Читать книгу Do You Take This Daddy? - Katie Meyer - Страница 7

Chapter One

It definitely wasn’t the worst honeymoon on record, Noah James decided. That honor belonged to the unhappily married couple behind him, who had already argued about everything from who got the window seat to where to make dinner reservations when they landed. Sure, he might be flying solo on the way to what should have been his honeymoon, but there were some good points of being jilted practically at the altar. Like two weeks in Paradise, Florida, stretching out in front of him, with no one to answer to other than himself. Unlike the newlyweds in the next row, he could eat when he wanted, go where he wanted, and do his own thing.

It wasn’t as if his heart had been broken, although his ego had taken a pretty good beating. Dating Angela had been a mistake from the beginning. But breaking up with her wasn’t an option, not after she’d shown him the test with the two pink lines. In that instant, his stomach had dropped and his world had turned upside down. Just like that, Angela went from a fling to a fiancée. She might not have been what he’d hoped for in a bride, but there was no way he was going to miss out on raising his child.

He’d been there to hear the heartbeat, chugging along. He’d squinted at the ultrasound pictures, unable to understand any of it but overwhelmed all the same. And he’d been there to feel the first kicks, the first tiny movements of his unborn son. Except it hadn’t been his son at all.

Two days ago, Angela had disappeared, leaving her ring and a note after helping herself to a good portion of his available cash. Her written apology had been brief, as if she’d eaten the last cookie rather than torn apart his life. Some other guy was the father-to-be, and he’d been nothing but an easy mark for yet another gold digger.

He probably should have been embarrassed, but more than anything he just felt empty inside. Not that he missed Angela. The spoiled socialite had seemed fun at first, but her true colors had eventually come out and he was nothing but grateful to have avoided being legally bound to her. But losing his son, or what he thought was his son, had left him aimless and confused.

Finding out it was too late to get refunds on anything had given him the excuse he needed to get out of town, and away from prying eyes. He’d turned what should have been their honeymoon into a bachelor’s vacation. He’d get his head on straight and come back to Atlanta ready to focus on his work. His art had suffered during the constant storm of his relationship, and it was time to recommit to it, while the name Noah James still meant something in the art world. Otherwise he’d have an ex-career to go with his ex-fiancée.

“Sir, would you care for a cocktail?” The flight attendant waited expectantly, a bevy of liquor bottles and mixers on her cart.

“I don’t think so. Water will be fine.” He’d never been a drinker, and ten thousand feet in the air seemed like a poor place to take up the practice. The pretty attendant started to hand him a plastic bottle, but had to move aside to let a mother carrying a fussy baby past. The child stared at him with big blue eyes while chewing intently on a drool covered fist, and Noah’s gut clenched.

“I’m so sorry,” the frazzled mother apologized. “He’s teething, and walking the aisles is the only thing that seems to calm him.”

Noah forced a smile. “It’s fine.” He even waved at the little guy as the mom turned to go back the way she came, and was rewarded with a gummy grin that cut right to his heart, stirring up the pain he’d tried to bury.

Maybe he’d have that cocktail after all. “Miss, could you switch that to a whiskey and coke?”

* * *

Noah meant to have one drink, just to take the edge off. He certainly hadn’t planned on getting drunk. But seeing that baby had reminded him a bit too much of the mess his life had turned into, and before he knew it he had an impressive collection of tiny liquor bottles covering his seat tray. Which meant he was most definitely drunk. Or whatever came after that. Snookered? Wasn’t that what the British called it? He was pretty sure he’d heard that on Sherlock once. Whatever you wanted to call it, it felt pretty amazing. The only problem was he was finding it just a wee bit difficult to walk. Also, he’d planned on renting a car while at the airport, but driving was most definitely out of the question. Luckily, a very nice security guard had been on hand to pour him into a cab.

Now that car was stopped in a gravel driveway fronting a three-story wood-framed building. Hanging from the wraparound porch was a sign, identifying it as the historic Sandpiper Inn. The perfect location for a destination wedding or honeymoon, at least according to the brochure he’d memorized. Hopefully it was also a decent place to sleep off a binge.

The driver unloaded Noah’s suitcase from the trunk, and happily accepted the crush of bills he gave him for a tip. It was probably too much, but he was in no shape to do the math, and it wasn’t like money was an issue.

No, his issues were far more complicated.

The most pressing being the way the ground kept shifting under his feet. Clutching his bag, he tried to navigate the wide, whitewashed stairs leading to the front door.

Tried, and failed.

Two steps up, and he was on his butt. At least, with all the liquid courage he’d imbibed, it didn’t hurt. In fact, everything felt a bit numb. Maybe he should just stay put until he sobered up a bit. He’d planned on relaxing and might as well start now.

“Hey, are you all right down there?”

He looked around. No one. Man, was he starting to hallucinate?

“Do you need some help?”

This time, he managed to focus his not-so-steady vision in the direction of the voice. Up on the porch, sitting on a cushioned bench, was the most amazing woman he’d ever seen. She had short, close-cropped brown hair framing an elfin face. Her large brown eyes were too big for the rest of her, and were currently zeroed in on him, and his not-so-stable perch on the steps.

“You’re gorgeous.” Oops. He was pretty sure he just said that out loud.

Her laugh confirmed that yes, he had. Stupid alcohol.

“Are you drunk?” She stood up and started down the stairs towards him. Her legs were long and lean, sprinkled with the same freckles that dotted her nose. She stopped beside him, and he nearly toppled over trying to look directly up at her.

“Could you not be so tall?” he asked, politely, he thought.

“Sure.” She chuckled again and sat down on the steps next to him. “You are drunk, aren’t you?”

“I guess so.” He might as well admit it. “See, the thing is, I don’t drink.”

She eyed him skeptically. “Right.”

“I mean, I don’t normally drink. But today I did. A lot, I think.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a safe guess.” She smirked. “Well, you’ll sober up, I imagine, but you can’t do it here. Jillian sent me to keep an eye out for some guests who booked the honeymoon suite, so she could give them a special welcome. And I don’t think a drunk guy collapsed on the steps is quite the welcome she had in mind.”

“No worries,” he reassured her. “That’s me. I’m the couple you’re looking for.” He stuck out a hand for her to shake. She took it, eyeing him curiously. “Noah James.”

“Mollie Post, nice to meet you.” She looked past him onto the path below. “But where’s your wife? Is she taking a walk on the beach or something?”

“She’s not coming.” The buzz must be wearing off, because that sounded pathetic even to him.

“What do you mean, she’s not coming? You can’t have a honeymoon without the bride.”

She probably thought he was confused because of the whole drunk thing. But on this particular point he was perfectly clear. “Then call this a first. No bride. No wedding, for that matter. She took off before the rehearsal dinner.” The pleasant numbness from earlier was replaced by a pounding in his head.

Her mouth dropped open. “Wow, that sucks.”

Her frank acknowledgment did more than all the softly worded platitudes he’d heard in the past week. “Yeah, it does suck. But I figured it could suck back home, where everyone kept asking me if I was okay every two minutes. Or it could suck here, on the beach, with a margarita in my hand.” His stomach lurched. “Although, I think I’ll skip the margaritas.”

* * *

Mollie watched the newcomer with fascination. She didn’t care much for alcohol herself, but she wasn’t bothered by his blatant drunkenness. He seemed harmless enough, and Nic and Jillian were right inside. Besides, he looked like he needed a friend. So she sat on the sun warmed steps with him, watching a flock of white ibises pick their way across the lawn.

He was certainly nice enough to look at, a long, lean body and slightly curly brown hair that was just a shade too long. His face was almost beautiful, with high cheekbones. But it was his eyes that really got to her, dark and hooded; they were the kind of eyes that saw things other people didn’t. The eyes of an old soul, her Granny would have said. She wondered what his story was.

“You’re staring.”

“So? You’re interesting to look at.”

He blinked, and then let out a hoot of laughter. “Do you always say just what you’re thinking?”

“Pretty much. I’m told I have no filter.” She shrugged. “I tried, for a while, to learn to say the right things. But it never really stuck.”

“I’m glad it didn’t. Not many people are willing, or able, to be that honest. It’s a good thing.”

“Most people don’t think so. My fifth grade catechism teacher found it particularly upsetting.” She winked conspiratorially. “She smelled funny.”

He winced. “You told her that?”

“I thought she’d want to know. Turns out, not so much. People are funny that way. Most of the time, they don’t want the truth.”

“Yeah, well sometimes the truth is painful.” He stretched, sprawling his lanky legs in front of him.

“Oops. Sorry. Yeah, I guess you’ve had your share of truth for the time being, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“So tell me.” She stood up. “We can get some dinner, get you some water to flush out the booze, and you can tell me how you ended up on your non-honeymoon.” Gossip usually wasn’t her thing, but he looked like he could use someone to talk to. And she never had been able to turn her back on a stray.

His boyish grin was a startling contrast to his soulful eyes. “Did you just ask me out on a date?”

She hadn’t, had she? “No, I don’t date. But I’m hungry, you need to eat something to soak up the rest of the alcohol and I want to hear your story. New friends having dinner, not a date.”

“You don’t date at all?” He squinted at her, as if he expected to see some kind of physical sign to explain her celibacy.

“It’s a long story, and I’m starving. Ask me again later.”

“Shouldn’t I get checked in first?”

“That depends. Can you make it up the steps yet?”

He looked up and shook his head. “Good point. Dinner it is. Where’s your car?”

She wasn’t one to let common sense interfere with an adventure, but even she had limits. “No car—we’re going to walk. There’s a place just down the beach path.” A popular place for an evening stroll, with plenty of people around just in case her instincts about him were wrong.

“Afraid to be alone with me?”

Caution was part of it. Her parents might think she was naive, but she knew not to get into a car with someone she’d just met, even if she was the one driving. But there was another, more pressing reason.

“I’m just afraid you might puke in my car.”

* * *

Noah would have laughed, but she looked pretty serious. And who could blame her? Luckily, he wasn’t feeling nauseated, just weak and dehydrated. And more than a little foolish. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a single beer. And yet he here was, too messed up to drive, being led around like a child. In other circumstances, he would have been humiliated. But even after seeing him at his weakest, Mollie hadn’t given him a hard time. Sure, she’d laughed at him, but in a teasing way that had him laughing along with her.

She’d walked down those steps and treated him like a friend, not a stranger. He’d grown up always being the new kid, and even as an adult he usually felt like an outsider. His art had opened some doors, but having new money wasn’t the same as fitting in. If anything, he felt even more awkward now, shoved into a rarified world, than he had when he was an army brat, bouncing from place to place. People might be more polite to his face now that he’d made something of himself, but celebrity hadn’t bought him any true friends. Being welcomed and accepted right off the bat, that was something new.

They walked for about fifteen minutes along a gravel path that started behind the Sandpiper and ran alongside the dunes, and although they’d passed plenty of other walkers he hadn’t seen anything that looked like a restaurant. “Where are you taking me, anyway?”

She winked. “Afraid I’m going to kidnap you?”

“Afraid, no. Hoping, yes.”

She grinned. “Sorry, no such luck. But how do you feel about Cuban food?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried it, but I’m hungry enough to eat anything.” His stomach growled as if to emphasize his point.

“Well, then, you’re in luck. We’re almost there.”

Another minute of walking brought them to their destination, which was more of a roadside stand than a real restaurant. A simple wooden structure, the walls were covered in a brightly colored mural, except for right above the order window where a menu board advertised the specials. There were a few tables scattered in front, topped with brightly colored umbrellas, and wafting on the breeze was the most amazing smell. “I think I’m about to start drooling.”

She smiled. “Best Cuban food for miles, and coffee that will make you think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”

Looking at her had him thinking he was already there. She’d blown him away from the beginning and it wasn’t a case of beer goggles. In fact, the more he sobered up, the better she looked. She was tiny, at least eight inches shorter than his own six feet, with a slender, birdlike build. But it was her face that captivated him, the bone structure so fine it looked like she’d been sculpted by an artist’s hand.

“I’ll have the ropa vieja, and he needs a medianoche with a side of maduros. Oh, and a colada and a bottle of water.” The man behind the window nodded, writing down the order.

He nudged her to the side, and got out his wallet. “Let me buy, please.”

She motioned him forward. “Be my guest.”

He paid what seemed like way too little and accepted a bag stuffed with food and the bottle of water in exchange. Mollie grabbed a full Styrofoam cup and two smaller, empty plastic ones. They picked a table farther back from the path and sat down facing each other.

‘Okay, so tell me what I just paid for.”

“My company?” At his pointed look, she took pity on him and started opening packages. “I got the ropa vieja. It’s shredded beef, and it comes with rice. Your medianoche is a pork sandwich on a soft, sweet bread.” She unwrapped it for him while she talked. “The name means midnight, because it’s usually eaten when you are out partying and drinking. I figured it would be perfect for soaking up the last of the alcohol. The maduros are fried sweet plantains, and the colada is kind of like espresso, but with sugar.”

Coffee sounded amazing. He reached for it, only to have her block him, putting her hand over the cup.

“First some food and water, then coffee.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bossy?”

“All the time.” She dug into her food, closing her eyes in bliss. “This is so good. How’s your sandwich?”

He took an experimental bite. The salty pork and pickles vied with the cheese and mustard for top billing in his mouth. “Amazing.” He took another bite, considering. “The bread’s a bit like the challah my grandmother used to make. I like it.”

“Challah? Are you Jewish, then?”

“My bubbe was, and my mom. My dad’s Catholic. One item on a long list of things they disagreed on. I’m the only person I know that had to go to both confirmation classes and Hebrew school. Religion was just one more way to fight with each other without actually getting divorced.”

“Wow. That’s kind of crazy.” She snagged another plantain from the bag. “The weirdest thing my parents ever did was putting up the Christmas tree the day before Thanksgiving one year, instead of the day after.”

“They sound very...sane.”

“If by sane, you mean utterly normal and conforming, yes. I’m definitely the black sheep of the family.”

“That sounds better than the constant fighting at my house. Maybe we should trade.”

Finishing his sandwich, he tentatively tried one of the plantains. Slightly crisp on the outside, soft on the inside, and sweeter than he’d expected. He quickly grabbed another before Mollie could finish off the container.

When he couldn’t fit in another bite, he stretched and looked around. The haze of his earlier imbibing was gone, and he realized that although the restaurant itself was modest, the scenery was spectacular. Dunes stretched for what seemed like miles, and beyond them he could see the deep blue of the ocean. Sprawling trees dotted the landscape, with huge green leaves the size of dinner plates. “What are those trees with the giant leaves? The ones growing right in the sand?”

“They’re called sea grapes. Those big leaves help block any light from the town that might disturb nesting sea turtles. In the summer they grow these berries that look almost like grapes that the birds go nuts for. And of course the roots help stabilize the dunes, so they don’t just blow away.” She poured coffee into the two small cups. “It’s beautiful, but there’s a lot of strength there, too.”

Somehow, he had a feeling the same could be said about her.

* * *

Mollie wasn’t blind; she’d noticed the way he looked at her. She just wasn’t sure what to do about it. She should probably just walk him back to the Sandpiper, then go home and clean her house or something. That would be the practical thing to do. Of course, as the black sheep of he family, practical wasn’t really her speed. Despite her mother’s best efforts to the contrary. No, Mollie believed in going with her gut, and her gut was saying it was way to early to say good night. “How do you feel about a swim?”

He looked down at his faded T-shirt and jeans. “Now? I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

“Not here, back at the Sandpiper. I’m assuming you packed a bathing suit?”

He grinned. “What, no skinny-dipping on the first date?”

Oh, boy. He was cute and he had a sense of humor. And was totally on the rebound. She was in deep trouble. But in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ve got one in the car, so while you get checked in I can duck into Jillian’s room and change.”

“Jillian?”

“Jillian Caruso. She and her husband, Nic, own the Sandpiper. They have a private suite on the first floor.”

“Ah, when I made the reservations, Nic mentioned he’d gotten married recently.” He stood and collected their trash, disposing of it in the labeled bin. “I don’t think I would want to live where I worked, with the public just a few doors away all the time.”

“Yeah, it’s not ideal. But they’re building a separate house on the property, so they can have some privacy. Plus, with the baby coming, they’ll need the space.”

His smile faded at the mention of a child.

“What, don’t you like kids?”

“Actually, I do. Up until a few days ago, I thought I was having one.”

She sat back down on the picnic bench. “Excuse me?”

He rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “My ex-fiancée is pregnant—she’s due in a month.”

“But it’s not your baby?”

He shook his head. “When she ran out on me, she left me a note. It said she couldn’t go through with the wedding and that I shouldn’t try to find her. Of course, she might have said that last part because of the money she took out of my account before she left.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he started back towards the Sandpiper. “She also admitted the baby wasn’t mine.”

Shell-shocked, Mollie just sat there for a minute, watching him walk away. Getting dumped was bad enough, but this was like something out of a daytime talk show. Belatedly getting to her feet, she ran to catch up with him.

What did you say after an admission like that? Maybe it was better not to say anything. He was a stranger and probably didn’t need some random girl poking into his life. On the other hand, sometimes it was easier to talk about the hard things with someone you didn’t know. And she wasn’t good at keeping quiet anyway. “Do you believe her?”

He sighed, looking out over the water as if the answer to her question could be found along the horizon. “I don’t know. I guess I have to. I don’t even know where she went, and I don’t know why she’d lie about it. Not that I understand much about why she did what she did. We never should have been together in the first place. She was a friend of a friend, no one I knew well, and it didn’t take long to figure out we had nothing in common. But by then she was pregnant, and in the shock of it all I made a bad situation worse and proposed.” A harsh laugh escaped. “It seemed like the honorable thing to do, you know? But the more I got to know her, the less I could picture us married. We spent the last several months living mostly separate lives. At least she had the guts to realize it wouldn’t work. I was too stubborn to admit it.”

“Because you thought she was pregnant with your child.”

“Exactly. As much as I wasn’t in love with her, I wanted to be there for my son.” He stopped, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. “I was there when they did the ultrasound. It’s a boy.”

“So what do you do now?”

“There’s not much I can do. I hired an investigator. If he finds her, I’ll get a court order for a DNA test. But he doesn’t sound very hopeful.”

“That sucks.”

He rubbed a hand through his hair, shoving it back in a burst of frustration. “Yeah, it does. But I couldn’t just sit around my apartment, feeling sorry for myself. I was going to go crazy.”

“So you came here.”

He shrugged. “I still had the tickets and it was too late to get a refund.”

She walked beside him in silence, feeling his betrayal and confusion. Maybe she’d only known him a couple of hours, but there had been an instant connection as soon as she’d seen him on the stairs at the inn. He was like a wild animal that’d been abused, beautiful and proud but hurting inside. She couldn’t fix his life, but maybe she could help him forget a bit, at least while he was here. Sometimes a distraction was almost as good as a cure.

At the Sandpiper, she stopped in the gravel lot to retrieve her bathing suit. She unlocked the trunk and swung her backpack over her shoulder before taking the path to the front door.

“Does everyone in Florida keep an emergency bathing suit in their car? The way people up north keep blankets in theirs?”

“Not everyone. But I do, in case I want to go for a swim after work or on my lunch break.”

Noah’s single suitcase was on the covered porch where the cab driver had left it. He grabbed it with one hand and held the door for her with the other. “Wait, you go to the beach on your lunch break?”

“Sure, it’s only five minutes from the clinic I work at. I can change, have a half-hour swim, then eat a sandwich in the car on the way back to work.”

He shook his head and smiled. “No wonder they call this place Paradise.”

* * *

Mollie left Noah at the front desk with Jillian while she went to change into her suit. Ducking into the master suite, she noticed the new hardwood flooring in the halls and fresh paint on the walls. Nic was doing a great job restoring the old inn. Of course, she was happy that Jillian had such an incredible place to live, but the whole idea of marriage and babies seemed so grown-up and responsible. She wasn’t ready for all that yet. She’d seen what raising a family had done to her mother’s dreams—her professional dance career had ended before it really began—and Mollie wasn’t going to let that happen to her.

Which was why she didn’t date. Dating led to relationships—first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Mollie with a baby carriage. No, thank you. She had things she wanted to accomplish, and getting sucked into the mommy track wasn’t in the plans.

Jillian poked her head around the door. “Hey, I just checked in a Noah James. He said you two are heading to the beach?”

“Yeah, we’re going to get in a swim before dark.”

Jillian’s eyebrows rose. “You know he was supposed to be here on his honeymoon, right? He’s on the rebound, hard-core.”

Mollie rolled her eyes. “I’m not sleeping with the guy—we’re just going swimming. I found him on the front steps earlier, and we ended up getting a bite to eat at Rolando’s. He seemed like he could use some cheering up.” She reached back to adjust the tie of her bikini top, torn between sharing his story with her friend and protecting his privacy.

Jillian’s expression softened. “Yeah, I guess he does. I don’t know very much about him—he dealt with Nic when he made the reservations. They know each other, though, from some welding project he worked on for Caruso Hotels. Nic says he’s a good guy, but still, be careful, okay? I know you never turn away a stray, but you don’t want to get wrapped up in that level of drama.”

Be careful. Safety first. Look before you leap. Why did everyone feel the need to say things like that to her? She was twenty-six, not twelve. She was getting tired of everyone she knew treating her like she couldn’t handle herself just because she led her life a little differently. So what if she ate sushi for breakfast sometimes or preferred thrift-store T-shirts to business casual? And yeah, she had daydreamed and doodled her way through high school, but not everyone could be the straight-A student her sister was. She’d graduated just the same, and if her choice to focus on the arts rather than something practical was a risk, it was one she was willing to take. Her goal was to live life without regrets, to follow whatever adventure came along.

Maybe that’s why she’d been so ready to take a chance and invite Noah to dinner. A small rebellion against all the caution signs surrounding her. Or maybe he was just that intriguing. Whatever it was, she wasn’t backing off. Her gut told her he needed a friend right now, and despite what everyone seemed to think, her gut was usually right.

“We’re going for a swim, not robbing a bank. I’ll only be a stone’s throw from your back door. Heck, you can send Nic to find us if we aren’t back in a few hours.” She threw the backpack on her shoulder and headed for the door.

“I might just do that.” She grinned. “But in the meantime, he’s lucky to have you to introduce him to Paradise Isle. He couldn’t ask for a better tour guide.”

“Well, when you’ve never been anywhere else, you get a good appreciation for a place.” She shrugged. “But thanks. I’ll see you later.”

She found Noah waiting for her out back. Nothing like watching a man’s mouth fall open to boost the ego. She didn’t have the curves of a supermodel, but her new push-up bikini top seemed to be working just fine. “You can put your tongue back in your mouth now.”

He chuckled. “I’ll apologize for staring if you want, but it would be a lie.”

She understood his predicament. She was doing some ogling herself, taking in all six-foot something of him. She’d known he was tall and broad-shouldered, but she hadn’t anticipated all the lean, tanned muscles he’d been hiding under his street clothes. Jillian was right—this man was no stray.

“Shall we?” He gestured for her to pass, and she padded down the sandy wooden steps, the boards still warm from the heat of the day. Summer had barely started, but the temperatures were already in the eighties. At the bottom she paused for him to take off his shoes; she’d stashed hers in her backpack when she changed.

“You can just leave your shoes next to the steps. No one will touch them.”

He didn’t argue, and she gave him a mental bonus point. Not all guys tolerated being told what to do. The sand was hot under their feet, but when they neared the water it phased it out. “Just so you know, the water is still pretty cold this early in the year. By August it will be like bathwater, but for now it’s a bit bracing.” Then, grabbing his hand, she pulled him in with her.

“Whoa, you weren’t kidding. This is freezing.” He stopped her when they were about chest deep. Well, chest deep for her; he was significantly taller.

“You’ll get used to it.” She released his hand and leaned back to let herself float, her body rocked by the calm swells. Nothing was better than this. It was that magical time of evening when the day was over but night hadn’t quite taken hold yet. The sky was an abstract ballet of colors dancing in the light, changing minute by minute as the sun dropped. If she had to be stuck in one place forever, Paradise Isle wasn’t a bad choice. But she didn’t plan on staying stuck.

Turning her head, she could see Noah floating beside her, as mesmerized by the view as she was. Moving on instinct, she reached out and took his hand, sucking in a breath at the buzz of attraction that sparked between them. She’d meant to show him a bit of the peace that Paradise had to offer. Instead, he was creating his own version of chaos in her world.

* * *

The cold Atlantic water had washed away the last lingering effects of the alcohol, leaving Noah feeling more clear-headed than he had in days. Maybe longer. Everything had gone haywire the minute he’d met Angela. At first her need for excitement had been fun, the constant parties a way to let loose after the months of work he’d put into his latest project. But then the drama started. Late-night fights over nothing, constant demands for attention. She thought that a man of his fame, who had been touted as one of Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors, would live an extravagant life and spend lots of money, preferably on her. His modest lifestyle had been a shock, and any attraction had faded quickly, on both their parts. But the drama had lingered until the final day, with fights over everything from what car he drove to where they were going to live.

Mollie tugged at his hand. “You aren’t brooding over there, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m literally in Paradise, hanging out with a beautiful woman, watching the sun set. What do I have to brood about?”

She blushed at his compliment, a faint pink creeping across her face. He liked that behind her boldness, there was an innocence about her, too. There was no cunning or guile with her. “How long have you lived here?”

“All my life,” she answered easily. “Actually, I was born on the mainland, at Palmetto Hospital, but only because the Paradise Medical Center wasn’t built yet. I’ve been an islander since I was a few days old.”

“Seriously?” He couldn’t imagine living in one place your whole life.

“Yeah, I’m a native. How about you—where are you from?”

He never knew how to answer that question. “Everywhere. Nowhere.”

She stood, wiping at the water dripping down her face. “That’s not an answer.”

He stood, too, a full head above her. “I’m not trying to be evasive. I just don’t have a good answer. I was born in Colorado, but I’ve lived in more places than I can remember. Dad’s army, so we moved every few years. I think the longest I stayed in one place was four years, and that was in college.”

She tilted her head, considering him with those big brown eyes that seemed to see more than they should. “Was it hard? Moving all the time?”

A dozen different goodbyes flashed through his head. “Yeah. It was hard.”

She ran a hand up his arm, her fingers leaving a trail of saltwater and awareness. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was as warm as her touch, drawing him in.

“Don’t be. I had just as many hellos as goodbyes.” He moved closer until he could feel her slick skin pressed against him.

She tipped her chin up, her gaze locked on his. “Well then, I guess we could consider this a hello.”

He could make a joke, laugh it off and swim back. He probably should. He hadn’t so much as looked at another woman since he met Angela, even though they’d had separate bedrooms for the past six months. But there was a single drop of water clinging to Mollie’s lip and he just had to have a taste.

Slowly, giving her time to stop him, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She tasted of salt water and sweetness, like the taffy he’d had at a carnival as a kid. She floated in his arms as they kissed, the waves washing against them while he feasted on her mouth. He wanted more, to take her right there, to feel her from the inside out while the first stars of the night peaked through the sky.

Mollie pulled away, leaving him with her taste clinging to his lips. “This is crazy.”

“It doesn’t feel crazy.” It felt incredible.

“Despite the fact that you’re on the rebound and I don’t date?”

“Well, yeah, aside from that. Are you sure you don’t date?” She was pretty and fun and could have her pick of guys. So why was she off the market?

She nodded, bobbing in the water. “Very sure. No offense, but men have a way of getting in a woman’s way when it comes to a career. I’ve got too much I want to do to risk getting distracted by a relationship.”

She had a good point, but something in him wanted to try to change her mind. Maybe it was the months of celibacy talking or the need to forget all the crazy parts of his life, at least for a few minutes. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet. “I don’t know, distractions can be fun.”

She shivered. The sun had fully set now, and the air was no longer warm enough to make up for the cold water. “Nice try, but I don’t even know you.”

“Sure you do. You know I’m a military brat, my parents are crazy, and I can’t hold my liquor. What more is there?”

She splashed him. “I mean, I don’t know where you live, what you do for a living, if you have any pets, that kind of thing.”

“To be fair, I don’t know any of that about you, either. But I’m willing to keep making out anyway.” His body didn’t care about any of that stuff. And the rest of him was too spellbound to think straight.

“How very generous of you.” She was shivering again.

Taking her hand again, he waded up to the shore. He wrapped her in one of the soft, oversize towels they had left there and then rubbed himself down.

“You’re like ice. We need to get you into some dry clothes.”

She rolled her eyes. “One minute you’re acting like you want me out of my clothes, the next you want me to put more on. I can’t win with you.”

“Very funny. Come on.” He led the way to the steps and onto the deck, then held the door for her to go inside.”

She hesitated. “I’m not going up to your room with you.”

He hadn’t expected she would. But he wasn’t ready to let her walk out of his life yet, either. “Mollie—”

“No, wait, I’ve been thinking. You said you want to get your mind off things while you’re here, right?”

“Yeah, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I expect you to—”

She smacked him. “Get your mind out of the gutter. No, I was going to say, why don’t you let me show you around while you’re here, be your personal vacation guide?”

Was she serious? “What about your work, or whatever?” He didn’t know what she did, but she must have some kind of responsibilities.

“I’ve actually already got the week off from school and work.”

“School?” He’d thought she was in her midtwenties, just a bit younger than him.

She shrugged. “I take college classes at night, and I arranged my vacation hours at work to match up with the break between the fall and summer semesters. So I’ve got the time.” She blinked those big eyes at him. “I’m not suggesting anything, well, romantic—I’m not looking for a relationship, and I don’t do one-night stands. But I’d like to be your friend while you’re here. If you’re interested.”

Interested in spending a week in Paradise in the company of a beautiful woman? “I can’t think of anything I’d like better.”

* * *

Mollie sipped her coffee and checked the kitschy black-and-white cat clock hanging on her living room wall. It was almost nine o’clock; Noah should be there any minute. As if on cue, she heard a car pull into the driveway. Nerves flopping in her stomach, she quickly smeared on some tinted lip gloss. Makeup so wasn’t her thing, but after that kiss last night, soft lips seemed more of a priority than they had before. Not that she was planning to kiss him again. Still, better safe than sorry.

She opened the door before he could knock and was struck again by that feeling of awareness that had tickled her senses from the first time she saw him. It was a bit like the tingle before a lightning storm, a warning of the heat and power to come.

He was dressed casually, in a pair of cargo shorts and a gray army T-shirt, and had a bag from Sandcastle Bakery in his hand. “Ooh, breakfast?”

“If you consider a variety of sugary pastries breakfast, then yes. I had the cabdriver stop on the way here.”

“That’s the very best kind of breakfast. Let me get some plates.” She led him into her tiny kitchen and handed him the plates. “Do you want coffee or orange juice?”

“As a Florida tourist, I think I’m required to at least try the orange juice.”

“Good point.” She poured a glass for him, and then motioned to the back door. “We can eat on the patio.”

He reached the door before she did and started to open it, only to slam it closed again.

That was odd. “What are you doing?”

He swallowed hard. “This is going to sound crazy, but do you have bears around here?”

“What? No way. They see them over near Orlando and Ocala, but we don’t have bears on the island.” A thought occurred to her. “Wait, you haven’t been drinking again, have you?” If he had some kind of problem, she needed to know now.

“No, I’m telling you, there’s something out there in the bushes. Something big.”

Realization dawned. Oops.

“Yeah, about that...” She pushed past him and opened the door, letting out a whistle.

“Are you crazy?”

“Hey, I’m not the one seeing imaginary bears.” She pointed and he peered around her. Out of the bushes came her large, but not quite bear-sized, dog.

“Holy cow, what is that? And why does he only have three legs?”

“That’s Baby, and you be nice to him. He might be big, but he’s sensitive.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “He’s yours?”

“It’s more that I’m his. But don’t worry. He’s a total sweetie. He just looks intimidating, right, boy?” The massive dog trotted over on and sniffed the bakery bag.

“If I give him the donuts, will it keep him from eating me?” To his credit, Noah hadn’t retreated back into the house, but his color looked a bit pale.

“He’s not going to eat you. And he’s not allowed any donuts. He’s on a diet.”

“So you’re saying he’s hungry? Great. That’s just great.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re afraid of dogs.”

“That’s not a dog,” he protested. “Beagles are dogs. Cocker spaniels are dogs. That’s a—”

“Mastiff. An English mastiff, to be exact. And he wouldn’t hurt a fly, so stop acting like he’s the big bad wolf. You’re going to hurt his feelings.” She rubbed the big dog’s head and took the pastries from Noah. Immediately, the dog left him and followed her, nosing hopefully at the bag. “I said no. You already had your breakfast, and Cassie says if you don’t lose weight you’re going to end up with arthritis. Go lie down.”

Chastised, the oversize canine shambled off to lie in the grass. She put the bag on the bright blue picnic table and sat in one of the mismatched chairs. Noah cautiously joined her, keeping his attention on the now-snoozing beast. “So, what happened to his other leg? And who is Cassie, some kind of doggie-diet guru?”

“Cassie’s my boss. She’s a veterinarian. She and her father own the clinic I work at. As for Baby, a rescue group we work with brought him in when he was just a puppy. He’d been hit by a car over in Cocoa Beach and one of the volunteers found him. We fixed him up, and when no one claimed him I got to bring him home.”

“So you work at a veterinary clinic? Are you some kind of animal nurse or something?”

She finished the bite of donut she was chewing. “No, that would be Jillian. She’s the veterinary technician. I’m the receptionist. Oh, and I teach obedience classes on the weekends.”

“Is that what you always wanted to do, work with animals?”

“Not as a career, no. I do like the dog-training part of it—I don’t want to give that up. But working in an office, any office, for the rest of my life would suffocate me eventually.”

“Well, what are you going to school for?”

“I’m only going part-time, but I’m a photography major, much to my parents’ disappointment.” She grimaced. “They’re glad I finally went back to school, but they think I should do something practical, like accounting.”

“But that puts you right back in the office all day.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so forget them. What do you want to do?”

Right this second, what she wanted to do was to lick the powdered sugar off his lips. But that probably wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “What I’d love to do is travel, take pictures, maybe work for a magazine. I want to make a name for myself as a nature photographer. But as my parents have repeatedly pointed out, art isn’t exactly a practical career choice.”

“Photography, huh? Can I see some of your pictures?”

She hesitated. She always felt so vulnerable, showing her work to a new person. And with him, for whatever reason, the nerves were multiplied.

“Please? You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

If that was a pickup line, it was awful. “Show me what?”

“My sculptures. Well, photos of them. I might have some on my phone of the most recent one, or you can just look it up online.”

“Excuse me?” Sculpture. Her stomach dropped. Oh no. He couldn’t be. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started frantically typing. At the top of the search results was Noah James, metal sculpture artist. She clicked on the link and there he was, in a photo taken at the grand opening of the Caruso Hotel in Las Vegas. Behind him was the sculpture the hotel had commissioned for the lobby, an abstract swirl of metal twining at least ten feet high.

She held the phone out and showed him the photo. “You made that? Jillian told me you were a welder!”

“I did make that, and I am a welder.”

She shook her head in frustration. “No, you’re not. I mean, I’m sure welding is involved, but you’re one of the most famous metal artists in the country.” Hadn’t a celebrity magazine included him as one of its sexiest men alive last year? She remembered only because he’d been the only artist in a list of politicians, actors, and pop stars. But he’d had a beard then; no wonder she hadn’t recognized him right away. That, and well, famous people didn’t tend to show up in small towns like Paradise. She looked down at the screen again, trying to understand how the man sitting across from her could be the man in the article. “This says your last sculpture sold for almost a quarter of a million dollars! I thought you welded rebar for building foundations or something. Why didn’t you tell me?” She tossed the phone down, and covered her face with her hands. “Oh my God, I made out with Noah James. The Noah James.” Holy crap. Girls like her did not go around kissing famous millionaires. So much for him being a stray in need of a helping hand.

He reached over to pry her hands away. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter. I’m still the same pathetic guy you found on the steps yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes. “You might be the same guy, but from where I sit your bank account just got a lot bigger. For crying out loud, I fed you food from a roadside stand.” She paused, considering. “Although, I will say, I feel better now about making you pay for dinner.”

* * *

He hoped his financial status wasn’t going to change things for her. He was happier here, eating donuts from a sack than he’d ever been at fancy galas or exhibitions. A few high-dollar sales hadn’t changed who he was or what he wanted. And right now, he wanted to see her photos. He’d bet money she was better than she thought she was. Her house and garden reflected an innate understanding of color and light. Even her mismatched furniture showed an artistic flair. “So, are you going to show me some of your work, or not?”

She looked at him. “After finding out you’re a famous artist? No way. My ego isn’t ready for that kind of scrutiny, not this early in the morning.”

Eager as he was, pressing her would probably do more harm than good. “Fine, then let’s get started with whatever’s first on the tour. What are we doing today? Swimming, Jet Skiing, sightseeing?”

She shook her head. “Nope, today we’re fishing.”

“You mean, with worms and stuff?” He hadn’t been fishing in years, and had never really enjoyed it. Sitting on the edge of some muddy pond doing nothing for hours on end didn’t sound like much fun. Of course, he’d never had her for company before.

“No worms. You’ll have fun, guaranteed, or your money back.”

“Easy to say when I’m not paying you anything anyway.”

She winked. “Exactly. And if we want to actually catch anything, we need to hurry. Once it really heats up, the fish stop biting.” She stood and gathered their breakfast remains. “Baby, come on. Time to go.”

The big dog stood and shook himself, then loped over, panting and wagging his tail.

“He’s going with us?”

“Oh yeah, he loves to fish. He goes nuts when he sees the poles. We can’t leave him behind.”

Of course not. That would be crazy. After all, who wouldn’t want to spend their vacation fishing with a moose-sized three-legged dog? He eyeballed him again. “Does he even fit in the car?”

“Sure he does, but the longer we stand here talking about it, the less time we have to actually fish.”

That had kind of been the point. But he’d asked her to give him the real island experience and if that meant fishing, well, then, he’d fish. Fishing with her would be better than doing pretty much anything without her. “By all means, let’s go then.”

She stacked the dishes in the sink, then came back out and locked the door. A small detached garage was beside the house, and she ducked into it, telling him to wait. A minute later she was back with two fishing poles, a long leash, a bulky camera bag and what must be a tackle box. Setting the box down, she snapped the leash on Baby and handed it to him. “You take him, I’ll carry our gear.”

He recognized the challenge in her suggestion, and took the leash. It wasn’t like he was afraid of dogs. He’d just never met one that looked like it could eat him whole and still have room for dessert. Following Mollie around to the front of the house, he kept a tight hold on the leash and a close eye on the dog.

He had to admit, it was pretty impressive how well the dog managed on three legs. Unlike most people, he didn’t seem to care that he wasn’t quite perfect. He just was happy to be alive. When Noah stopped in the driveway beside Mollie’s little hatchback, Baby moved closer, bumping Noah’s hip with his massive head. Getting the hint, Noah gave the dog a cautious scratch and was rewarded with a tail wag forceful enough to knock over a small child.

Mollie secured the poles to a roof rack, and then took the leash and loaded the dog into the cargo area. Noah watched with fascination as Baby wedged himself into a comfortable position, then proceeded to shut his eyes as if the whole process had exhausted him. By the time Noah was buckled into the passenger seat, there were loud snores coming from the backseat.

Mollie started the car. “I still can’t believe you’re a famous artist.”

“And I can’t believe you’re still thinking about that. I’m just me, and this is like any other fishing trip, okay? Just you, me and Baby. Which, by the way, is a ridiculous name for a hundred-pound dog.”

“He’s almost two hundred pounds, actually.” She grinned. “I thought the name might help him seem less intimidating.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Hey, I saw you petting him. Admit it, you like him.”

“Fine, yes, I like him. What concerns me is how he feels about me.”

She laughed. “I see your point. But you don’t have to worry, you’re pretty easy to like.”

* * *

The drive to the marina was quiet, other than Baby’s snoring. Inside her head, though, chaos reigned. Was she crazy to be spending more time with Noah? Safety wasn’t her concern; between Baby and her years of martial arts training, she wasn’t worried about him trying anything. But how could she keep things fun and casual when every minute around him had her liking him more? And not in a platonic, let’s-be-friends way. Not even close. But even if she was willing to break her no-dating rule, in a few days he’d be headed back to his real life, and she wasn’t interested in being someone’s vacation fling. Not to mention he was on the rebound. No matter how she looked at it, anything other than friendship would just be asking to get hurt.

He broke the silence first. “Do you go fishing a lot?”

“Not as much as I’d like. Between work and school, it’s hard to find the time. But I try to go out at least every few weeks, usually with my dad.” Which reminded her—she really ought to make an effort to go see him and her mom while she was off this week. She made a mental note to call them as she turned into the parking lot of the marina. Boats of all sizes and shapes dotted the water, from beat-up fishing vessels to sleek yachts. There were quite a few houseboats, too, some that were bigger than her own home.

“What are those garage-like buildings?” Noah pointed to a row of open fronted warehouses where boats were stacked four high in individual slots.

“Those are dry racks. People pay to have their boats stored there to protect them from the elements. The marina uses a big forklift to move them in and out.”

“Valet service for your boat?”

She smiled. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but yeah, basically.” Getting out of the car, she checked that she had everything and let Baby out of the back. “Let’s head up to the marina store. I want to get some bottled water and we’re going to need bait.”

“So what’s the deal? Are we renting a boat here?”

“Nope, my Dad has one stored here. Well, I guess it’s the family boat, but he and I are the only ones that take it out. My sister is a workaholic and doesn’t make it down here much. And Mom likes to tag along, but she won’t take it out by herself.”

With Noah carrying the gear this time, she walked with Baby, waving at a few of the people down on the docks. They passed the restrooms and a covered picnic area, and then the pool.

Noah turned to take it all in. “I always thought a marina was like a parking lot for boats, but it almost seems like a campground or something.”

“Well, it’s kind of both. Most people just store their boats here, but some live off them. For them, this is a neighborhood of sorts. And even the day trippers sometimes like to get a drink or something to eat at the restaurant.”

“I wonder what that’s like, living on a boat.”

“I’ve thought about trying it, but haven’t had the guts or the money to actually do it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe someday, though.”

They reached the small bait-and-tackle store along the waterfront, and she reminded Baby to behave.

“You can bring the dog inside?”

“Everyone here knows Baby. They’d give me hell if I didn’t bring him in.” Once inside, she walked past the rows of shiny lures and the displays of custom-made rods to the coolers in the back. “You grab us some water and ice. I’ll get the bait.” She picked out a package of frozen shrimp and some squid. Usually she went with live bait, but given Noah’s lackluster reaction to the idea of a fishing trip, the frozen stuff might be a better way to ease him into the experience.

Taking everything up to the register, she paid while Baby was fawned over by Frank, the owner. “How’s my favorite pup?”

“She’s doing great, thanks. How are you and Marie?”

“Oh, we’re good.” His smile crinkled the lines on his face. “The grandkids were down last week and about wore us out.”

“And I’m sure you can’t wait for them to come back again.” The elderly couple doted on their grandchildren, and the feeling was mutual. The kids were often underfoot around the marina, enjoying the fresh air whenever they had a school break.

“You got that right.” He tipped his head toward Noah, who was inspecting some handmade boat models. “Who’s the fella?”

“Oh, he’s one of Jillian and Nic’s guests, someone Nic knows from work. I’m just showing him around a bit.” In a small town like Paradise, it was better to stop any rumors before they started.

“Mmm-hmm. Well, you just make sure he treats you right. You never know with those tourist types. At least you’ve got Baby here to keep an eye on things.”

She had no doubt the loyal dog would defend her from an attack, but what she really needed was protection from herself and the growing attraction she felt every time Noah was around. She wasn’t about to explain that to Frank, though, so she just nodded and headed for the door.

“Hey, don’t forget me,” Noah called, putting down the replica sailboat he’d wandered over to.

Forget him? She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since she saw him on the steps of the Sandpiper. No, the only thing she was in danger of forgetting was her common sense.

* * *

Noah followed Mollie out of the dimness of the bait shop, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun. Taking one of the plastic bags from her, he matched her pace down one of the long docks extending over the blue-green water. “Which boat is yours?”

She pointed to a midsize vessel about halfway down, a picture of an orange and the words Main Squeeze emblazoned on the hull.

“Cute name.”

She rolled her eyes. “That was Dad’s attempt to suck up to my mom. He was trying to get her to like the boat more.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope. I mean, I’m sure she appreciated the gesture, but she’d rather stay on dry land and fuss with her plants. The garden is her happy place.”

“And the water is yours?”

“One of them. I’m not real picky. Anywhere outside works for me.”

“And anywhere you can snap off some good shots?” He nodded to the camera bag she’d pulled from the car, now hanging from her shoulder.

A quick smile of acknowledgment was replaced with a grimace as she stepped onto the deck, absorbing the movement of the sea like a seasoned sailor. “Someone must have left some bait on board.” Her nose crinkled, her freckles bunching up as she made room for him to join her. “Sorry, I’ll rinse out the bait wells if you’ll keep an eye on Baby.”

At the sound of his name, the dog stood up from where he’d been sprawled on the warm wood planks of the dock, leaping across the gap between the dock and boat with much more grace than Noah expected from the oversize amputee. “Show-off.”

Switching the bags to his left hand, he braced his right on the post beside him and swung down, a bit more clumsily than the dog but without falling on his butt, thankfully. Being out of his element was one thing; making a fool of himself was another.

Baby sat calmly a few feet from his mistress, not needing any minding that Noah could see. Mollie had her back turned, a hose in her hand as she bent over the bait wells hidden inside a set of bench seats. He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, but he wasn’t going to distract her as long as he had such a nice view. Long, tanned legs ended in a trim bottom with just the right amount of curves, displayed nicely in a ripped pair of cutoffs that had him looking at denim with new appreciation.

“There, that’s better.” Mollie stood up, tossing the short hose back onto the dock. Kicking off her flip flops, she stepped up onto the gunwale, stretching to reach the spigot sticking out from a mooring post.

“Careful!” His breath caught at the way she was leaning out so far over the edge—and not just because of the way her tank top was riding up.

Ignoring his warning, she turned the water off and then hung the hose up neatly on the hook next to it. “Relax. I’m not going to fall overboard. I promise.”

As if to prove her point, she balanced for a minute, hands free, before hopping down beside him. “See, totally safe.”

She might not be worried about drowning, but with her standing only inches away neither one of them was safe. She was close enough to taste, and he’d like nothing better than to kiss that cocky grin off her face. But she’d set the ground rules, and he wasn’t enough of a jerk to break them. He hoped.

Backing up, he put some breathing room between them. “All right, so, what do we have to do now? Tell me how I can help, and don’t say watch the dog—he obviously doesn’t need a babysitter.”

Amusement flashed in her eyes. “You caught on to that, huh?”

“That you were just giving me a job to salve my ego and keep me out of the way? Yeah.”

Unrepentant, she shrugged a shoulder. “Well, I really didn’t need you to do anything, and a lot of guys would get offended if I did everything myself and didn’t let them help.”

“Are you kidding? I’m on my vacation. Or honeymoon, whatever. I think my ego can handle sitting here and watching a pretty lady take care of things. But,” he added, more seriously, “I’d love to learn, so maybe you can explain what you’re doing, and then next time I really can be of some help.”

“You’ve got a deal.” She took the bags from him and dumped ice into a cooler located under yet another seat, stowed the drinks, and then put the frozen bags of bait in the now clean bait wells. “No ice on these. We want them to thaw a bit so we can use them. If we were using live bait, we could fill these compartments with seawater, and then turn on the air pump to keep the water oxygenated.”

“So noted. Drinks and bait separate, and live bait should be kept live.” He leaned his weight against the tall captain’s chair, enjoying watching Mollie work. “So what’s next?” She was an excellent teacher, and he was definitely an eager student.

“Next you get out of my seat so I can start the boat.” She gave him a gentle nudge with her elbow, and even that contact was enough to have his body reacting in ways that were not particularly appropriate. Glad he’d worn baggy shorts, he eased past her, careful not to let their bodies touch.

She inserted a normal looking key attached to a bright orange foam keychain and the engine rumbled to life. “We’ll let it idle for a bit while I text my dad our float plan. Then we’ll untie the lines and be on our way.”

“Float plan?”

“It’s like a flight plan, but for boating. Whenever any of us go out, we let someone know when we are leaving, where we plan to go and when we should be back.”

“That’s smart of you.” He relaxed a bit; he should have known she’d take the proper precautions. As impulsive as she claimed to be she also had a level head on her shoulders.

Mollie stared for a minute before seeming to accept his compliment at face value. “Thanks. All right, now, time to cast off. I’m going to untie this line, if you want to get the other one.”

Pleased that she’d given him a job, no matter how small, he carefully unwound the rough rope from the anvil-shaped metal cleat bolted to the dock. As soon as he was done, Mollie pushed off, freeing the small craft from its moorings before returning to the captain’s seat. A minute later they were slowly motoring out of the marina towards the Intracoastal Waterway.

Looking back at Mollie, a peaceful smile on her face, the breeze blowing her hair as she effortlessly steered the boat through the channel, he couldn’t help but think it might not be just the fish in danger of being hooked.

* * *

Mollie focused on steering the boat down the center of the channel, pretending that whatever this feeling was that sparked around Noah was nothing more than the normal response to being around someone as famous as him. Of course, it, whatever it was, had started before she’d known his identity. Which would mean it was something else entirely, something more primitive, more basic.

She certainly felt more primal, more aware of her own body around him. Cutoffs and a tank top had never felt so revealing, not that he’d done or said anything inappropriate. He was sticking to the terms of her agreement, but that didn’t stop the air from almost crackling when they touched. Not that she planned on touching him again, but the boat was only so big and casual contact was hard to avoid.

“What’s that?” Noah broke into her musings, pointing to a large wooden platform perched atop a post at the water’s edge.

“A nesting platform. The power company builds them for the osprey, to try to keep them from nesting on utility poles. If you keep an eye out, you should see a few with actual nests on them. The ospreys around here are a bit unusual in that they don’t migrate, so the breeding season goes on all year.”

“They live in Paradise, literally.” He gestured out over the clear water towards the picturesque sandy shore. “I wouldn’t want to migrate, either. What could be better than this?”

“Adventure? New things, new places, new people? Stores that stay open past nine p.m.?”

“Whoa, where did that come from?” Noah’s eyes crinkled in concern, his lazy slouch against the railing belying the edge beneath his words. “I thought you loved this place. Isn’t that why you’re showing me around? So I can see how great it is?”

Mollie bit back a defensive retort; it wasn’t Noah’s fault she felt so conflicted. Taking a few deep breaths of the salty humid air, she tried again. “I do love it here. I can’t imagine a better place to grow up, or anywhere else ever being home.”

“But?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“But I want more!” She felt her cheeks heat at the outburst. Great, now she sounded like a spoiled brat. “That sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

He grinned. “Not awful. Just sounds like you have a bit of wanderlust, that’s all. Nothing wrong with wanting to travel a bit, strike out on your own.”

“You get it.” He put her rambling thoughts into words so easily it was like he could read her mind. “My family, my friends... They think I’m crazy to want to leave, I don’t even have anywhere in particular I want to go. I guess I just don’t want to end up tied down like my mom did.”

Noah waited for her to explain, not pushing, but letting her know he was listening if she wanted to share. Funny how it was so much easier to talk about this stuff with a near-stranger than her friends.

“My mom was a dancer, a talented one. She had a chance to go to New York and dance with a major company. I’ve seen the newspaper clippings, the old programs—she has a whole scrapbook full. She could have been famous.”

“What happened?”

“She met my dad.” And that had been the beginning of the end when it came to her mother’s dancing career. “They fell in love, one thing led to another and a year later she had a ring, a mortgage and a baby. By the time I came along, she had given up on it completely. Once Dani and I were old enough for school, she started working at my father’s law office as a secretary. She’s never done anything else.”

“Does she regret leaving dance?”

“She says she doesn’t.” Mollie shrugged. What else could she say? That she wished she’d never given up her career to have kids? Not exactly something you could tell your daughter. “She says she’s happy, that having a family was always her real dream.”

“But that’s not what you want.” It was a statement, not a question.

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I ever will. I’m not like her. I can’t even think about it. I want some adventure in my life, a chance to test my limits, make my mark on the world. I can’t do that if I never leave the island.”

“So then go, chase your dreams.”

“What, just pick up and leave? Now?”

“Why not?” he challenged.

“Because...I’m not ready yet. I’m going to leave, at some point. But right now there’s school, and my job, my family—”

“Those are excuses, not reasons.” She started to argue, but he held up a tanned hand, silencing her. “You could apply to school somewhere else, transfer your credits. Or take a semester off. There are jobs everywhere. And your family, assuming everyone is in good health, isn’t going to wither up and die if you leave the zip code. As far as I can see, there’s nothing keeping you here, assuming you really want to leave, that is.”

“Of course I do.” Didn’t she? She wasn’t making excuses; she was waiting for the right time.

“Then trust me. Just do it. Do whatever it is that makes you happy, that makes you whole.”

He made it sound so easy. “Is that what you’re doing?”

He was silent for a moment. Maybe she was getting too personal, too heavy, but he’d started it. Hadn’t he?

“I don’t know.” His eyes were clouded, as if he were seeing something other than the water and mangroves around them. “In some ways I always have, if only out of self-preservation. There wasn’t much point in trying to impress my parents. Even if I’d made one happy, the other would have disapproved, just on principle. And I moved too often to make any real friends, let alone worry about impressing them. I guess that was the only good thing about growing up in chaos—you learn to rely on yourself.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. For a little while, I had thought maybe it was time to reach out, build some real relationships. Maybe even settle down with someone special.” He looked out over the water, his body tense. “Obviously, that didn’t work out very well, and honestly, I don’t think I’ve got it in me to try anymore.”

* * *

Noah knew his words sounded cold, but there was no point in lying to her. He was done pretending, done trying to be someone he wasn’t. He’d done that with Angela, and that hadn’t done anyone any good. Besides, Mollie had said she was known for telling it like it is; the least he could do was return the favor. Even if it wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

She seemed to consider his words as she scanned the horizon. “So you’re just a lone wolf, huh?” She didn’t seem upset by the idea; her shoulders were still relaxed, her limbs loose, as she steered the boat away from the main channel and into a narrower, winding section of water. Of course, why should she be? He was just one more temporary tourist to her; his views on life didn’t have any importance for her.

“Yup, didn’t you hear me out howling at the moon last night?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind. Not sure I’m ready to break from the pack though. When I go—and I will go—I want to do it right. I don’t want to have to come crawling back, tail between my legs, as it were.”

“Being prepared is good,” he conceded. “But there’s a fine line between planning and procrastination. When I’m working on a big project, I sometimes find myself bogged down in the details, sketching out every angle when I need to just jump in and trust the details will work themselves out.” He flashed her a grin. “But enough philosophy. Tell me about this place.”

She’d slowed the boat while he was talking, nosing them into a quiet cove surrounded by a dense thicket of low-slung trees, their bare roots making a tangle above and below the clear water. It was like something out of a movie, exotic and yet somehow peaceful, too.

“Well, it’s my favorite fishing spot. Other than that, what do you want to know?”

“For starters, what are those?” He pointed to the alien-looking trees that surrounded them. “I didn’t know trees could grow in water like that, let alone salt water.”

“Mangroves.” She turned the engine to idle and went to the front of the boat, lifting the heavy anchor and tossing it in with a splash before he could offer to do it for her. “Red mangroves, specifically. Those freaky-looking roots keep them from drowning. Kind of like a house on stilts. And they act like a nursery for all sorts of baby fish, protecting them from bigger predators.”

“And where there are fish, there are things that eat fish.” As if to punctuate his words, a pair of pelicans flopped to a landing atop the nearest bunch of trees.

Mollie followed his gaze, and chuckled. “Exactly. That’s why the birds hang out here, and it’s why we’re here. Should be enough for all of us. Grab a pole, and I’ll help you get a line in the water.”

“Don’t think I can handle baiting my own hook?” He tried to look offended.

“Can you?”

“Um, maybe? Honestly, that was never my favorite part as a kid.” He probably should be embarrassed by that but he wasn’t. He didn’t feel the urge to pretend or to try to fit in around Mollie. The sheer relief of just being himself in a place where no one cared who he was or wanted anything from him made the whole trip seem worthwhile. He might not be having the typical honeymoon, but he was definitely having a good time. Even if he didn’t know how to put a frozen shrimp on a hook.

Mollie did, though. Sitting on the seat closest to the bait well, she took the sleek black rod with its brass fittings and braced it between her knees, a sight that was way more erotic than it should be. Then she swiftly threaded the hook through a partially thawed shrimp in a figure-eight type motion. “There you go. Now, how about a quick lesson in casting?”

“Sure.” He stood and followed to the side of the boat farthest from the mangroves. “I thought you said the fish like to hide in the tree roots?”

“The little ones do, but getting your line trapped in the trees is a huge pain. Most of the time it snaps, and then a bird can get tangled in whatever is left in the branches.” She patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. There are plenty of fish on this side of the boat, too. Now, take the pole in your right hand, like this.”

She quickly showed him how to hold the pole with one finger securing the line before releasing the wire bail that controlled the reel. He imitated her movements, finding that the muscle memory built from those trips as a kid was still there.

“Good, now just bring the tip of the pole back. No, not so stiff...that’s it, you’ve got it!”

Without even really thinking, he released the line just as the pole swung overhead and his hook sailed out to land right in the middle of the cove. Hot damn, it was like riding a bike, you never really forgot. Thank heavens for muscle memory.

Mollie beamed, her smile as bright as the Florida sun overhead. “Great cast! You’ll be a fisherman yet.”

“I have to catch something first.”

“You will—I have faith in you. Besides, you have an excellent teacher.”

Her words proved prophetic, and what seemed like only minutes later he felt a tug on his line. The current? Or something more. A second later a harder tug gave him his answer. “I think I’ve got something!”

“Ooh, awesome! Keep reeling. Let’s see what you got.”

He had no intention of stopping; he was having too much fun. Seconds ticked by with the turning of the reel as he brought the fish closer to the boat. When it broke the water, Mollie leaned out and grabbed the line, handing him his prize, a sleek white and silver speckled fish.

“You did it! That’s a spotted trout, and if it’s big enough to be legal it’s our dinner tonight.”

He was grinning like a fool, but he didn’t care. He was on a boat in Paradise, he’d caught a fish and he had a beautiful woman smiling at him. Simple pleasures, sure, but often those were the best kind.

* * *

Mollie couldn’t take her eyes off of Noah. His bronze skin was shining in the bright sun, his hair ruffled by the breeze, and he was standing there like every proud fisherman before him, except he wasn’t every fisherman. He was a famous artist. And yet that didn’t matter, not out here. In his T-shirt and flip flops, he looked...perfect.

“So, is he big enough?”

Right, focus on the task at hand, Mollie. You’re fishing, for heaven’s sake; since when do you get all girly when you could be fishing?

“I’ll grab the ruler, just a sec.” Digging in the tackle box, she found the same folding ruler she’d used for her own first fish and measured carefully. “Fourteen inches. That’s an inch under legal. Looks like he’s gotta go back. Need some help unhooking him?”

“No, let me try.” His brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully eased the hook back out. “Did it. See, I’m a quick learner.”

“It helps that you’re good with your hands.” His eyes widened at the remark. “I mean, with sculpting and—oh, hell, you know what I mean. Just put the fish back in the water and pretend I didn’t say that, okay?” She knew from long experience that the best way to get past one of her ill-thought-out remarks was to just acknowledge it and move on.

Smirking, he did as she instructed, proving once again he could follow instructions. If only her tongue would do the same. “Ready to try again?”

“Sure, but I’ll bait it myself this time. You haven’t even gotten a line in the water yet. I can fend for myself.”

“Thanks.” She quickly baited her own hook and cast out into her favorite spot, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He was managing fine, which was no surprise. He really was good with his hands, which despite her protest to the contrary had her thinking about all the other ways he could use them.

Damn, she needed to cool off before she did something crazy, like make a move on him. She never did that. Guys were not interested in skinny brunettes with fish slime on their hands; they wanted blonde bombshells who got manicures and wore sundresses. Her own cutoffs were getting so frayed she’d need to throw them out soon, and her tank top was faded and plain. Her biggest nod to fashion was her extensive collection of bathing suits. It’s not that she disliked shopping as much as she figured she was never going to look like a supermodel, so why bother?

Noah might make her feel good about herself, but she needed to remember she was still a small-town tomboy who probably smelled like bait. And even if he was interested, he was leaving in a week. She respected herself too much to be just an upgrade on some guy’s vacation package. She needed to treat him like all the other guys she knew, a buddy, someone to have some laughs with. She could do that. She just needed to put things back in perspective.

Thankfully, when it came to perspective, she had a secret weapon. Putting her pole in one of the rod holders, she retrieved her camera bag from where she’d stowed it earlier. Her Canon Rebel was secondhand, but worked better than a lot of the newer models she’d seen tourists carrying. More importantly, she’d spent enough time with it to learn all its quirks, until it had the same familiar comfort as a favorite pair of slippers.

Noah was watching his line with the intensity of a lion stalking its prey, and she was able to snap several shots of him before he noticed.

“I wondered how long it would take you to get that thing out.”

“Sorry, I don’t usually sneak photos of people like that. You just looked so....” Gorgeous? Distracting? “Focused,” she finished. “I can get rid of it if you want, but it’s a good shot.”

He shrugged. “If it’s good, keep it.”

It was good, she knew without looking. She’d felt that tingle that said the shot was exactly how she wanted it to be. “Thanks. And I promise I’ll give you a heads-up if I aim your way again.”

Glancing at her still slack line, she moved to the bow. There was an anhinga perched on a partially sinking tree stump drying its wings, just begging to be photographed. Stretching out on her belly, she steadied the camera, letting her world shrink down to the size of her viewfinder. Shot after shot, the hypnotic sound of the shutter clearing her mind. By the time the gangly bird flew off, she had a cramp in her neck and could feel the sting of a sunburn starting. No telling how long she’d been there; hopefully Noah wasn’t too bored. So much for being a fun tour guide.

She rolled over and saw him reeling in his line, Baby asleep at his feet. A minute later, he pulled up a small fish, deftly snagging it in one hand. “Are these things good to eat?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s a mangrove snapper, but he’s a bit too small.”

“I figured, but this is the third one I’ve caught. The first two were bigger, but I wasn’t sure what they were or if I should keep them, so I let them go. Guess I’ll send this one back to his buddies.” He deftly released the fish, unconcernedly watching it swim away.

“Two more? You should have said something!”

“I didn’t want to break your concentration. I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m working.”

She shook her head. “I appreciate that, but I’m supposed to be helping you. You could have kept those bigger ones for dinner tonight.”

“I’m fine. There was nothing pressing I needed. Besides, we can still have a fish dinner.”

“I don’t think so.” She eyed the sun, now directly overhead. “It’s getting too hot to catch much now. We’d have to stay out until nearly dark if we wanted to have a chance, and I didn’t bring enough food or water for that.”

“You forget, there’s more than one way to skin a cat. Er, fish.” He winked. “Trust me. Be at the Sandpiper at six and I’ll show you.”

* * *

Noah stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. After the fishing trip this morning, he’d taken a walk on the beach, then ordered room service for lunch, staying in his room to work on some sketches and catch up on email. He’d also used part of the afternoon to track down the area’s best seafood restaurant. Initially he’d approached Nic, but the hotel proprietor had deferred to his wife, explaining that Jillian had lived on the island far longer and was the better source of information.