LITMIR.BIZ

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      His lips twisted. “Anyone I know?”

      “Is it any of your business?”

      “I think so.” The envelope crinkled in his grip. “But let me guess. Your esteemed associate, Chadly Do-Wright.”

      Sam had never liked Chad Wright. Of course the reverse could be said, too. Chad had never particularly cared for Sam. If she’d known how things would end, she’d have paid more heed to Chad’s sensible arguments from the start. Instead, she’d followed her heart.

      Sam suddenly reached out, drawing the lock of hair away from her face. She stiffened her knees.

      Not even her heart, she mentally corrected. She’d followed something far more base where Sam was concerned.

      And people thought only men were ruled by lust. Now that was a serious joke.

      As if he’d read her thoughts, he slipped his fingers along the strand of hair again. His knuckles brushed her temple. Her cheek.

      “Don’t touch me.”

      “Afraid Do-Wright wouldn’t approve?” His fingertips slowly grazed the circle of her ear, taking extraordinary care in tucking the hair behind it.

      “It’s Chad.” Her voice stalled altogether when his fingers glided along her jaw, and his thumb tucked beneath her chin, inexorably forcing it upward. She closed her eyes, then dragged her lids upward again, afraid of betraying any additional weakness.

      She heard his tsk, even though it was half under his breath. “Look at you. As trussed-up as ever. At least, you’re trying to be. Double-breasted suit. Hair in a knot. Only, you want to unbutton the suit, don’t you. And your hair’s falling down. Has Chad seen this side of you?”

      “The crossing was windy.”

      His thumb slid over her lips, pressing them closed. “Ninety minutes on the open water. It usually is windy.”

      “Sam,” her lips moved against the callused pad of his thumb. “The ring—”

      “Screw the ring,” he said flatly. Then his thumb moved and his head lowered. His mouth covered hers, inhaling the gasp of shock she couldn’t prevent. His hand went behind her neck, preventing her from jumping back.

      There was no love in the kiss. She knew it. He knew it.

      He was angry. Twenty-one months hadn’t seemed to change that fact one bit.

      And he still tasted like the darkest, sweetest sin to ever exist as the kiss went on and on. Her body burned as she helplessly kissed him back.

      She swayed when he finally let her free. Delaney was barely aware of the shock on Sara’s face, or the stares of everyone else around them. She wanted to slap him. Kick him.

      “That was uncalled for,” she said hoarsely. “Absolutely.”

      “You’re kidding, right?” His lips stretched in a humorless smile, and he suddenly turned around, facing the gaping onlookers.

      His voice rose, so everyone could hear. “My wife, Delaney, finally comes to Turnabout, the least I can do is greet her with a kiss. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

      Chapter 2

      My wife.

      Some deep instinct made Delaney lock her knees as Sam’s comment rang in the sudden silence. If she’d had any doubt that Sam ever told anyone from Turnabout, his hometown, about their excruciatingly brief fiasco of a marriage, the shocked faces all around them removed it.

      He’d turned back to her and was looking at her mouth. Despite the audience and her desire to tear out her hair and scream at him for this game he was playing, her lips tingled all over again.

      And it was irritation at that, that got her moving again. She slapped the envelope against his chest. “You know we’re no longer married,” she snapped softly.

      He exhaled sharply, turned and strode away.

      The envelope fell.

      She very nearly followed after him. He hadn’t wanted to talk with her when they were married, why on earth would he want to when they weren’t? If he wanted to walk away from what should have been a simple matter, she wasn’t going to stop him.

      He’d walked away from her before, after all.

      She snatched up the envelope and headed blindly away from the curious eyes that seemed to be burning into her from all sides. But escape was blocked by the dancers one way and the whitewashed stucco building on the other. She trembled, never feeling more like screaming in her entire life.

      Wouldn’t that be a tidy item to add to her record? “After installing patient in residential program, subject became hysterical when former spouse referred to her as his wife….”

      “Yo, Doc V. You didn’t tell me Mr. Cop-man was gonna be here.”

      She marshaled her scrambled thoughts. Smoothed back her hair again and looked up at Alonso, who’d come down from his slouch to stand in front of her. He’d grown a foot in the past year. At only fifteen, he easily topped six feet, a good six inches taller than she. He was more gangly than broad, but she knew time would eventually fill in the spare gaps and he’d cut an impressive figure. “You being at Castillo House has nothing to do with Sam.”

      Alonso’s lip curled. “Right.”

      Her day really had been too long. “Think about it.” Her tone was short enough that Alonso kept his next smart-aleck remark from emerging.

      “Is he a cop here, too?” He focused on shoving up the long sleeves of his oversize T-shirt.

      “He’s the sheriff.”

      “Yeah, well he better not be hauling me off to jail, or—”

      “Or?” Delaney looked sternly up into his young face. Alonso Petrofski was a combination of beauty from the mocha skin to the green eyes he’d inherited from his Jamaican mother and Russian father. In most respects, he was brilliant. And in most respects, troubled, neglected and full of anger and opinions. She’d started out as his court-appointed therapist. Now, a very rocky four years later, she’d like to think she was his friend.

      Some days that was easier to believe than others.

      “You’re not going to jail, Alonso. Not unless you do something illegal here. And if you do that in the next two months, your probation will be revoked and you’ll finish out your full sentence in jail back in New York. Then all the good work you’ve done the past year will be for nothing.”

      “Not if you can’t find me,” he said.

      “Turnabout is an island, Alonso. You won’t be going anywhere that we don’t know about.” Logan Drake, the man responsible for the running of Castillo House, smiled coolly, seeming to appear at their sides out of nowhere.

      Alonso had already told Delaney he figured Logan was a hard-ass. Given what Delaney knew about Logan’s former profession, she figured the assessment was fairly accurate.

      “He’s not exaggerating.” A very pregnant girl stood beside Logan, addressing Alonso. “It’s Drake’s way or the highway. But believe me. He’s easier than the sheriff. I’ve been here for three months, so I oughta know.” She shot a rueful glance up at Logan, who softened a little and tugged the end of her long red braid.

      “This is Caitlin Reed,” Logan introduced. “She’ll show you what chores you’re assigned to tonight.”

      “Man, I just got here.”

      Delaney remained mum. This was Logan and Annie’s center. The sooner Alonso became acclimated to his new home, the better.

      Logan merely lifted one broad shoulder, his blue gaze again impassive. “Everybody here works, Alonso. You want to stay, you’re welcome. But you’re gonna work the same as the rest.”

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