LITMIR.BIZ

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stirred. “Who was that?”

      “Her name is Anna Gibson. When she isn’t helping out as a deckhand on the Alice Rose, she’s working as an intern for the puffin conservation project. Why? Are you interested?” Ryan gestured to Tom behind the bar.

      “I haven’t finished paying off the last woman yet, and anyway, I’m not the one she was smiling at. From the way she was looking at you, I’d say she’s setting her sat nav for the end of the rainbow. Never forget that the end of the rainbow leads to marriage, and marriage is the first step to divorce.”

      “We’ve established that I’m the last person who needs that lecture.” Ryan slung his jacket over the back of the chair.

      “So, what’s a girl like that doing so far from civilization?”

      “Apart from the fact that the Alice Rose is one of the most beautiful schooners in the whole of Maine? She probably heard the rumor that only real men can survive here.” Ryan stretched out his legs. “And do I need to remind you that my marina has full hookups including phone, electricity, water, cable and Wi-Fi? I’m introducing civilization to Puffin Island.”

      “Most people come to a place like this to avoid those things. Including me.”

      “You’re wrong. They like the illusion of escaping, but not the reality. The commercial world being what it is, they need to be able to stay in touch. If they can’t, they’ll go elsewhere, and this island can’t afford to let them go elsewhere. That’s my business model. We get them here, we charm them, we give them Wi-Fi.”

      “There’s more to life than Wi-Fi, and there’s a lot to be said for not being able to receive emails.”

      “Just because you receive them doesn’t mean you have to reply. That’s why spam filters were invented.” Ryan glanced up as Tom delivered a couple of beers. He pushed one across the table to Alec. “Unless this is too civilized for you?”

      “There are written records of beer being used by the Ancient Egyptians.”

      “Which proves man has always had his priorities right.”

      “And talking of priorities, this place is busy.” Alec reached for the beer. “So you don’t miss your old life? You’re not bored, living in one place?”

      Ryan’s old life was something he tried not to think about.

      The ache in his shoulder had faded to a dull throb, but other wounds, darker and deeper, would never heal. And perhaps that was a good thing. It reminded him to drag the most from every moment. “I’m here to stay. It’s my civic duty to drag Puffin Island into the twenty-first century.”

      “MOMMY, MOMMY.”

      The next morning, devoured by the dream, Emily rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The scent was unfamiliar, and through her half-open eyes she saw a strange pattern of tiny roses woven into white linen. This wasn’t her bed. Her bed linen was crisp, contemporary and plain. This was like falling asleep with her face in a garden.

      Through the fog of slumber she could hear a child’s voice calling, but she knew it wasn’t calling her, because she wasn’t anyone’s mommy. She would never be anyone’s mommy. She’d made that decision a long time ago when her heart had been ripped from her chest.

      “Aunt Emily?” The voice was closer this time. In the same room. And it was real. “There’s a man at the door.”

      Not a dream.

      It was like being woken by a shower of icy water.

      Emily was out of bed in a flash, heart pounding. It was only when she went to pull on a robe that she realized she’d fallen asleep on top of the bed in her clothes, something she’d never done in her life before. She’d been afraid to sleep. Too overwhelmed by the responsibility to take her eyes off the child even for a moment. She’d lain on top of the bed and kept both doors open so that she’d hear any sounds; but at some point exhaustion had clearly defeated anxiety and she’d slept. As a result, her pristine black pants were no longer pristine, her businesslike shirt was creased, and her hair had escaped from its restraining clip.

      But it wasn’t her appearance that worried her.

      “A man?” She slid her feet into her shoes, comfortable flats purchased to negotiate street and subway. “Did he see you? Is he on his own or are there lots of them?”

      “I saw him from my bedroom. It isn’t the man with the camera.” The little girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, and Emily felt a flash of guilt. She was meant to be calm and dependable. A parent figure, not a walking ball of hysteria.

      She stared down at green eyes and innocence. At golden hair, tumbled and curling like a fairy-tale princess.

       Get me out of here.

      “It won’t be him. He doesn’t know we’re here. Everything is going to be fine.” She recited the words without feeling them and tried not to remember that if everything were fine they wouldn’t be here. “Hide in the bedroom. I’ll handle it.”

      “Why do I have to hide?”

      “Because I need to see who it is.” They’d caught the last ferry from the mainland and arrived late. The cottage was on the far side of the island, nestled on the edge of Shell Bay. A beach hideaway. A haven from the pressures of life. Except that in her case she’d brought the pressures with her.

      No one should know they were here.

      She contemplated peeping out of the window, through those filmy romantic curtains that had no place in a life as practical as hers, but decided that would raise suspicions.

      Grabbing her phone and preparing herself to draw blood if necessary, Emily dragged open the heavy door of the cottage and immediately smelled the sea. The salty freshness of the air knocked her off balance, as did her first glimpse of their visitor.

      To describe him as striking would have been an understatement. She recognized the type immediately. His masculinity was welded deep into his DNA, his strength and physical appeal part of nature’s master plan to ensure the earth remained populated. The running shoes, black sweat pants and soft T-shirt proclaimed him as the outdoor type, capable of dealing with whatever physical challenge the elements presented, but she knew it wouldn’t have made a difference if he were naked or dressed in a killer suit. The clothing didn’t change the facts. And the facts were that he was the sort of man who could tempt a sensible woman to do stupid things.

      His gaze swept over her in an unapologetically male appraisal, and she found herself thinking about Neil, who believed strongly that men should cultivate their feminine side.

      This man didn’t have a feminine side.

      He stood in the doorway, all pumped muscle and hard strength, dominating her with both his height and the width of his shoulders. His jaw was dark with stubble and his throat gleamed with the healthy sweat of physical exertion.

      Not even under the threat of torture would Neil have presented himself in public without shaving.

      A strange sensation spread over her skin and burrowed deep in her body.

      “Is something wrong?” She could have answered her own question.

      There was plenty wrong, and that was without even beginning to interpret her physical reaction.

      A stranger was standing at her door only a few hours after she’d arrived, which could surely only mean one thing.

      They’d found her.

      She’d been warned about the press. Journalists were like rain on a roof. They found every crack, every weakness. But how had they done it so quickly? The authorities and the lawyers handling Lana’s affairs had assured her that no one knew of her existence. The plan had been to keep it quiet and hope the story died.

      “I was about to ask you the same question.” His voice was a low, deep drawl,

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