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An Innocent in Paradise
Kate Carlisle


Be swept away by passion… with intense drama and compelling plots, these emotionally powerful reads will keep you captivated from beginning to end.Grace Farrell is a genius scientist first, a woman a distant second – until she meets Logan Sutherland.The self-made millionaire is wickedly sexy and with him Grace learns a new lesson – how it feels to want a man. He’ll only let her stay on his tropical island – in his bed! Will the cynical bachelor regret his ruthless bargain?










“I want you in my bed, Grace.”

He trailed a path up her neck and along her jaw. “I want you wrapped up in nothing but me. I want to touch and feel every inch of your body with my hands and my mouth and tongue. I want to make you hot. I want to make you scream.”

His mouth at her ear, his warm breath on her skin, made Grace feel boneless with the want rampaging through her.

So now the question was, did she trust Logan enough to allow him to do all those things his whispered promises had suggested?

Oh, who was she kidding? She wanted him so much, she could barely sit still. If she couldn’t have trust, she would settle for lust.


Dear Reader,

During the past year, I’ve introduced you to the three Duke brothers, Adam, Brandon and Cameron. Now it’s time to meet their cousin Logan Sutherland. Logan and his identical twin brother, Aidan, spent their younger years surfing and swimming and partying, then won their first bar in a college poker game. Since that time, they’ve parlayed their winnings into a chain of lavish bars and resorts, plus an island or two. Logan Sutherland is wealthy, powerful and ambitious. (My favorite kind of hero!)

Enter Grace Farrell, a brilliant scientist who’s lived her entire life inside a university laboratory, working on research that could save lives and change the world. Grace doesn’t get out much, to say the least, but she’s about to invade Logan’s world in a major way!

Optimistic, scholarly Grace and cynical, worldly Logan couldn’t be more different from each other. But to me, there’s no notion more romantic than the concept of “Opposites Attract.” It’s going to take a lot to get these two diametrical opposites together, but they’ll definitely find it’s worth it in the end. It doesn’t hurt that the story takes place on the Caribbean island of Alleria with its white sand beaches, tropical rain forest, hidden lagoons and turquoise waters. I can’t think of a more beautiful setting for romance.

I hope you enjoy Logan and Grace’s story! Please stop by my website, www.katecarlisle.com, and let me know. While there, you’ll find pictures and links to some of the fantasy resorts I dreamed about while writing this story, as well as background stories and fun facts about me and my books.

Happy reading!

Kate




About the Author


New York Times bestselling author KATE CARLISLE was born and raised by the beach in Southern California. After more than twenty years in television production, Kate turned to writing the types of mysteries and romance novels she always loved to read. She still lives by the beach in Southern California with her husband, and when they’re not taking long walks in the sand or cooking or reading or painting or taking bookbinding classes or trying to learn a new language, they’re traveling the world, visiting family and friends in the strangest places. Kate loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.katecarlisle.com.




An Innocent

in Paradise

Kate Carlisle







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my four favorite plotters,

Susan Mallery, Maureen Child, Christine Rimmer and

Theresa Southwick. Thanks so much for the inspiration,

motivation, support, threats and laughs.

Drinks are on me, ladies!




One


Logan Sutherland was strolling toward the hotel lobby of the exclusive Alleria Resort when the jarring sound of shattering glass reverberated from the cocktail lounge.

“Price of doing business,” Logan muttered. But he stopped and listened for another moment.

And heard nothing. Not a sound.

“Hell,” he said, and checked his watch. The conference call was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. He didn’t have time for this. But the ominous silence made him change direction and head for the bar.

Logan and his twin brother, Aidan, had made their fortunes designing and operating exotic, upscale cocktail bars in high-end hotels all over the world. So the sound of breaking glassware was rarely a cause for alarm. But in his experience, the breakage was invariably followed by raucous cheers, jeers and laughter. Never silence.

Silence meant something was wrong. And Logan Sutherland was not a man who allowed things to go wrong without doing something about it.

He walked into the casually elegant bar and noted that the sound level still hadn’t risen, even though the place was busy and most of the tables were occupied by hotel guests having a good time. Cocktail waitresses and waiters moved swiftly from table to table, serving drinks and appetizers. The quiet was disconcerting.

A small group of his people were gathered in a knot at the far end of the long bar, all of them crouched on the floor. He approached the head bartender on duty. “What’s going on, Sam?”

Sam flicked his chin toward the other end of the bar. “New cocktail waitress dropped a full tray of drinks.”

“Why is it so quiet?”

Sam took a few seconds to study the drink station halfway down the long bar where two junior bartenders were efficiently refilling the drink orders. Then he turned and made eye contact with Logan. “We’re all a little worried about her, boss.”

“Why?” Logan glanced again at the small crowd. “Did she cut herself?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Naw, she’s just a real sweet kid. It wouldn’t be nice to laugh at her.”

Logan frowned at the brawny former Marine, then turned to get a better look at the new employee.

The small group of servers and busboys picked up the last of the big chunks of broken glass and dispersed, heading back to their own stations. One waitress remained as a busboy swept the residual shards of glass into a dustpan. Then she knelt down and, with several bar towels, sopped up the rest of the liquid.

“Thank you so much, Paolo,” the waitress said, and squeezed the busboy’s arm affectionately. He took the clump of towels from her and she headed back to the drinks station. That’s when Logan got his first look at the “real sweet kid.” And felt a solid wall of heat almost knock him off his footing.

His second thought was: Hope she’s wearing sunblock, because her skin was so pale and smooth and creamy.

His first thought had been vividly X-rated and not suitable for discussion in mixed company.

And none of that made him happy.

She was a classic redhead with a peaches-and-cream complexion and a light dusting of freckles across her nose. Thick, dark red hair tumbled down her back in rich, lustrous waves. In her official uniform of bikini top and filmy sarong, Logan couldn’t help but notice she had a world-class butt and perfect breasts.

She was tall, a quality Logan preferred in his women—not that it mattered, since he didn’t have time for or interest in a relationship right now. On the other hand, who said anything about a relationship? He could always make time for sex. Maybe he ought to rethink his schedule since staring at her was causing him to calculate how quickly it would take to get her into his bed.

She walked with the sort of poise that some tall women possessed naturally. That made the fact that she’d spilled a large tray of drinks even more baffling to him, since she didn’t seem clumsy at all. On the contrary, she appeared confident and self-assured. Smart. Hard to believe she’d ever spilled anything in her life.

So what kind of game was she playing?

Logan thought of his tough bartender, Sam, calling her sweet and worrying about her sensitivities. Well, Sam wouldn’t be the first man drawn in by a conniving, manipulative woman.

The woman in question finally noticed Logan and her eyes lit up as she smiled directly at him. Okay, she was a stunner for sure. Logan felt as if he were the only man in the room and understood how his burly bartender had turned into such a pussycat in her presence.

Her mouth was wide and sexy, her lips full and lush. Her eyes were big and green and twinkled with an open friendliness that seemed genuine. She’d probably been practicing that generous smile forever. If nothing else, it would certainly help her garner the big tips.

Of course, she wouldn’t be getting many tips if she kept spilling the customers’ drinks. And that’s why he was here, lest he forgot.

Before he could step up and introduce himself, the two bartenders finished her drink order and called her over.

“Oh, thank you, guys,” she said, her voice as appealing as her smile. “You’re both so sweet.”

Logan watched the experienced bartenders’ faces redden at the simple compliment, just as the woman pulled a small notebook from her waistband and studied it for a moment. She slipped the notebook away, then began arranging the drinks carefully on the tray in some kind of circular order. When she was finished, she grabbed the tray with both hands and started to lift it. There was a sudden hush around the room as the large tray bobbled awkwardly and the woman’s eyes widened.

Without thinking, Logan rushed to her. He whisked the tray out of her hands, lifted it onto his shoulder and held it in place with one hand. Then he looked down at her. “Where’s this going?”

“Oh, aren’t you wonderful?” she said with another wide-eyed smile. “It goes right over here.” She led the way to a four-top by the wall of windows overlooking the white-sand beach. She gestured with her hand. “These drinks are for Mr. and Mrs. McKee and their friends.”

“Hey, doll,” the older man said. “I told you I’d come and get those drinks for you, but it looks like you found yourself a helper there.”

A guest of the Alleria resort was willing to get his own drinks for her? Okay, that was bad enough, but did this guest actually think Logan was the waitress’s lackey? It was about time he and Ms. Clumsy had a long talk.

“Oh, Mr. McKee, thank you for offering,” the waitress said, then turned and patted Logan’s arm. “But all the servers here are so helpful that—”

“It’s no problem at all, sir,” Logan interrupted, lowering the drink tray onto the edge of the table. He quickly passed the drinks out, then said as affably as he could manage, “Enjoy your cocktails.”

“You betcha, pal,” Mr. McKee said and took a big sip of his banana daiquiri. “Man, these go down smooth.”

“Here you go, sweetie,” Mrs. McKee said, and tucked a fifty-dollar bill into the waitress’s hand. “That’s for all your trouble.”

“Oh, my goodness,” the waitress said, staring at the money, then back at her customers. “Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you, doll.” Mr. McKee winked. “You’re a cutie-pie and we’re just sorry we loaded you up with our orders.”

She waved off the apology. “Oh, that’s—”

“Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. McKee,” Logan interrupted. “Please enjoy your day.” Then he grabbed the waitress’s arm and led her gently but firmly away from the table. He stopped at the bar, where he dropped off the tray, then scooted her across the room and out the door.

“Wait,” she protested, squirming against him. “You have to let me go. I can’t leave the lounge right now. I’m working.”

“We’re going to have a little talk first,” Logan said, smiling grimly as he led her down the hall toward his office.

“Stop,” she insisted as she struggled to pull her arm from his grasp. “Honestly, who do you think you are?”

“At the moment I’m your employer,” he said, glaring down at her. “But I don’t expect that status to last much longer.”

Grace cringed at his revelation. Of all the people to have rescued her from another spilled tray of drinks, why did it have to be one of the Sutherland brothers?

Before leaving for Alleria, Grace had done some cursory research on Logan and Aidan Sutherland. They’d risen to the top of the surfing world in their teenage years, then parlayed their winnings into fancy nightclubs and bars all over the world. Rumor had it they’d won their first bar in a college poker game; but Grace didn’t believe that story was anything more than an urban legend.

The most recent story she’d read about the Sutherland twins centered on them joining forces with their cousins, the Duke brothers, who owned a number of luxurious resorts on the West Coast.

Grace had seen photographs of the Sutherland men online, but those pictures were all action shots of the brothers surfing or sailing. None of them had shown how good-looking they were up close, nor had the photos given her even one, tiny warning of the disconcerting amount of physical power and dynamism the man striding next to her would exude in person.

Halfway down the hall, her new boss stopped at a set of double doors and flicked a plastic card through a security slide. He ushered her through the door and into a large, beautifully furnished hotel suite. An attractive sofa and several overstuffed chairs in muted shades of chocolate-brown and rich taupe were clustered at one end of the large room. The other half of the room contained a set of large, elegant office furniture along with all the usual equipment necessary to run a twenty-first-century office.

“This is where you work?” She turned around slowly to take it all in. Plantation shutters were opened to reveal an entire wall of sliding glass doors that led to a wide private terrace and showed off the spectacular view beyond of palm trees, sunshine, pristine white sand and clear, turquoise water.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Grace had ever seen and she stopped to admire it for several long seconds.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” Mr. Sutherland said.

“It’s stunning,” she said, and turned to look at him. “You’re so lucky.”

“Yeah, it’s good to be king,” he said, and flashed her a confident grin that made her knees go weak. She rubbed her stomach and wondered if maybe she should’ve had more to eat for breakfast than just granola and mango juice, because her knees had never gone weak before in her entire life.

But looking at him again, she realized she would just have to learn to live with rubbery knees. He was tall and imperious, she thought, with dark blue eyes that glimmered with cynicism. She hoped there was some glint of empathy underneath that cynicism.

He picked up the phone and when someone answered, he said, “Reschedule the conference call for four o’clock.” Then he hung up and stared at Grace. She knew she was in trouble but it didn’t stop her from enjoying the sight of those riveting blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. His jaw was firm and strong and he had a small cleft in his square chin. His nose was just slightly crooked, which gave him a raffish charm she found nonsensically alluring.

“Sit,” he said brusquely, indicating one of the plush chairs that faced the massive mahogany desk. She sat quickly, then noticed that he’d chosen to remain standing. The better to intimidate her, of course.

But that was fine. If these were to be her last few minutes on the Caribbean island, she would be perfectly happy to spend them staring at Mr. Sutherland. The man was stunningly handsome and muscular—not that she’d seen any of his actual muscles in person. Sadly, his impeccably tailored black suit covered his rugged frame completely. But Grace knew the man was built because of the way he’d so casually taken that heavy drink tray from her hands and lifted it up onto his shoulder so effortlessly.

Granted, before this trip to Alleria she hadn’t gotten out of her laboratory much, but she’d never seen anything quite like him. His arms and shoulder muscles had to be in remarkable condition. She itched to squeeze them.

And that was an absolutely ridiculous thought, she scolded herself.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he said, interrupting her pleasant daydream, “and bet that you’ve never worked as a cocktail waitress before. Am I right?”

She took a deep breath or two as she considered lying to him, then changed her mind. She’d never been very good at prevarication. Still, it wouldn’t do to tell him everything. But then she argued with herself, Oh, why not? Finally she said, “Yes, you’re right, but—”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” he said pleasantly. “You’re fired.”

“No!” she cried, gripping the arms of her chair. “You can’t fire me. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” he repeated. “Why not? Because you haven’t had a chance to break my entire supply of glassware?”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, of course not. But…I can’t go home.”

His eyes focused in on her. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Grace. Grace Farrell.”

“Wait a minute.” He cocked his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Your name is Grace?”

She nodded gravely. “That’s right.”

“You’re kidding.” He chuckled, then leaned his hip against his desk and began to laugh, a deep rich sound that caused tingles to stir in her stomach.

What the heck was so funny about her name?

“Oh,” she said, finally getting the joke. The very lame joke, she might add. “Yes, well, I suppose I wasn’t very graceful out there.”

“You think?” He snorted.

She blinked and sat up straighter in her chair. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who lied on your job application.”

“I didn’t—How did you know I lied?” She groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even lie about lying. That was just sad.

“Easy.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest in a move Grace knew was meant to daunt her. And it was working, sort of. She was more than a bit overwhelmed by him, if her inability to breathe was any indication.

“I don’t hire inexperienced waitresses,” he continued. “Since we did hire you, your application must’ve stated that you knew what you were doing. And you obviously don’t, which means you lied. And since you no longer work for me, I can be as rude as I want.”

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” she said, sniffing with annoyance at the logic of his argument. “I had a very good reason for lying—er, fudging the truth.”

“Fudging?” He leaned one hip against the edge of his desk. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

She frowned at him. “Are you willing to listen to reason?”

“I’m a reasonable man,” he said, waving his hand at her as if granting her permission to speak. “Just make it fast. I was on my way to making a very important phone call when I was interrupted by your little scene out there.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, me, too. So?”

“Right. Well, it’s simple, really.” She took a quick moment to wish she was dressed in something more professional than a bikini top that revealed most of her breasts and a thin wisp of cloth that was knotted well below her belly button. But since she couldn’t exactly run back to her room and change clothes, she took another deep breath and blurted, “You have spores.”

He stared at her for a length of time, then shook his head. “No, I don’t. I bathe daily.”

She blinked, gasped, then laughed. “Oh, no, not you personally. Your island. There are rare spores growing here on Alleria that will save lives someday. I’m a research scientist and I’ve come here to collect and study them.”

He continued to stare her down as he seemed to consider the situation. She thought she saw something akin to a hint of reasoning in his eyes. But then he checked his watch and said, “Okay, nice try. I’ll expect you off the island within the hour.”

“What? No!” She jumped up from her chair. “Mr. Sutherland, you don’t understand. I refuse to leave this island. I need to stay here and work.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ms. Farrell.”

“You’re wrong. I do understand,” she insisted, shaking her finger at him. “I know I lied and maybe you think you have every right to fire me, but I am not leaving this island until I get what I came for.”

Logan couldn’t help but admire the fire of righteous vehemence in Grace Farrell’s eyes. It seemed to light up her entire body and made him wonder if she would show that same level of passion in bed. When he thrust himself into her, would she scream with pleasure?

His eyes narrowed at the mental picture and he shook himself back to reality. What the hell was he doing, thinking of her in terms of a sex partner? She’d lied on her résumé, broken his glassware and wasted his time. She had no business staying on his island a minute longer than necessary.

But the vivid sexual image took a few knots of wind out of his sails and he took a moment to reconsider the idea of throwing her off the island. Yes, she was a liar, but she was a gorgeous one. Why not enjoy a few rounds of mutually enjoyable sex before tossing her off the island?

Hell, that idea was growing more appealing by the minute. Maybe he’d been working too hard lately, because he realized he wasn’t quite as ready to get rid of her as he was a few minutes ago. Didn’t mean he trusted the woman for a second, but frankly, he hadn’t been this amused or intrigued—or aroused—in months. That was worth a few minutes of his time. It wouldn’t hurt to let her talk.

“So tell me about these spores you’re so anxious to find,” he said, as he sat and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch. Might as well enjoy the show for as long as it lasted, he thought.

She was pacing now and pounding her fist into her palm, clearly committed to her cause. “Allerian spores flawlessly mimic human reproductive genes and are essential to my continued experimentation in gene replication. I’ve been working on this project every day for almost ten years and have been using the same batch of spores for the past two years. It’s imperative that I acquire a fresh consignment in order to obtain new funding and continue my studies.”

“Gene replication?”

She stopped midpace. “You know what that is?”

“Well, sure.” He frowned. “Generally. Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breastbone. “Then you understand how important my work is and how vital it is that I find new spores. My dissertation detailing their meiotic patterns and the ability to exploit the resulting haploid cells has already gained international interest. I’m positive that further study will ultimately lead to unlocking the secrets to curing some of the worst diseases known to modern man.”

“Oh, yeah?” He’d lost her at “meiotic patterns” but wasn’t about to mention it.

“Absolutely.” She held up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together. “I’m this close to finishing the preliminary studies and I’ve applied for further grant money in order to move to the next level. It’s urgent and important work. But I need fresh, large batches of spores and I need them soon.”

“I see,” he said, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa.

Clearly frustrated by his blasé tone, she stopped her pacing and said quietly, “Look, Mr. Sutherland, I am a scientist, a very good one. And I…I need this job here in order to conduct my studies. Your resort is the main source of employment on the island.”

“It’s the only source of employment, Ms. Farrell, but let’s not nitpick.” Staring out the sliding glass doors, he carefully avoided making eye contact as he returned to his original argument. “So the reason you lied on your résumé was so that I would hire you so that you could live here at my resort for free and study our spores.”

“Well, yes, and—”

“And you thought you’d coast right into the mindless job of waitress in our cocktail bar to cover your costs.”

“I suppose that’s right, but—”

“And yet, you’ve never been a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, no, but—”

“Well, then.” He lifted his shoulders in a move meant to indicate only one conclusion. “At the risk of repeating myself, you’re fired.”

“Wait!” She rushed over and sat on the couch mere inches from him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid, anxious breathing. Her scent, some exotic blend of spice and…was it orange blossoms?…enveloped him. Up close, he could see a pale smattering of freckles on her shoulders. He had the most bizarre urge to touch them.

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” she said. “I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said genially. “Feel free to book a room at the resort and study spores as much as you want. But don’t expect me to subsidize your trip.”

“But …” A heavy frown marred the smooth surface of her forehead and her lower lip was in danger of quivering. She wasn’t going to cry, was she? If she did, Logan swore he would throw her out of here faster than she could say meiotic … whatever. Crying was the ultimate weapon of female manipulation. He’d learned that the hard way.

“I can’t book a room here,” she confessed. “It’s too expensive. The only way I can stay is if you’ll let me work for you.”

He raised one eyebrow. “No.”

“Fine,” she said defiantly, and jumped up from the couch. “I’ll sleep on the beach, but I’m not leaving.”

“Wait just a damn minute,” he said, standing. “Nobody sleeps on my beach.”

She turned. “Your beach?”

“That’s right. I own most of this island and I say who comes and goes. And I don’t want vagrants setting up camp on my beach.”

“I’m not a vagrant,” she muttered as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout and as much as he hated the manipulation game, he had to admit he wanted to run his tongue over those pouty lips of hers. He had to give her points for that.

She swallowed nervously and took another deep breath and it seemed to help her regain some inner resolve. Her lips tightened and she faced him head-on. “I’m not leaving, Mr. Sutherland. I need to find those spores. I won’t go home without them.”

He observed her quietly for a long moment. “You don’t look like a research scientist.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do my looks have to do with anything?”

He almost laughed. Her looks had almost everything to do with why he’d allowed her to make her case in the first place. If she didn’t understand that, then maybe she had been hiding out in a stuffy laboratory for the past ten years.

Wait. Ten years? He knew she couldn’t be much older than twenty-five, which meant she’d been doing her so-called research since she was fifteen. If she was telling the truth, that is. Obviously, she wasn’t.

She was a liar, plain and simple.

Before he could comment aloud, she waved her arms and forged ahead. “Fine. I may not look like your notion of a research scientist, but that’s exactly what I am. And I have every intention of staying here until I’ve got everything I need to finish my work.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He noticed she was barely able to keep from squirming under his sharp gaze. Good.

Then, without warning, she stepped even closer and stared hard at him, eye to eye. Well, eye to chest was more accurate, since he towered over her. But that detail didn’t seem to intimidate her.

“Look, I’m not above begging,” she admitted. “I intend to stay on this island and I’m willing to do anything you want me to do. If you refuse to let me be a cocktail waitress, I’ll clean hotel rooms or wash dishes or…or water your plants. I just ask that my mornings be kept free for the spores. That’s why the cocktail waitress job is ideal, but there must be something else I can do around here. Oh, I can cook! Well, I’m not a great cook, but I can make salads or cut up fruit or …”

Anything he wanted her to do? Did she realize how dangerous that offer was? Was she truly that naive? For a second or two, Logan wondered about her and her wide-eyed innocence, then roughly shook the thought away. He didn’t believe it. Grace Farrell was as manipulative as every other woman he’d ever met. Intriguing, gorgeous, sexy, but a manipulative liar just the same.

Damn, his brain was fogging over from her erotic scent. Maybe he was crazy, but he wanted his hands on her.

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve got one week to prove you can handle the cocktail waitress job. If not, you’re off the island.”

“Oh, thank you!” Without warning, she threw herself into his arms. “Thank you so much. I can do it.”

He drew in her scent and warmth, then forced himself to take hold of her elbows and nudge her out of his arms. “Just make sure you don’t break any more glasses.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And don’t call me sir.”

She smiled tentatively. “Mr. Sutherland.”

“Nobody calls me that, either. It’s Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan. And please call me Grace.” She surprised him by taking hold of his hand, then gazed up at him, unsmiling. “You have no idea what this means to me and to the world at large. And I promise, I’ll be the best cocktail waitress you’ve ever hired.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with confidence, then let go of his hand and whipped out her small notebook. “I’m very smart and a quick learner. I’ve already memorized the ingredients of every drink in the bartenders’ guide I bought. And as far as lifting the trays? Well, it’s just physics, after all. Simply a matter of determining the correct spatial placement of the glassware on the tray. Look.”

She flipped the pages and showed him a diagram. “As you can see, it’s an exact duplication of our own solar system. In miniature, of course. My theory is that if the drinks are dispersed in this pattern on the tray, equilibrium will be achieved and there shouldn’t be any spillage.”

His mouth twisted in an acerbic grin. “Interesting theory.”

“Yes.” She stared at the diagram, then back at him. “I was just a little surprised to find out how heavy the tray was when I lifted it. But I know I can—”

“That’s right, Grace, it’s more than just physics,” he said deprecatingly. “There’s also a little matter of balance and proper weight distribution, not to mention the right application of upper-body strength.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Grace said, eagerly grabbing a pen from his desk to make some notes in her pad. “That’s very good. So you agree, it’s a perfectly simple job once you get the dynamics hammered down.”

He shook his head and wondered when, exactly, he’d lost control of the conversation.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Sutherland.” She slipped her notepad into her waistband, then gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. “I promise you won’t be sorry.”

“It’s Logan,” he repeated. “And you’ve got one week to improve or you’re out.”




Two


She’d escaped banishment by the skin of her teeth.

Shivering slightly at the recollection of yesterday’s lecture from Mr. Sutherland, Grace continued folding and organizing her clothes in the sleek bureau drawer.

Despite the fact that she expected to be here at least a month, everything she’d brought barely filled two of the drawers. But, back in Minnesota, when she’d packed her suitcase, she’d figured she wouldn’t need much more than a few shirts and shorts to wear while searching for spores during her off-hours. And the hotel provided a uniform for its cocktail waitresses.

“Uniform.” She shook her head at the term. Serena, the lounge manager, had asked her size, then handed her two brightly patterned bikinis and a see-through scrap of cloth they laughingly called a skirt.

But Grace was desperate to stay, so she didn’t really mind wearing the outfit. And she didn’t mind carrying ten to fifteen pounds of drinks on her shoulders if it meant she could work and live in the hotel for a month while she collected her precious spores.

The fact that she only had a few days to prove she could carry those trays on her shoulders was something she didn’t want to contemplate too closely. Needless to say, she’d begun an intense upper-body workout that morning, knowing she needed more strength in her arms and shoulders.

Glancing around the luxurious hotel room with its elegant white wainscoting, coffered ceilings and wide-open view of the sparkling Caribbean waters, Grace allowed herself to revel in a moment of happy amazement. How in the world had she landed in such a beautiful place?

Of course the question was rhetorical, she thought with a smile, since she knew exactly how she’d arrived.

But it was remarkable that less than forty-eight hours ago, she’d been racing through the Minneapolis airport to make her flight. It had been difficult to run in her wool coat and thick sweater, heavy jeans, gloves and boots.

What a difference between then and now. Today she wore a bright pink tank top, thin linen shorts and sandals.

The frantic energy she’d felt two days ago on her way out of town was still coursing through her veins. Even though she recognized the source of the energy, it was disconcerting all the same. She’d always lived a quiet, well-ordered, disciplined life. Predictable. Safe. But now she was flying blind with absolutely no idea of what would happen next. Logan Sutherland had made it more than clear that she was here on borrowed time.

She was annoyed that none of her research on the Alleria Resort had uncovered the fact that the Sutherland brothers actually owned most of the island. That little fact had taken her by surprise and Logan had known it and used it to his advantage. She would have to stay alert to any other revelations if she found herself in his company again.

As she brushed her long hair back into a ponytail, she took careful note of the fact that her neck and shoulders were warming up at the very thought of Mr. Sutherland. No surprise there. Despite his threats and ultimatums, he was the most wickedly attractive man Grace had ever seen.

Not that she’d seen all that many attractive men in her lifetime. She would’ve remembered. Her mind was a steel trap, after all. But, no, gorgeous men like Logan Sutherland didn’t tend to hang around the university research laboratory much. More like, never.

She knew he’d expected her to cower when he’d issued his ultimatum. But Grace never cowered. She’d been challenged countless times in the past and had always risen to the occasion. Mr. Sutherland—Logan—had simply thrown down a different sort of gauntlet than she’d been faced with before.

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.

After a moment, she straightened up, then noticed him and waved. He grinned and aimed the board in her direction and sailed to within a few feet of the beach.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Same to you.” Logan folded the rigging and secured it to the board with a Velcro strap. Then he pulled the board onto the sand far enough to insure that it wouldn’t slip back into the water.

“Hunting for more spores?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Have you been out long?”

“About an hour,” he said.

She stared at the board, then back at him. “How in the world do you stay upright on that thing?”

Logan ran both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “It’s magic.”

“It would have to be,” she mused. Her gaze slipped down to his wet, bare chest. “Would you like my towel?”

“No, thanks. I’m okay.”

She held it out for him. “But you’re so wet and, um, well, it’s your towel, actually, since I took it from my hotel room.”

“Well, since it’s mine,” he said, chuckling as he took the towel. Maybe she hadn’t seen many dripping-wet men in swim trunks back at her research lab because she seemed awfully flustered. He hoped like hell that he made her uncomfortable. It would serve her right for manipulating and lying to him.

He took his time drying himself off as he studied her. She’d been on the island four days now and true to her word, she spent each morning hunting for spores, then worked the cocktail lounge in the afternoons and evenings. And she hadn’t dropped a single glass since the first day’s fiasco.

He noticed her cheeks had a rosy pink glow from her mornings in the sun. He liked the glow almost as much as he liked her fabulous legs and perfect rear end. Even knowing the woman was a liar and not to be trusted, Logan found her incredibly appealing. He wanted her in his bed with an urgency that was going to reveal itself any second now if he didn’t get the hell out of here.

“I’ve got work to do,” he muttered finally, and handed her the towel as he walked away.

Grace clutched the damp towel as she stared at Logan’s backside until he disappeared through a door into the hotel. Then she pressed the towel to her face to cool herself off. She was certain she’d never met such a formidable man. Certainly not one with a body like that. Or eyes like that. Or hair, so adorably short and blond and spiky when wet.

But for goodness’ sake, did that mean she had to practically drool in front of him? And could she possibly have thought of anything dumber to say to him? How in the world do you stay upright on that thing? What was wrong with her?

She blamed it on his smile. This was the first time he’d smiled at her without showing his sarcastic or ironic side. The sweetness of it had nearly blinded her. And talk about upper-body strength. The man was built. She’d wondered what he looked like under his business suit and now she knew. The knowledge was life affirming, to say the least.

She turned back to her task but was still trying to shake off the effects of Logan’s smile ten minutes later. She silently recited the periodic table of elements, an effective trick she used whenever she was having trouble concentrating. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working today. She feared that smile of his might have a half-life of more than several hours because she was still caught up in its spell.

With a sigh, she walked away from the beach and deeper into the forest of vegetation. Despite the heat, she appreciated the extra layer of humidity, knowing it was the best breeding ground for her beloved spores.

“Beloved spores,” she uttered aloud, shaking her head. Did that sound pathetic or what? But the truth was, sometimes she felt closer to the tiny, one-celled meiotic organisms than she did to people. Well, except for Phillippa, of course. Her lab partner and mentor had been her friend for years and right now, she could use someone to talk to. One thing she loved about Phillippa was that she always had an opinion about everything. Grace wondered what her friend would think of Logan Sutherland.

Grace was certain Phillippa would declare him “hawt.”

Okay, he was hot, all right. But as she pushed past a giant fern, Grace gave herself a good talking-to. It didn’t matter whether Logan was hot or not. He was her boss and Grace had no business thinking of him that way. All she needed from Logan Sutherland was his approval of her work in the cocktail lounge, nothing more.

She forced all thoughts of Logan away and got to work, backtracking to the palm trees where she’d found spores yesterday. Close to the base of each tree, she pounded a discreet wooden marker into the sand so she would know the trees from which she’d already extracted specimens. She planned to remove the stakes on her last day here; but, until then, they would provide a handy map for her to follow.

An hour later, she left the palm trees behind and headed back to the hotel. After running into the staff commissary to grab a sandwich, she returned to her room to document her findings and refrigerate several more petri dishes filled with fresh specimens. She showered and dressed for work, happy she’d been assigned to the swing shift from two o’clock to ten. The bar stayed open until three in the morning and the servers on the late shift got the best tips, but Grace preferred to wake up early and go to bed relatively early.

As she walked through the lobby toward the cocktail lounge, she passed a pretty young woman sitting on one of the smooth rocks that surrounded the tropical waterfall, crying. Grace paused, wondering if she should say something. Would the management frown on a cocktail waitress approaching a hotel guest? Did it matter? The woman was clearly distressed, so Grace went with her instincts and walked over to the woman.




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