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Double Take
Leslie Kelly


Getting under her skin…When her research about orgasms goes viral, sex therapist Lindsey Smith needs a place to lie low. Substitute teaching on Wild Boar Island, Michigan, promises not only privacy, but an opportunity to not think about sex. Which, thanks to the town's too-tasty police chief, lasts exactly one second.After the dangerous streets of Chicago, Mike Santori figured the island was a safe, sane place to settle down. Getting hot for the new teacher wasn't in the plan. Especially when he discovers that Lindsey is more than she claims to be. Mike decides to use every sexy trick in the book to strip Lindsey of her defenses and reveal all of her secrets. It's a wickedly sensuous journey, one that pushes both of them beyond their limits…to the heart of their desires.







Getting under her skin…

When her research about orgasms goes viral, sex therapist Lindsey Smith needs a place to lie low. Substitute teaching on Wild Boar Island, Michigan, promises not only privacy, but an opportunity to not think about sex. Which, thanks to the town’s too-tasty police chief, lasts exactly one second.

After the dangerous streets of Chicago, Mike Santori figured the island was a safe, sane place to settle down. Getting hot for the new teacher wasn’t in the plan. Especially when he discovers that Lindsey is more than she claims to be. Mike decides to use every sexy trick in the book to strip Lindsey of her defenses and reveal all of her secrets. It’s a wickedly sensuous journey, one that pushes both of them beyond their limits…to the heart of their desires.


Praise for New York Times Bestselling

Author Leslie Kelly

“Sexy, funny and a little outrageous,

Leslie Kelly is a must read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

“Leslie Kelly is a rising star of romance!”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author

Debbie Macomber

“Kelly succeeds with this sexy story,

keeping the tension high.”

—RT Book Reviews on Waking Up to You

“Kelly is a top writer,

and this is another excellent book. 4 ½ stars.”

—RT Book Reviews on Play with Me

“A hip contemporary romance packed with

great one-liners! 4 ½ stars.”

—RT Book Reviews on Terms of Surrender

“Whoa baby, Overexposed is hot stuff!

Ms. Kelly employs a great deal of heart and humor

to achieve balance with this incendiary romance.

Great characters, many of whom fans

will recognize, and a vibrant narrative kept

this reader glued to each and every word.

Overexposed is without a doubt one of the

better Blaze books I have read to date.”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection







Dear Reader,

Although I have written more than fifty books over the past decade, I have never stopped feeling a special fondness for the stories about a very special family, the Santoris of Chicago. I wrote the first Santori story way back in 2001. The hero’s name was Joe, he was the second oldest in a family of six kids, and he was a blue collar construction worker who fell in love with a sweet-natured teacher. I loved Joe from day one and still consider him one of my best heroes.

I never intended to write more stories about the family, until a couple of years later, when readers began asking me what had happened to all those siblings. So I did a cute little story about Lucas, the third son. I really enjoyed writing that story, and so I came up with stories for all the siblings. The last one came out in 2008. Since then, I’ve occasionally referred to the clan or had a family member pop up in another, unrelated book, but I’d never really focused on them again until last year. Readers seemed to want more of this big Italian family, and I decided to explore the idea of another branch on the Santori family tree. Deciding on a family with three sons, I had a fantastic time writing about Leonardo (Leo, Lying in Your Arms), Rafael (Rafe, A Soldier’s Christmas) and Michaelangelo (Mike, Double Take). I loved these big, strong, sexy guys and the women who tamed them.

You might have noticed that the stories do not take place in Chicago. I intended to revisit the family, but wanted these books to have a very different feel from the original six. That’s why these three Santori boys find love outside of Chicago, and why you don’t see a lot of the “old” characters (though, the appearance of the twins, Nick and Mark, in this book, is one of my favorite scenes!)

I hope you enjoy getting to visit with this big, crazy family again. Who knows? Maybe in a few years we’ll see what the next generation of Santori men is up to!

Happy reading!

Leslie


Double Take

Leslie Kelly






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


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times bestselling author Leslie Kelly has written dozens of books and novellas for the Mills & Boon Blaze. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and steamy sensuality, she has been honored with numerous awards, including a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Award of Excellence, a Golden Quill and an RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award in Series Romance. Leslie has also been nominated four times for the highest award in romance fiction, the RWA RITA® Award. Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their daughters.

Visit her online at www.lesliekelly.com (http://www.lesliekelly.com) or at her blog, www.plotmonkeys.com (http://www.plotmonkeys.com).


To my dear old high school friends

Lori, Kim, Linda, Rick, Ed, Chris…and so many others.

I’m so thankful for the memories we made so long ago and the new ones we’re creating today.


Contents

Prologue (#ue359e118-bb6d-5951-ba8b-e146094450a5)

Chapter 1 (#u7fc95bb2-c401-5655-a4f7-c8149341cfe4)

Chapter 2 (#u0c42f555-096a-5fc9-bd16-42f88398c181)

Chapter 3 (#u61eaa8af-15a8-5a89-a665-8c00cdbf0d71)

Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpage (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue

“WE’RE ASKING YOU to take an extended leave of absence.”

Lindsey Smith flinched, even though she had expected the words. She had, in fact, steeled herself for them before she’d taken a seat across from her boss, eminent psychotherapist Walter Ross, of the Ross, Riley and Wilhelm Wellness Center. She had to wonder if the other two partners had drawn the long straws, leaving Ross to take care of “their little problem.”

“It’s not that serious,” she argued, but in her head she was screaming, This is so serious, your reputation is crap! “It will die down.”

“So you’ve been saying, Dr. Smith. But that was before you became the subject of a Jeopardy! question.”

Well, in her opinion, being on Jeopardy! had been kind of awesome, though she wasn’t going to tell her employer that. “But...”

“And today I was informed you’re the subject of a me-me.”

“A what-what?”

Ross pushed a sheet of paper toward her across his desk, using only the tips of his fingers, as if the paper offended him.

She scanned the sheet. Huh. She was the one who should be offended. Her picture appeared on the page, over and over, each time with a witty—but so not funny—quip. She read, “Had an orgasm while blinking,” and, “Comes when going,” before snapping, “It’s pronounced meem.”

“However you say the word, it reflects badly on us all.”

“You read my dissertation before you hired me.”

He nodded. “I know. It was fine research. Your work with patients with sexual disorders has been outstanding.”

But not outstanding enough for them to defend her when she caught some unpleasant attention. Oh, sure, at first her bosses had enjoyed the publicity when excerpts of her dissertation on women’s ability to climax merely via mental stimulation had hit the media. But when the Today show got on it, followed by the tabloids, they’d tensed up.

Things got worse when the internet fell on her head. “Thinkgasm,” the word she’d used to describe mind-initiated climax, had trended on Twitter and she’d become a laughingstock.

Now, because of a game-show question and a stupid meme, they were abandoning her to deal with it on her own. During her “leave of absence,” they’d undoubtedly be watching like Big Brother to see if she could stay “clean” enough to renew their association with her sometime in the future. All because she took seriously what so many found funny: female orgasms.

So much for being a champion for women taking control of their lives, their bodies and their sexuality. Her own life was spinning out of control, courtesy of the man in front of her and other men just like him. It infuriated her.

If there was one thing Lindsey hated, it was being made to feel powerless to shape her own destiny. Been there, done that. She’d fought hard to make sure nobody had that kind of dominance over her. Only to come to this.

Ross pasted on his calm, therapist smile. “It’ll be all right, Dr. Smith. Just try to stay out of the limelight, and in a couple of months we’ll revisit things. Why don’t you go away for a while? Leave Chicago. Go somewhere quiet, remote, where your name isn’t going to grab such immediate attention.”

“Where might that be?” she asked, not hiding her sarcasm. “The dark side of the moon?”

It seemed everybody and his uncle had heard her name, and cracked-up over the silly idea that a woman’s imaginings could be enough to give her physical, sexual pleasure. Could there be a place left in the country where she wasn’t a joke, where she could live in anonymity and protect her privacy from prying eyes and gossipy rumor mills?

She honestly didn’t know. But considering she was temporarily unemployed, heartsick and living under a spotlight, it was time to find out.


1

Three Weeks Later

THE REDHEAD in the green raincoat would be very pretty if she weren’t about to lose her lunch over the side of the ferry. Hell, not just pretty, beautiful, with those wide-set eyes, the high cheekbones, the curvaceous figure and that stunning head of long, flowing red hair.

Right now, though, her face was about the same shade as her coat. Her mouth was a tight little knot of agony. And her hands clenched the railing as if she couldn’t decide whether to throw up or just jump overboard and put herself out of her misery.

Eyeing her from a few feet down the railing, to which he was also clinging with only slightly less desperation, Mike Santori offered her a look of commiseration and sympathy.

“First time heading to the island?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the rumble of the engine, the whipping of the wind and the spray of the water flying off the surface of Lake Michigan.

She managed a tiny nod, groaning aloud as if even that slight movement was too much for her spinning head.

“Maybe you should go inside.”

“No, I need the fresh air!”

He understood that. He, too, had to remain outside every time he made the crossing between the island and the mainland. He kept hearing that the trek to and from his new home on Wild Boar Island would get easier, that he’d even grow to like it. But so far the only improvement he’d managed was that he no longer had to curl up in the fetal position on one of the outside benches and pray. The day he actually grew to enjoy the journey was the day he started to enjoy getting his prostate checked by anybody other than an adventurous girlfriend.

“It’s going to start raining in a minute,” he warned her, wondering if she, like him, would be glad for the rain. At least when you were shaking from being cold and drenched, you could forget your head was spinning as if somebody had attached a string to it and was using it as a yo-yo.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and the storm will wash me overboard so I can drown.”

“Please don’t, then I’d have to jump in and save you, and I’ll ruin my new boots.”

She managed a weak smile. But it quickly faded when the ferry dipped, rolling on a swell that made the rickety old boat sound as though it was going to split apart at the seams and plunge to Davy Jones’s locker. The redhead gripped even tighter, and a low groan escaped her lips. “Make it stop.”

“We’re almost there,” he said, edging closer, feeling protective of her, this pretty stranger, the way he might have of a kid left outside in the cold.

“What is wrong with good old-fashioned bridges?”

“It’s twelve miles to the island.”

“Haven’t they heard of the Donghai?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bridge that’s twenty miles long.”

“Across Lake Michigan?”

She rolled her eyes. He bit back a smile, glad he was distracting her.

Another dip. Another groan. “There’s an even longer one going over Lake Pontchartrain,” she said, forcing the words out from between clenched teeth.

That one he had heard of. “I hear they get a few more tourists to New Orleans than they do to Wild Boar Island. I don’t think tolls would pay for a bridge here.”

That was an understatement.

Wild Boar Island, Michigan, his new home as of a few months ago, might claim it was one of the most popular tourist destinations in the state during the summer months. Hell, it might even be true. But somehow, having a population that swelled from about eighteen-hundred nine months out of the year up to ten-thousand in June, July and August, didn’t quite equal the Big Easy during Mardi Gras.

A strong gust of wind blew down from the thunderous storm clouds blanketing the sky—clouds which hadn’t yet released a torrent of rain, but had done a fine job whipping the massive lake into a trembling ocean. The old ferry rocked and rolled like a theme-park ride, and his stomach rocked and rolled along with it.

“Oh, God, why did I ever agree to move to a place you can only get to by ferry?” she groaned, leaning over the railing.

She leaned a bit too far, gasping and heaving, and he had a sudden vision of her tipping head-first into the choppy green wake. He didn’t know her from Adam, but he sure wasn’t about to watch her take a nose-dive into the deep. So he stepped close behind her, shielding her body with his own and wrapping an arm around her waist to hold her steady, braced on the deck. He dropped a free hand onto one of hers and squeezed, hoping she got the message that he was just trying to help and wasn’t some pervert going for an easy grope.

Not that the woman wasn’t eminently touchable.

He could feel shudders wracking her tall, slim form, even through her heavy raincoat. But she made no effort to pull away, and instead gripped his hand.

“We’re going to capsize,” she groaned.

“No, we aren’t.”

“Yes, we are. We’re going to flip over and sink.”

“Well, at least then we won’t feel sick anymore.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, long strands of wind-blown red hair whipping across her face. “You, too?”

“Why do you think I’m out here?”

“I figured it was so you could rescue me.”

“Yeah, let’s go with that,” he said as the ferry bounced again and he let out a small groan of his own.

She laughed suddenly, a light, musical peal of merriment that was at odds with the wild, wind-whipped day. Her whole face lit up when she laughed, and he noted the sparkle in her eyes, which were a dazzling shade of emerald.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, torn between indignation and relief that she no longer looked like she was about to jump overboard.

“Nope.” She lifted a slender hand and pointed. “I’m laughing with sheer relief because I see land ahead!”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s Little Boar, not Wild Boar.”

“Close enough. I’m getting off.”

“The ferry doesn’t stop there—it’s uninhabited.”

“I’ll take my chances with the little boars, just tell the captain to pull over.”

“There’s nowhere to dock.”

“So I’ll jump overboard and swim for it.”

“Have you forgotten my new boots?”

“You’d really leap in after me?”

“It’s in my job description.”

“Are you a lifeguard?”

Lately he’d been a jack-of-all-trades—from cat-rescuer, to crossing guard, to 911 operator—as well as Chief of Police, his official title. And he didn’t imagine lifeguarding would be out of the question this summer when Wild Boar filled up with tourists anxious to test the sometimes rough waters of this very great lake.

“Let’s just say I’m your self-appointed lifeguard right now. If you jump, I jump.”

She took a few deep breaths, letting his words calm her, as he’d wanted them to. Finally, she nodded and began to straighten. The chop had died down, at least momentarily, and the planking seemed steadier beneath his feet. At least, it did as long as he didn’t think about how easily his arm encircled her slim waist and how her long legs felt when practically entwined with his. And if he dwelled on the way her curvy ass was brushing against his groin, he was a total goner. The dizziness would have nothing to do with the waves and everything to do with a hot rush of lust that threatened to drown him. As a matter of fact, the tide was lifting things up already.

Mike immediately let her go and stepped away, willing himself back into she’s-a-stranger mode and out of the damn-she’s-hot one.

“Do you think the water’s calming down now?” she asked, pushing her tangled hair away from her face with a shaking hand.

“Seems like it.”

“God, I hate being sick like that.”

“Ditto.”

She eyed him. “It’s not just the nausea, it’s the complete lack of control over it. I know when I step off this boat, it’ll go away—mostly. And it infuriates me that I can’t make it go away right now.”

He grinned. “If you can come up with a method to think away nausea, you’ll be rich.”

She nibbled her lip and looked down, crossing her arms and shivering lightly. Still not looking at him, she murmured, “Maybe we’ll have smooth sailing the rest of the way?”

“Absolutely.”

Nope. This was more like the eye of the hurricane. Experience told him they were merely enjoying a moment of respite before they hit the big swells that encircled Wild Boar. The island currents made travel in the winter and early spring—which was now—dangerous and nausea-inducing. But he didn’t tell her that.

“I can’t believe we’re the only ones out here on deck. How could anybody not be seasick after that?”

He gestured toward the car-park section of the ferry, empty but for a shiny yellow Prius, which he assumed was hers. Good luck finding a charging station on Wild Boar. He’d left his own SUV at the docks, as his errand to the mainland to deliver some paperwork to the nearest county sheriff’s station had been a quick one. It had been easier to just have one of the county guys pick him up and drop him back off than deal with the hassle of taking his vehicle with him.

“We’re the only customers on board. The rest are crew and they’re used to it. This time of year I doubt they get more than one or two people a trip.”

“What? I thought we were heading to the most happening island this side of Maui.”

“Who told you that?” he asked with a grin. “Somebody who desperately needs you to take over their job for a while?”

She lifted a brow, studying him, as if hearing the certainty in his voice. That could be because he was now certain of who this beautiful, red-haired stranger was, and why she was heading to a remote, sparsely-populated island on this wickedly unpleasant day. “Is Monday your first day at the school?”

Her eyes popped; she appeared shocked he’d hit the nail on its proverbial head.

“You are the new teacher, aren’t you?” he asked, even though he knew he was right. The island had been agog all week about some mainlander coming to teach the science classes at the island’s one and only school, which catered to all five-hundred or so students, from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

“Sub,” she clarified. “I’m only substituting for the rest of the semester for my old friend who’s the regular teacher.”

Right. He hadn’t met her yet, but of course he’d heard all about Mrs. Parker, the science teacher. The woman’s baby had been born ten weeks premature and was still in an ICU unit on the mainland. That’s why there’d been a sudden need for a substitute, and those weren’t easy to come by on Wild Boar. Especially not teachers qualified to teach every science class in the school, from first grade why-do-caterpillars-turn-into-butterflies clear through advanced chemistry. Why this one wasn’t already tied up in a classroom three-quarters of the way through the current school year, he couldn’t say, but he had to admit he was interested in learning more about her.

“How did you know who I was?”

“There’s been lots of concern for your friend and her new baby. Concern equals talk on Wild Boar.”

“Callie’s baby is doing well,” the woman said with a gentle smile that softened her pale, pinched expression. “Little Will’s got a lot of growing to do, and his lungs aren’t fully developed, but the doctors think he’s out of the woods.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She nodded. “Me, too. He’s deeply loved and was very much wanted.” She glanced away. “Unlike a lot of children.”

He noted the change of tone and wondered at it. But she didn’t give him a chance to wonder long.

“Still, how did you know I was the new teacher?”

“It’s pretty rare for newcomers to move out to the island, except for the summer tourist folks, and it’s too early for them. Plus, everybody’s talking about the cottage behind the old Wymer place being rented out for the next couple of months.”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the cottage was ancient, rickety, drafty and probably full of spiders. Hopefully Mrs. Wymer had hired somebody to clean it up, since the fragile-looking elderly woman certainly couldn’t do it herself.

The stranger’s pale face became a shade closer to chalky. “Good grief, is the whole island a gossip mill?”

“Yeah, and that thing’s been grinding like crazy with all the new arrivals—that’d be you and me.”

She glanced down, one of her slim hands fisting as she pressed it into her stomach, as if she felt nauseous. Well, he supposed that was understandable.

“You’re a newcomer, too?” she finally asked, after she’d straightened her back and lifted her chin.

“Yes, ma’am.” He extended a hand. “I’m Mike.”

“Lindsey.” She took his hand and shook. Hers was a little clammy and very cold, since she’d been gripping the damp metal railing.

He reached into the pockets of his bulky windbreaker and pulled out his utility gloves, shoving them toward her. “Here. Your fingers are icicles.”

She stared down at his offering. “Don’t you need them?”

“I want my hands bare so I can clutch that railing,” he said with a wry grin.

“If I wear your gloves, how am I going to hold on?”

“How about I hold on for us both?”

“Pretty confident, are you?”

“I think I can manage to keep us from being swept overboard.”

She cast a quick eye over his shoulders, chest and arms. Color finally rose into those pale cheeks, as if she’d at last looked at him and seen the man, not the savior-from-death-by-drowning-or-seasickness. Her throat quivered as she swallowed, her gaze dropping lower, assessing him all the way down to his feet.

“I suppose you can,” she admitted, her voice thick and low.

He almost made a flirtatious comment in response, but suddenly the ferry lurched again, making him glad for his strong grip on the railing. But the woman—Lindsey—wobbled on her feet and, for a second, he thought she’d fall. Not even thinking about it, he stepped into her path and grabbed her before she could stumble.

Their legs tangled, hips bumped and chests collided. He had a chance to suck in a shocked—and pleased—breath, when her fine red hair whipped across his face, bringing with it a flowery fragrance that cut through the briny air and went right to his head. Just like this woman was doing.

“Whoa,” she murmured, either because of the stumbling or the fact that so much of her was now touching so much of him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. He turned his back to the wind, staying close, but giving her some distance and disengaging the more vulnerable parts of their bodies. As nice as she had felt pressed against him, he didn’t want her to know that his lower half was ignoring his brain’s order to be a polite protector and was instead going straight for horny man. Their new position removed the danger of sensual overload, but also kept her blocked from the worst of the wind. “I won’t let you fall overboard. Now glove up.”

Not taking no for an answer, he lifted one of her small, cold hands and shoved a glove on it. He forced himself to focus only on the fact that her lips now had a bluish tint, not that they were pretty damned kissable. And that her expression was pure misery, not that her face was shaped like a perfect heart, with high cheekbones and a pointy, stubborn little chin.

Once her hands were adequately protected, she stepped the tiniest bit closer, as if welcoming the shelter of his body. Mike heaved in a deep breath of cold lake air, but found it tasted of spicy-fragranced woman.

Nice. Very nice.

“So, how long have you lived on Wild Boar?” she asked.

“A few months.”

“And how’s island life?”

He considered it, mentally comparing the insanely quiet nights he’d spent on Wild Boar to the lifetime of noise, energy, grime and vibrancy in Chicago.

“It’s...different.”

“Obviously you’re getting to know people if they’re already gossiping to you about the new substitute teacher.”

“Maybe. It could also be because we’re two new unmarried people and they’re trying to set us up.”

Her mouth fell open. “They’re what?”

“Apparently your friend—the one you’re substituting for—has let it be known that you are single and available.”

“Remind me to smack her, would you?”

“You bet.”

She licked her lips. “So you’re single, too?”

He noticed she didn’t add and available, maybe because she didn’t want to sound interested, though he could tell she was. Oh, she might not be looking at him, instead taking every chance she had to study her gloved hands, but he recognized desire when he saw it. During those few moments when she’d landed hard against him, heat had flared between them, instinctive and powerful.

“I’m very single,” he admitted, not sure why he’d emphasized it. After all, he should be backing away from flirtation or even the tiniest hint of romantic interest. He had no business indulging in either right now.

“And everybody is aware you’re single?”

“Yep. Just like they know your relationship status. Or lack thereof.”

“I can’t believe Callie told everyone that.”

“Well, to be fair, I suspect she told one person and the other eighteen-hundred residents found out by osmosis.”

Because that’s how news traveled in a small town. When he’d come to Wild Boar for his job interview, he certainly hadn’t gone around saying he was unattached. By the time he’d moved there to start the job, however, it had been common knowledge to every person he met.

Of all the things he disliked about his new life, the utter lack of privacy ranked number one. In fact, he hated feeling as if he lived under a microscope, and wasn’t about to give the gossipers any more ammunition if he could possibly help it. He needed to keep his life quiet, sedate and boring. Meaning no leaping off ferries to save gorgeous, impetuous redheads. So she’d better not jump.

“You’re an expert on osmosis, huh? Why aren’t you the substitute science teacher?”

He chuckled. “I have a rough idea of what the word means, but ask me to explain the difference between oxygen and iron and I’m in deep trouble.”

“One you breathe and one you make stuff out of.”

Another chuckle. “My point is, you’re not getting off so easily.”

She nodded slowly, and he couldn’t tell if she was relieved by that, or bothered by it.

“And if it’s any consolation, you’re not alone in the gossip pool. I’m treading water right there with you.”

She rolled her eyes and gestured toward the waves. “Could we please use another analogy?”

Damn, he enjoyed her wit. “Okay, let’s say I’m just as big a grape dangling from that huge, gossipy vine. Every day since I arrived, I’ve had cakes, cookies and casseroles brought to my doorstep by the population of single women on the island, ranging in age from eighteen to eighty.”

“Has it worked?”

“I haven’t taken the bait yet.”

Her cheeks puffed out as she feigned sickness. “No fish references, either, please.”

“Fish aren’t the only ones who eat bait.”

“But single men often do. Have you? Eaten the food, I mean? There could be secret love potions hidden inside.”

“That’s possible. There’s one widow, Mrs. Cranston—gotta be seventy if she’s a day—who makes the best lemon meringue pie I’ve ever tasted. I might propose to her even without the love potion.”

They laughed together, both of them distracted, for a little while, anyway, from the misery of their journey.

“I wonder what they’ll bring me. I don’t suppose I’ll be inundated with cakes and pies from the single men.”

“Maybe you’ll get cans of baked beans. Or motor oil.”

“Small-town hell. Check.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it hell. More like a really claustrophobic closet in the middle of an island.”

“With eighteen-hundred people in it.”

“Exactly.” And didn’t that sound appealing?

You decided to come here. You wanted a total do-over.

Yeah. Right. He had.

He’d been the one who wanted a change, the one so anxious to get out of Chicago—to escape from the darkness, the blood, the anger and the nonstop violence. It had been nobody’s choice but his own to quit his job of eight years with the Chicago P.D., to leave his upwardly mobile career as a detective.

He’d seen the ad for a Chief of Police of Tiny Island, Nowhere, and jumped on it, not really sure what he wanted or where he was going, just sure that after near misses with at least three bullets and a direct hit with a switchblade, he had to get away for his own sanity. And for his parents’, who’d pleaded with him to find another—safer—career.

Of course, they hadn’t intended for it to be so far away from them. He wasn’t sure if they’d call Wild Boar an improvement, considering he was the first Santori of his generation to actually move out of Illinois. But considering his parents had their first grandbaby to look forward to, courtesy of his brother Leo and his new wife, he supposed he wasn’t on their minds 24/7.

Besides, he couldn’t say if this would be a long-term change or not. He was well into his probationary period, having agreed to stay on the job for a minimum of six months. At the end of that time, either he, or the island’s authorities, could make a change, no harm, no foul. No matter how often he’d wondered if he’d made the biggest mistake of his life, he would keep his word on that. He’d see how he felt at the end of the six months, and then make some decisions for his future.

Mike wanted it to work out. He couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the Chicago P.D. An optimist like him could only stick it out for so long in a job where he couldn’t make a difference before it became agony to go to work every day. Maybe on Wild Boar he wasn’t saving lives, but he made a difference in little ways. In Chicago, the only life he’d managed to save was his own, and that had been a struggle every Goddamn day of the week.

His spirit had been crushed by it. Day after day he’d seen the same brutal crimes, the same utter disregard for other people’s lives and property, the same hopelessness and despair. It had become an agony to go to work every day.

Wild Boar was the complete opposite. Peaceful, tranquil, a place where neighbors helped neighbors and everybody knew every other person on the island.

True, he didn’t love it yet, or even like it that much. He was too much of a Chicagoan for that. He was hopeful, though, that one day he’d wake up and realize he’d become a true islander and want to stick around for a few years. Or twenty.

Sometimes he even pictured himself asking one of those nice, pie-making women out, giving this life a real shot. Maybe he’d get married, do the whole family thing with the picket fence and pot-roast dinners on Sunday. The matchmakers on Wild Boar certainly seemed to want that future for him. And, unlike his last girlfriend, a nice, small-town woman from Wild Boar Island would probably be happy with that kind of life. He couldn’t deny, part of him found that idea very appealing, too.

Of course, another part wanted to jump off this ferry right now and swim back to the mainland.

No. You’re sticking this out.

He just had to keep his head down, do his job, and focus on figuring out what he really wanted before someone else decided for him. He definitely didn’t need complications—like romantic entanglements—to interfere with the decision-making process.

“So the matchmakers are a powerful force, I take it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Listen, Mike, I’m only going to be on the island for a short time and I’m not looking for...”

He assumed she was about to let him down easy and he put a hand up, palm out, heading her off at the rejection. Not that he’d tried to, er, lift himself up. “Say no more. I said the gossipers are pairing us up, not that I wanted them to. You are perfectly safe from me.”

Her spine might have stiffened the tiniest bit. Hard to tell beneath her coat, and he realized he might have insulted her. Damn, he was so not used to this, though he should be. When it came to matchmaking, the entire population of Wild Boar Island had nothing on the Santori family. Whenever he was between relationships, his mother, aunts and cousins were always pushing females in his direction—blond, brunette, divorcées, partying singles—if she had a pulse but not a ring, they sent her his way.

But he couldn’t recall them ever introducing him to one with hair that vivid shade of red or eyes that brilliant, glittering green, or one with such luscious—if blue-tinged—lips.

He tried to explain himself. “Look, I didn’t mean anything. It’s just, you’re...”

“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug and an understanding nod. “You’re gay, no problem.”

His mouth unhinged. “I’m what?”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Uh, you’re not gay?”

“Definitely not,” he said, torn between amusement and horror. “And if you tell me I give off a gay vibe, I might go ahead and leap, new boots be damned.”

Then he frowned. Worrying about his boots... That was a pretty metrosexual thing to do, wasn’t it? Shit. How was a guy to know?

“You don’t give off a vibe,” she insisted. “I just made an assumption based on what you said.”

“You think just because a guy’s not interested in you, he likes dudes?” He was baiting her; she didn’t come across as the vain type, but then one never knew.

“That did sound conceited, didn’t it?” she asked, visibly embarrassed. “I’m really sorry. I’m not thinking straight. It’s just that you said I was ‘safe’ from you, that you were single, completely available and that every unattached woman in town has come on to you. I just figured...”

“You figured wrong. I’m simply not in the market. New job, new town, new home. No privacy on this postage stamp of an island. There’s just too much on my plate right now and I can’t afford any distractions while I try to negotiate myself through this new life I’ve chosen for myself.”

Although, if he did have an empty plate, he could picture this woman sitting right in the middle of it, all sweet and succulent, just waiting to be devoured.

Forget it. Not happening. He was burned out on romance these days. Well, he’d had it burned out of him, and by a woman he’d believed he could get serious with. She’d chosen her big-league banking job over him even before he’d decided to leave Chicago. She had made it pretty clear that her ritzy cocktail parties and corporate events weren’t the place for a guy who carried a gun and had a fresh razor-blade scar across his neck. Nice news for somebody lying in a hospital bed.

He was also not in the market for a new girlfriend because he lived under a microscope. “Hate to break it to you, Red, but if you and I so much as went out on an ice-cream date, the word would be all over the Wild Boar grapevine before I got in one good lick of my Rocky Road.”

Or your Cookies ’n Cream.

He didn’t add that, wishing the more flirtatious voice in his head would back off and leave the driving to his more reasonable side.

“I understand. And ditto. Definitely not in the market for any complications.”

“Good. Then there’s no problem.”

They understood each other. Which was fine. Perfect. They’d be neighborly, friendly. Nothing else.

Something deep inside him tried to throw up a penalty flag at that prospect, but he shoved it away and focused on doing what was smart, not what was desirable.

They were close to the island now, and, as he’d expected, the rickety old ferry suddenly got caught in the surging current that swirled around it. The craft lunged up, and then slammed back down. Despite the steadying presence of his hand on her shoulder, Lindsey couldn’t keep her feet totally grounded. She stumbled forward, falling against him with a startled cry.

Thank heaven he was there, or she might actually have tumbled over the railing into the drink. Instead, Mike caught her in his arms, holding her close, not content with a hand on her shoulder while the chop was this rough.

They both gasped, startled by the close call, the crazy weather, the sway of the boat. And, for Mike, by her nearness.

This wasn’t just the lining-up of certain body parts, he was actually holding her in his arms. One was wrapped around her waist, a hand cupping her hip, the other encircling her shoulders. Every inch of her touched every inch of him. Each cell in his body reacted, parts of him awakening that he’d thought would remain in hibernation at least until he’d made a place for himself on Wild Boar Island.

Uh-uh. Despite the cold air and the colder water, the rocking of the boat and the rolling of his stomach, he looked down into those big green eyes, felt the press of that soft, female form, and realized something.

This red-haired beauty was indeed going to be a complication. A very serious complication.


2

FOR THE PAST few years, ever since her best friend, Callie, had gotten married and moved to an island in the Great Lakes, Lindsey had promised to visit. More than once, she’d made plans to come for a week between semesters, or even a long weekend.

But something had always come up—schoolwork, research, her job. Once, there’d been a fellowship opportunity, another time she’d been offered a prestigious study abroad. For the past two summers, Lindsey had been asked to work seventy hours a week, rather than her usual fifty, to cover for one of the partners’ vacations. As much as she loved Callie, and wanted to get to know her husband, Billy, she’d just never been able to make it work, because of work.

Now, though, she was going, and nothing would stop her. Her friend needed her, and Lindsey wasn’t going to let Callie down. She hadn’t had many friends during her childhood; hell, she didn’t really have many now. Callie had always been the best of them, and still was.

The two of them had gravitated to each other in kindergarten, both poor kids who wore secondhand clothes and had firsthand chips on their shoulders. They’d dared anyone to look down on them. Of course, Callie’s parents had been loving and hardworking, and had done the best they could for their daughter.

Lindsey’s? Well, not so much. Neglectful would probably be the nicest way to refer to their parenting style. Emotionally abusive wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

She’d never seen much in the way of love in her own house, and hadn’t been entirely sure she recognized it when she later spotted it in Callie’s. Still, the two of them had been inseparable through high school graduation. After that, Callie had decided to stay close to home. Lindsey had been determined to go anywhere else, as long as it was someplace that didn’t include an absolute dearth of trust, intimacy and tenderness. Like home.

She’d clawed her way into the Ivy League with sheer determination and excellent grades, being the poster child for poor-kid-makes-good. She’d worked hard, methodically controlling every aspect of her life, allowing nothing to distract her from her goals. Her parents hadn’t been around to see her succeed—her father had taken off more than a decade ago, and her mother had died when Lindsey was twenty.

Callie, though, had been there every step of the way, even if they only connected by phone. The disparate paths their lives had taken couldn’t ever change the genuine connection they had. They were sisters in every way except biologically.

Now, with a preemie baby in the hospital fighting to survive, the last thing Callie needed to worry about was whether she had a job to go back to in the fall. And Callie had been right to worry. Given its size, the Wild Boar Community School couldn’t go without a science teacher for an entire quarter.

Her friend was supposed to have given birth at the end of the school year, and then have the summer off for maternity leave. Now, though, with almost another full grading term to go, the school board had been panicked. Nobody on the island was qualified to teach the wide variety of science classes, and nobody off it would be willing to move for just a short-term position. So they’d informed her friend that if she had to take more time off work than her allotted leave, they might have to hire a full-time replacement and try to find another spot for Callie the next school year.

As a result, Callie had spent too many hours worrying about her job, when she should be worried only about her health and her son. Lindsey was not about to let her expend any more energy on career woes. If Lindsey hadn’t been forced into her not-so-voluntary sabbatical, she might not have been able to work it out. As it was, though, she had the time and the desire to help.

Since it was a substitute position and they were under pressure to hire someone quickly, there hadn’t been too many hoops for Lindsey to jump through. The school officials had confirmed she had a Bachelor’s Degree from Johns Hopkins, with a double major in Chemistry and Biology, and leaped on her offer to be a short-term sub. They didn’t even know about her PhD.

Only after she’d agreed to do it had she realized Wild Boar Island might also be the answer to her own prayer. Callie’s remote slice of heaven, which she’d always gushed about in her emails and phone calls, had internet access and TV, but, as far as her friend knew, they weren’t talking about Dr. Lindsey Smith and her Thinkgasms. The administrators hadn’t said a word about it during her phone interview, or questioned why she was not currently employed. She suspected they subscribed to the don’t-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth adage. It was entirely possible she’d actually found a place in the country where she wasn’t being laughed at or whispered about.

“Oh, please let that be true,” she mumbled, tired beyond belief of being fodder for the scandal-happy, soft-story media.

Even if it wasn’t, she’d still have come to the island. Callie needed her. Not many people had ever needed her, and Lindsey wasn’t about to turn away someone she loved who so desperately did.

So for the next several weeks, she would help her dearest friend, keep herself busy so she didn’t stress and anguish over the mess her professional life had become, and hide out from the tabloid journalists who had nothing better to do than stalk a psychologist who liked talking about orgasms. In that respect, Wild Boar Island did sound like a piece of heaven.

At least, until she started to drive across it.

“Have you people never heard of blacktop?” she grumbled as she drove away from the ferry landing, her bones jarring with every bounce of her Prius on the roughly graveled drive.

She’d gotten directions to her rental cottage from her new landlady—whom Callie had put her in touch with—figuring there wasn’t much chance of getting lost on this spit of land. Still, nothing was marked and her pampered hybrid was already unhappy.

Her cell phone rang, and she pushed a button on her steering wheel to answer it, using the car’s Bluetooth since she had to keep her hands right where they were. It was her friend. “Callie, what have you gotten me into? I’ll bet there’s not one charging station on this island.”

“You’d win that bet. But give it a chance—you’ll love it.”

“Love” might be an exaggeration, but she would do it because she’d promised Callie. “How are you doing? You sound tired.”

“I’m fine. Does any new mother sleep well?” Callie sniffed. “Even one who doesn’t have to get up for nightly feedings?”

That sniffle indicated tears, and the comment had revealed a lot about what her friend was feeling. For Callie, not being able to hold her son was probably the second-hardest part of this ordeal—after not knowing if he would live or die.

“You’ll be doing that soon enough. Right now, rest and get better. You’ll need your energy when that sweet boy comes home.”

Callie cleared her throat. Lindsey could almost see her petite, curly-haired friend blinking away tears and straightening her shoulders. “So update me. How was the ferry crossing?”

“Hideous. Painful. Awful. This is not the heaven you described.” Then, wanting to cheer her friend up—and to distract her—she said, “Though, I have to admit, I did meet a man who looked like a male angel. Or, well, maybe hot, sinful devil would be a more appropriate comparison.”

Mike, the guy she’d met on the ferry, had been so dark and seductive with all that thick, windblown brown hair; the deep-set, chocolate-brown eyes; square jaw and powerful body. His height had made her feel positively petite, though she stood five-foot-seven. And his mouth was something that should have been carved by an artist. Pretty couldn’t describe such masculine lips. No, they were...perfect.

No doubt, he’d looked nothing like a safe, innocent seraphim and everything like a wicked, sultry devil sent to seduce women out of their clothes and their good sense. Yum.

“Ooooh! Do tell!”

“This superhot, brown-haired guy was on the ferry, too, and he saved my life.”

“Did you fall overboard?” Callie squealed.

“Well, no, but I definitely considered leaping.”

“I understand. It’s a lousy mode of transportation. Now spill on this guy. What was his name?”

“Mike.”

“Last name?”

“I never got it.”

Callie harrumphed. “You so suck at this. Hmm. Mike, brown-haired Adonis? Not ringing a bell. Why didn’t you get his full name? Or at least make plans to get together for wild-monkey sex?”

Ahh, Lindsey was glad she’d been able to distract Callie, and that her friend was now feeling better.

“No time. He hurried off the ferry before I had the chance to do either of those things.”

Mike had apparently ridden across to the mainland without his car. As soon as they’d docked, he’d gotten a call on his cell phone. His frown as he’d answered said the call was a serious one. Assuring her they’d see each other soon, he’d said goodbye and hurried off the boat, heading toward a big SUV in the parking lot.

Lindsey had been too busy falling to her knees to give thanks for their safe arrival—at least, mentally—to watch him drive away. But during the interminable wait for her car to be unloaded, she’d thought a lot about the handsome stranger.

“Tell me more,” Callie ordered. “Gorgeous... What else?”

Her friend knew her well enough to realize Lindsey wouldn’t have been fascinated by just a handsome face. “He was funny, quick-witted, and had the sexiest smile, complete with dimple.”

Realizing she was gushing over a virtual stranger, she fell silent, though she didn’t stop mentally ticking off Mike’s attractive qualities. Like his charming protective instincts—he’d assured her he’d dive in after her should she leap overboard, and she believed he’d really meant it. He also had a great, throaty voice and a warm laugh.

Then there were the shoulders. The chest. The powerful arms. Oh lord, the entire package. How could she not have noticed his physical appeal, especially once he’d caught her in his arms, holding her safe and steady while her heart lurched far more than the boat had?

And how absolutely crazy that she was so interested in him, considering she had, years ago, built a mental barrier between herself and every man she met?

Sex was fine; she’d have it occasionally, but she never considered how decent a guy was, or if he was protective, or kind. Not having experienced those qualities in many men in her personal life, she’d learned to never look for them. That way she’d never be disappointed when she didn’t find them. How strange, then, to find herself realizing that, on the surface at least, this near stranger possessed them all.

“So, he’s definitely worthy of the Dr. Smith method, huh? Wait, lemme put on my thinking cap.”

Lindsey snickered. Callie was probably the only person who could tease her about the whole mentally inspired-orgasm thing. There’d even been one night at a Mexican restaurant, after a few margaritas, when they’d dared each other to try to think their way into a public climax. But they’d dissolved into giggles almost immediately.

“Definitely Thinkgasm worthy,” she replied.

“You know, I bet if you’d researched a man’s ability to ejaculate purely by mental fantasy, you’d have gotten a gajillion dollars to fund further study on the subject and a column in Psychology Today.” Her friend sounded indignant.

“Uh-huh. Instead, I got a Jeopardy! question and a meme.”

“My mom thought the Jeopardy! question was severely cool.”

“Well, yeah, it kinda was.”

Other than that, though, nothing about her work situation was very cool. Far, far from it. After all her hard work and the passion she had for her field, her research—and now Lindsey herself—was a laughingstock. Which was why it was a very good thing she had something else to do, someone else’s problems to focus on. Just hearing Callie’s voice had lifted her spirits, and she found herself thankful—again—that she had the other woman for a friend. Knowing how much Callie appreciated her help made it easier for Lindsey to forget about what was going on in the real world. She had work to do on Wild Boar—a new home, a new job, eager students. This would be good for her, very good.

“Anyway, this two-month break should be long enough for the tongues to stop wagging. When I leave here, I’ll have hopefully stayed out of the limelight for enough time to get back into my bosses’ good graces. I’ll be able to reclaim my career and reputation without coming across like the modern-day version of Dr. Ruth.”

“Cucumbers...pfft! Amateurs,” Callie said, with a go-you tone. “Look, I’ve got to run. Billy’s getting out of the shower and we’re heading to the hospital.”

Wishing her friend a nice day, she hung up and refocused on her driving. She wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about her work problems, any more than she was going to let herself think about sexy Italian-looking dudes with great bodies and killer smiles.

Coming to what she suspected was Wild Boar’s main road, she turned right and proceeded toward the south side of the island. There was, Callie had told her, a thriving downtown area to the north. She’d bet the “downtown” consisted of a general store and a total of three restaurants, one of which regularly served a blue-plate special of meat loaf or turkey-and-gravy. She’d save that fun trip for tomorrow since she also needed to find the school where she’d begin teaching on Monday. Right now, though, she just wanted to locate her new home, unpack and lie down to get rid of the lingering seasickness.

Lindsey glanced down at the sheet of paper on which she’d written the landlady’s verbal directions, trying to make sense of her own scrawled writing. She was coming to a split in the road, and couldn’t tell whether her directions indicated to go right or left.....

“Should’ve paid attention in Mrs. Dickey’s second grade penmanship class,” she could hear Callie whispering.

This island wasn’t that big. Even if she took a wrong turn, somebody would be able to point her in the correct direction. From what Mike had said, every resident here knew she was coming and where she would be living. Besides, she didn’t have a penis; she was capable of stopping and asking for directions.

Praying she wasn’t making a mistake, she swung to the left at the fork, looking back down at the paper for the name of her next turn. Apparently, though, she spent too much time staring down, because, before she’d even realized anyone was behind her, she heard the quick blurp-blurp of a siren.

“Hell,” she mumbled, hoping it wasn’t a cop and that she wasn’t the one being blurped at.

Looking in the rearview mirror, she saw a big, dark vehicle. She noted the spinning dome light on the dash and sighed. Definitely a cop. And right behind her. Blurping.

Wow, her luck was so great lately, she ought to go out and buy a lottery ticket.

Pulling over onto the side of the narrow, unlined road, hoping no big trucks would come by to cream her, she plucked her driver’s license out of her wallet, lowered the window and waited.

“What a fantastic way to start my new life,” she muttered, rubbing at her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “Can this day get any worse?”

“That depends on how your day’s been going so far.”

She jerked her hand away from her face, swinging her head to stare at the man standing right beside her car.

The familiar man.

The one who had just kept her from falling overboard into the choppy lake.

The one she’d just been comparing to a heavenly angel and a sexy devil.

Mike. Who was, if the lights and siren on his vehicle were to be believed, an officer of the law.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“We meet again.”

“Please tell me that’s a fake light and you’re not a real cop.”

“Would serial-killer-posing-as-cop-to-lure-unsuspecting-victim work better for you?”

“So not funny.”

“Sorry.”

She leaned out to gaze up at him, as she wasn’t comfortable with the view directly out the driver’s-side window. She’d never been more aware of the height of her Prius before now, when she was face-to-crotch with a superhot guy wearing khakis that hugged some of her favorite boy-parts.

“You really are a cop?”

“Chief Mike Santori of the Wild Boar Island P.D., at your service.”

Santori. So her Italian speculation had been dead-on. She’d always had such a thing for Italian men. All that dark hair, energy, handsomeness and machismo. Potent.

Of course, she rarely got involved with the macho type. Few of them were willing to let a woman call the shots in a relationship. And Lindsey wasn’t about to give that up for a well-hung dude with pecs.

There was a second strike against Mike—his niceness. She didn’t get involved with men who would expect trust and emotion from her. That way, she wouldn’t expect anything like that from them. Safer that way.

He might be worth it.

Perhaps. And if it had just been his sex appeal that attracted her, and she hadn’t come here to help a friend, she might have given some serious thought to getting to know him better.

She had, however, come here to do a job—and to hide out. There was no room in her plan for any man, especially one so unlike the sexy-and-forgettable type she usually went for. Protective, heroic, fun and witty guys weren’t the kind of men you could sleep with and forget. Since those were the only men Lindsey would allow herself to get involved with, Mike was definitely off-limits.

Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she’d start to believe it. And maybe she’d stop wondering what it would be like to be touched by those big, strong hands and kissed by that incredible mouth.

Just get through this and drive away.

“Here,” she said. Without him asking for it, she thrust her driver’s license toward him.

“Lindsey Smith,” he said, reading the card aloud, then handing her back the license, barely glancing at anything else. “I don’t think I’ll need this.”

Hmm. That made it sound as if this wasn’t a legitimate traffic stop. Despite her instinctive reaction to him—that he was one of the good guys—annoyance flared within her. Hot and sexy or not, she didn’t appreciate people who threw their authority around for their own purposes. But she would give him the benefit of the doubt until she found out what he was really after.

“Were you following me?”

“Not intentionally,” he said. “I was told there was an emergency—a missing child—which was why I hurried away from the landing so quickly.”

“What happened?”

“It turns out the kid had broken a window playing ball this morning, and was afraid he’d get in trouble. So he was hiding in his own backyard tree house. His mom found him safe and sound right after she called it in.”

“That’s the best outcome.”

“Not for the kid. He’s probably going to lose his video games for a month.”

Lindsey was glad Mike’s mind had gone right to that consequence instead of corporal punishment, which was sort of a hot button for her. Probably not surprising, given her field—she’d certainly dealt with a lot of people traumatized by physical abuse. Still, Mike’s comment added to the picture of the kind of person he was. A good one. She already knew that much.

Damn, why couldn’t she just keep thinking of him as hot? Speculating that he was nice, decent or trustworthy was useless. Though it would almost certainly prevent her from even considering giving in to the attraction she felt for him, despite her protestations.

“Anyway, I got the call that he’d been found before I even got to town.”

“So were you coming back to the ferry to make sure I hadn’t fallen overboard coming down the gangplank?”

“Nope. It was just a coincidence that I spotted this yellow monstrosity in my rearview. I had to remind myself that Big Bird doesn’t live here.”

She patted her steering wheel. “Don’t make fun of her.”

“I recognized it, obviously. When I saw which way you were going, I turned around and came after you so I could pull you over.”

“Are you allowed to pull me over when you’re off duty?”

“What makes you think I’m off duty?”

“You’re not in uniform.”

A wry grin lifting one corner of his mouth, he slowly unzipped the front of his heavy-duty windbreaker, revealing a buttoned-up, khaki uniform shirt beneath it, complete with a badge on the breast pocket.

“That’s not fair. You were practically undercover.”

“Were you doing something illegal on the ferry that I missed? Are you a secret Twinkie smuggler or something?”

“Twinkies aren’t illegal here, are they?” she asked, feigning horror.

“Not yet, but there is a new eat-healthy initiative at the school.”

“I’ll be sure to stock up, like those Doomsday Preppers did when the world thought Twinkies would be gone forever.”

“Good plan. Now, Lindsey Smith, why don’t you tell me why you were so worried about me pulling you over?”

Yeah. Why was she worried? She hadn’t been speeding—heaven knew it would be hard to get her car up to any speed on these roads. So why had he pulled her over...just because he wanted to see her again?

Even as she reminded herself she didn’t like these tactics, a thrill of excitement raced through her. There’d definitely been attraction between them; she knew he’d felt it, too. She hadn’t for one second really believed he was gay.

Maybe his spiel about not being interested in women or relationships had been a cover, just a line to keep from seeming too interested. Maybe he’d recognized her car and followed a crazy impulse, stopping her so he could ask her to meet him for a drink, or a pleasant walk along the beach, or for hot, steamy sex in the nearest bed.

Cool it.

Whatever the reason, she forced herself to remember she wasn’t interested. Okay, she was interested—definitely aware of him, as any woman would be aware of a guy so hot he should come with a warning label and oven mitts. But, aside from already having decided he was so not her type, she, for one, had meant it when she said she wasn’t on Wild Boar for romance, or sex. Those were the last two complications she needed to add to her life. Lying low and hoping people forgot about her supposed obsession with orgasms wouldn’t be easy if the local police chief started giving her lots of orgasms. Although, she had to admit, it would certainly be fun.

“I’m not worried,” she finally replied, forcing orgasms out of her head. She’d work on her own think-method later, when she was alone. “I’m just surprised you didn’t mention your status as the island’s chief enforcer.”

“That makes me sound like a mobster, not a cop.”

“Sorry. Now, come on, tell me why you pulled me over. Could you just not resist following me?” she asked, flirting a little, despite her own best interest and good intentions.

He admitted it, slowly nodding. “You got me. I had to come after you. I couldn’t help myself.”

She swallowed hard, wishing she hadn’t started something she knew she couldn’t finish. Flirtation was fun—she usually enjoyed it, especially with a guy as attractive as this one. But she was here to lie low, not to get laid.

But she just couldn’t resist. “It’s the hair, isn’t it?” she asked with a feigned sigh. “Yes, it’s my natural color.”

He bent down so he was squatting beside the car, resting a forearm on the door. They were practically face-to-face now, and the position gave her the chance to study those dark, dreamy eyes, framed by the thickest, longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man.

He watched her just as intently, answering, “It’s not the hair, but thanks for clarifying. It’s not your pretty eyes, either.”

She licked her lips, enjoying the way his stare roved over her face, as if he not only liked what he saw, but was memorizing her features to think about later. Hmm.

“Well?”

“Two things. First, you have my gloves.”

His gloves. Damn, she’d totally forgotten to give them back, had simply stuffed them into the pockets of her raincoat. She flushed, immediately grabbing them and shoving them toward him. “I’m so sorry. I was just so relieved to get off that ferry I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m the one who raced off for the near-emergency.”

He took the gloves from her, his fingertips brushing against hers, lightly, softly, and he didn’t immediately pull away. She sucked in a surprised breath at the excitement she felt at such simple skin-to-skin contact. They’d been mashed together, full-frontal, during their choppy boat ride, but through the bulk of their clothes and coats, she hadn’t been able to register much more than a quick acknowledgment that he felt as strong and powerful as he looked. This brief, innocent connection of fingertips somehow seemed more intimate. Quick pictures flashed through her head of those strong, warm hands touching lots of other places on her body.

Lindsey was a big advocate of women taking care of themselves, being in complete control—financially, emotionally, physically and sexually. But oh, lord, did she love big, strong, man-hands.

“What’s the second reason?” she whispered, not sure whether she wanted him to say she’d forgotten something on the boat, or that he wanted to take her out for a blue-plate special.

Meat loaf’s good. I like meat loaf.

“Well, there’s also the fact that...”

“Yes?”

“You’re going the wrong direction down a one-way street.”


3

“SHUT UP!”

Mike wasn’t sure what Lindsey had expected him to say—that she’d grabbed his interest along with his gloves? That he’d wanted to see her again? That he’d be happy to show her around?

All that was true. But, remembering their conversation on the trip over, he knew better than to say it. Neither of them was in the market. She was a schoolteacher, for heaven’s sake, and he was the chief of police. They couldn’t afford the kind of gossip that would arise if the two newcomers, both in respectable positions, hooked up.

That was especially true for him, considering his very job might be on the line. If the town council decided he was spending too much time romancing a woman when he should be focused on his probationary period, he might not have a job to stick with. He needed to keep reminding himself of that, no matter how much he found himself thinking about those sparkling green eyes or that stunning red hair.

Her goggle-eyed expression and gut response almost made him laugh, but he clarified, “Uh, me shutting up won’t change the fact that you’re going the wrong way.”

“You’re serious?”

“Serious as an IRS audit.” He jerked a thumb toward the fork in the road, at which she’d taken a decidedly wrong turn. “The road switches from two to one-way at the split. It single-lanes in a long loop around the base of the island.”

She continued to gape and sputter. “Is there a sign?”

“Yup.”

“I can’t believe I missed it.” She shifted in her seat, peering out through the misty morning air, looking for the road sign, then let out an audible sigh when she spotted it. “I’m very sorry—I’m usually a good driver. I was trying to read my own lousy handwriting for the directions and wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

She showed him a sheet of paper on which was scrawled something that might have been English, but also might have been a secret code used by the Allies in World War II.

“Wow. You write more like a doctor than a schoolteacher.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“I thought all teachers had good penmanship.”

“I’m not exactly a typical teacher.”

That was an understatement. If any of his science teachers had been as sexy as her, he may have ended up a Nobel Prize–winning biochemist. “You’re sure not like any of the ones I had.”

“To be fair, you’re not exactly how I’d pictured the chief of police of a remote island to look.”

“What would you expect?”

“Umm... A sixty-five-year-old with gray hair and a fishing pole?”

“You just described the guy I replaced,” he admitted. “But I don’t have the patience for fishing. I’m more of a pickup-basketball fan myself.”

“So, Kobe, is there a lot of call for police chiefing here on the island?”

“We have our fair share of crime, you know.”

“Hotbed of criminal activity, is it?”

“Some gang stuff going on.” Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. Chuckling, he added, “A gang of nine-year-olds went into the general store and swiped candy bars on a dare.”

“I take it they weren’t armed?”

“Only with loud whines and lots of crocodile tears when they got caught.”

“Did you arrest them?”

“Nah, I let them off with a warning. Their parents were so mad, I have no doubt those kids won’t do it again.”

“What about me? Are you going to let me off with a warning, or are you going to give me a ticket?”

“Trying to decide. Should I cite you for going the wrong way, stealing my gloves or telling an officer of the law to shut up?”

She must have recognized the teasing note in his voice, because a soft laugh gurgled from her mouth. “Sorry about that.”

“S’okay. You might have been trying to decipher your messy writing, but the truth is, the sign’s also a bit hidden by some overgrown bushes.” She glanced back again, and he did, too, barely making out the sign. He hadn’t been exaggerating. “I’ll get somebody from the town maintenance crew to come out and trim the bushes. I guess the crew’s not prepared for newcomers who don’t know their way around so early in the spring.”

“Thanks, though I should have seen it, even if the underbrush is a bit overgrown.”

“Let me hit the lights and siren and turn you around so you don’t get beaned by a truck while you get to the correct side of the loop. Then I’ll lead you to your new home.”

He wondered if she would argue, but she must have still been light-headed from her water voyage since she didn’t. That was good. Not only because the roads were twisty and, in some cases, made no sense, but also because of the possible condition of her cottage. He didn’t know Lindsey well, but he sure didn’t want to think about her walking in the door and getting a faceful of spiderweb or a lungful of dusty air.

Jogging back to his SUV, he switched on the siren and light again then swung around, watching as she did the same. He led her the short distance to the fork, turned down the correct side and easily found his way to her new place. He had only lived on Wild Boar for a few months, but he was already familiar with just about every inch of it. There weren’t very many inches, after all.

Pulling up in front of the old Wymer place, which was now empty since the elderly owner had moved in with her equally elderly, also-widowed sister in town, he drove around to the small cottage in the back of the property. The sisters clearly hadn’t given much thought to the condition of the place. Weeds choked the front garden, and the small fence lining the cobbled walkway sagged, as if on the verge of collapse. Paint was peeling off the cottage’s siding, and the front door was pitted and sorely in need of a coat of wood stain.

Lindsey pulled up next to him and got out of her car, her shoulders slumping as she eyed what would be her home for the next couple of months. “Well, it’s not exactly as I pictured it.”

“Couldn’t you stay at your friend’s house while she’s gone? Isn’t she staying somewhere near the hospital on the mainland close to her baby?”

“Yes, but her husband works here, and he’ll be at home most work nights. I barely know him. It would be really awkward.”

That did pose a problem.

“Maybe it’s not so bad inside,” she said.

He heard a note of optimism in her voice and didn’t have the heart to disagree. Hoping she was right, he pushed open the creaky gate and walked up onto the porch, the boards of which sank beneath his feet with every step. “Dry rot,” he said. “Be careful coming in and out of this place.”

She nodded. “Mrs. Wymer said the key is under the mat.”

“Let’s hope that part of the porch hasn’t collapsed and the mat’s not covering a giant hole,” he said, bending to check. Fortunately, the flooring was still intact and the key was in place. Retrieving it, he rose and unlocked the door. “Why don’t you let me go in first? I can’t say for sure there are wild animals in there, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a raccoon or some squirrels had made a home out of your cottage.”

“Oh, God, when does that ferry leave again?” she mumbled.

Considering that by the end of their journey, she’d appeared ready to drop to her knees and kiss dry land, she, too, must be very concerned about what they would find behind the locked door.

Fortunately, though, they were both wrong. Because, while Mrs. Wymer might not have been able to do anything about the outside, as soon as he pushed open the cottage door, he realized the inside had been cleaned and freshened. The air smelled of pine and the wood floors gleamed. The cushions on an old-fashioned sofa had been plumped, and fresh flowers sat on a coffee table in front of it.

“Thank heaven,” Lindsey said as she walked in, a smile breaking over her face as she looked around her new home.

There wasn’t much to see, and he could glimpse almost all of it from right where he stood. The front door opened into a decent-size living room. To the left was a small kitchen, and through a door to the right he spied a bedroom with, he had to note, a nice-size bed.

Don’t think about her bed. Mentally going down that road with this sexy woman would lead only to frustration and a need to get reacquainted with his hand.

“You really had me scared for a minute,” said Lindsey.

“I was scared myself. She must have hired somebody to come out and get things ready for you.”

Lindsey was crossing to the kitchen table, where a plastic-wrapped plate of cookies sat, decorated with a bow and a card. She opened it. “Yes, this says that’s exactly what she did.”

“Excellent.”

“Oh, I needed this so much I think I’ll offer her a kidney if she ever wants one. She says she left coffee, sugar and creamer, too!” She immediately turned toward the pantry, opening it and cooing when she spied a can of dark grounds.

Without waiting for an invitation, he went over to the coffeemaker and began to fill the pot with water from the tap. The two of them worked together, falling into a routine that was as normal as it was unexpected. They just...synced.

After the coffee was brewed, she poured him a cup without even asking if he wanted one. He took it, added some milk then joined her at the small kitchen table. She sipped at her mug, closing her eyes and sighing with pleasure.

Man, he liked how she looked when she was enjoying herself. Of course, he’d also liked how she looked on that boat, when she had not been enjoying herself.

“Want a cookie?” she asked.

Mrs. Wymer hadn’t been among those who’d offered him baked goodies, but he wasn’t about to refuse a homemade chocolate chip. He helped himself. Lindsey did not take one, still a bit green around the gills and content with her coffee.

“I should probably warn you,” he said, “this part of the island is really deserted this time of year. You won’t be having any neighbors stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.”

“I noticed.” A tiny frown line appeared between her eyes. “I never had neighbors borrowing sugar before, but this quiet will still really take some getting used to.”

“No doubt about it. I live right downtown and I still haven’t gotten used to how sleepy it is, even there. It’s just a different lifestyle compared to anywhere on the mainland.”

“What about the rest of the lifestyle? Have you gotten used to that?”

He wished he could reassure her, but he really couldn’t. “I think if you weren’t born here, it’s very hard not to feel like an outsider.”

“Cliquishness?”

“Not really,” he said, remembering all the offers he’d gotten from his new neighbors and colleagues. “The people are friendly...it’s just there’s a lack of common ground. Islanders have different outlooks, backgrounds, experiences.”

“Sounds a little lonely.”

He sipped his coffee, considering her observation, and then nodded. “I guess it is, but maybe that’s my own fault. I’m just out of step with the locals.”

“I feel a little out of step with people no matter where I am,” she admitted, gazing at the dark, steaming liquid in her cup.

She sounded as though she was speaking more to herself than to him. Interesting that a woman this attractive didn’t feel like she fit in anywhere.

“You’d think with all this loneliness, you’d at least get some privacy here,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “But you can kiss that goodbye. You might not have people peeking into your windows, but they’ll be commenting on your every move once you get a mile from home.”

“Oh, joy. You make this sound so appealing, I can’t imagine why it took me almost thirty years to move here.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive for two months.”

She stared at him directly. “Will you survive forever?”

Mike rubbed his jaw, not answering immediately. He thought about what had driven him here; he couldn’t go back to that way of life. Finally he said, “I don’t know about forever, but I’m hoping for a few years, anyway.”

“Well, then I hope it works out for you.”

Mike lingered to talk for a while longer. He gave her directions to town, told her where the school was, and about the difficult parking situation there. He also warned her which specials to avoid at the most popular diner in town, and enjoyed how her soft laughter rolled over him.

After he’d finished, he stood up, taking the cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Guess I should leave you to it.”

Rising as well, she said, “Thank you so much for helping me get here. I appreciate you not giving me a ticket.”

Lindsey led him toward the door, pushing a slight smile to her lips, but he noticed the slump of her shoulders and knew she wasn’t totally ready to be alone. He understood what she was feeling. Coming here, so far away from everything that was familiar, had been tough for him, too. But Lindsey was not only in a new home, in a new job, she was also extremely worried about her friend—every word she’d said about Callie Parker and her infant son revealed that.

He should go. He’d left the island a little after dawn, hadn’t even been in to the office yet. For all he knew, there’d been an armed robbery of the Main Street Bank, or worse. Maybe one of his officers—like Ollie Dickinson, who resembled Gaston from Beauty and the Beast, and shared his temperament and brain power—had taken over his office. Ollie had been on the force for a couple of years and had fully expected to get the job Mike had “stolen.” The man hadn’t exactly been friendly to Mike.

But Mike wasn’t ready to leave Lindsey, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she suddenly looked a little like a sad, lonely waif. For a few minutes there, when they’d sat at the table, sharing coffee and conversation, she’d perked up, brightened, even laughed. Now...well, he hated to see her seem so weary. Part of him wanted to pull her in his arms and hug her, convince her it would be all right, that she hadn’t moved to the ass end of nowhere.

Well, she had moved to the ass end of nowhere, but honestly, it wasn’t that bad.

Barring a hug, though—and he was barring that—spending more time with her proved irresistible. What harm was there in lending a little moral support to a newcomer who was just as much a fish out of water as he’d been when he’d moved here? Hell, he still was that way.

Whatever Ollie had done to his office, even if he had to undo legal damage...it was worth it to be with her a little longer.

“Did you bring all your stuff in your car?” he asked.

“Yes. Since the place was described as furnished, I only packed clothes, my laptop and some personal things. Oh, and books. If I’m going to be teaching science, I’ll need to brush up.”

“Why don’t I help you bring it in? From what I remember of science books, they weigh a ton.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

He waved off her objections, already turning to head out the front door. Reaching her car, he spied some boxes on the backseat, and bent to hoist one. Lindsey, sensibly—he liked that—didn’t argue further, instead just opening the trunk and grabbing things, too.

As she’d said, she hadn’t brought a lot with her. A couple of suitcases, a laptop and printer, some sheets and towels—he could understand wanting those around her to give her a sense of home.

Then there were the books.

“Damn, you said ‘books,’ you didn’t say ‘library,’” he said as he hefted a fourth heavy carton out of the trunk and carried it into the cottage. “You planning to teach the kindergartners about quantum physics?”

She shrugged, walking over to place her own box on the floor beside a table in the living room. The table was already covered with the first few they’d brought in. He had no idea where she intended to put all the books; the place certainly didn’t have an office. Or bookshelves. Or much more floor space.

“I want to do some work on my own project while I’m here.”

She didn’t elaborate and he didn’t question her. Instead, he went back outside to bring in the last container—a laundry basket containing detergents and cleaning supplies. When he returned, he said, “Were you a Girl Scout? You came prepared.”

“Definitely not a Scout,” she said with a twist of her mouth. “You had to pay money to join the Scouts, and no way would my parents have ever done that for me.”

He frowned, hearing a jaded sadness in her voice. Obviously she had some issues with her folks.

Having been raised by loving, generous parents, who had given him and his brothers as much as they could afford to give, he really couldn’t imagine growing up that way. But it wasn’t exactly a conversation for the first day they’d met.

“I’m just glad I don’t have to start using those cleaning products right away,” she said, pushing a few long strands of hair away from her face. She yawned broadly. “I could really use a nap.”

“It’s the seasickness. But you should probably have a decent meal before you lie down.”

She grimaced. “Even if I wanted to, that would be tough. I’ve got Mrs. Wymer’s cookies and, I think, some mints in my purse. That’s about it.”

“No Twinkies?” he asked with wag of his brows.

Remembering their earlier conversation, she smiled. “I’m afraid not.”

“There’s always a diner.”

“If the Saturday lunch special is meat loaf, I’d consider it,” she said with another yawn as she put one more box on top of the others on the table. “Otherwise, I’m taking a nap.”

“Understood.” He turned to leave, realizing there was no sense in delaying things further, especially since she obviously just wanted to sleep.

Right before he reached the door, he glanced back and saw the precarious pile of boxes had reached critical mass. It had been leaning before. Now, with the one she’d just placed there, the whole thing was teetering. Watching him, she hadn’t even noticed.

“Look out!”

He lunged toward her, noting her start of surprise, but ignoring it. Diving just beyond her, he stopped the entire stack from toppling down, though he was unable to prevent the very top box from sliding to its death. It hit the floor hard, the tape splitting and the flaps popping open. Books and other items spewed out, clattering onto the hardwood floor. The books stopped where they fell, but the other things spun around, one skittering all the way across the room.

“You almost got clobbered,” he said.

She did not reply; in fact, she didn’t even look at him. She was too busy staring at the items that had spilled out of the box. Lindsey stood as still as a statue, her already pale face losing its last little bit of color. “Oh, my God.”

He followed her stare, wondering what had her so frazzled. At first, he just saw random books and some hard-plastic-wrapped, oddly shaped packages that didn’t quite register. Then he stepped closer and bent down.

The title of one of the books flashed across his consciousness: Giving Yourself Ultimate Pleasure. On the cover was a woman, her head thrown back, mouth open on a sensual moan, one hand covering her bare breasts, the other between her legs.

Shocked, he froze in place. His heart leaped up into the vicinity of his throat. All the sexual energy and base attraction he’d felt for Lindsey since he’d spied her on that ferry gushed through him. And that was before he got a better look at some of those oddly shaped items and realized what they all had in common.

When it sank in what he was seeing, Mike grabbed for the back of the nearest chair. Trying to stay steady on suddenly wobbly legs, he exclaimed, “Wild Boar Island’s new schoolteacher is a sex addict.”

“I am not a sex addict,” Lindsey said, sounding torn between indignation and utter dismay.

“Sorry,” Mike said, acknowledging as soon as the words had left his mouth that they should have stayed in his head.

But, damn. The woman had packed like she meant business—sexy business for one—which was enough to make a man cry. Just from where he stood, he spied at least a dozen female-oriented sex toys, including a pink butterfly thing that the package claimed was to be “strapped on.” A small purple one, shaped like a tiny porpoise, appeared designed to clip onto a woman’s finger. There was a small, metal case for storing what might pass for marbles on a playground but were identified as Ben Wa balls instead.

But wait, there’s more.

He spied several slim vibrators in various colors and textures. And a black harness-looking thing that didn’t seem as if it was made for a single player, which just made his breath grow that much thicker in his lungs. He saw the box for another device called an “anal probe,” which to him sounded like an alien torture tool.

Then his wide-eyed stare fell on the thick, long, extremely graphic-looking device that wasn’t quite as big as what he had in his pants but was pretty damned generous nonetheless. It was not plastic-wrapped. Nor was the one beside it—little dong’s giant brother. The thing was big enough to hold a lamp shade.

Holy shit.

He couldn’t move. Literally, could not lift a hand, or take a step or do anything except stare. Most of the sex aids were still in their packaging, but he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if she’d ever opened, used and then repackaged any of them. Or if, God help him, she’d used the ones that weren’t still packaged, like the huge dildo.

He didn’t imagine any woman could take that massive conversation piece into herself...but the other one... Had she plunged it into her body? If he bent down and picked it up, would he be able to tell? Did it still hold a faint whiff of musky woman? And Christ, why did he so desperately want to do things to her with it?

Wild, erotic images flooded his brain, saturating his imagination. More than just fucking her with that long ridge of rubber, he could close his eyes and picture Lindsey giving herself pleasure, just like the woman on the book. It took no effort at all to imagine her clipping that tiny, purple device onto her finger and sliding it between her thighs, letting the vibrating tip brush against her clit until her hips thrust in sheer need. Her other hand would be on her breast, stroking, squeezing, gently plucking at a perfect nipple as the intensity increased. When she came, she’d be dying for something thick and hard to fill her, and no rubber toy could possibly give her the heat she craved.




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