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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, perfectly matched to the man. “You have a look of panic on your face. Things are mostly slow around here. We don’t see much panic on Puffin Island.”
He was a local?
Not in a million years would she have expected a man like him to be satisfied with life on a rural island. Despite the casual clothes there was an air of sophistication about him that suggested a life experience that extended well beyond the Maine coast.
His hair was dark and ruffled by the wind, and his eyes were sharply intelligent. He watched her for a moment, as if making up his mind about something, before his gaze shifted over her shoulder. Instinctively she closed the door slightly, blocking his view, hoping Juliet stayed out of sight.
If she hadn’t felt so sick she would have laughed.
Was she really going to live like this?
She was the sober, sensible one. This was the sort of drama she would have expected from Lana.
“You live here?” she asked.
“Does that surprise you?”
It did, but she reminded herself that all that mattered was that he wasn’t one of the media pack. He couldn’t be. Apart from an island newsletter and a few closed Facebook groups, there was no media on Puffin Island.
Emily decided she was jumpy because of the briefing she’d had from Lana’s lawyers. She was seeing journalists in her sleep. She was forgetting there were normal people out there. People whose job wasn’t to delve into the business of others.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors. But I appreciate you checking on us. Me. I mean me.” She could see from the faint narrowing of those eyes that her slip hadn’t gone unnoticed, and she wondered if he’d seen the little girl peeping from the window. “It’s a lovely island.”
“It is. Which makes me wonder why you’re viewing it around a half-closed door. Unless you’re Red Riding Hood.” The amusement in his eyes was unsettling.
Looking at that wide, sensual mouth, she had no doubt he could be a wolf when it suited him. In fact, she was willing to bet that if you laid down the hearts he’d broken end-to-end across the bay, you’d be able to walk the fourteen miles to the mainland without getting your feet wet.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
His question confirmed that she didn’t share Lana’s acting ability.
His gaze lingered on hers, and her heart rate jumped another level. She reminded herself that a stressed out ex-management consultant who could freeze water without the help of an electrical appliance was unlikely to be to his taste.
“There’s nothing wrong.”
“Are you sure? Because I can slay a dragon if that would help.”
The warmth and the humor shook her more than the lazy, speculative look.
“This cottage is isolated, and I wasn’t expecting visitors, that’s all. I have a cautious nature.” Especially since she’d inherited her half sister’s child.
“Brittany asked me to check on you. She didn’t tell you?”
“You’re a friend of Brittany’s?” That knowledge added intimacy to a situation that should have had none. Now, instead of being strangers, they were connected. She wondered why Brittany would have made that request, and then remembered the panicky message she’d left on her friend’s voice mail the night before. She obviously hadn’t wasted a moment before calling in help.
Her heart lurched and then settled because she knew Brittany would never expose her secret. If she’d involved this man, then it was because she trusted him.
“We both grew up here. She was at school with one of my sisters. They used to spend their summers at Camp Puffin—sailing, kayaking and roasting marshmallows.”
It sounded both blissful and alien. She tried to imagine a childhood that had included summer camp.
“It was kind of you to drop by. I’ll let Brittany know you called and fulfilled your duty.”
His smile was slow and sexy. “Believe me, duty has never looked so good.”
Something about the way he said it stirred her senses, as did his wholly appreciative glance. Brief but thorough enough to give her the feeling he could have confirmed every one of her measurements if pressed to do so.
It surprised her.
Men usually found her unapproachable. Neil had once accused her of being like the polar ice cap without the global warming.
“If I married you I’d spend my whole life shivering and wearing thermal underwear.”
He thought her problem lay in her inability to show emotion.
To Emily it wasn’t a problem. It was an active decision. Love terrified her. It terrified her so much she’d decided at an early age that she’d rather live without it than put herself through the pain. She couldn’t understand why people craved it. She now lived a safe protected life. A life in which she could exist secure in the knowledge that no one was going to explode a bomb inside her heart.
She didn’t want the things most people wanted.
Flustered by the look in his eyes, she pushed her hair back from her face in a self-conscious gesture. “I’m sure you have a million things you could be doing with your day. I’m also sure babysitting isn’t on your list of desirable activities.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an accomplished babysitter. Tell me how you know Brittany. College friend? You don’t look like an archaeologist.” He had the innate self-confidence of someone who had never met a situation he couldn’t handle, and now he was handling her, teasing out information she didn’t want to give.
“Yes, we met in college.”
“So, how is she doing?”
“She didn’t tell you that when she called to ask you to babysit?”
“It was a text, and, no, she didn’t tell me anything. Is she still digging in Corfu?”
“Crete.” Emily’s mouth felt dry. “She’s in Western Crete.” There was something about those hooded dark eyes that encouraged a woman to part with confidences. “So you’ve known Brittany all your life?”
“I rescued her from a fight when she was in first grade. She’d brought a piece of Kathleen’s sea glass into school for show-and-tell and some kid stole it. She exploded like a human firecracker. I’m willing to bet they could see the sparks as far south as Port Elizabeth.”
It sounded so much like Brittany, she didn’t bother questioning the veracity of his story.
Relaxing slightly, she took a deep breath and saw his gaze drop fleetingly to her chest.
Brittany had once teased her that God had taken six inches off her height and added it to her breasts. Given the choice, Emily would have chosen height.
“You knew Kathleen?”
“Yeah, I knew Kathleen. Does that mean you’re going to open the door to me?” His voice was husky and amused. “Puffin Island is a close community. Islanders don’t just know each other, we rely on each other. Especially in winter after the summer tourists have gone. A place like this brings people together. Added to that, Kathleen was a close friend of my grandmother.”
“You have a grandmother?” She tried to imagine him being young and vulnerable, and failed.
“I do. She’s a fine woman who hasn’t given up hope of curing me of my wicked ways. So, how long are you staying?” His question caught her off guard. It made her realize how unprepared she was. She had no story. No explanation for her presence.
“I haven’t decided. Look Mr.—”
“Ryan Cooper.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, giving her no choice but to take it.
Warm strong fingers closed around hers, and she felt something shoot through her. The intense sexual charge was new to her, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize it for what it was. It shimmered in the air, spread along her skin and sank into her bones. She imagined those hands on her body and that mouth on hers. Unsettled, she snatched her hand away, but the low hum of awareness remained. It was as if touching him had triggered something she had no idea how to switch off.
Shaken by a connection she hadn’t expected, she stepped back. “I’m sure Brittany will appreciate you dropping by to check on the cottage, but as you can see, everything is fine, so—”
“I wasn’t checking on the cottage. I was checking on you. I’m guessing Eleanor. Or maybe, Alison.” He stood without budging an inch, legs spread. It was obvious he wasn’t going to move until he was ready. “Rebecca?”
“What?”
“Your name. Puffin Island is a friendly place. Around here the name is the first thing we learn about someone. Then we go deeper.”
Her breath caught. Was that sexual innuendo? Something in that dark, velvety voice made her think it might have been, except that she didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that a man like him was unlikely to waste time on someone like her. He was the type who liked his women thawed, not deep-frozen. “I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of people.”
“You won’t be able to help it. It’s a small island. You’ll need to shop, eat and play, and doing those things will mean meeting people. Stay for a winter, and you’ll really learn the meaning of community. There’s nothing like enduring hurricane-force winds and smothering fog to bring you close to your neighbors. If you’re going to be living here, you’ll have to get used to it.”
She couldn’t get used to it. She was responsible for the safety of a child, and no matter how much she doubted she was up to the task, she took that responsibility seriously.
“Mr. Cooper—”
“Ryan. Maybe your mother ignored the traditional and went for something more exotic. Amber? Arabella?”
Should she give him a false name? But what was the point of that if he already knew Brittany so well? She was out of her depth. Her life was about order, and suddenly all around her was chaos. Instead of being safe and predictable, the future suddenly seemed filled with deep holes just waiting to swallow her.
And now she didn’t only have herself to worry about.
“Emily,” she said finally. “I’m Emily.”
“Emily.” He said it slowly and then gave a smile that seemed to elevate the temperature of the air by a couple of degrees. “Welcome to Puffin Island.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_58ef3bd6-d426-5ea2-8d16-d443cee43c01)
SECRETS AND FEAR. He’d sensed both the moment she’d opened the door, just enough for conversation but not enough for the gesture to be construed as welcome.
He knew when a person had something to hide.
It was in his nature to want to unwrap secrets and take a closer look. He’d tried to switch that side of himself off, but still the instinct to ask questions, to dig and delve, persisted.
There were days when it drove him crazy.
To distract himself, he thought about the woman.
He’d woken her. One glance had told him she was the type who liked to be prepared for everything, and his visit had caught her unprepared. A few strands of silky hair had escaped from the clip on the back of her head and floated around smooth cheeks flushed from sleep. She’d been deliciously flustered, those green eyes focused on him with fierce suspicion.
She’d looked as if she were ready to defend someone or something.
Maybe that body.
Holy hell.
Ryan was proud that he hadn’t swallowed his tongue or stammered. He’d even managed to keep his eyes on her face. Most of the time. Then she’d taken a deep breath that had challenged the buttons on her sober shirt, and those full breasts had risen up as if hopeful of escape. The resulting jolt of sexual hunger had been powerful enough to make him lose the thread of the conversation.
It had been a struggle to keep his mouth from dropping open. Even more of a struggle not to press her back against the wall and prove that, even though they had Wi-Fi, not everything on Puffin Island was civilized.
If he was lucky, she hadn’t guessed how shallow he was.
Picking up the pace, he ran back along the coastal trail, dropped down to the rocky shoreline and then climbed up again, pushing hard until his lungs screamed for air and his muscles ached. No one looking at him now would be able to guess that four years earlier he’d died in a pool of his own blood. It was thanks to the skill of medics he hadn’t stayed dead.
He paused at the top because one of the promises he’d made to himself was to take time to appreciate being alive. Of all the places he’d traveled in his life he considered Penobscot Bay, Maine, to be the most beautiful. Forty miles long and ten miles wide, it stretched from Rockland on the western shore up around the Blue Hill peninsula to Mount Desert. The scenery ranged from wave-soaked rocky islands to lush national park. To a waterman it was heaven, to an outdoorsman a playground. To him, it was home.
On a day like today he wondered why it had taken him so long to come back. Why he’d had to hit the bottom before making that decision. He’d stared into the mouth of hell and might have fallen, had it not been for this place.
He’d swapped stress for sandy shores and rocky tidal pools, the smells and sounds of foreign cities for the crash of the sea and the call of the gulls, food he couldn’t identify and didn’t have time to eat for lobster bakes and hand-cranked ice cream. Instead of chasing the truth, he chased the wind and the tides.
He was smart enough to appreciate the irony of the situation. As a teenager he’d been so desperate to escape he’d fantasized about swimming the bay in the dead of night to get the hell off this island. He’d been trapped, imprisoned by circumstances, his cell mate the heavy burden of responsibility that had clung to him since the death of his parents. To keep himself sane, he’d dreamed about other places and other lands. Most of all he’d dreamed about being anonymous, of living in a place where the only thing people knew about you was what you chose to show them.
Taking a mouthful of water from the bottle in his hand, he watched a schooner glide across the bay, its sails plump with the wind.
On impulse, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Brittany. By his calculations it should be afternoon in Greece.
She answered immediately. “You’re calling to tell me you messed with my friend?”
“I offered the hand of friendship as requested.” He waited a beat. “You didn’t tell me there was a child.”
“It slipped my memory.”
