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“HEY, DAD, WHERE’S AUNT BETH?”

Ben, who’d been stowing gear, looked up from the tent poles he was arranging as his daughter rubbed sleepy eyes and stared at him.

“Gone,” he said gravely.

She frowned, shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Dad, where is she?”

“I’m serious. She went out to see the yacht with Keith Henson.”

“What?”

His daughter’s incredulous excitement gave him pause. “I said,” he enunciated, “that your aunt went out to see the yacht with Keith Henson.”

“Oh, Dad. I heard you perfectly.”

“Then—”

“Oh, Dad, it’s too cool.” By then, Kimberly had come up behind her. “Did you hear that? She went with Keith to see the boat.”

“Wow!” Kim agreed.

“I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“She’s just so suspicious.”

“This is awesome.”

“Random.”

“Wicked.”

By then Ben was frowning. “What are you two going on about?”

“Oh, Dad. He’s a hunk.”

“Really fine,” Kim agreed somberly.

“I mean, there was…like, thunder.”

“And lightning.”

“Between them,” Amber finished.

“We were trying to figure out a way to get them together,” Kim admitted.

Ben scowled seriously then. “You two butt out, okay? She’s a grown-up, and she’s not going off any deep end over a guy just because he’s got a six-pack, okay? Don’t you two go pushing anything. She went to see the yacht because I raved about it, and that’s it, do you understand?”

“Okay,” Amber murmured.

“Seriously,” Kim agreed.

Then they looked at each other and ruined the effect, bursting into laughter.

“Amber Anderson,” he said firmly. “I mean it. Leave your aunt alone.”

“He’s acting like a male,” Kim murmured to Amber.

“All touchy,” Amber agreed.

“He is standing right here,” Ben told them.

“Sorry, Dad,” Amber said.

“I mean it.”

“We know you mean it,” Amber told him. She nudged Kim. “Hey, let’s go explore.”

He felt a frown furrowing his brow. “No exploring.”

“What?” Amber protested.

“Stay on the beach.”

“Why, Dad?”

Why? He didn’t know.

“Because I said so.”

“But, Dad—”

“Because I said so,” he repeated.

He turned away, because he really didn’t have a better explanation to give his daughter. As he paused to look down the beach, his frown deepened, and he tried to tell himself there was nothing to worry about.

But everyone, it seemed, was looking out to sea.

Not too far away, Matt was standing by one of the palms. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was looking toward the yacht.

Down farther, Amanda Mason was posed in almost the exact stance, staring out over the water, hugging her arms around herself.

And even farther down…

It was Brad. Staring out at the water, at the little boat nearing the majestic yacht.

A sense of unease filled him, like a little inward shiver.

He literally shook himself, irritated.

He dealt with the scum of the earth, so why was he so bothered now?

With a slight groan, he turned away. Good God, Keith’s buddies—including the owner of the yacht—were right there. The Masons were down the beach. Brad and Sandy were unknowns, but what the hell, they were there, too.

Beth was as uptight as an old schoolmarm, worse than he was himself.

Everything was fine.

“Hey there!”

He turned. Lee Gomez was waving to him, heading toward the interior of the island.

“Looking for a few good coconuts,” Lee called to him. “Want any?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he returned.

Down the beach, Sandy had moved to stand behind Brad. She slipped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek on his back.

Brad didn’t seem to notice. He was intent on the yacht. Then he turned, as if aware that he was being watched, and saw Ben staring at him.

Ben waved.

Brad waved back, then turned his attention to Sandy.

It’s all just fine, Ben assured himself.

And it was. They would be getting off the island.

He was amazed to realize he was glad the weekend was nearly over. He usually dreaded going back to work after a break. What the hell. There ought to be some saying about the scumbag you knew and the scumbag you couldn’t quite recognize.

HE LOOKED GOOD ROWING, Beth decided.

She purposely turned her gaze to the yacht they were approaching, dismayed that she seemed to be doing little other than appreciating the physical assets of the man.

Around boats, guys wore trunks, cutoffs, T-shirts, even no shirts. They tended to be bronze, and the club attracted a slew of well-toned, healthy, fit specimens of masculinity.

Keith Henson just seemed to have it all and carry it off just a little bit better.

This morning he was in blue-and-black swim trunks, the kind a million surfers wore, the kind that shouldn’t have been the least bit erotic. He had eschewed a shirt, since the day was hot—nothing unusual in that. But his skin seemed to be an unreal masculine shade of bronze, and his muscles flexed with each tug on the oars. Shades hid his eyes from her view, and she certainly hoped her own hid her thoughts equally well. Suddenly she blushed. She had been thinking about how he was dressed, but now realized that she, too, was skimpily clad in a bathing suit and sarong—an outfit that she would have thought nothing of if she weren’t with him.

But there was something between them.

She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of it as chemistry, though she was sure she never would have felt such a draw if it hadn’t been for his smile. Or the darkness of his eyes. Or the keen mind that seemed to lie behind his every word.

His every lie.

“Well, do you like her?”

They had reached the yacht. He stood, rocking the little dinghy, and tied on. The aft ladder had been left down, and he swung on, reaching out a hand to her. With the dinghy bobbing on the waves, she accepted. She found herself noting the ease with which he helped her. The man was strong. Did that make him some kind of a criminal? And if he was, what kind of an idiot was she to be here with him?

She landed on deck with ease and looked around. She estimated the original price of the boat at more than six figures.

“Really, really nice,” she assured him.

“Come on. I’ll show you around.”

He took her around the upper deck, then to the flybridge, and finally down to the cabin. She whistled softly.

“It’s like a luxury-hotel suite,” she told him.

“The great thing is that she can do anything. Despite her size, she’s got top speed, and she’s rigged for fishing as well as pleasure cruising.”

“That’s why there’s the global positioning system, sonar, radar, communications—and whatever else is up there and down here?”

“We all like to fish,” he said with a shrug. “What can I get you? Juice, soda…water? Want coffee? It will only take a minute.”

“I’d love coffee,” she told him.

He seemed to be involved in the task, but she had the feeling that he was watching her all the while. For her reactions?

Or to make sure that she didn’t notice something she shouldn’t?

“Make yourself at home,” he said.

“Thanks.” She took a seat on the sofa in the main salon area. She might have been sitting in the salon of a resort. Beyond the windows, she could see the sea, the sky and a glimpse of the island.

“How long do you think you’ll be in this area?” she asked him.

“Oh, a while.”

She laughed suddenly. “Do you ever have a direct answer for anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, how long are you going to be here? A while. A ‘while’ can mean anything. If someone had asked me about this weekend, my reply would be clear and direct. I go home tonight.”

He shrugged, pouring coffee into mugs. “I don’t know how long I’m going to be in the area. When we’re fished out, dived out and done, I’ll head back.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “Back to Virginia?”

Even then, she thought he hesitated. “Yes.”

“Do you have a house there?”

“Yes. There—is that direct enough?”

“What part?”

“Northern Virginia.”

“Does your city or town have a name?” she demanded.

He came around and handed her a mug. “Whoops, sorry, did you want cream or sugar?”

“Black is fine, thanks. Well?”

“A fairly well known name, yes. Alexandria.”

“There, see, it wasn’t so hard. You have a house, it’s in Virginia, in the city of Alexandria.”

“Do you have a house?” he inquired in turn, perching on the arm of the sofa. Close again. The kind of close that made her wonder why she felt the need to analyze everything. Why not just take a chance? Why care so much about exactly who or what he was?

Just enjoy the simple things in life, she told herself. Everything doesn’t need to last forever. She never just met a man and went with him…anywhere. It seemed that she had never been so emotionally confused before. Last night she had lain awake during all that had been left of the darkness, thinking, tormenting herself. She could…no, no, she couldn’t, sure she could, she shouldn’t, mustn’t…and then, why not? This sense of something hanging in the balance was new to her. This kind of need, this kind of longing…She couldn’t actually even remember ever being spontaneous, simply acting on instinct. And yet she was free and single, over twenty-one, always responsible, dependable…

Surely everyone had a right to a moment’s insanity, to fulfill a fantasy. It was Sunday and she would head home, back to the real world, and most likely thought she would never see him again.

“Hey, are you still with me?” he asked, bemused.

“I, um…yes, of course.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

He arched a brow. “House. Do you have a house?”

“Oh! I have a town house, yes.”

“And that would be where?” he asked.

“Coconut Grove, near the yacht club.”

“Nice.”

“I like it.”

“However—”

“Yes?”

“I’ve heard that Coconut Grove can be a dangerous area.”

“Any populated place can be dangerous. As you said yourself, even sailing the islands can be dangerous. But Miami has a bad rep. People are nice there. It’s like any other city. You’re most likely not going to be hit by a drug lord unless you’re dealing or something like that.” She shook her head suddenly, looking into her coffee cup. “You ask a simple question, and I give you a paragraph. I ask a question and get a one-liner. Maybe I’m the one with the problem.”

She was startled to realize that he didn’t laugh, or even smile, as she had expected he might. He was looking at her very seriously. He reached out and touched her. Light, totally casual. He just touched her chin with the tip of his forefinger. “I don’t think you have a problem at all,” he said very softly.

There it was. The moment when she was supposed to stand and say, “I have to go.”

But she didn’t. He eased down from the arm of the sofa, next to her, his scent a mixture of the wind, sea and salt, his flesh still reflecting the heat of the sun, emitting power from every pore, and she didn’t move. She waited.

His sunglasses were gone, and his eyes seemed as dark as ebony, as mysterious as an abyss, and he was studying her, long and intently. Once again she thought it was time to back away, because then he would rise, as well, and the moment would be broken.

But she didn’t move, and his fingers slipped into her hair, cradling the base of her skull. Then, at last, his lips touched hers. At first it seemed like nothing more than a hot and teasing whisper of air; then the fullness of his mouth pressed over hers. She wasn’t avoiding, wasn’t protesting; she was set adrift in a sea of fascination and discovery, her arms rising, hands resting on his shoulders, fingertips awakened by the simple feel of skin. He kissed her hard and deep, and she felt an infusion of warmth and arousal.

It was he who broke the kiss, easing away, and his voice was definitely husky when he spoke. “I think you’re supposed to tell me that you need to get back.”

She nodded. “You should be telling me that this isn’t your boat.”

He nodded in response. “We should go.”

“Certainly. Now.”

“Remember, I told you that you should be afraid of me.”

She shook her head, studying his eyes. “I should be. But I’m not. I mean, I am. But I’m not.”

“Tell me to take you back,” he said.

She shook her head slowly. “I guess I’m just not afraid enough.”

“Still…we need to…not…”

“You’re right.”

But neither moved, and when he kissed her again, she let her fingers play down the length of his back, and she felt his hands on her. Then, he broke away again, his voice extremely deep as he said, “I really should take you back.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“What you don’t want is to be involved with me,” he murmured.

“I don’t recall saying that I was involved.”

He moved away. “Ah, Ms. Anderson, you are far too decent, believe me. So if you’ll just say…” His voice trailed off.

She smiled, her senses perfectly attuned, her mind suddenly set upon her course. She moistened her lips slightly, her smile deepening. “You want me to say I should go? I should. Do I want to? No. Am I going to? I don’t think so, but then again, that’s up to you now.”

His groan was deep and shuddering, and then he stood with a suddenness that surprised her and swept her up into his arms.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” she agreed softly as she linked her arms around his neck.

Her eyes locked on his, she was barely aware that he was heading for the elegant master stateroom. The bed was huge. He managed to rip off the black-and-white cover without losing hold of her, and when he laid her down, the sheets seemed cool against the sun-touched heat of her flesh. He quickly lay down beside her. Her sarong was a tangle around them both, quickly eliminated, and she would forever remember the contrast between the coolness of the bedding and the warmth and vibrance of his flesh. They met in a passionate, exploratory kiss, lips melding, tongues sliding, mouths locked. His hands were every bit as powerful as she had imagined, his fingers as gentle, his touch as magnetic. His lips fell to her throat, to spots just below each ear, to the center of her throat once again, and lower, the tip of his tongue teasing up and down her collarbone, then lower still. Her fingers slid into his hair, testing its rich texture, blond and then ash, where it had been bleached by the sun. She felt the pressure of his body against her. With his hips and legs pressed to hers, she felt the swell of his arousal, taut beneath the surf trunks. Then his hands, adept at manipulation, released the hook of the bikini bra, followed by his lips, firm against her breasts, and his hands, caressing, cradling. His lips teased after every touch, moving over her areolas, nipples, up the length of her throat again. The frenzy of caresses wet, hot, seemed to send streaks of pure fire sailing through her bloodstream, and rushing with ardent precision into the very heart of her sexuality. She didn’t remember ever feeling as she did now, and knew that was because she had never actually felt anything this vital, this passionate, alive, tempestuous…ever before.

He paused, his eyes on hers, smile totally seductive. “This is insanity.”

“We’ve agreed on that.”

“You need to go back. You shouldn’t be here.”

“We’ve agreed on that, as well,” she whispered.

“You shouldn’t be involved with me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being involved with you.”

“One might call this involved.”

“One might.”

He shook his head. His lips touched down again. For a moment they teased a mere breath above her own. Then the kiss deepened, and their limbs entwined as their bodies met and melded. The naked length of his chest seemed glorious, the sound of his breathing filled her senses, along with the thrum of their hearts. His flesh felt like the sun and the sea, smooth, slick, hot. He moved erotically against her, her breasts crushed to him.

She clung to him, splaying her fingers down his back, along his spine, down to the waistband of his trunks, around in front to the ties. Her fingers weren’t as adept as his, not quite as experienced. His hands covered hers, though he never broke the kiss. She was dimly aware when the trunks were gone, acutely aware when the naked length of his body pressed against hers. She felt his fingers slipping beneath the bikini bottom as he effortlessly did away with the last barrier between them, which in itself seemed an exotic ecstasy. She was pressed close to him again, and his fingers seduced a path down her spine, curved over her buttocks, brought her flush against his arousal. His lips continued to caress and assail. Then he moved, sleek, agile, shifting atop her, lips pressing against the hollows of her collarbone, teasing her breasts. His hand glided down the curve of her form, pressed apart her thighs. She felt the stroke of his touch first, and then the taunt of his tongue; felt as if she burned within, caught in a sudden, swift maelstrom of fire. Pure sensual ecstasy exalted her even as the rage of intimacy dismayed her, though for only a split second in the rush of sensation.

He was an incredible lover.

Subtle and bold. Teeth, tongue, lips, touch, all meshed in a passionate dance of sensuality that left her breathless, thundering, quivering somewhere between total vibrant ecstasy and simple delicious death. She arched, writhed, thrashed, cried out God-knew-what.…

Trembled, throbbed…begged.

Involved.

Good Lord, yes, she was involved, any more involved and she would be living in his skin. She had sworn to herself that she had sense and reason and knew what she was doing, but this was…

Involved.

She was more involved than she had ever been. More touched, elated, electrified, swept away, taken…

She tore at his hair, dragged him to her, and before she could even meet his lips again with her own, she shuddered with a new sense of sheer carnal elation as the force of his body thrust into hers.

The ship rocked.

God, the man knew how to coerce with the slowest, gentlest movements, and then to thunder and pulse with the force of a wicked gale in the North Sea. She knew there were moments when she literally forgot everything except the burning need to be with him, one with him, feeling the shudder and quiver, strength and power, the slick wet heat, the movement, the hunger….

She must have shrieked, screamed…loud enough to wake the dead and half the ocean. She knew he must have felt the burst of the climax that violently seized her, so euphoric she thought she knew at last what they meant by a thousand little deaths.

Surely he felt, he knew…

And waited, his own climax erupting seconds later—or hours, she wasn’t at all sure, she lay in such a damp bath of steam that she wasn’t sure she was breathing, or that her heart continued to beat at all anymore.

She had thought she could just walk away. Congratulate herself on a mature affair. On allowing herself adult pleasure, denying the complications of real emotion.

But nothing came without a price, and she knew that. She’d told herself not to get involved…

Too late. This was involved.

Easing to her side, he held her, smoothed back her hair. She wondered desperately what their pillow talk would be after such a sudden and volatile interlude. When he rolled her to face him, his eyes were dark and intense, and the slightest smile curved his lips. Again he touched her hair, and she had to wonder what he was seeing in her eyes, how much he could read from her face.

God help her, she didn’t know what to say or how to act. She was afraid she would start stuttering, try to explain that she never did things like this, that he’d been unique somehow, and that he’d been more than she had ever begun to imagine.

But there was no chance for awkward words, no reason to promise that of course they would see each other again.

Beth’s eyes flew open as she heard the sound of a dinghy approaching, the sound of chatter and laughter.

The girls!

His eyes widened and his brows arched as he heard them at the same time.

“Dear God,” she swore, flying up even as she spoke, stunned, horrified.

Feeling like an idiot. Anyone could have come aboard at any time. What in God’s name had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting, and feeling….

She hadn’t wanted to get out of pillow talk this badly!

“Hey!” He was up, too, and reaching for his trunks in the blink of an eye. She looked in panic at the condition of the bed, and wondered about the state of her hair at the same time.

“Got it,” he assured her, tossing over a brush from the nightstand and reaching for the sheets. She tripped back into her bathing suit, fingers shaking so hard she couldn’t get the bra top fastened.

“Don’t panic, you’re a grown-up, you know,” he said calmly, fixing it for her.

“That’s my niece!” she exclaimed, running the brush viciously through her hair. “And her friend, and they’re at a horribly impressionable age. I’m supposed to be a role model. You don’t understand. Her mother is dead—”

“Don’t panic,” he repeated softly. “I do understand, and we’re fine. Get topside. I’ll finish making the bed.”

She sped out of the cabin. There was a boating magazine lying in a wire rack by the table. She nearly ripped it apart in her haste to grab it. Then she sat on the sofa, her heart racing painfully again.

The girls—and whoever had come with them—were just coming aboard.

She stretched out and crossed her ankles, trying to look casual and comfortable. Then she decided she looked too casual and comfortable, and uncrossed them.

She crossed them again, smiling, as Amber made her way down to the cabin. “This is too cool. Way, way too cool,” she said.

“Ohmygod,” Kim breathed, coming down behind her.

“Like a floating hotel suite, huh?” she said, trying to sound cheerful and welcoming. She decided she was loud and fake, but apparently she sounded all right to everyone else.

Amber turned to her with wide eyes. “Like a floating palace.”

“Not that lush,” Ben protested, coming down behind the girls. He looked at his sister and grinned—apparently oblivious, she noticed gratefully. But then, he probably thought he knew her. Just as she had thought she knew herself.

Keith came striding breezily out from the stateroom. “Hey, kids. Want a tour? Or would you rather roam around on your own?” he asked.

Amber didn’t get to answer. “Would you look at the kitchen!” Kim exclaimed.

“Galley,” Amber corrected.

Kimberly laughed, running her hand over the counter and staring at the appliances. “No way. This is a full kitchen,” she protested.

“Seriously, it’s not a salon, either, it’s a living room,” Amber agreed, looking at Keith.

“You can go around the world in her, can’t you?” Kim asked.

“You could.”

“Have you ever?” she asked.

“No. But she does offer all the comforts of home,” he said. “Speaking of which, would you like something to eat? Drink? You want a smoothie?”

“You can make a smoothie?” Amber asked.

“Yup. I’ll see what we have.”

He delved into the refrigerator, and the girls went to join him. Ben looked at Beth. “You don’t mind that I brought them?” he asked.

“Don’t be silly.”

“We didn’t interrupt anything, did we?” he asked, a frown starting to crease his brow.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she protested. Then afraid that she was about to blush the shade of a beet, she leaped to her feet, closing the magazine.

“Hey, did you get a good look at the upper deck and the flybridge?” he asked excitedly.

She smiled. Big boys, big toys.

“It’s an amazing yacht,” she said.

“And to think I thought I had the prize of the seas when I bought mine.”

In the galley, a blender roared to life just as she started to answer, so she had to smile and wait.

“You have a wonderful boat, and I love it,” she said loyally at last.

“Oh, I love it, too. It’s just…well, who wouldn’t want to own something like this, huh?” he asked.

“Dad, you want a strawberry smoothie?” Amber called.

“Sure.”

“Aunt Beth?”

“Absolutely,” she murmured. She followed her brother into the galley and accepted a large paper cup from her niece.

She couldn’t help it; she felt wary of Keith. She had to keep her distance. She was afraid even to make eye contact, terrified that at any minute she was somehow going to give herself away. She was certainly over twenty-one, but she felt so responsible toward her niece. She’d always tried to teach her that sex should be special; that it was the most intimate act between two people and shouldn’t even be contemplated without sincere emotion, the deepest respect, and a sense of responsibility and consequences.

Well, emotionally, she was involved, like it or not. Had she been in the least responsible? No. And as to thoughts of future consequences…

It terrified her to realize just how much she wished there could be one. That he would reappear somewhere in her world, that he would be a responsible member of the human community and not just a diver. Or…a common criminal. Or worse.

A murderer.

No. She knew instinctively that wasn’t true. Or else she just wanted to believe it.

Keith didn’t have any problem being entirely natural and casual. He chatted easily. Beth wasn’t even sure what was being said half the time.

Then they heard the motor of the yacht’s dinghy, returning with Matt and Lee and the supplies. Ben said it was time to go, and thanked Keith, then Matt and Lee. They all talked about what a pleasure it had been to meet, said they would undoubtedly run into one another somewhere along the line sometime.

“Beth, you can come back with the girls and me,” Ben said. “Save Keith the bother.”

“Of course.”

“I can take you back—” Keith began.

“The girls and I have already packed up. We don’t need to head back to the island, just straight to the boat,” Ben said.

“Perfect,” Beth murmured.

It wasn’t perfect. Perfect would be if they all disappeared, if there didn’t have to be any words, if she could just go back where she had been and pretend. Pretend Keith Henson was someone she would see again, someone she had known forever and ever…

Someone she trusted.

She had to trust him. She’d just gone to bed with him.

She felt more awkward than ever. She was at ease saying goodbye to Matt and Lee, but she couldn’t meet Keith’s eyes, and she only shook his hand, while she’d kissed the others goodbye on the cheek. So much for appearing completely casual.

She couldn’t escape quite that easily. He stopped her and took her hands. His eyes met hers. Amused but affectionate, she thought. Affectionate? She wanted so much more.

She still felt so ridiculously awkward.

“We’ll talk soon,” he said.

She nodded, hoping she looked casual, carefree.

“I will find you,” he said softly.

“Finding me won’t be very difficult,” she murmured.

“Strange timing, huh?”

She didn’t know exactly what he meant. And she couldn’t ask him. She couldn’t stand being so close to him any longer, with so very much unsaid.

She had to escape, and she did, reaching her brother’s dinghy before the others.

As Ben revved his little motor to life, he laughed with the girls as they raved about the Sea Serpent. She was grateful she didn’t have to speak. She kept a smile plastered to her face as she lifted a hand in farewell to the men standing on deck.

Soon Ben had set their course for home. She reflected that she hadn’t even said goodbye to the others—any of the Masons, or Brad and Sandy. The Masons she would see again, and as for Brad and Sandy…

Thinking of the pair still gave her an uneasy feeling.

She looked away from the yacht at last and turned her gaze westward, toward the Florida coast. It would all come into perspective, she told herself.

She would get home. She would believe she had been silly, that she couldn’t have seen a skull. That nothing had been going on during their stay on the island. No one had lurked around with evil intent.

And as for Keith…

She would stop thinking about him eventually. In her mind, he would lose the charismatic appeal that had all but obsessed her. She would remember him as a man. As someone special she had once met. Handsome, virile, exciting…but too laid-back, too ready to enjoy good times with his friends, too lacking in ambition.

It would all come into perspective….

But things always came back around to one fact.

She was certain she had seen a skull.

Just as she was certain there was something about Keith. No matter how appealing the man might be, he simply wasn’t what he seemed.

There had been an honesty in the way he’d touched her, but only lies had fallen from his lips.