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      ELIZABETH BEVARLY

      is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older-model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a seven-year-old son, Eli.

      For Joan Marlow Golan, Gail Chasan And Allison Lyons.

       With many thanks.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      One

      Jayne Pembroke was not having a good day.

      She began it by oversleeping, a development made even worse by the fact that she awoke from the most wonderful dream she’d had in a long, long time—a development made even worse when she confronted the reality to which she did, eventually, awake. Because in her dream, Jayne had had company. Really nice company, too, in the form of a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, who had been performing the most wondrous—and erotic—activities with her.

      At least, Jayne thought they were wondrous, erotic activities. She was pretty sure they were, anyway. She did have cable TV, after all. Admittedly, though, she didn’t have much personal experience with wondrous, erotic activities by which to judge…or any personal experience, for that matter. But whatever it was that the dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger had been doing to her in her dream, it had felt really, really good.

      Her reality, on the other hand, was…not. Not wondrous. Not erotic. And certainly not good. Because in addition to being late, Jayne was, as always, alone.

      When she finally did glance over at the clock and noted the time, she tumbled out of bed—literally—bonking her head on the nightstand in the process. So she kicked the nightstand in retaliation…and banged her little toe in exactly that way that made it hurt the most. Then, as she hopped on one foot toward her bathroom, Mojo, her sister Chloe’s cat, whom Jayne was keeping while Chloe attended college, came gallumphing into the room—doubtless because Mojo knew Jayne would be hopping around on one foot—and tripped her. That, naturally, caused her to fall down, and in doing so she banged her knee viciously on the hardwood floor.

      Things just went downhill from there.

      The water in the shower was barely tepid by the time Jayne turned it on, thanks, no doubt, to the fact that everyone else who lived at 20 Amber Court had already had their showers because they’d awoken on time. Then the only clean shirt she was able to find did not match the only clean skirt she was able to find, and the only pair of clean panty hose she was able to find had a run in them. As a result, she was forced to don a blinding combination of raspberry top and burnt-orange skirt, along with the only belt she could find in her overly tousled closet—which, it went without saying, was chartreuse.

      Not surprisingly, her hair dryer shorted out the moment she switched it on, emitting a dangerous-sounding zzzt coupled with the smell of something burning. Immediately she jerked the plug from the wall and dumped the appliance in the wastebasket—which overturned, spilling its entire contents across the bathroom floor.

      She bit back a scream—and quite a hysterical one it had threatened to be, too—then methodically wove her long, straight, wet, red hair into a thick braid that fell between her shoulderblades, and ruffled her bangs dry as best she could. She swiped a bit of raspberry-colored lipstick over her mouth—at least something would match at least part of her clothes—and dragged a bit of neutral shadow over her violet eyes. Then she ran into the kitchen

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