her. Chloe deserved to be happy again. Jenn was determined to make that happen, even if it meant lying for the rest of her life.

Speaking of happiness… She used the excuse of bending down for wood to angle her head toward the other cabin. Sure enough, that guy was staring hard at Chloe, forehead creased in thought.

Jenn frowned at him. What could he be thinking about? Did he recognize Chloe? The whole point of this stupid getaway had been to hide Chloe away from prying eyes so she could take a deep breath before the charges were filed, because that was going to be a complete nightmare. Hints were starting to come out that Thomas had done more than just fake his own death…

Jenn wanted to give her friend a little peace before the trauma. And maybe all that other talk would just die down.

Clutching the wood to her chest, Jenn hurried back toward the cabin, keeping her eye on the man next door. He was still frowning at Chloe.

Crap. She wanted Chloe to have a good time, but what if Jenn pushed her toward this guy and he really was a reporter?

Before Jenn could intercept him, he stood and stepped onto the sand.

CHLOE OPENED HER EYES to find a man standing over her, profile orange in the rays of the setting sun.

“Hello,” the man said.

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Hello, yourself.”

“My name’s Max Sullivan. My brother, Elliott, and I are staying next door.”

When he extended a hand, Chloe shook it, then gave it a little tug to hint that she wanted up. Max pulled and she jumped to her feet with hardly any effort at all.

“I noticed,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Max. I’m Chloe. This is Jenn.” She gestured toward Jenn, who was rushing forward with an armful of wood as if she were planning to storm a castle with a battering ram.

He glanced over his shoulder, then dropped Chloe’s hand and swung toward Jenn, saying, “Hey, let me help with that.”

Chloe felt a twinge of unwarranted disappointment when he hurried toward her friend and swept all the driftwood out of her arms. He was probably interested in Jenn, like so many men were. But, sadly, Jenn was a waste of adorable blondness as far as Chloe was concerned. She was shy around guys, and only got more anxious the more attentive they became.

But maybe she liked this guy. Oh, well. Easy come, easy go.

Jenn’s face pinched into worry as Max smiled at her.

“This is Max,” Chloe said hurriedly. “One of our next-door neighbors. He came over to say hi.”

“Hi,” Jenn offered quietly.

Max winked and carried the wood to a spot about ten feet from the fire ring, dropping most of it on the sand before he carried a few pieces toward the pit. “So what are you ladies doing out here in the wilds of Virginia?” he asked as he began rearranging stones.

“Nothing,” Jenn said loudly. “Just relaxing.”

Okay, she wasn’t normally that nervous around guys. Chloe shot her a questioning look, but Jenn ignored it.

Their neighbor scooped more sand out of the pit until the bottom was wide and flat and dark with moisture. “Elliott and I are out here fishing.” He tossed five small pieces of wood into the hole, then added one large one to the top before reaching toward the lighter Chloe had left there.

“That’s not going to make a very big fire,” Chloe muttered. The man shot her an amused smile as if that answered her complaint.

“What do you do for a living?” Jenn blurted out.

His brows rose, drawing Chloe’s attention to his dark brown eyes. Nice. When he began to twist up one of the supermarket circulars she’d brought out as kindling, her focus moved from his eyes to his wide, strong hands. Very nice. “I work on the water,” he answered.

“Doing what?” Jenn’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I’m an officer on a research vessel.”

“Where?” she prodded.

Chloe frowned at her rudeness until Jenn made a picture-taking gesture behind Max’s back. Chloe rolled her eyes and shook her head. No way was this guy with one of the gossip rags. He looked healthy and muscular, not like a man who spent 90 percent of his life huddled outside the doors of L.A. nightclubs. Also, he didn’t have a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Max was hunched over the fire, coaxing a weak flame to grow to something that would take hold of the wood.

Chloe cleared her throat. “I really don’t think that’s going to keep us warm once the sun sets.” Little fingers of fire worked over the tiny bits of driftwood, inching slowly toward the larger piece.

“You can add more later. It’ll burn better if you start small.”

“Are you some sort of beach party expert?”

“I’ve had my fair share of sand down my shorts,” he drawled, finally glancing up from his task. Those brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, and Chloe felt her insides melt at the sight. Was he flirting with her? Or had he looked at both women with the same amount of warmth?

She couldn’t be angry if he was just spreading his luck around. After all, they’d discussed the men as interchangeable parts just a few hours before.

His gold-streaked hair curled onto his brow on a gust of wind, and Max dusted off those big hands and shoved it back, his arm muscles making interesting shadows as he moved. She sat down and helpfully patted the ground next to her, happy when he dropped down and propped his arms on his knees. “What kind of research do you do?” she asked.

“We, um…” His smile edged toward sheepishness. “We locate and map out previously uncharted shipwrecks.”

“Here?”

“No, we’re usually in the Mediterranean.”

“What kind of wrecks?”

He laughed, a deep chuckle that spoke of good humor and friendship. “Mostly the kind that have gold in them.”

“Oh!” Chloe gasped. “You’re a treasure hunter?”

Even Jenn gave up her suspicious glare and looked surprised at that.

“We prefer to think of ourselves as researchers bringing long-lost artifacts out of the depths and back into the world where they belong.”

“Ah, so you give all the loot to museums?”

That smile again. Wow. “We do our best to find dives in international waters, but even we wouldn’t keep the historically significant artifacts for our own profit. For the most part.”

Chloe laughed, but when his gaze fell to her mouth, a little shiver of nervousness jumped through her stomach. The thick piece of driftwood crackled weakly as the fire finally latched on to it. Chloe used it as an excuse to look away. “We’d better move back, Max. That inferno could jump out of control at any moment.”

“My point exactly.” But in acknowledgment of her mockery, he grabbed the last piece he’d brought close to the pit and laid it carefully on the fire, angling a challenging look in her direction. The twisted piece of driftwood was half the size of the other.

Good Lord, this man was quirky. And cute.

“So what do you do for a living?” he asked, turning his head toward Jenn, the original interrogator.

“I’m a CPA.”

Eyebrows raised, he turned back to Chloe.

“Me, too,” she said.

“Wow. Accountants. That’s…sexy.”

“Yeah, right,” she laughed. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. How about you, Jenn?”

“Definitely a first.”

“Come on. Number-geek girls? That’s hot.”

Chloe shook her head, flabbergasted. “That’s the worst pickup line ever! You have to at least say something we might believe. Just because we’re accountants doesn’t mean we’re desperate.”

Max leaned back, a frown twisting his mouth. “That’s not a pickup line! Jeez. Do you think every strange man who wanders into your private party uninvited is just trying to pick you up?”

Laughing, she shook her head.

“Maybe I just saw you in your bikini and thought ‘There’s a girl who’d want to talk baseball over beers.’ Did you ever consider that?”

“No,” she managed past a wide grin.

“Pickup line,” he muttered in mock bitterness.

When her giggles subsided, Chloe thought about buttoning up her shirt. She was wearing shorts, but felt suddenly, hotly aware that her stomach was exposed from her navel all the way to her blue, halter-style bikini. But that would be too obvious as she was still casually propped up on her elbows, so Chloe arched her back a tiny bit to smooth out any unfortunate creases. The skin on her stomach sizzled when his eyes drifted down before he cleared his throat and looked at the fire.

“Anyway, now that I’ve successfully played caveman—” his hand tilted toward the flames before he pushed to his feet “—I’ll leave you to your evening.”

Chloe looked up at him, wondering if he was a little over six feet tall or if her perspective was throwing off her estimate. Aw, who the heck cared? The faint apprehension winding up her gut was a far more pleasant sensation than the one she normally felt. Chloe decided to go for it. “We’ve got marshmallows. You and your brother are welcome to help us roast them if you think we’re not up to the task.”

His gaze flickered down to her stomach again. He seemed to consider her offer carefully before answering. “Well…there is a fine line between pleasantly burned and marshmallow conflagration.”

“So true.”

“I’d hate to leave and then find out later that everything went horribly wrong.”

Chloe smiled in a way she hadn’t smiled at a man in a long time. “Exactly.”

He matched her friendliness with a spectacular smile of his own. “All right. I’ll grab Elliott and some beers and be back in a few minutes. Thanks.”

She maintained her smile as he walked away. It wasn’t hard. He presented a very nice picture in retreat. Without looking away from Max’s ass, Chloe asked, “What the heck’s wrong with you, Jenn?”

“I saw him watching you from their porch. I worried that he’d recognized you. He could be a photographer, you know.”

“If he brings his camera back with him, we’ll know for sure.”

“A reporter then,” Jenn insisted.

“Look at him. Have you seen even one newspaper reporter who looks like that? He looks exactly like a man who’s spent months on a boat in paradise.”

“That’s true.”

“Thanks for trying to watch out for me, sweetie. You’re the best friend in the world. But I’m starting to think your original plan was a good idea. Vacation relaxation helped along by some illicit island love, remember?”

Jenn’s face finally brightened. “You know what? You’re right. He’s not a reporter. And he’s hot. You should go for it. Absolutely. Get your groove back.”

“Was he really watching me?”

“Yes.”

“Like, in a good way? Or in a ‘I wonder if her dismembered limbs will fit into my duffel bag’ way?”

“He was frowning, actually, so I was wondering what he was thinking. But maybe he was just coming up with awful pickup lines.”

Chloe waved a hand before scrambling up to her feet. “He probably thinks I look vaguely familiar but can’t place me. I get that a lot these days. Luckily, there’s no one around to clue him in…unless his brother recognizes me. But whatever.” She took a deep breath. “I’m Island Chloe, right? The girl without a care in the world?”

“Yes!” squealed Jenn, pumping her fist into the air in victory. “Funtown, here we come!”

“Maybe just a short trip.” Chloe lifted her chin high. “And now I am going to go put on some clothes, so I can stop holding in my gut.”

CHAPTER FOUR

DARN IT, THIS GIRL WAS CUTE. Max took a swig from his beer, his gaze rising up to the swirl of stars above, but fully aware that she was only inches away. He couldn’t count the number of nights he’d spent staring up at the Milky Way, surrounded by the sounds of lapping, rolling water, but he’d never been quite so relaxed.

Chloe was like a softly pulsing beacon beside him, sending off waves of warmth and peace. It would’ve been the perfect evening if not for the damn fire they kept feeding more wood to. At this rate, it would be morning before the embers cooled and Max could stop worrying enough to get some sleep.

“Another?” Chloe asked, holding out the bag of marshmallows. Max shook his head, and she set the bag back on the cooler before licking the last of the sticky mess from her fingers. He watched her mouth carefully. Her tongue glinted sparks of firelight when she licked.

They’d pulled chairs down to the sand, so he was separated from her by the wide wood armrests of the old beach chairs, but that was probably a good thing. As attractive as he found her, Max still didn’t plan on getting involved. But she kept licking melted sugar from her fingers, eyes closed as if she enjoyed the task…

“Castellan,” he heard the other woman saying to Elliott. “Jenn Castellan.”

Max made his eyes give up their vigil on Chloe’s fingers and turned toward the blonde. “That’s a Spanish name, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Her smile looked more relaxed, too. As if they’d all fallen under a drugged spell. “I know I don’t look it. But my grandfather came straight from Spain to America. We’re all blond and blue-eyed Spaniards.”

“Funny,” he said, “Chloe’s the one who looks like she could have Spanish blood. What’s your last name?”

Her gaze shifted for a moment, fingers folding together for a brief squeeze before she picked up a stick and started poking at the fire. “It’s Turner.”

“Turner. That sounds perfectly English.”

She took a deep breath, as if she were waiting for something, but after a few seconds, she melted back into her seat. “It is. Nearly 100 percent. Embarrassingly boring.”

“We’re all Irish. Sullivans on one side, McKillops on the other.”

“So how’d a nice Irish boy like you get into treasure hunting? No work at the police station?”

Elliott laughed, raising his beer toward Max in a mini-toast. “Max was always out there getting into some sort of trouble. He likes to be in the middle of everything. I’m just happy he found a way to turn it into a job.”

Her knee bumped into Max’s, drawing his attention back. “You were a troublemaker, hmm? Somehow I’m not surprised.”

“That’s me,” Max said as if it were true, smiling as Elliott launched into a tale about Max volunteering to lead an illicit weekend trip to a beach during his senior year of high school.

“He made up some story about helping out a youth group and talked our neighbor into giving up his van for the weekend. Max fit ten people into that van, six of them girls, of course. And they all camped out on the beach for three nights. I was green with envy, always a little too young to tag along.”

Lifting his own bottle up, Max offered the expected self-satisfied smile. Though it really had been a good weekend. There’d been ten seat belts in the van, and Max had scoped out a legitimate seaside campground with running water and bathrooms. Then he’d conveniently forgotten to bring the hard liquor he’d promised to score. Everyone had made it home safe and sound, and Max hadn’t gotten his girlfriend pregnant, though he’d worried about that for weeks afterward, due to the warnings on the condom labels about storing them in the heat. The van had definitely been hot as hell.

“Six girls?” Chloe asked. “And four guys?”

“Hey, we were in high school. It was all innocent fun.”

“God, you are so full of shit.”

He laughed because it was true, and felt even better when he saw his brother laughing with Jenn. “So are you girls just hanging out on the beach for the week?”

“Mostly,” Chloe said. “But the wind’s supposed to be calm tomorrow afternoon, so we’re going to try diving.”

Max’s heart lurched as if it had been hit with a stick. “Diving?” he croaked.

“Yeah, I’m sure there’s nothing out here that rivals what you see overseas, but we’ve never tried it before, so we’re going to do the pool certification before lunch. What the heck? The seas are supposed to be calm, and we’ll probably be the only ones on the boat. It should be fun.”

Fun? Good God, no one seemed to regard diving as what it really was: a journey into an environment utterly hostile to human life. “Who’s the dive instructor?”

She shrugged. “We found a brochure at the grocery store.”

His heart lurched again, slamming into his chest wall as if it wanted him to do something about this ridiculousness. A grocery store. Unbelievable. His skin prickled with icy sweat, but Max tried to talk himself down.

You don’t even know this girl. If she’s dumb enough to sign up for a dive with a stranger, it’s none of your business. This is not your responsibility.

But she was so sweet and peaceful. A good soul. And how was she supposed to know how dangerous diving could be?

“You know,” Max heard himself say, “Elliott’s only been diving a couple of times. Would it be weird if we signed up? I don’t want to crowd you or anything, but you’re right. Forecasts call for calm seas tomorrow, but God knows what the weather will be like later.”

She shrugged. “It’s not a private dive. If you two want to come along, feel free. But surely there’s nothing out here that would interest someone with your experience.”

“Diving is addictive,” he lied. “I can’t live without it. It’ll feel good to get the gear on.”

Chloe set her beer down and leaned forward, a sparkle in her eye that could’ve been a reflection of the fire, but looked more like mischief. As if she knew a secret. Max held his breath. She got close enough to whisper.

“Fishing is just too darn boring for you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He sighed on a rush of air. “Yeah, it’s hard to stay awake in that little boat.”

She laughed, stirring the air against his ear. “I’m not a big fan of excitement, but I probably shouldn’t tell you that.”

No. No, she shouldn’t tell him that, because Max felt himself leaning toward her, an unwilling shift of his muscles. She didn’t like adventure. Despite that welcome news, he wasn’t going to kiss her, not in front of his brother and her friend, but his body wanted closer to that oasis of calm.

Her eyes sparkled again. She glanced down, her gaze touching his lips. Firelight danced over the soft skin of her cheek, as if it were mocking him, touching her where Max couldn’t.

Aw, damn. In public or not, he was about to kiss her. And he was already too involved, inserting himself into her life for no good reason at all.

No. He wouldn’t do it. One dive trip, and then he’d cut the unwelcome threads he’d already tied between them.

Max grabbed the bag of marshmallows as if that had been his goal all along. “Honestly,” he said, popping a sugary puff into his mouth. “I’m a pretty boring guy.”

Her eyes flashed suspicion. She didn’t think he was telling the truth, but for once in his life, he was.

JENN WATCHED ELLIOTT SULLIVAN’S EYES as he spoke about his work. He dismissed it as boring, something she wouldn’t want to hear about, but she found it fascinating. He’d done an internship at the CDC labs in Atlanta during college, and he’d gone to work as one of their scientists as soon as he’d graduated from medical school. Just that would have widened Jenn’s eyes with amazement, but he hadn’t stopped there.

After working for five years on studying flu vaccines and antiviral drugs, Elliott had moved up to the D.C. offices to work with the CDC branch of Health and Human Services, preparing for and fighting global outbreaks of the disease. He was like a modern-day superhero, working every day to save lives.

He paused as if he’d finished a point, and Jenn realized she’d been too busy staring to hear what he’d said. A blush rose up her face. He was waiting for an answer and she didn’t know what to say.

Elliott’s face fell. “But enough of that—”

“You’re amazing,” she blurted out. “I mean…what you do? That’s amazing.”

“I…” He shifted, taking his glasses off and putting them back on. “It’s just a lot of paperwork.”

“But it’s…” She wouldn’t tell him it was like being a superhero. That would be ridiculous and geeky and all the things she normally was with a man. And she didn’t want to be ridiculous with Elliott. He was serious and smart. Jenn took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “What you do is so important.”

“Ah, well. So is maintaining the sewer system.”

He said it like it was a joke he’d heard before, but Jenn laughed in shock. “What?”

“Actually the sewer workers are more important. If cholera made a comeback, no one would be worried about the flu.”

“You’re hilarious!”

“Really?” he asked, then shook his head. “I’m thinking you don’t get out much.”

“That’s true,” Jenn agreed, “but you’re still funny.”

It was impossible to tell if he was blushing. The firelight bathed them all in warm yellows and golds. But he did look embarrassed as he leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the armrest.

Jenn’s heart pattered in her chest. He was out of her league, of course. A successful scientist. A serious man with an important job who happened to be cute, too. She had a sudden urge to ask if he was married. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but sometimes that meant nothing. She couldn’t just ask, though. That question was loaded with all sorts of hints and suggestions.

Now she didn’t know what to say, and he seemed lost in thought, probably happy she’d stopped talking. But what if—

“Maybe it’s all those accountants you hang out with.”

“What?”

“Maybe you’ve spent so much time with them that you find bad science jokes funny.”

“Ha! Maybe. But I’ll have you know I work on international auditing. We’re like the 007s of corporate accounting. Last year’s seminar was in Hong Kong.”

“Wow!” he exclaimed, and suddenly Jenn felt ridiculous. He’d probably been to Asia a dozen times. He probably traveled all over the world for his work.

She was so awful with men. She always had been.

“So—” Elliott started, but Jenn jumped up to her feet.

“Pardon me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

It was her dad’s fault, she thought as she walked toward the cabin stairs. He’d been a high-level salesman, selling multimillion-dollar pieces of equipment to factories all over the globe. A slick talker who thought that the world revolved around him. And he’d traveled for weeks at a time, gone more often than he was home. Jenn had suffered a bad case of hero worship for her handsome father, desperate to be close to him whenever he was home, yet unable to think of anything to say that could engage his interest. Of course, it didn’t matter who was talking. Her father had a habit of starting a story right in the middle of another person’s sentence.

He was good at talking. And really, really bad at being a father. Or a husband.

She rushed onto the porch and through the door, relieved once she was alone. She was fine around her girlfriends. Completely normal and just as interested in men as they were. She could talk the talk, joking about having sex with hot strangers, but she failed miserably at walking the walk. Once she became interested in a man, her brain stopped working properly. Horrifying, not just because it was embarrassing, but because she was smart and independent and capable in all areas but this one.

Needing a few minutes alone, Jenn slowly washed her hands to get the last of the marshmallow off them. She stared at the mirror, hating the delicate features that often attracted the wrong kind of man. Wolflike men who looked at her and saw weakness and vulnerability. Elliott Sullivan didn’t seem like that kind of man, which was why he wouldn’t make a move. He probably liked strong scientist women in intimidating glasses and trim lab coats. Women who could talk nucleotides and DNA strands during postcoital conversation.

Jenn looked like one of those gangster molls from the twenties whose preferred method of communication was breathless, high-pitched exclamations of alarm.

Also, she’d clearly had one too many beers.

Disgusted with herself, Jenn dried her hands and turned off the light. But on her trip back through the living room, she spotted a green light blinking from the coffee table, like a bomb about to go off. Heart sinking, she picked up her cell phone and stared at the little message icon. Crap.

News from the outside world, and there was no chance it was good. Jenn called up the message and told herself everything was fine as the beep sounded in her ear.

“Jenn,” a hushed female voice said. “It’s Anna.”

Crap. Jenn pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Things are getting crazy here. I really think the mature thing would be to tell Chloe the truth. The reporters and police… This isn’t just about you. Or her. She needs to know, and I think you’re making this worse by hiding it from her. Chloe is an adult. She’ll be fine. I know she will. Just… Call me back, all right? You may be able to live with this, but I can’t.”

Jenn hit a button to cut off the message then deleted it with a shaking hand.

She wasn’t going to tell Chloe a darn thing and she’d be damned if she’d let Anna anywhere near her with that kind of talk.

The e-mail icon blinked also, so Jenn took a deep breath and opened the folder. She let the breath out on a rush when she saw the in-box. Nothing from Anna. Just a link from Google Alerts.

Stupid of her, but she’d set up a Google Alert for Chloe’s name, and even though every hit drove her crazy, she couldn’t stop looking at them. This one linked to a slang dictionary site. She knew what it would say. She knew it would throw her into pained fury, and still she looked.

“To pull a Chloe,” the dictionary entry said. Jenn’s shoulders fell as she read the words that would forever define her best friend as the worst kind of lunatic bitch. “To become a Bridezilla so demented that the groom would rather jump from an airplane than jump into the marital bed. Based on Chloe Turner’s disastrous engagement to Thomas DeLorn.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her aching head. The lying was killing her, but she could do it. She had to do it. Because the whole world had turned against Chloe.

Some people—people like Anna—believed those stupid clichés about the truth setting you free. What she didn’t know was that the truth sometimes beat you down and chewed you up and ruined your life.

Chloe didn’t deserve that. She’d been through enough. And Jenn wasn’t about to let the ugly truth ruin such an important friendship.

To be very sure that didn’t happen, Jenn turned on Chloe’s cell phone and checked the messages on that one, too. Sure enough, Anna had called and asked Chloe to call her back. Jenn deleted the message and blocked Anna’s number, her heart burning as she did, then she went back outside to have one last beer. She might not make it to Funtown tonight, but maybe she’d at least get some sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

“WHAT’S HE DOING?” Jenn asked as she brought her breakfast out to join Chloe on the porch.

Chloe watched Max Sullivan carefully, trying to puzzle him out, but also trying very hard to predict what each of the muscles of his chest would feel like beneath her fingers. “I think he’s…digging a hole?”

When Chloe had come out, two small boys had been playing on the beach, digging furiously at the sand as if they’d been commissioned to break through to China. A half hour later, only their necks and heads had been visible, and that’s when Max had jumped in to help them out.

What had his brother said? He likes to be in the middle of everything. Even digging a fort with two five-year-olds.

“Does he know them?” Jenn asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, I guess you shouldn’t be too flattered that he’s tagging along on our dive trip, huh?”

Chloe reached over and gave Jenn’s shoulder a halfhearted shove. “Meanie. So tell me about the other Sullivan brother. He’s a little reserved.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Really? I was going to guess stern.”

“No! He’s serious, yes, but really nice.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Chloe nodded sagely. “Nice enough to get it on with? Because you were looking at him last night like he was a big old hunk of man candy, darlin’.”

Jenn’s face blazed scarlet. “I was not! Oh, God, I was. He’s so sexy that I can’t even think when I’m looking at him.”

“You should— Wait.” Chloe tilted her head toward the open window behind her. “Is my phone ringing? I thought I’d turned it off.”

“Oh!” Jenn started to spring to her feet, but her plate was still on her lap and it tumbled down to the porch, misting her legs with powdered sugar.

“I got it.” Chloe stepped over her and walked inside. She didn’t know why she was looking for the phone in the first place when it was as likely to be a reporter as anyone else. But answering the phone was a Pavlovian response, she supposed.

She found it on the coffee table and glanced at the number, which sent an immediate shock through her system. DeLorn Limited. It was Thomas’s mother…or Thomas.

Stomach clenching into a ball of cement, Chloe pushed the button and croaked out a hello.

“Hello, Chloe,” the voice said. Though Mrs. DeLorn’s deep voice was nearly the same timbre as her son’s, her old-school Virginia accent immediately gave her away.

“Mrs. DeLorn,” she said a bit breathlessly. The woman ruled over her empire with an iron fist, but somehow Chloe had always liked her. And strangely enough, Mrs. DeLorn had liked Chloe. “You look a bit like my younger sister,” she’d said the first time they’d met. And because her sister had died as a teenager, Chloe had seemed to fill a place in the woman’s heart. They’d been close. Or so Chloe had thought. “It’s been a long time.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. This has all just been so tragic. You know I had to take to my bed when we first got the news about the crash and then…Well, my word. I don’t know what to say. I honestly don’t.”

Chloe could believe that. And she hadn’t exactly reached out to Mrs. DeLorn, either. Her heart softened a little. “I know you must be feeling pretty low.”

“Oh, you can’t imagine,” she said. “But how are you getting along, Chloe? I suppose the investigators have been hounding you day and night?”

“Um.” Was investigator some old-fashioned word for paparazzi? “The press has been giving me a hard time, yes.”

“Oh, the press. Yes, they are awful, awful people. They scurry around outside our office building like cockroaches. I wish I could squash them all under my shoe and be done with them.”

“Yuck. Well, I’m sorry to hear they’re bothering you, as well.”

Mrs. DeLorn abruptly changed the subject. “Do you remember that trip we took to the Cherry Blossom Festival this spring?”

“Oh, of course.”

“We had such a lovely time and the hotel suite was so nicely outfitted.”

“Yes.” Did she just want to stroll down memory lane? The trip had been nice, but not exactly the highlight of the year. Chloe had lobbied for returning to Richmond that night so she could sleep with her fiancé instead of in the bedroom next door to his.

“Well, I’m sure you remember…Thomas was going on and on about that all-terrain vehicle he wanted for this fall’s quail season and I gave him a little extra to help him out.”

“Um. Okay.” Chloe made a face at a watercolor painting of seabirds that hung on the wall. What the hell? Maybe all the stress was proving too much for the old lady.

“You remember that?”

“I remember him talking about the ATV, yes.”

“And when you two dropped me off at my place?”

“Yes?” Chloe asked shortly, belatedly remembering that one of Mrs. DeLorn’s pet peeves was one-word sentences. We’ve lost all the elegance of our language, she would complain. Which maybe had something to do with Thomas’s strange tendency to speak in full sentences during sex. Oh, yes, Chloe, I love how it feels when you do that.

She managed to choke back a laugh, but her amusement was made worse by Mrs. DeLorn’s irritated huff. “Well, I was only calling to remind you of the money I loaned Thomas.”

Chloe couldn’t hide the incredulous shock in her voice. “Mrs. DeLorn, I don’t know anything about that. Are you trying to imply that I share part of the debt? Unfortunately, I’m kind of high and dry right now. I put a lot of money into the wedding. I’m sure you remember?”

She’d never been rude to the woman before, but she couldn’t believe this was the conversation they were having after her son had turned Chloe’s life upside down. When Mrs. DeLorn had left those messages, Chloe had expected some sort of plea for forgiveness on behalf of Thomas. What the hell was this?

There was a long enough pause that Chloe was left wondering if Mrs. DeLorn had hung up, but then she finally made a little humming sound in her throat. “I’m so sorry about that, dear. You know, why don’t you let me take care of those bills?”

Chloe pulled the phone away from her face to look at it in shock. When she pressed it back to her ear, Mrs. DeLorn was still talking. “—Always been generous with both of you when you needed help. I won’t begrudge you a little cash any more than I’ve begrudged Thomas all the gifts I gave him.”

What in the world? She was tempted to just agree, but it felt a little like being bought off, so Chloe thanked her for the offer and told her she’d consider it once all the bills were sorted out. Thomas owed at least half of the deposits, after all, if not all of them.

Then she hung up the phone and stared at it for a little while longer.

“What was that all about?”

She spun to see Jenn standing in the doorway, legs still streaked with white. “I think Mrs. DeLorn is losing it.”

“That was Mrs. DeLorn?”

“Why do you look so freaked out? You don’t even know how weird she was being.”

Jenn’s shocked look quickly turned to nonchalance. “What did she say?”

“She was just talking about some money Thomas owed her. It was strange as all hell. So what’s Max doing?”

“Still digging.”

Chloe tossed her phone back on the table and went out to watch the show.

MAX SULLIVAN WAS HOT on land, but on a boat…on a boat he approached nuclear levels of hotness. Chloe watched him with the complete freedom offered by her dark sunglasses as he spoke with the diving guide. He looked perfect out here, hair tossed by the sea wind, sun glinting off the golden hairs on his strong arms. His mouth widened with a laugh as he slapped their guide, Jacob, on the arm and shook his head.

A few words drifted to her ears, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Names of dive sites or harbor towns, she assumed. The guide’s eyes took on a starry look of admiration as he shot questions at Max.

Ten minutes of excited conversation later, with a couple of miles of sea behind them, Chloe half expected the guide to turn and ask if they’d be willing to skip their lesson so he could dive with Max Sullivan. Instead, he shook Max’s hand and gestured generously toward the tanks lined up against the side of the boat.

Max knelt down and began picking up tanks and shifting them around as if they weighed nothing. Chloe knew they were heavy. Just as she’d suspected: utter hotness.

His strong hands cradled the tanks, turned knobs and ran over every piece of equipment. Chloe watched, heavy-eyed, relaxing into the fantasy of him so thoroughly checking her over. The boat rocked. Chloe sighed.

He hadn’t made a move last night, and she’d been surprised at that. At one point, she’d been sure he was about to kiss her and then…nothing. A couple of beers, some nice conversation and way too many marshmallows. On the one hand, he’d invited himself along on this trip. On the other, he looked far more interested in the diving equipment than in her. Not a good indication that they were headed toward a fling.

The guide shouted something that was snatched away by the wind. Max straightened and gave him a thumbs-up and a big grin as he shouted something back, but she caught the way his mouth twitched to a frown when he crouched down and tapped on one of the tank dials. Was something wrong?

Chloe glanced at the other two. Elliott wasn’t paying any attention. He was watching Jenn from the corner of his eye, and Jenn was too busy staring out at the waves and pretending not to see Elliott.

The frown remained on Max’s face. He peered closer and eased a knob open in a slow circle. What if there was something wrong? What if there was a tragic accident and things went bad down there? Chloe pictured her face splashed all over cable. On every magazine cover and Web site. She’d die in the prime of the scandal, and no one would ever remember her for anything else. She’d be Chloe the Bridezilla for eternity.

She jumped up and rushed across the boat.

“Hey!” she said breathlessly. “Is everything okay?”

When Max raised his face, he was wearing a blinding smile. “Sure, everything’s great!”

“Why were you frowning?”

“What?”

“You were frowning. At that tank.”

He stood and wiped his hands. “Just concentrating, I guess. The tanks look good.” He moved his hand toward a clipboard tucked into a pocket of the boat. “He keeps good records.” When he glanced down at the board, the frown flitted across his face again before he replaced it with a smile.

Chloe grabbed his wrist. “Listen. The lesson in the pool today was fun. And I wanted to have a tiny adventure out on the sea, but I don’t want to go this way, okay? I don’t want to be on the news and on the… Sorry, I don’t mean to freak out. It’s just…”

She took a deep breath and tried to channel Island Chloe. This was Max’s job. Something as easy as pie for him. It wouldn’t be cool to hyperventilate and pass out in a puddle of urine or something. “Chloe—”

“Whew,” she said with a laugh. “Sorry. Being surrounded by all this water makes me feel insignificant. And fragile. But you know what you’re doing, so just tell me that this guy is okay, all right? I’ll be fine.”

He wrapped his free hand around the fingers clutching his wrist in a death grip. “Diving is inherently risky. Things can go wrong. But I talked to the guide about the dive this morning while you were finishing your lesson. We decided to do an easy dive—only thirty-five feet down. The wreck is wide open on the sea floor, so there aren’t any spaces to get caught in. And I wouldn’t let you near that water if the equipment wasn’t safe. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her fingers didn’t loosen, despite the warmth of his hand on top of hers.

“I don’t recommend finding a dive guide at the grocery store, but you lucked out.”

“Okay,” she said again. Her hand didn’t relax, but she purposefully flexed her fingers. No panic attack. Not this time. She’d only had one actually, but the idea of having another was enough on its own to spiral her close to an attack. Evil, vicious circle.

Max’s hand let go of hers and rose up to cup her chin. Warmth edged over her jaw and calmed her down. “Hey, we’ll stick together, okay? I could do this in my sleep. But—” he said hastily as Chloe opened her mouth to protest “—I won’t.”

“Ha.”

His hand slipped away, fingers trailing down her throat so briefly that she couldn’t tell if it had been an accidental touch. His smile disappeared. “Or you could just change your mind.”

When the boat hit a wave and bounced beneath her, Chloe let go of Max and reached for the railing to catch herself. Max didn’t even budge. He was like a pirate, accustomed to life on the high seas, impervious to waves and sea spray and unstable footing. She wished his faded blue tee was an open-collared shirt that could whip around in the wind and reveal his chest.

The roar of the motor dropped down to a low grumble and the boat slowed. “Almost there!” the guide shouted.

Chloe set her shoulders and forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. Jenn’s really excited. And so was I until that little freak-out. It’ll be fun. It must be like a whole other planet down there.”

His eyes crinkled. “That’s exactly what it is. Want some help getting your wet suit on?”

“Do you ask all the girls that?”

“It’s my job.”

“Oh, really?”

He tipped his head in concession. “Almost.”

Chloe said, “I think I can handle it on my own,” as she sauntered off. Or as close to sauntering as she could manage as the motor died and the boat began to rock in the gentle waves. She gave up when her thigh slammed into the railing, and took the last two steps just hoping that Max wasn’t watching.

He wasn’t. Max Sullivan was too busy getting ready to dive. The first step appeared to be shucking his baggy swim trunks and T-shirt to get down to the tighter layer underneath.

“Holy ass cheeks, Batman,” Chloe muttered, not caring that she had just taken a seat next to the man’s brother. Chloe didn’t care about anything at that moment but the sight of Max’s thighs outlined in tight Lycra. He was wearing a suit that looked like a Speedo crossed with bike shorts, painted in blue and black deliciousness onto a Greek statue with the ass of a Roman god. Or something like that.

Elliott, seemingly oblivious to her stunned expression of lust, grabbed his duffel bag and walked over to join his brother. When he pulled his shirt over his head, Chloe jabbed Jenn in the ribs. “Ow!”

“Turn around, you idiot!”

“I think the— Oh, my gosh.”

The guys both sat on one of the cushioned benches and began easing the wet suits up their legs. Chloe and Jenn should have been getting ready, too, but they just sat, openmouthed, staring at the peep show. The Sullivan brothers happily obliged them by carrying on a serious conversation.

“We shouldn’t be watching them like this,” Jenn murmured.

“What are they going to do? Call the cops and report us?”

“Still—”

“Shut up. I can’t concentrate with you—”

“Ladies!” the guide boomed, stepping into their line of sight. “Get a move on. It’s time to get wet.”

It sure as heck was. Chloe toed off her tennis shoes and tilted her head to see past Jacob’s body. Max had his suit up to his waist now. But his chest was still bare.

His chest was tanned, sculpted muscle, sprinkled with golden hairs. Not big, bulging muscles, but the muscles of someone who did physical work every day, hefting tanks around and lowering boats into the water and swimming and climbing and—

“Miss Chloe—”

“Oh, all right already,” she grumbled, begrudging the interruption even though Max was zipping the suit up to his neck. She whipped off her shirt and eased her shorts down without standing up. She was an accountant, after all. The heaviest thing she lifted all day was her coffee cup. Her figure was fine, but it wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny when being squeezed into a Neoprene sausage casing. All sorts of rolls and gatherings were bound to appear.

Max wasn’t watching, thank God. He was busy fitting his brother with a tank and talking rapidly as he adjusted the fittings. As a matter of fact, Max didn’t glance over once. She hadn’t wanted to be watched, but she’d expected at least an interested once-over of her bikini.

Elliott’s gaze drifted over to Jenn’s petite body more than once, even as his conversation with his brother continued. But Max didn’t take his eyes off the gear, and Chloe suddenly realized that she’d better get all the adventure out of this dive that she could, because there wasn’t going to be much excitement back at the beach.

Party animal or not, this guy wasn’t that interested in Chloe Turner. Her kryptonite powers were securely in place.

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