LITMIR.BIZ

       Two

      What the hell was up with Portia?

      When he’d stepped into the wildlife preserve’s main building, he had taken note of her pale face and standoffish demeanor. Leaving her alone to talk with Maureen seemed the best option. He’d heard the two women leave a half hour later, each sending a quick farewell shout before heading out.

      Easton understood that Portia regretted their impulsive encounter during the tropical storm. He’d almost started to accept that it wouldn’t be leading anywhere. It was one night and no more.

      But then he’d seen that look in her eyes today.

      Shaking his head in bemusement, he closed the clinic door and punched in the security code before turning away into the inky dark. Night creatures spoke to him through the cover of darkness, a cooing mix of coastal birds and tropical bugs. He could identify each sound as readily as he could identify different human voices. As a young boy, Easton digested each sound the way some men committed the sounds of roaring engines to memory. He knew each voice and wanted to help ensure they all continued to speak.

      He’d had offers to work at other, larger clinics in more exotic locales, but the newly named Lourdes Family Wildlife Refuge was a personal quest for him and his brother. And he liked this place he called home.

      As much as he’d enjoyed his eccentric life growing up, always on the move with his globe-trotting parents, he also enjoyed waking up in the same place each morning. The Key Largo–based animal preserve blended the best of both worlds for him—the wilds and home.

      Even the main house reflected that balance of barely domesticated wildness. A sprawling mansion, it stood two stories tall, complete with open balconies and an extravagant, oasis-inspired pool.

      Which was where Easton was headed now. His brother, Xander, sat alone on one of the lounge chairs, a glass of bourbon neat in his hand.

      Easton and his brother had always been different but close. Since their parents traveled the world with little thought of creating a home or helping their kids build friendships, he and his brother relied on each other. Even more so after their father died and their mother continued her world-traveling ways, always looking for the next adventure in each new country rather than staying in one place to connect with her children.

      This house represented more than Easton’s commitment to preserving animals in Key Largo. This shared space with his brother represented an attempt at familial cohesion. An attempt at proving they could grow something stable, something to be proud of. The moonlight filtered through stray clouds, peppering his walk in a play of shadow and light on the well-maintained lawn.

      He didn’t want to blame his parents. They deserved to live their lives as they wanted, to be themselves. And even if they hadn’t been conventional parents, they had more than lived up to their commitment to feed, house and educate their children.

      But as much as he didn’t want to blame them, he’d found his rocky relationship with them had influenced him. He found it difficult to sustain lasting relationships with women. He’d had a series of short romances. And the only time he’d even considered the altar, she—Dana—had split up with him right before he could propose. She’d said he was too eccentric, too much of a kid at heart, for a committed relationship.

      Which was ironic as hell since he’d already been looking at engagement rings.

      He hadn’t told her that. Dana probably would have said he wouldn’t have been much of a husband, or that he wouldn’t have actually bought a ring. And she probably would have been right. He knew he was eccentric, and he’d worked to find the right career to blend his passion and personality with work he cared about. He got to climb trees and play in the woods for a living. Not too shabby as a way of channeling his strengths. He’d taken what he’d inherited of his parents’ quirky ways and toned them down, figuring out how to stay in one place.

      None of that seemed to matter, though, when it came to figuring out how to settle down, based on his history with Dana, Laura, Naomi... Damn, he was depressing the hell out of himself.

      So where did that leave him with Portia?

      Once on the stone ground that surrounded the pool, he grabbed a plush lounge chair and pulled it beside Xander. Easton sat in the middle of the lounger, facing his brother. Xander’s ocean-colored eyes flicked to him.

      Xander had taken on the wildlife preserve in memory of his wife’s passing. Reviving the then struggling refuge had been her passion.

      This place meant the world to both brothers.

      “What’s the deal with you and Portia?” Xander’s tone was blunt and businesslike—the commanding voice that won him boardroom battles left and right.

      “What do you mean?” The answer came too quickly out of Easton’s mouth.

      “Don’t play dumb with me. I was out for a walk with Rose and I saw the way you looked at Portia when you both got into the truck earlier.” He sipped his bourbon, fixing Easton with the stare of an older brother.

      “Why didn’t you say hello or offer to help out?”

      “You’re trying to distract me. Not going to work. So what gives between you two?”

      Easton chose his words carefully, needing to regain control of the conversation before his brother went on some matchmaking kick that would only backfire by making Portia retreat. She was prickly.

      And sexy.

      And not going to give him the brush-off another time. She’d been avoiding him more than ever recently and he was determined to find out the reason.

      “Easton?” Xander pushed.

      “She’s an attractive woman.” Not a lie.

      “A cool woman, classic. And she’s been here awhile. She’s also not your type. So what changed?”

      She absolutely wasn’t the sort to go out with a guy like him. And yet there was chemistry between them. Crackling so tangibly he could swear he was standing in the middle of a storm with the heavens sending lightning bolts through him. She clearly felt the same way, except the next morning, once the storm had passed, she’d insisted it couldn’t happen again. He’d thought if he waited patiently she would wear down.

      She hadn’t.

      Until today. “And what would my type be?”

      “You really want me to spell that

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