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      To my mother-in-law, Mary Ann Child.

      She raised five sons, so she knows all about dealing

      with hardheaded men.

      Thanks for everything, Mom. I love you.

      One

      “I think we should get married.”

      Sean King choked on his sip of beer. Slamming the icy bottle down onto the polished teak bar, he coughed until tears filled his eyes. He was forced to blink them away to see the woman who had nearly killed him with six little words.

      She was worth it.

      Her hair was nearly as black as his. Her eyes were a softer blue than his own and her skin was a pale honey color, telling him she spent a lot of time outdoors. She had high cheekbones, delicately arched black brows and a look of fierce determination stamped on her features.

      Something inside him stirred when she licked her lips and, just for a second, he let his gaze drop to appreciate the rest of her. She was wearing a lemon-yellow sundress that showed off a pair of truly amazing legs. Her sandals boasted bright white flowers positioned over toes that were painted bloodred.

      Finally lifting his gaze to hers, he gave her a half smile and said, “Married? Don’t you think we should have dinner first?”

      Her lips twitched briefly, then she shot a look at the bartender, as if assuring herself he was far enough away to not overhear her. “I know how strange that sounded.…”

      He laughed. “Strange is a good word for it.”

      “… but, I have my reasons.”

      “Good to know,” he said and lifted his beer for another sip. “Bye now.”

      She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re Sean King. You’re here to meet with Walter Stanford—”

      Intrigued, Sean narrowed his eyes on her. “News travels fast on a small island.”

      “Even faster when Walter is your grandfather.”

      “Grandfather?” he repeated. “That means you’re—”

      “Melinda Stanford, yes,” she finished for him, then glanced uneasily around again.

      For the wealthy, pampered granddaughter of the man who owned this island, she seemed a little spooky.

      “Look, would you mind if we took this to one of the tables? I’d really rather not be overheard.”

      He could guess why. Proposing to a man you’d never met before wasn’t the most normal way of introducing yourself. Pretty, but she didn’t seem to be playing with all of her marbles. She didn’t wait for him to agree, just walked toward one of the half-dozen empty tables in the hotel bar.

      Sean watched her, deliberating whether or not to follow her. Sure, she was gorgeous. But clearly she was a little unhinged, too.

      She looked bright as a sunbeam sitting in the dark corner of the once elegant and now tired-looking bar. Thirty years ago, this place was no doubt considered top-of-the-line. But it had seen its day come and go and hadn’t tried hard enough to keep up.

      Now, the wood floors had deep scars that several coats of polish couldn’t disguise. The walls were in need of fresh paint and the windows were too small. There were some nice touches though. Sort of art deco, Sean thought. The throughways were rounded at the top, arched with clean lines, which he liked. Round mirrors with tiled edges. Rectangular tables with bowed legs and mosaic inlaid surfaces. The wall sconces were Tiffany-esque with a modernistic thirties sense of style. It was beautiful, but definitely needed a face-lift. If it were his place, Sean would have taken out the front wall entirely and replaced it with glass, affording the patrons a spectacular view of the ocean. And he’d have clung to the art deco style and

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