The sky was cerulean, the sun shimmering. Dark green waves frothed onto the
sandy rim of coastline surrounding Seduction Island, where Violet Hanley had
been born and raised, but instead of surfing, which was what she usually did on
days like today if she wasn't working, Vi had come to Garth Garrison's cottage
as soon as her shift ended to seduce him.
"Down, boy," she muttered, anxiously dragging a hand through honey hair she kept
clipped to an inch for better wind resistance and eyeing a chocolate Labrador
retriever that was salivating through barred teeth as if he'd like to eat her
for dinner. Garth called the dog G, short for Gargantua.
Trying not to make swift movements, she slid a hand over her mail carrier
uniform, then into a side pocket of the empty pouch slung over her shoulder.
"Here, G."
As she crept into the yard, she extended the rawhide bone and glanced at some
shingles that had blown off the cottage during the last summer storm. They'd
turned silver in the sun, making it look as if the prickly scrub grass was
strewn with mirrors.
"Good doggie," she whispered, glancing around. Surrounded by dunes, this was
exactly the kind of place a bestselling author of books such as Blood
Curdling, Fiends for Friends and Killer Claws might live.
Or was it? Why would a guy from Manhattan who'd written three bestselling horror
novels over a six year period — boom, boom, boom — move to an island that, at
least in winter, was so scarcely populated? According to rumor, Garth had slept
around on his wife when he'd become successful, but if he was such a womanizer,
why would he hide out in a weather-beaten cottage?
"Not a lot of babes here," Vi whispered, stopping two feet away from G. "Here
you go, sweet little doggie."
Sweet Little Doggie crouched, ready to pounce, but when Vi gently waved the
bone, his menacing dark eyes softened with interest. Carefully, she tossed it,
relieved when it landed between two massive front paws.
"Damn," she whispered when he didn't start gnawing. With G in her way, it was no
wonder she'd mishandled Garth's mail so many times. Since Garth was always
submitting to publishers, he wasn't exactly forgiving, either. "Please," she
begged, but G only stared back, his mouth dripping saliva.
Vi tried not to panic, but today she'd done something worse than deliver Garth's
royalty check to Hattie Simmons by mistake, as she had months ago. Predictably,
Hattie had opened the letter and told everybody in town the sum Garth had
received. The gossip had reached Vi's boss who'd almost fired her. If he hears
what I've done now…, she thought.
Yes, this was even worse than when she'd discovered the open flap on the
envelope containing Killer Claws. She'd almost made it to the
spine-tingling second chapter when Garth rounded a corner, caught her reading,
and informed her that she was committing a federal offense.
Just two days later, Vi had noticed Garth watching her surf. She figured he
was waiting to tell her off again, so she'd ignored him as she rode in on the
breakers. Lifting her board, she'd stood, not offering so much as a nod as she'd
strode past him up the beach.
She was ten yards gone when she glanced down and realized her bikini top had
opened, exposing her breasts for all the world — not to mention Garth Garrison —
to see. At that exact moment, Garth's chuckle had floated to her on the gentle
ocean breeze.
Yes, this morning was even worse than that. While tempting G with a sandwich, so
she could deliver his master's mail, she'd dumped a soda into her bag,
destroying an official envelope. The flap had come unsealed. And yes, Vi knew it
was illegal, but she'd read the letter, desperate to avoid another misdelivery
that might cost her job. In a community this size, good jobs were hard to come
by.
Moments later, in the kitchen of the house she shared with her sisters, Pansy
and Lily — she'd run home to get advice — they'd all reread the letter.
Apparently, someone on the island had won fifteen million dollars in the New
York lottery. Fifteen million dollars, Vi thought now, her heart thudding in
panic. Not only was the amount inconceivable, but the letter had contained a
paper the lottery board wanted signed and returned — or the recipient might lose
the money.
Because Vi had been reaching for Garth's mail when she ruined the letter, she
was sure he was the winner, but she could be wrong. And as mad as Garth had been
about the misdelivered check, Vi didn't dare imagine how he'd react if her
mistake cost him the unbelievable sum of the lottery win. Now, her job was to
confirm her suspicions, and if she was right, deliver the letter to Garth
without him knowing she'd destroyed it.
Seducing information from him might not be wise, but it was the best plan Vi
could think of. Not that anything would come of it. Two years ago, after a
summer fling with a dot-com developer from Seattle, Vi had sworn off men who
weren't born and bred on the island. And, of course, the only born-and-breds
were retired sailors over the age of sixty-five, which meant it had been a very
lonely couple of years.
G began licking the bone, and as she backed toward the porch, Vi kept her eyes
fixed on him; that was why she didn't see the shingle in the grass. Despite
having excellent balance, honed through years of surfing, she tripped when her
heel caught the edge. Both feet flew out from under her; at the whoomph
that sounded when her back hit, G leaped up, growled, and lunged.
Vi shut her eyes as the body hit.
Big and hard, he covered every inch of her. Before the fangs pierced her throat
— Vi was imagining the vampires in Blood Curdling — she realized
something wasn't quite right. The thing didn't quite feel like a dog.
He was too tall. And broad shouldered, with muscular legs that fell between hers
and too-long hair that tickled her cheek. Vi realized it was probably dark brown
wavy hair that licked his ears and needed the business end of a pair of
scissors. Opening her eyes, she confirmed her worst suspicions. The man's best
friend wasn't on top of her — it was the man. Even worse, they were about to be
left alone, since G always changed his demeanor the second his master arrived.
Now, as the dog thumped his tail, Vi could swear the beast was actually grinning
at her. Grimacing, she watched as he jaunted away proudly with the bone. And
then she looked at his owner.
"What are you doing here?"
Garth had asked the question as naturally as breathing, as if every inch of his
sun-warmed bare chest wasn't covering hers. She hazarded a glance downward and
felt a wave of relief. At least he wasn't bare all over; jeans hugged his hips.
She wasn't usually tongue-tied around men, but she and this one had a history.
"What are you doing?" she finally managed.
He shrugged. "It looked like my dog was about to attack."
"So you do know your dog's a menace?"
"Menace would be strong."
"You're the wordsmith."
"And you stopped by for..." He looked genuinely puzzled. "Some good dialogue?"
Recalling how she'd paraded past him with her breasts showing, Vi felt her
insides turn jittery, and she realized it was a good thing she was lying down
since her knees were so weak. "Uh...I just thought I'd visit."
He shifted his weight on top of her, further locking their hips and sending
sizzling jolts of heat through her. Once more, she was reminded that Seduction
Island, despite its name, was largely populated by salty old sailors, and that
Garth was one of the few good-looking, not to mention rich, men ever to arrive
who claimed he wasn't a tourist. Not that he'd actually bought a home here, Vi
reminded herself.
"A visit?" He didn't look convinced.
"In the past, we've gotten off on the wrong foot."
He grinned. "I noticed."
"I thought if I got to know you and your dog better," she said, ignoring the
grin, "that your mail delivery might become smoother in the future."
"Ah. So, you're on a mission from the U.S. Postal Service," he said, starting to
look amused. "Why don't I believe you?"
She had no idea. "You don't?"
"Nope." He chuckled softly. "Sweetheart, I've seen the way you look at me."
Shouldn't she be grateful for this moment? Vi wondered. She had no choice but to
seduce him, right? She'd given up on having summer flings with anyone who might
even be construed as a tourist, but she had to know if Garth won the
lottery. It was the only way she could return the letter and be sure she
wouldn't lose her job, right? With a decisive motion, Vi lifted her hand,
threaded it into Garth's surprisingly soft hair, and then, with a swift jerk,
pulled his head downward.
"Kiss me," she said.
Garth couldn't believe he'd wound up lying in his front yard, kissing Violet
Hanley, his mail carrier. As his lips moved on hers, parting them, and as his
tongue flicked between them, tasting her, Garth was grinning. He'd hoped their
arguments about his misdelivered mail would erupt into something like this. The
woman had been driving him crazy ever since the day she'd nearly lost her bikini
top....
He'd been in the dunes, watching her surf. Saltwater had slicked back her short
honey hair, and as she hit the breakers, she'd dropped to her belly on the
board, the tiny silver ear studs that rimmed her right ear — there were five —
glinting in the sun. As he'd taken her in, any animosity he'd previously felt
had vanished.
At least until she'd risen from the waves, making a point of ignoring him. She'd
gotten what she deserved, too, when she regally strode up the beach without
realizing her top had come undone.
Now, every mouthwatering inch Garth had viewed was crushed beneath his
pectorals. As he deepened the kiss, he felt her wreath her arms around his neck,
and as she pulled him closer, the heat in his belly got just a little hotter,
and the tug at his groin tugged just a little harder. But why had Violet
suddenly changed her mind about him?
"This is the kind of thing that only happens in fiction," he whispered.
"You're the writer," she returned, gazing up at him through dazed brown eyes.
"Not me." She added, "Most people call me Vi."
"I like Violet."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't want to be most people."
"You don't?"
He was staring into eyes rimmed with spiky lashes and a face that was lightly
freckled and tanned the color of toasted almonds. She rubbed her lips together
the way women did when they were trying to redistribute lip gloss; Violet,
however, was still tasting his kiss.
"No," he admitted.
He could have kicked himself in the ensuing silence. He hadn't healed from his
separation, and with the ink barely dry on the divorce papers, he'd felt sure
he'd never get emotionally involved again. But then Violet Hanley was...like the
down-to-earth woman his ex-wife, Klarissa, used to be. Besides, even if
Garth hadn't healed yet, he wanted sex.
"Do you have a..." Boyfriend seemed too young. Lover too presumptuous.
Luckily, she caught his drift. "Most men on the island are transient tourists or
retired sailors."
"Ah." Now he understood her change of heart. He'd been lonely, himself, and
since most of the local men were too old for her, Violet had decided Garth might
provide some basic, simple pleasure. Gazing down at her, he decided he liked the
sparkle in her brown eyes very much. "You've decided I'm eligible?"
"Are you?"
He let his mouth do the talking, lowering it to hers again, and as they
kissed, he noted the shallowness of her breath, the soft pants as her chest
labored. When he felt her breasts pebble beneath her blouse and bra, warmth
flooded him, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the soaring summer
temperature. His cottage was isolated, surrounded by dunes, but he glanced
around anyway and said, "This is getting a little involved to continue in
public."
Even though he was ready to suggest it, he was stunned when she said, "Then
maybe we should go inside, Garth."
Moments later, once they were in the cottage, Garth wondered how the interior
might look to a guest.
"It's not much," he said as he fixed them lemonade. It was humble by comparison
to the Manhattan penthouse he'd walked out of a year ago, leaving everything to
Klarissa.
"It's a typical rental cottage," Vi said matter-of-factly. She eyed him a long
moment, then she looked around the room, feeling nervous since she'd come
inside. Oh, she'd intended to seduce Garth to see if he'd won the lottery, but
she'd never expected their first kiss to be so explosive. If Garth had his way,
she'd be in his bed in the next five minutes. "I've been in most of the cottages
on the island," she managed to continue. "My sister, Pansy, is a Realtor."
"I rented this place from her," he said, smiling. "And she keeps trying to sell
me a house on the western shore."
Vi knew the one. "But you're not interested?"
"I don't know," he said noncommittally.
Telling herself she didn't care if Garth settled here, she watched him circle a
kitchen island and set down her glass of lemonade, then she shifted her
attention to his work area in the living room — and the posters depicting covers
of the books that had made him famous. Sparkling white fangs were drenched in
blood for Blood Curdling. Tiny red script was stuck in the middle of a
black poster for Fiends for Friends. For Killer Claws talons raked
down the page.
"I like your books," she said abruptly.
He laughed. "They're kind of lurid."
"Yeah," she managed, excitement coursing through her as he edged closer. "But
they're more than that."
"More?"
She shrugged. Sure, his books were about ghouls, but they contained believable
characters readers could identify with. "You put in a little something extra."
"I put a little something extra into everything I do."
Now he was talking about their kisses. "I hear they're making a movie out of
Blood Curdling."
"It's out in another month. Slated to be a summer hit."
Vi's reservations kicked in. Garth Garrison might be parading around in a rental
cottage, bare-chested and wearing threadbare jeans, but it didn't alter the fact
that he was wealthy and powerful.
"Look," she suddenly said, "I'd better go home."
"Without getting what you came for?"
Something dry hit the back of her throat, so she took a sip of lemonade.
"Good," he said, stepping closer as she reacted to the tartness. "You're all
puckered up, Violet."
The sour taste of lemons melted into sugary pleasure as his lips touched hers,
and right then, Vi realized she couldn't leave. As much as she'd like to deny
it, she'd wanted Garth since the day he'd arrived on the island. And now he
could be hers.
A dream seemed to carry them from the kitchen to a simply furnished bedroom.
Wordlessly, she let him lie on top of her. As hotly as the summer sun, he
covered every inch of her. Ragged against her mouth, his breath shook as he
devoured her. She shuddered as large splayed hands slid down the sides of her
uniform. Pulling her blouse from her shorts, he unbuttoned it, then he released
the front catch of her bra.
Gasping as his mouth settled over the constricted tip of a breast, she was
reminded once more that it had been exactly two tourist seasons since her affair
with the dot-com developer. After he'd returned to Seattle, there had been
emails and half-hearted invitations to visit, but mostly Vi had commiserated
with her sisters. A lifetime of island living had taught all three Hanley women
that summer flings weren't meant to last.
Two years, however, was a very long time. Flooded with need, Vi thrust both
hands into Garth's luxuriously thick hair, drawing him closer, urging him to
give her more. He was panting hard now — just as she was — and when he moved
between her legs, there was no stopping the tide.
His mouth traveled to hers again, wetly capturing her lips. They fumbled for
each other's zippers, and then, driven by passion, they gave up and undressed
themselves. After an awkward minute of fishing in the bedside table drawer, they
had a condom, too.
His legs twined with hers as he settled an elbow beside her ear. Sighing, she
felt long fingers curl around her head. Bracing himself, he pulled her to him as
he entered her, his hoarsely uttered sound of need thrilling her. With every
thrust, she climbed. Every new height seemed like the pinnacle, but then
overtook the last. Lost in the sensations, she arched for the final triumph. Not
even the waves she loved brought her this much pleasure. Not even the early
mornings when the beach was deserted and there was nothing between her and the
board. She felt as if wind was brushing back her hair, and as if her muscles
were tensing as she rode the crest. She was somewhere between the imaginary
waves and where she really was — in bed with Garth — when the climax shook her.
"I thought you hated me," he whispered a moment later.
Blowing out a post-orgasmic sigh, she managed to say, "Not anymore, Garth."
"Eat crow, boys!" Lily Hanley wasn't even breathing hard as she threw the
football through the darkening sky toward Vi. An hour ago, as the gang gathered
around the picnic table in the Hanleys' backyard, liberally dousing hot dogs
with Pansy's homemade chili, it had been Lily's idea to play this after-dinner
game of touch football, the men against the women.
"We'll cream you guys," Lily's date, Lou, had scoffed, but he'd seriously
underestimated the three Hanleys. Especially Vi. Surfing kept her body as honed
as an NFL player's, and as she jumped to intercept, she grinned, her muscles
straining.
The ball wedged neatly into the crook of her arm, she surveyed the field.
Pansy's date, Ned, was the least athletic of the men, but he was doing a good
job of blocking Pansy in left field. Lou was huge, so Vi decided she'd better
not try to get the ball past him in right field. But Garth...
"C'mon, Violet," he dared, the voice that had whispered so many sweet nothings
now taunting her.
As she ran toward him, the physical activity brought a rush of exuberance. Like
surfing, it made her feel high on life. So did making love to Garth. Moonlight
glinted on his black hair and bare chest, and his muscles rippled beneath
well-worn, grass-stained jeans. Jeans, she'd realized after they'd started
sleeping together a month ago, that even bestselling authors put on one leg at a
time.
Or took off. Her grin widened at the thought. Vi was no longer nervous about his
fame and fortune. Dating him had made him seem as ordinary as Ned or Lou. Her
fingers tightening on the ball, she gripped the leather; Lou was guarding Lily
now, but Ned had left Pansy wide open. Vi was seven feet from Garth. Then six.
Then five. She leaped, her body wrenching as she passed to Pansy, who shouted,
"Put it here, sister!"
Just as the ball left her hand, Garth's forearms wrapped around her waist in a
tackle, propelling her backward. "You're squeezing me," she squealed. "Let me
go!"
"Never." His shoulder took the fall, and they rolled into the grass, tumbling
over each other, their limbs twining. She wound up on top of him, panting. "Let
me go!" she demanded again.
Sensing that G was prancing on the sidelines, barking excitedly, hoping for a
cue to join the fun, Garth called, "Stay, boy."
"No, G, c'mere," Vi protested as she twisted from Garth's grasp and spun away.
"Save me!"
Garth grabbed her hand and hauled her back. "He won't listen to you."
"You monster!" she cried, inhaling the scent of exertion-dampened male skin.
"I'm not a monster." Garth tickled her until she writhed. "I write about
monsters."
"Always the wordsmith," she bantered.
His breath was labored. "I do know some good words."
"Such as?"
His hands curved over her backside, then traced the fringe on her cutoffs. "Sex.
With you. Inside. Ten minutes."
"Why ten minutes?"
"After the way you women creamed us, I need time to heal. You've injured my male
ego for the last time, Violet Hanley."
Vi smirked at the absurdity of the remark. Lights were sparking in his blue
eyes, and as she gazed into them, Vi was so mesmerized that she barely heard
Pansy call, "Game's over. Ned and I are going to take a breather."
All night, Pansy had urged Garth to go see a house she wanted to sell him on the
western shore, and Vi was trying not to get her hopes up. Was Garth really
thinking about relocating to the island permanently?
His teeth flashed white in the darkness as he caught Vi's smirk. "What's got you
so convinced that my male ego's still intact?"
"The way you feel beneath me right now." Vi chuckled, her heart flooding with
emotion as he lifted his chin, his lips stopping just shy of a kiss. Fireflies
were twinkling in the bushes, and stars were scattered across a velvet sky made
dark by the miles of ocean surrounding them.
She should have known Garth would turn out to be down-to-earth. He hadn't been
born famous, after all, and while he'd come here from Manhattan, he'd grown up
in rural Florida, raised by a mother who'd moved around a lot. Besides, he'd
achieved status by writing books with titles such as Blood Curdling, and
he had a sense of humor about his work. His goal was to chill readers to the
bone, not win literary awards — and he was proud of it.
"I know you're thinking about it," he said.
She squinted. "What?"
"Kissing me."
Since he was right, she lowered her mouth to his, enjoying the familiar taste.
Most of the passion she'd shared had been with vacationers to the island, and
nothing had ever seemed as special as this past month with Garth; she'd all but
forgotten that her initial reason for seducing him was to find out if he'd won
the lottery. He hadn't, of course.
"C'mon," he said, his voice husky. "Let's shower. Then we can walk on the beach.
After that..." He traced the shell of her ear, circling each of the silver studs
she wore. Looking thoughtful, he said, "I was wondering if you'd go on a real
date with me next week."
Probably, he was referring to Suze Kettleman's clam bake. "Sure. Where?"
"A premiere in L.A. for the film version of Killer Claws."
Stunned, she rolled away and stood, dusting dirt and grass from her cutoffs.
"No. And I figured coming over for dinner tonight might qualify as a real date."
"It does." Looking taken aback as he got to his feet, he curled a hand around
her shoulder and drew her close. "I don't get it. What's wrong?"
"Look," she said. "We've been having fun. And I like you, Garth, I really do.
But when we're here in the yard playing football, you seem like an ordinary
guy."
"I am an ordinary guy."
But he wasn't. He was a bestselling author who'd just asked her to a movie
premiere in Hollywood. "I'm a mail carrier," she clarified as if that should
explain it all. "And I live on an island where the best dress shop is Kim's
Batiks."
"I'll get you a dress."
She stared at him. "Don't tell me you're planning one of those fantasy dates
where the man makes the woman over into his dream image of what he wants her to
be. I'm fine just the way I am, Garth Garrison."
"You're misunderstanding me."
"Oh, no, I'm not. And you're right. In order to go on what you call a real date,
you'd have to take me shopping."
"No, I wouldn't. But you seemed upset about wearing a dress from Kim's."
"I'm not upset about it, because I'm not wearing a dress, because I'm not
going," Vi said in a rush.
"It's just a premiere." His grip on her tightened. "I want your support."
Just a premiere. The words were playing in her head as she abruptly
turned and headed for the house.
His voice sounded from behind her. "Can't we talk about this, Violet?"
She heard him, but she didn't turn around.
Exactly three days and four fights later, Violet agreed to attend the premiere
with him and now, as Garth threaded his fingers through hers in the backseat of
the limo, he smiled, since each fight had ended with them making love.
As they approached the theater, she was staring through the glass partition
between the seats and, in turn, through the windshield at the crowds gathered
under a lighted marquee that read Garth Garrison's Killer Claws. "It's
your favorite book, right?" she murmured. She knew it was, but she was nervously
making conversation.
"So far." Garth planned to pen many more, but his latest was the best, maybe
because he'd used bits of his own life. In the story, a creature spawned from
primordial ooze hunted victims in a small Florida town, reminiscent of many
where he'd spent his youth.
Glancing at Violet, he was glad he'd told her about the last small apartment
he'd shared with his mother before an aneurysm had taken her life; it was in the
same complex where he'd met his ex-wife. According to critics, the darker
memories of adolescence were the source of his fiction, but he'd told Violet
about the happier times, too. When their eyes met, he said, "I feel like I've
come a long way from home."
"Your mom would be proud."
"I was thinking about her," he admitted, feeling touched that Violet knew to say
it, and then, in an effort to lighten the mood, he teased, "Careful, or I'll
start thinking you're one of the characters in Mind Benders."
"Mind Benders?" As she turned her attention from the bright lights they
were about to face, one of the pink rose petals strewn through her hair came
dislodged and drifted to the lap of his tuxedo trousers. Not noticing, she
looked delighted. "You have a new book idea?"
Garth smiled. "It's about a beautiful woman with short honey hair who likes to
surf." Just as a lopsided smile claimed her mouth, he added, "She happens to be
dynamite in bed, too."
"Am I?"
As if she needed to ask. "Oh, yeah." Untwining their fingers, he slipped an arm
around her waist and pulled her against his side.
"The dress," she protested. "You swore you wouldn't touch me, Garth. It'll come
undone. And —" Something in his expression must have stopped her. She frowned.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing." But he'd been reminded of how Klarissa used to fuss with her
appearance when they'd attended events such as this. He pushed aside the
thought. It was the wrong time to think about his past, but then, he'd been
married to Klarissa for ten years. Through his twenties, into his thirties. From
boyhood into manhood. Once upon a time, he'd thought the marriage would last
forever.
Years ago, she'd listened, as only a young girl could when he'd spun tales
about ghosts and goblins, stories he intended to write down someday. Now he had.
But his mother was gone. And Klarissa had left him for the producer of the film
they were about to see. And Garth was here with a woman he barely knew but whose
simple ways had warmed his heart, just as her body had warmed his bed. He was
beginning to realize that, this time around, he might have found a relationship
that could last.
"Look at all those people," she murmured, her eyes still fixed on the marquee.
"Don't worry. You look stunning." He grinned. "I like you best in a bikini,
though." Initially, she hadn't wanted him to buy her a dress for the occasion,
but he'd wanted her to feel more comfortable, and they'd had fun shopping.
Now he couldn't take his eyes off her. White and shimmering, the loosely fitting
gown was held up by two thin, nearly invisible shoulder straps. Cups molded her
breasts, not hugging her body, but barely touching her skin, teasing the viewer
with the promise of perfection beneath.
Her fingers tightened, curling around his. "I know I'm supposed to be supporting
you," she said. "But I'm nervous."
"Me, too," he commiserated. "I hate wearing a tux."
"I never had a date where the man wore a tux."
"No prom?"
"At the last minute, my date got back together with his old girlfriend on the
mainland. I went stag."
"Well, you're on a date now." Angling his head downward, Garth dipped in for a
kiss, but she veered away again.
"You promised. I don't want this lipstick to smear."
Once more, she sounded like Klarissa. Was there any woman who could take on his
fame and fortune and not be changed by it? Could he? he wondered as the limo
pulled to the curb.
A valet opened the door, and a moment later, they were on the red carpet.
Squinting against the flashing cameras, Garth curled his fingers under Violet's
elbow and steered her toward the doors.
They'd almost made it inside the theater when he saw Klarissa with her date, Max
Sudon, the producer.
Each time he saw her, she got a little blonder, a little thinner, and wore just
a little more makeup. She was turning into the kind of gorgeous that cameras
noticed, but that wasn't necessarily what a man most wanted next to him in bed.
"Klarissa," he said, extending his hand. "It's good to see you. I'd like you to
meet —"
"Oh, honey," Klarissa said to Max. "Garth's here." She turned her attention to
Garth. "We were worried you might not make it off your little island."
He tried not to react to her affected speech, but it grated, as did her snubbing
Violet. "It's not my island."
"Of course not. Anyway, we've been traveling, too," she said dismissively,
listing the cities she'd visited, then she squinted. "What's the name of the
place again?"
"Seduction Island," Violet answered.
"And you are?" Klarissa asked archly, the tone suddenly making Garth wish he'd
never brought Violet here, dragging her into this mess.
He tightened his fingers around her elbow and murmured, "C'mon."
"Vi Hanley," she said, staying her ground. "And you are?"
"I think you know."
As if Klarissa would claim to be his wife forever. Garth sighed. It had been two
years since this movie deal had gone through. At the time, he'd been riding
high, loving his work, thinking that he and Klarissa would move down to Key West
and start a family. Then he'd discovered that humble living and a baby wasn't
part of her plan. She was too busy decorating their Manhattan penthouse, and
planning trips to L.A. and London. One look around had confirmed for Garth that
he'd rather be on the beach with the wind in his hair, smelling the salt breeze.
"Well, Vi Hanley," Klarissa said. "What do you do?"
"All kinds of things. I earn my living as a mail carrier."
At that, Klarissa turned to him, her eyes imploring. Why couldn't he learn to
enjoy his success the way she did? those eyes silently asked. Once upon a time,
he'd tried to explain that he didn't care for shopping sprees and sitting around
watering holes peopled by the illustrious, but those days were over.
"A mail carrier?" Klarissa's eyes were still on his. "I see."
"No, I'm afraid you don't," he returned, thinking that if anything had ended
their relationship, it wasn't the separation, or even the divorce. It was this
moment. He couldn't stand the condescending tone she'd taken toward Violet.
"I don't?" Klarissa asked archly.
"No, you don't. This isn't just a date. Violet's the woman I'm in love with."
As Violet spun to face him inside the living room of their hotel suite, the hem
of her white gown swirled around her ankles; judging from the anger in her eyes,
Garth figured they wouldn't be sharing a bed tonight.
"How could you tell your wife you're in love with me, Garth?"
He dragged a hand through his hair, slicking back the black strands. They'd run
into his ex at the theater, but after that, things had gone smoothly. He and
Violet had been left alone. Or as alone as a man like Garth Garrison ever got.
"Ex," he said, then added, "Why not?" He was in love in Violet.
Unbuttoning the jacket to his tux, hating the stiff feel of it, he tossed it
onto a chair. The bow tie followed as Violet headed across the plush emerald
carpet, past a love seat upholstered in gold brocade, toward the bedroom. She
looked angry and hurt, but Garth didn't understand it. All he'd done was say he
loved her.
Uttering a soft curse, knowing Violet was touching him in a way he hadn't
expected a woman ever would again, he followed her through a suite that was
exactly what he'd expect the studio to spring for. It wasn't every day that one
of his bestsellers was made into a film expected to be a box office hit, but if
you asked Garth, the whole night — and the suite — was too rich for his blood.
In the bedroom, Violet was tugging out the diamond studs that had rimmed her
ear, her fingers shaking as she carefully placed them in a black velvet box, so
he could return them.
"I bought those for you. For tonight," Garth protested.
"And before we left, I told you I can't keep them, Garth."
His heart ached as she lifted an old-fashioned blue suitcase onto the bed, then
crossed the room, opened a chest of drawers, pulled out clothes — mostly blue
jeans and T-shirts — returned to the suitcase and started arranging them. In the
opulent room, with its antique furniture, chandeliers, and four-poster bed piled
high with pillows — the suitcase looked as out of place as Violet apparently
felt.
"This wasn't how I imagined the night ending," he said, coming to stand behind
her, feeling the warmth of her skin as he rested his hands on her bare
shoulders.
"No?"
She drew back from his touch, and when she turned around again, the sight
took his breath away. All night, he'd been waiting to be alone with her...all
night, he'd been watching this dress move with her body, hinting at the slopes
of her breasts and the curves of her legs. He shook his head, his voice husky
with emotion and desire. "I imagined us making love in this bed, not you packing
on it."
"You knew your ex-wife was seeing the producer of the movie and that she'd be
his date."
"I thought you'd know that."
"I don't read tabloids."
"That's what I like about you," he assured, stepping closer, his eyes imploring
as she backed against one of the bedposts. "I don't like this stuff any more
than you do," he added.
"Stuff?"
Their bodies weren't close enough to make contact, but the heat from her skin
felt intense, as if she'd brought the summer night inside with her. They'd been
lovers long enough that he was anticipating her touch, craving its familiarity.
"The Hollywood pretension. The lights and glamour. I'm a writer. What I like to
do is stay home and write."
For him, it wasn't about money or status; it was about the rush of having
characters come alive inside him. If anything, the trick of fate that had made
him fantasize about vampires and ghosts had made him seem strange when he was a
kid. Who could have known that, years later, his schoolmates would be reading
his novels and watching films made from them? "Violet, I've got a million better
things to do than stand around making cocktail conversations about who's doing
what to whom."
"Like what?"
His eyes lanced into hers. "Like making love to you."
"You used me, Garth. You wanted to bring your simple little girlfriend from the
boondocks here to prove a point. You want to pretend your success means nothing
to you. Everybody knows you slept around so much that your wife finally left
you."
That wasn't true. It was the other way around.
"Klarissa, not me, started seeing someone else." He reacted instinctually,
curling his fingers over her smooth shoulders once more and hauled her close
enough that her breasts brushed his chest, warming him. "I thought you didn't
read tabloids."
"Gossip's hard to ignore."
Anger had turned Violet's cheeks the same dusky color as the pink rose petals
strewn through her hair. She looked luminous, almost surreal, as beautiful as an
angel. His eyes riveted on lips as smooth as cream. His throat went dry, and he
ached to say that he hadn't kissed her all night.
Instead, he said, "I told you about Klarissa. She was the girl next door.
Literally. But when my books started selling, she wanted more."
Because he could tell she was starting to listen, he added, "Everything money
could buy. And it hurt." More than he could say.
"Years ago, when we were growing up together, she loved to listen to me tell
stories. I'd spin wild yarns, and she'd hang on to every word. She was my
audience. But when things started working out for us —"
"Dammit," he suddenly whispered, cutting himself off, "I'm done with my
marriage, Violet. It's over. When things started working out for us, she wanted
a different life."
"Why can't you admit it? You have a different life now."
It was exactly what Klarissa had said. "My life's on the island where you grew
up," he defended, settling his hand on Violet's waist. He loved the feel of it
against his palm, the quiver of flesh, the excited rise and fall of her breath.
She blew out a breath, exasperated. "No. You rent a cottage there. We spent the
day on your turf. In Los Angeles." She cast a glance toward the black velvet box
on the bedside table. "We bought diamonds."
"You deserve diamonds."
"What I deserve — or don't deserve — isn't an issue!" Violet exploded hotly.
"You're a walking contradiction. You pretend you're a simple guy, but then
insist on taking me shopping for something like this dress...."
"I'd have been as happy seeing you wear one from Kim's Batiks." It was the
fanciest dress store on the island.
"But I'd have looked out of place."
"Can't you just let it go," he murmured. "I meant what I said tonight."
Her eyes narrowed. "Which thing?"
"That I love you."
She inhaled sharply. "You told your wife."
His eyes pierced hers. "Well, now I'm telling you." Bringing his mouth closer,
he let it hover. He felt almost desperate to kiss her, maybe because he was
starting to feel he never would again. "I'm in love with you, Violet. Can't
tonight be what it's supposed to be for us? A dream date?"
"That's what it is —" Her voice turned raspy. "Just a dream."
She'd twisted his meaning. "It's what we make it, sweetheart."
"But this dress..."
Before she could talk about its significance again, he slid a finger under a
strap, his breath shaking as he edged it off her shoulder, exposing a taut
nipple. "Is something I'd like to remove." Leaning, he kissed her, groaning as
the heat of her mouth filled him. "Let me love you, Violet," he whispered
against her lips. And then Garth Garrison added a word he rarely used. "Please."
Garth's mouth had never tasted better. He was making her swoon. An old-fashioned
word, yes, but there was no other for how Vi's knees weakened and her head spun.
"I'm in love with you, Violet," he'd said. "Let me love you. Please."
Maybe she could. With his lips covering hers, she could almost forget they were
from different worlds. She hadn't fully understood that until tonight. Whenever
reality intruded, she'd pushed it aside. She'd pretended this wealthy, famous
man was exactly what he'd seemed while on the island where she'd grown up. Just
another snowbird in a rental cottage.
She'd met hundreds over the years. She'd started relationships with some of
them, too, but summer flings always ended. Would Garth stay on the island? And
if he did, would it matter? Didn't tonight prove how far he'd come from his
humble origins, that his imagination was more than a part of him she benefited
from in the bedroom? He'd entertained so many. Outside the theater, fans had
asked for autographs. Inside, producers and directors had scrambled to arrange
meetings with him.
And he'd been so cool about it all. Maybe that's what scared Vi the most.
Couldn't Garth see who he was? How important he'd become? How people treated
him? But he hadn't noticed, no more than he'd realized how dashing he looked in
a tuxedo he'd worn as easily as the jeans he favored at home.
He hadn't noticed how women looked at him, either. How, like his ex-wife, they'd
been sizing Vi up, wondering how she'd attracted a man as successful as him. And
yes, Vi could admit that she wondered, too. That scared her.
Wasn't his ex-wife right? Wasn't Garth refusing to take the power that the world
was so generously offering him? Didn't that mean it was only a matter of time
until he moved on? Wasn't that why he'd expressed no real interest in buying the
house on the island's western shore?
"Say yes," he whispered simply.
"Yes," she whispered back, so mesmerized that she didn't bother to ask what she
was agreeing to as he kissed her again, his mouth tasting faintly of the whiskey
he'd drunk at the premiere. She'd imbibed a flute of sparkling wine, and now, as
his tongue parted her lips, a shudder shook her shoulders and she wondered if
she wasn't maybe a little drunk, and yet she knew the truth.
Garth was in her blood like wine. Effervescent, bubbly, dizzying. As the tip
of his tongue traced circles around her lips, she stretched her arms around his
neck, drawing him closer. At the invitation, his tongue darted, stretching deep
inside her mouth and hers met it — turning just as hot, just as needy.
Ever since their first kiss, the attraction had felt like this — kinetic,
unstoppable, compulsive. She squeezed her eyes shut, not against the light of
the room — illuminated by a chandelier, it was hopelessly romantic — but against
her visions of tomorrow's return to the island.
His voice was a husky command. "Look at me, Violet."
She liked that he called her Violet, never Vi. It was as if the easy familiarity
she felt with people such as her sisters could never enter this relationship.
Garth was a man, she was a woman, and the distance he put between them by using
her full name acknowledged that they'd always hold a special power over each
other — one he meant to recognize and respect.
When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her warily, as if he expected her to
vanish in a puff of smoke, then his eyes shifted to the suitcase on the bed,
which she'd been packing. Suddenly, she was far too aware of the room's
seductive atmosphere. Prisms dangling from the chandelier caught the light and
refracted it in soft rainbow colors. Flowers she didn't recognize — fragrant,
fluted white blossoms that frilled like lace at the edges and shot from tall
green stems that were bunched in clear glass vases — were on every table.
The blooms smelled as fresh as the island after a rain, and even held the hint
of a salt breeze, making her homesick. Her mind flashed on the island — on the
house nestled in the dunes, the only home she'd ever known. Where would a man
like Garth take her? If she stayed with him, would she change beyond
recognition, the way his ex-wife had?
When his mouth settled on hers again, the touch was jarring. She'd been
imagining the island, but it was Garth's kiss that seemed familiar, like home,
and she felt a rush of relief. The feminine scent of the island — the flowers on
the tables — mixed with Garth's sharper male scent.
She leaned away, feeling breathless, and glanced at the bed's coverlet; it
spilled over the mattress like a waterfall, its white lace hem looking frothy as
it hit the green carpet, like breakers on the beach.
Her open suitcase was on the bed.
Just as her eyes settled on the clothes she'd thrown inside, Garth hooked a hand
into the case and with a snap of his wrist, sent it sailing. Absurdly, it didn't
even tip, but spun like a saucer, gliding to the floor soundlessly and stopping
a mere inch from a closet door.
Her heart was still hammering from his kiss; it hammered harder still when she
lifted her gaze and saw the hot need and sweet promise in dark eyes that had
drifted to her chest. Glancing down, she realized a breast was bare. Without her
noticing, he'd lifted the remaining strap of her gown. Now he slipped it onto
her upper arm, baring the other.
"You're beautiful." His eyelids seemed as heavy as the velvet curtains shutting
out the night stars; for a second, he struggled to keep them open, but they
stayed locked to her breast as he leaned, parting his lips. They gasped together
as his mouth found her, and she arched, her hips rising as the liquid pull of
his mouth flooded her with dark sensation.
He uttered something soft and dangerous when her pelvic bone found him,
crushing against where he'd gotten hard. As if she'd been waiting for this one
moment, this one kiss, this one man, her head rolled back and she felt herself
swirling downward in a pool of ecstasy as he suckled harder. His splayed fingers
curled, grasping the delicate front of her gown and pulling it to her waist.
Huge and warm, the hand flicked open the buttons at her back, so the rest of the
dress dropped to the floor, gathering at her feet.
She wore nothing beneath. He'd known that. The fluid lines of the dress, a
designer original, would have been marred if she'd worn underclothes.
His hand slid down her belly, curled over the sweetest part of her and stayed
there, cupping and warming her. And then he began to stroke. She felt almost
faint. His touch was so right, so exquisite. Her eyes closed in dreamy pleasure.
"You're still dressed," she whispered.
His voice was rusty. "And you're still wearing shoes."
"I can take them off."
He urged her onto the mattress. "I can do it for you."
As she watched him pop the studs from his pleated shirt, she felt her heart beat
wildly. Why, she didn't know. She'd done this before. She and Garth had done
this before, but this felt different. Tonight changed things. But was this the
end or a beginning? she wondered as the shirt landed next to her dress.
He took a condom from the pocket of his trousers before stepping from them, and
she sighed shakily as he lay beside her, readying himself.
Wordlessly, he settled a palm on her waist, drawing her against him. "Let me
love you," he whispered again.
"Now," she gasped, but as he thrust inside, his hard heat stretching her, she
was suddenly sure it would be their last time.
As he and Violet reached the porch, Garth heard the sounds of her sisters' muted
laughter floating through the screen door.
"Thanks, Garth," Violet said. The brush of her fingers electrified him as she
took her suitcase. "I had a really nice time."
Trying to ignore the frustration he'd felt during their trip back to the island,
he couldn't help but say, "Nice time hardly covers what we did in L.A."
"I said really nice time," she tried to joke.
It wasn't funny. Last night he'd told her he loved her. Now he could barely tear
his eyes from her.
"Last night, you were everything I need." Stepping nearer, he curved his fingers
loosely around her arm, both to caress her and keep her from going inside.
"Maybe everything I'll ever need."
"It seems that way to you now, but —"
"You know my mind better than I do?"
"You're trying to sort things out," she clarified. "Find out who you are, how
you want to live."
"I know who I am." The suggestion he didn't was insulting. "I asked you to the
premiere because I wanted your support. The last thing I meant to do was scare
you away."
Despite the darkness, or maybe because of it, he could see her jaw tighten in
denial, forming a sharp silhouette against the hallway light shining from
inside. "I'm not scared, Garth."
Her breath was teasing the sensitive skin of his lips. Like the night breeze, it
was warm and sultry, making him realize they were wasting time. Why were they
standing here when they could be upstairs, naked in a bed they'd already shared?
"You can't go inside without talking about this."
"About what?"
"About us."
"Is there is an us?" she asked.
"If you want there to be."
"Let's talk tomorrow, okay? It's late. We're tired. We just got back into town."
Quickly stretching on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek, then she flashed a
smile — her teeth bright white in the dark — before she turned and went inside.
He grabbed the screen before it snapped shut, and he stared after her, narrowing
his eyes against the light. "If you think I'll let you go this easily, Violet,
you're underestimating me."
She glanced over her shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow, okay?"
But she didn't intend to. They both knew it. He nodded anyway, and sighed as he
watched her enter the house, go down the hallway, and upstairs.
Glancing around, he took in the two-story house that had been in the Hanley
family for generations, the dunes surrounding it, and the ocean beyond. It was a
far cry from the glitz and glamour he'd shown her in Hollywood this week. And
yeah, she was scared. Scared enough to walk out of his life.
"And you're letting her," he muttered. Why was he standing here? Turning, he
opened the door and let himself into the house. As he walked down the hallway,
he realized her sisters' voices had been coming from the kitchen, and as he
neared the staircase, he started to call out a hello, but then didn't when he
heard his name.
"Guess she had a fight with Garth," Pansy was saying.
"Too bad." There was a lapse as Lily's voice sank beneath the range of his
hearing. "...think she's falling for him...didn't win the lottery...at least Vi
kept her job..."
The lottery? Her job? Pausing by the staircase, he curled his fingers over the
newel post and frowned, picking up threads of dialogue.
The more he listened, the angrier he felt. As near as he could tell, while
working on her mail delivery route, Violet had destroyed the address on an
official letter that said someone on the island had won the lottery. Since she'd
thought the winner was him, Violet had seduced him, hoping to find out. She'd
been afraid he'd make a complaint that could cost her her job.
He should have known, he thought, cursing softly. Ever since their first
meeting, he and Violet Hanley had been oil and water. But when she thought he'd
won the lottery...
For a long moment, he surveyed the stairs, then he climbed them. Continuing down
a hallway, he stopped at the threshold of her room. Seeing the bed made him
ache. So did the way she whirled around, a hand pressed over her heart as if he
was the worst kind of intruder. Dammit, this room contained a bed they'd shared.
Why couldn't she admit he belonged here?
"I thought you left," she said.
"Or are you just wishing I did?" he muttered, his throat going dry. Already,
she'd changed for bed — from a sexy sundress into an even sexier teddy — and
she'd been readying her mail carrier uniform for tomorrow. Her lips were still
parted in surprise, but the way they looked only reminded him of the good-night
kiss he'd wanted, but hadn't gotten, downstairs.
"What are you doing up here, Garth?"
"I came back for the kiss I didn't get at the door." When she didn't move from
beside the bed, he added, "or to find out if you really seduced me because you
thought I'd won the lottery."
Guilty color flooded her cheeks. "Where did you hear that?"
"Downstairs. Your sisters were talking."
"You were eavesdropping?"
"I wouldn't put it that way."
"Well," she said, clearly making an effort to keep her voice even, "in a
roundabout way, that's your fault. Our city ordinance says you're to keep your
dog on a leash, which you don't, which makes it impossible to deliver your mail.
If I hadn't been trying to feed G the sandwich I'd made for my own lunch, I
wouldn't have spilled the soda on that letter from the lottery board. And
anyway, it turned out you didn't win, after all —"
"I can't believe you're trying to turn this whole thing around, as if I've done
something wrong."
"Sorry," she whispered.
For a second, she looked so miserable that his heart gentled. What he'd
overheard her sisters saying suddenly didn't seem so important, after all. "And
anyway, Violet," he found himself saying, "that's not the point."
"What is?"
"That you're trying to walk out of my life and I don't know why." Crossing the
room, he settled his hands on her waist and looked into her eyes. "I don't care
how we got together. What's important is what's happening between us now...."
"I think your ex is right," she said. "I think what's happening is that you're
hiding out here. You're living like a hermit. Holed up in an island cottage when
you could be out seeing the world."
"I don't want to see the world," he returned, astonished at the passion coursing
through him. "I want to see you."
"You want to keep life too small, Garth Garrison."
He glanced pointedly around the room, taking in a simple rough-hewn bedstead and
matching table, the wide-planked wooden floors, then the uniform on a hanger,
looped over the doorknob to the closet. When his eyes fixed on hers again, he
said, "I'm not the only one who keeps life small."
"But my life is small!" Hot color rose on her cheeks. "Yours isn't,
Garth, not really. You're different."
Different. The word hurt because it was meant to drive a wedge between
them. "We were alike enough last night," he reminded, his voice growing husky at
the memories, his mind registering the closeness of her mouth and how
desperately he'd missed that good-night kiss. "And like I said downstairs," he
forced himself to continue, shifting his gaze away from her waiting mouth, "I
think what's happening is that you're scared. You got a whiff of life off this
tiny island, and now you're glad to be back home, laying out your uniform,
preparing for another day that'll be routine, predictable and —"
"I've heard enough," she interjected.
"No you haven't because I'm not finished. I brought something else into your
life, Violet. Some real passion. And now you're running —"
"Out," she said simply, her voice shaking. "I mean it, Garth. You're going to
have to leave."
His gaze held hers a long moment, then he nodded, turning to go. But when he
reached the threshold, he took a last look at her and said, "This isn't over
yet."
...he felt the familiar push of alien forces crowding out his thoughts, then
a familiar rush of fear...
"Familiar push, familiar rush," Garth muttered, leaning back in his desk chair
and reading the paper scrolled in the first manual typewriter he'd ever owned,
one his mother had given him for his birthday years ago and that he still used
for writing first drafts. "Too repetitive."
He should quit working on Mind Benders. At the moment, he had his own
alien forces to contend with, since he couldn't go five seconds without thoughts
of Violet intruding on his work.
In the week since he'd seen her, he'd found three earrings in his bed, two pairs
of panties, and one surfboard parked in his backyard. It was no wonder he
couldn't concentrate.
As he stretched a hand down to scratch the space between G's ears, G thudded his
tail. "Hey, boy," Garth murmured, glancing around the cottage, taking in the
posters made from the covers of his books, then the desk. It was littered with
cocktail napkins, most of which had phone numbers scrawled across them, written
at the premiere he'd attended with Violet.
You're sorting things out, she'd said. Finding out how you want to
live. Garth had never had such a luxury before. For years, he and his mother
had moved between rural towns in Florida, never really settling, which was why
this no-frills cottage had seemed like enough a year ago. Garth had never really
needed creature comforts to feel at home. But now...
The ring of the phone startled him. "Maybe that's her," he said to G. Lifting
the receiver, he felt his heart sink when he heard the voice. "Klarissa." She
hadn't called since their divorce was final, and he was still angry at how she'd
snubbed Violet at the premiere. "What can I do for you?"
"I shouldn't be calling," she began. "I know we're divorced, but I...I wanted to
say that I'm worried about you."
"About me?" He was picturing her at the premiere with Max, the man with whom
she'd had the affair that ended their marriage. Surprisingly, he actually
mustered a wry chuckle. "You and Max sounded busy," he said. "Like you've been
traveling. I'm surprised you have the time to worry about poor little ol' me.
How are you and Max getting along, anyway?"
"Not as well as you and..."
"Violet," he said, his heart wrenching at the mention of her name. "And we're
not getting along that well at the moment."
"What?"
She'd sounded surprised — and sorry. That was unexpected, too. "I think all
the bright lights you love so much scared Violet off."
"I...wasn't as nice as I could have been when you introduced us, and I wanted to
apologize, Garth. You looked so happy. I didn't think..."
"That it might be over?"
"Love never seems to last, does it?"
Theirs hadn't. "Sometimes the more you hold on to it, the harder it is to keep."
"Is that what we did?" his ex-wife asked. "Hold on too tightly?"
He shook his head. "No. You and me," he said, "we were right to let go."
There was a long pause, then she said, "We made different choices about the
direction we want our lives to take. I finally realized it that night. I need to
keep moving, but you've always been so steady. Like a rock. Maybe settling down
is a better choice."
"For me," he said. "Not for you."
Moments later, after he hung up, Garth's throat felt tight. Yes, Violet was
right. Each time he'd said he'd settled down on this island, he'd been fooling
himself. This cottage looked like a way station, not a home. Just like a hundred
different way stations he'd lived in with his mother. Because of the way he'd
grown up, putting down roots felt alien....
But he had to start. Lifting a shirt from where it was slung around the desk
chair, he shrugged into it. "C'mon, G," he said. "You started this whole mess."
He found Violet in the backyard, washing her and her sisters' cars. Water
droplets beaded on her tanned skin, and the cutoffs she wore over a bikini were
wet; white fringe clung to her thighs. As she turned to face him, she looped the
hose in the grass, and G splashed through the suds, anxious to cool himself.
"You know," Garth couldn't help but say, since G hadn't so much as barked, "I
think he's starting to like you."
"He likes me better in a bikini than my mail carrier uniform."
"So do I."
Weeks ago, she would have laughed. Today, she simply said, "You're back."
"I told you I wouldn't be easy to get rid of."
"What can I do for you?"
He'd said the exact same words to his ex a few moments ago. This time, the
answer was different. "Just about everything, Violet Hanley," he said, striding
toward her. As he neared, her composure faltered, and he felt his heart swell;
her brown eyes looked so hopeful. That was good. "Although," he added, "I really
came by to see Pansy."
"Pansy?"
He nodded. "Klarissa called."
That took her by surprise, too. "You came here to tell me that?"
"Yeah. Because what she said got me thinking." He sent her his best grin. "So,
I'm thinking maybe I ought to buy that house on the western shore, after all."
He could see her throat working as she swallowed, as if it had gotten clogged
with emotion. "The one Pansy's been trying to sell you?"
"Yeah."
"You're really thinking of settling down," she asked shakily. "On the island?
Permanently?"
He closed the remaining distance between them and glided his hands down her
arms. Gazing into her eyes, he imagined the tourists she'd dated over the years
as he dipped his head downward, stopping short of a kiss. "I thought you were
worried about my career getting in the way of the simple life you live here,
Violet," he said, "but when I talked to Klarissa, I realized you're afraid of me
moving on."
Her voice caught as her arms slid around his neck. "I can't be part of your
decision to stay here. You have to decide that for yourself."
He should have known a woman like Violet would never pressure a man. "All my
life," he murmured, grazing his lips across a cheek that felt like silk, "I've
kept moving. I guess it felt familiar. Mom was always taking me to new towns."
"And all my life," she returned, "I've stayed here. On the island."
"While tourists came and went every summer." Lowering his head, he captured her
mouth, then whispered, "I'm no summer fling, Violet. I'm here to stay.
Providing..."
Her brown eyes were growing hot with need, misty with emotion. "That?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that G had dislodged the hose. It was
looping wildly in the grass, and soon it would douse him and Violet, but right
now, Garth didn't care because she was rising on her toes to kiss him.
"Providing I've got someone to share it with."
Her voice was raspy. "Do you have someone in mind?"
He could feel the quickening beat of her heart against his chest, and when he
leaned back a fraction, he was pleased to see her eyes sparkling. "Now you're
being coy."
She laughed softly. "I wouldn't know. You're the wordsmith."
"Well, it just so happens I do have someone in mind."
"You do?"
"You. I'm ready to make this island my home, Violet."
Home. No word had ever sounded so good. When their eyes met, Garth was
sure Violet was sharing his vision — of their surfboards leaning against the
side of their house on the western shore, and their toddlers heading down to the
beach with plastic pails and shovels to build sand castles.
The next kiss came on a sigh. It was quick, wet and full of promise about where
the afternoon — and life — was going to take them. When it was over, the woman
Garth loved was sending him a heart-stopping smile.
And just as he bent lower, to capture her mouth again, she recalled the very
first time they'd kissed. "My, oh my, Garth Garrison," she murmured as their
lips touched. "You're sure full of surprises."
"Yeah," he whispered back. "But the best is yet to come."
The End