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No worries. Because what Logan hadn’t taken into consideration was that Grace Farrell was nothing if not a fighter. She relished obstacles; the higher level of difficulty, the better. To her, this was a new game to play, a new puzzle to be solved. She would learn the rules of the game using logic and reasoning, just as she’d done throughout her life. Then she would decipher the puzzle and win the game. To do otherwise was inconceivable.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was time to go to work. But as she glanced out the picture window at the stunning views, she wished for just a moment that she could stop all the clocks, take all the time in the world and just enjoy herself. She wanted to feel the sun on her back, walk barefoot in the white sand and frolic in the blue waters of Alleria Bay. She wanted to drink champagne and kiss a handsome man under the Caribbean moon.
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” she admonished herself. Those kinds of thoughts were not only foolhardy, they were dangerous. The clock was ticking. Time was of the essence.
There was no place in her life for fun and frolic, never mind kissing. Her entire life, her research, everything she’d ever worked for, would go down the drain if she didn’t act quickly to staunch the damage already done.
She checked her kit bag to make sure she had everything she needed, then grabbed a towel from the bathroom and left the hotel room.
Crossing the bright, tropical-themed lobby, Grace stepped outside and felt the first rays of the warm sun on her skin. She adjusted her sunglasses and walked a dozen yards along the rows of swaying palm trees until she reached the edge of the white sand beach.
Now this was paradise.
She allowed herself thirty seconds to breathe in the spectacular view of the tropical island. Startlingly clear water stretched as far as the eye could see. Behind her, farther inland, were rolling green hills studded with more palm trees and lush vegetation. Sailboats bobbed at their moorings in the bay and sea birds flew overhead.
Her thirty seconds were up. Taking another deep breath, she hunkered down for the next forty minutes. Walking from palm tree to palm tree, she searched the base of each trunk where the roots divided, looking for a sign of the rare Allerian spores she’d come here to observe.
The sun was already warm at eight o’clock in the morning and she was glad she’d doused herself in sunblock. She should’ve brought a hat with her, too; but she’d been in such a hurry to pack and leave Minnesota that she hadn’t fully considered the effects of the tropical sun on her sensitive skin. At times like this, she was forced to admit she wasn’t quite as smart as everyone thought she was.
Another case in point, her awkward conversation with Logan Sutherland yesterday. She cringed inwardly, knowing that most of what he’d accused her of was true. Yes, she’d lied on her résumé, although that was for a good cause. But what she really hated admitting was that she’d foolishly underestimated the job of cocktail waitress. That wasn’t smart. She wouldn’t make that mistake again, especially after seeing firsthand how hard everyone in the bar worked.
“Just let that go,” she murmured. At least Logan had relented and allowed her to stay, thank goodness. She had a full week to redeem herself and she vowed to do just that, if only for the sake of the spores.
Now if she could only find the darling little critters.
A sailboat under full sail skimmed across the bay and Grace stopped to watch it. Everywhere she turned on this island, in any direction, she could find something new and wonderful and exotic to look at. She stretched and allowed the sunshine to permeate her skin. Had she ever felt this warm and cozy without the benefit of a down jacket?
She’d lived in Minnesota her entire life and she was perfectly happy there, of course. But she was just beginning to realize that she’d spent a good portion of her life being cold. No, not just cold, she thought. Chilled to the bone. She was so tired of being cold, so weary of bundling up in heavy coats and mittens and long underwear and wool scarves for more than half the year.
Alleria was beautiful and, more important, it was warm. If she couldn’t truly let herself go and relax and enjoy her time here, she could at least savor the warm weather. It was so completely different from anything she’d ever experienced before.
Standing in a cozy patch of shade cast by a huge cluster of coconuts hanging in a nearby palm, Grace took another minute to stretch out her muscles. She rolled her shoulders and raised her arms up in the air, then bent at the waist to touch her toes. She was starting to ache a little from her upper-body workout and it felt good to stretch and bend.
Once Logan had pointed out the need for balance and upper-body strength, Grace had known what she had to do. She’d begun with thirty push-ups when she first got out of bed this morning. She was in decent condition physically, but she needed much more strength in her upper arms if she expected to lift those hefty cocktail trays every night.
She was determined to make Logan Sutherland acknowledge that she took her waitressing job seriously. She couldn’t afford to be sent home. She absolutely had to get her funding; and to do that, she had to find and collect enough Allerian spore specimens to conduct her lifesaving experiments for the next few years.
As she straightened up and moved to another tree, she pondered the sadly obvious fact that Logan Sutherland couldn’t care less about her scientific work. No, he just cared that she performed her job as cocktail waitress as well as anyone else in the company. But if that’s what it took to keep her here, that’s what she would to do.
At each coconut palm tree, she knelt down and examined the juncture where the thick palm roots crisscrossed and divided. Feathery fern leaves sprouted here and there and that was where her spores were known to propagate. But tree after tree, frond after frond offered exactly nothing.
She wandered away from the shore and deeper into what looked like a jungle of wild plants and palm trees. Here the thicker vegetation created more shade, but instead of being cooler, it was warmer and muggier. The overabundance of plant life kept the sea breezes from filtering through and cooling the air. Humidity was a good thing if you were a spore.
Sure enough, minutes later in a shady cluster of coco palms, surrounded by the soft fern leaves that protected them, Grace finally came across the spores she’d traveled thousands of miles to find.
“Ah,” she whispered, “there you are, my lovelies.”
She spread the clean towel on the sand and unzipped her spore kit. Kneeling on a corner of the towel, she used her most powerful magnifying glass to study the precious plant life more closely.
Unlike many plants, these types of spores could thrive without sunlight, but they still needed a warm, moist environment. Glancing around, Grace saw that this part of the island was indeed ideal. The sun was only beginning to shine here so the spores had a part of the morning to thrive in the muggy shade. They seemed happy, reproducing madly even as she watched them through the ultramagnified glass.
Grace smiled at the thought of happy spores. A sense of calm came over her as she observed the microscopic world. She had been experimenting on this rare strain of Allerian spores for so many years, ever since old Professor Hutchins, her teacher and first mentor, showed her his excellent treatise based on the first spores he brought back from the island. That dissertation had led Grace to begin her own experiments using the potential lifesaving properties of these little guys.
Grace glanced up at the clear blue sky and marveled at how far she’d come in her studies of the Allerian spores. They were valuable for so many reasons, including the gene replication studies she’d mentioned to Logan. But she was even more excited by the fact that the mitochondria found within the spore cells contained a rare type of phytohormone that carried potential medical applications. Her latest experiments had proven that these hormones could have an adverse effect on human cancer cells, causing certain cells to be suppressed or, in the case of her most recent lab trials, to die altogether.
The possibility that Grace’s studies could lead to the destruction of cancer cells thrilled her as nothing else had before. She could no more stop this important research than she could stop breathing.
She thought back to the day she first walked into the university laboratory when she was eight years old. She’d spent hundreds of lonely hours in the lab since then, but knowing that all those years of research might ultimately lead to so many lives being saved made her forget her own pain. It had all been worth it.
Recently, Grace had entered a new and critical phase of her research. And even though some of the Professor’s last batch of spores were still producing decent progeny, they were beginning to die out. Grace required a fresher, stronger crop of the rare organisms to meet her current needs.
“Current needs,” she grumbled, shaking her head in disgust. If it weren’t for Walter Erskine trying to steal her entire life’s work, including taking credit for her latest experiments and proven theorems, she wouldn’t be so desperate right now. Her cheeks still burned as she recalled how easily Walter had charmed her, how quickly she’d grown to like him, how fervently she’d hoped they would be together always. And she’d actually believed he reciprocated her feelings. Could she honestly have been that naive?
She shook herself free of those unhappy thoughts. She refused to blame herself for falling for his lies. Walter had been quite the smooth operator, after all. Almost everyone in the department had been fooled. But it was Grace’s job that was on the line now, not anyone else’s.
Snapping on a pair of disposable gloves, she pulled out one of her sterilized petri dishes. With her forceps, she carefully plucked a thick clump of spores from the fibrous base of the frond and held it over the dish. After tapping the forceps against the side of the dish, she watched the spores drop into the dish along with bits of moss and sand.
For the next hour, she repeated the process several more times. She numbered each petri dish and noted in her book the location and features of the palm tree, the angle of the sun and the temperature at the precise time she gathered each of the groups of spores.
Her stomach growled and she realized she was famished. Earlier, she’d eaten breakfast with other members of the hotel staff in their private cafeteria. Everyone was so nice to her and she’d felt almost decadent as she chose the colorful fruit platter with its dollop of yogurt. She hadn’t seen such gorgeous fruit in Minnesota in a long time, if ever. But now, as she worked under the hot sun, she felt a little dizzy and determined that she would need to eat a bigger breakfast each morning. The last thing she wanted to do was pass out on the beach. She could only imagine what Logan Sutherland would say about that.
Checking the dishes stacked in her kit bag, she decided she had enough spores from this particular tree. It was a good start. She pulled off the gloves, packed up her kit and pushed herself up off the ground, anxious to return to her room where her microscope and portable lab equipment waited for her.
“Wow,” she said with a laugh, as she brushed the fine grains of sand off her legs. “Do you know how to have a good time or what?”
She turned and almost collided with Logan Sutherland, who grabbed hold of her shoulders to steady her.
“What are you doing out here without a hat on?” he demanded, glaring at her.
She’d been so absorbed in her work that she hadn’t heard him approach, but she should’ve sensed his forceful presence. He wore cargo shorts with a faded Hawaiian shirt and waterproof sandals. His skin was tanned a deep bronze and there was a hint of beard stubble on his jaw. He was laid-back and casual, so why did he look even more dangerous today than he had in his thousand-dollar suit yesterday?
She realized that the sun had shifted and she was now standing in bright sunlight. “I’ve been in the shade most of the time,” she said lamely.
“You’ll soon find out that doesn’t make much difference this close to the equator.” He took his baseball cap off and handed it to her. “Here, wear this. It’s not much, but it’ll protect your face for a while.”
“It’s not necessary,” she said, taking a step back from him. He was so big and masculine, it was a bit overwhelming so early in the morning. And it was unnerving to realize that he was studying her as carefully as she would examine a particularly fascinating germ under her microscope. Maybe that’s why she felt so shaky. “I’m going back to my room right now.”
“Ten minutes out here is enough to make a difference. Put the damn hat on.”
“All right.” He was pushy, but he probably knew what he was talking about. Besides, she didn’t want to give him any reason to think her uncooperative. She slipped her ponytail through the strap in back and adjusted the cap on her head. “Thank you. I’ll get it back to you this afternoon.”
“No hurry,” he said. “We’ve got a gift shop filled with wide-brimmed hats. You’ll need one if you’re planning to work outside every morning.”
With a nod, she said, “I’ll be sure to buy one this afternoon.”
“Good. And buy more sunblock,” he added brusquely. “I’d hate to see your skin get burned.”
“Thank you.” I think, she added under her breath, since he sounded almost angry about it. But she decided not to blame him. He’d probably seen his share of hapless tourists suffering from second-degree sunburns.
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “So you’ve been out looking for spores?”
“Yes. I’ve found a thriving colony right here,” she exclaimed, energized all over again. Kneeling back down at the base of the palm tree, she pulled out her magnifying glass and handed it to him. “Come and see.”
“Spore porn?” he said dryly. “I can’t wait.”
She smiled at him. “I’m sure you think it’s odd, but I actually find it quite fascinating to watch them reproduce.”
He knelt down next to her, so close that their shoulders and hips were touching. Taking the glass from her, he bent down and stared for a while. Then he straightened and gazed at her. “So they’re basically having sex right now?”
Her eyes widened. His face was a mere inch away from hers. If he leaned in…But he wouldn’t, of course. What was she thinking? She took a moment to swallow around her suddenly dry throat. “Um, yes. I suppose you could call it that. They do it around this time every morning.”
One eyebrow shot up. “I guess you’ve got to admire their discipline.”
“Oh, I do, I do,” she murmured, mesmerized by his flirtatious smile. He had beautiful, straight, white teeth and his mouth had a sexy, sardonic curve to it that she found nearly irresistible. Oh, my, she thought. Was he moving closer to her? He stared into her eyes, then his gaze shifted to her lips. Was he going to kiss her? She could feel herself melting. She really should’ve worn a hat.
Standing abruptly, she said, “I’ve got to go. Got to get these back to the room. Got to…Well, goodbye.”
She took off like a startled bunny and could actually feel his gaze locked on her as she ran down the beach. On her mad dash back to the hotel, she berated herself for behaving so foolishly. Had her emotions shown on her face when she realized his mouth was a few millimeters away from hers? She hoped not, but she knew she wasn’t sophisticated enough to fake a look of bland disinterest in a moment like that.
Despite knowing he wanted her off the island, despite knowing he would use any excuse to get rid of her, she still found him irresistible.
“But you will resist him,” she said sternly. She had no choice. She might’ve spent the past fifteen years working in near isolation in the university biogenetics laboratory, but she hadn’t been completely cut off from real life. She read books and magazines; she socialized somewhat, if you could call it socializing when her current mentor—who was also her closest friend—invited her over once a month to have dinner with her big, boisterous family. Grace was grateful for those invitations since she was rarely invited to spend time with her own odd family.
The point was, Grace was savvy enough to know that where a man like Logan Sutherland was concerned, she was in way over her head.
From now on, she would keep her distance from her fine-looking boss. She would be polite and do what she had to do to impress him in the cocktail bar. But, outside of work, she would avoid him, evade him, do anything she had to do to stay away from him. She couldn’t forget that he wanted her gone, off the island and away from the spores that were critical to her life’s work.
And yet, dealing with Logan Sutherland would be a piece of cake compared to the hell she’d lived through the past six months. All she had to do was remember the bottom line: she wasn’t leaving this island until she was damn good and ready to.
Three
The cocktail lounge was packed with happy people drinking, laughing and dancing. The music was mellow jazz, just loud enough to enjoy but not so overbearing that people had to shout to be heard. The lighting was subtle enough to make everyone look good and was embellished this evening by the glow of a full moon reflecting off the dark blue waters of the bay.
Logan had a dozen other things he could’ve been doing tonight. He usually made a point of stopping by the bar most evenings to say hello to guests and lend his presence in the rare instance that someone was causing trouble. But he didn’t usually linger for long. He and his brother had hired the best, most trustworthy and well-trained employees, who knew the service business inside and out. They didn’t need Logan hanging around, standing sentinel like an overanxious mother hen, driving his bartenders and staff crazy. Or worse yet, making them think Logan had no confidence in them.
But he was here anyway—and he wasn’t leaving. He attempted to look casual as he leaned his elbow on the bar and sipped his thirty-year-old single-malt scotch. He let the smooth liquid heat its way down his throat and tried like hell to pretend he wasn’t here to keep an eagle eye on his newest employee.
“Order up, Grace,” Joey, one of the bartenders, called.
“Thanks, Joey,” Grace said, rewarding him with a generous smile as she placed one of the wide trays on the bar and began to load it with drinks.
Logan noted that, as promised, she hadn’t spilled a drink tonight. But that was only because her customers and the other waiters had been so willing to step in and help her carry her trays. One guest had even bussed a few tables for her. It was the strangest thing Logan had ever seen.
Usually, his waitstaff were territorial about their customers and tips. But with Grace, they all chipped in and helped her. Logan grudgingly admitted it was to her credit that she was quick to split her generous tips with all of them.
She loaded the drinks onto a large tray in that spiral pattern she’d insisted was cosmologically sound. Logan had to shake his head at that cockamamy theory, but sobered as he watched her shoulders tense up. She licked her lips and tested the tray’s weight. Was she really going to try to carry it? There had to be at least ten drinks on the tray. What was Joey thinking?
Logan pushed off from the bar and moved toward her. But before he could get close enough to grab the tray, Clive, a witty Englishman and one of his top waiters, slipped smoothly behind Grace and rested his hands on her hips.
“Brace your knees, love,” Clive said, “and put all your strength right here.” With that, he skimmed the edges of her slender thighs all the way down to her knees. Then he moved around to face her and patted his own stomach. “Breathe from here. Muscles nice and tight.”
Logan froze in place, his teeth clenched, determined not to step in and save her again. Instead, he would allow Clive to instruct her, unless it started to look like she would need more skilled intervention from Logan himself.
He watched Grace’s breasts move in rhythm with the deep, anticipatory breaths she took. Then she was flying solo, following Clive’s instructions, steadying her legs and lifting the tray onto her shoulder.
Clive and several other waiters watched with apprehension as Grace moved slowly across the room to a table of guests sitting near the window. Bending her knees, she set the tray down on the table. Half the staff applauded and Logan’s tight jaw relaxed.
Grace’s face lit up as she glanced around at her odd group of supporters. When her gaze met Logan’s, her happy smile faltered.
Hell. He hated to be the cause of her bright eyes dimming, so he quickly grinned at her and flashed a thumbs-up sign. Her eyes widened and, as her smile grew, the entire room seemed to light up, as well.
Satisfied that she was happy and would survive the night, Logan turned back to the bar and took a last sip of his drink. But before he could even swallow, reality smacked him upside the head and he noted with disgust that she’d manipulated him again. Who cared if she smiled, for God’s sake? She wasn’t here to be happy. She was here to earn her paycheck or go home, damn it.
Waving down the head bartender, he snarled out his order, “Pour me another scotch, Sam.”
Taking advantage of the early-morning quiet, Logan hauled his windsurfing board down to the deserted beach just as the sun was cresting over Alleria Peak. He slipped the board into the water, adjusted the mast and sail and then slid on top and started paddling.
It might’ve sounded strange to someone who didn’t know him, but from the first time he swam in these waters, Logan had recognized Alleria as home. It was warm all year round so he never had to wear a wet suit. And it was clean. Even at twenty feet, he could see the sandy bottom of the sea. That was a minor miracle after years of surfing and sailing the rough and churning waves off the coast of Northern California—where he and his brother had grown up and where, when they were seven years old, their father had taught them how to surf.
Logan paddled a few more yards out. Then in one quick move, he rose to a standing position on the board and yanked the uphaul rope, pulling until the sail was upright. Grabbing hold of the mast and boom, he angled the sail until it caught the barest hint of wind. Balancing his weight on the board, he turned and headed for open water beyond the tip of the peninsula that formed the bay.
Alleria Bay itself was a tranquil inlet with few waves and the mildest of winds. But out beyond the break, the eastern trade winds provided plenty of excitement for any resort guests interested in windsurfing or sailing.
In a few hours, Logan would have contracts to study and phone calls to make. But right now, surrounded by wind, water and speed, he tried to blow off all thoughts of business and enjoy the moment. It wasn’t easy; he was hardwired for success and had had a difficult time relaxing lately.
An unexpected swell crested and broke into a wave inches from his board. Logan took instant advantage, raking the sail back, then throwing the mast hard into the wind while jumping and lifting the board into the air and twirling it over the wave.
“Hot damn,” he shouted with good humor. He’d managed a one-hundred-eighty-degree flaka, a hotdog maneuver he hadn’t pulled off in years. He laughed as the wind picked up. The move reminded him of the days when he and Aidan had lived to surf. Back then, Logan had considered surfing the closest he would ever get to spirituality. It was all wrapped up in the notion of man and nature coming together through the elemental forces of the universe, the movement of water against earth, the changing of the tide, the passing of time.
He could still recall that exact moment in his youth when he’d stared into the eye of a twelve-foot wave and realized that if he could stand up on a flimsy piece of fiberglass and ride over the spuming water like Poseidon on a dolphin-teamed chariot, he could damn well conquer anything.
That understanding had kept both brothers at the top of their game as they traveled the world and competed in—and won—numerous international competitions. Because they were identical twins competing at the highest echelon of surfing circles, they were often treated like celebrities with all the perks that came with the territory. Especially women. They were everywhere and temptation was strong.
It was a wild life that might’ve eaten them up if they hadn’t taken to heart the life lessons their father had taught them early on. Thanks to Dad’s good example, they didn’t take the lure of the high life too seriously. They also followed the number-one rule of surfers everywhere: Never turn your back on the ocean.
In other words, Logan thought: Pay attention. A guy never knew when a wave might knock him down or a shark would eat him alive.
Logan had learned the hard way that the rule applied to women especially. He’d let down his guard five years ago when he met Tanya and convinced himself he was in love with her. When he asked her to marry him and she said yes, he thought his life was complete. A year into their marriage, she was killed in a car crash and he thought he might die along with her. It wasn’t until the funeral that Logan found out she had been driving off to meet her lover, some clown that had worked in the twin brothers’ accounting office.
Never turn your back on the ocean. If his wife’s betrayal wasn’t enough to remind him that women, like sharks, were not to be trusted, Logan only had to remind himself that his own mother had deserted them when he and Aiden were seven years old.
With a determined pull on the boom, Logan angled the sail around and headed back to land. For the past few years, his emotions had drifted between grief that Tanya had to die and guilt that he’d never really loved her anyway. He had finally resigned himself to the fact that he just wasn’t capable of love—and that was fine with him. Women were in plentiful supply and he certainly enjoyed them. A lot. The more the merrier. But that didn’t mean he would ever fall in love and he sure as hell would never trust another woman again.
As he sailed closer to the beach, he spotted Grace Farrell walking through the clusters of palms growing in profusion along the bay. The muscles of his hands tightened around the mast and boom as he watched the gorgeous research scientist pause at each palm tree to study the roots and base. He was glad to see she’d taken his advice and worn a wide-brimmed hat today, along with a loose shirt with sleeves that would protect her sensitive shoulders from the unrelenting heat of the sun.
But there was barely anything covering up her long, shapely legs and even from this distance, he could appreciate the view of those legs and her luscious bottom as she bent over to search for spores.
Spores, for God’s sake.
