about her predicament. Vacation? No computer? No cell phone? No work?
And here she’d thought Ian liked her.
LOGAN SULLIVAN paused for a moment on the steps leading up to the broad wraparound porch that hugged the sides of the Chesapeake Inn. He felt as though he was walking into one of those old plantation-style mansions he’d seen in the movies. Colorful flowers and ivies grew everywhere, and large fig trees sprawled in the side yard. Wicker furniture was placed strategically around the large porch, some chairs grouped together if guests wanted to socialize, others tucked away in corners if they wanted to relax solo.
Not fifty yards away the Chesapeake Bay stretched out before him. The water was calm today. The Eastern Shore was a stretch of sand only a bit more than a mile wide, the Bay on one side and the ocean on the other. The little town of Cape Charles was at the southern base of the shore, its tip at the mouth of the Bay. The city of Norfolk, part of the area known as Hampton Roads, formed the other side.
Logan was familiar with the area, having lived in Maryland his entire life. It was a marvelous place for a vacation, and in his loose khaki shorts, white T-shirt and worn leather sandals, he looked every bit the vacationer—which was how he wanted it. However, vacationing was the last thing on his mind.
Hefting his bags up the stairs, he opened the door and walked in, the air-conditioning hitting him like a wave. Though the hot weather didn’t bother him at all, he still found the coolness refreshing. And the heat here was different, nothing like the suffocating heat he’d gotten used to in Baltimore. Here the air was clear and a soft breeze came in off the water, stirring the leaves on the trees. It was pleasant.
A cheerful woman—a slim blonde who was, he guessed, in her late fifties—rounded the corner, her face the very definition of welcome. She reminded him a bit of his mother, or his childhood memories of her.
“Hello! I’m Karen Sanders. You must be Mr. Sullivan. Welcome to the Chesapeake Inn. Are these all your bags?”
Logan smiled. It was impossible not to, her friendliness made him feel at home. “No, I have more in the car, but I’ll get them. This is a gorgeous place you have. Is this all work from local artists?” He stepped forward, looking at some of the pencil sketches, metal sculptures, and several watercolors capturing sunsets over the Bay and other coastal scenes.
“Yes, we only feature local art, and most of these are for sale, so let me know if there is anything you are particularly interested in. The Shore has a very interesting and varied history, you know. There are several tours you can take, but much of the art tells the story as well.”
“I’m looking forward to learning about it.”
“Let me get you registered and show you to your room. We have a number of brochures that outline some tours and destinations that might interest you. We also provide equipment, kayaks and canoes, crabbing supplies and other things to keep you busy. Or you can just be quiet and relax, if that’s your pleasure.”
Logan nodded, knowing he would have to partake in at least some of the activities she discussed—he had to keep up appearances. Picking up his bags, he started to follow the woman past the large spiral staircase into the main room, where he could see the antique cherry registration desk, behind which was located a small office, discreetly hidden from view.
No one else was around; the other guests were probably out enjoying themselves. But before they could take more than a few steps the door opened again, and they both turned around to look.
Logan’s mind went blank when he saw the woman who stepped inside. Tall, almost as tall as he was at six foot two, she was breathtaking—and strong, carrying two huge suitcases as though they were nothing. He observed the smooth, supple muscles in her upper arms and raised an eyebrow. Her short hair was a little spiky at the top, an interesting contrast that accentuated her fine, classic features.
She wore large, dark sunglasses perched on a perfectly shaped nose, so he couldn’t see her eyes, but it was her mouth that fascinated him. Lipstick-free, not too full, her lips looked sweet and soft enough to eat, coming together in a natural pout that had him wetting his own lips as if in anticipation of a taste.
When their hostess moved past him to launch into her welcome routine, the woman pulled her sunglasses off and Logan was mesmerized by the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. A small smile warmed the woman’s cool features as she held out her hand to the hostess.
“Hi, I’m Sarah Jessup. I’m sorry I’m here a little early, but I didn’t know how long the drive would take. I hope it isn’t any trouble.” She looked at Logan, and then back to the hostess. “If you’re busy, I can walk down to the beach or catch some lunch.”
“Oh, no, no, dear, you’re fine. Come on in, and we can get you and Mr. Sullivan all situated. It’s nice for guests to meet each other, as you all will bump into each other during your stay. I do believe you and Mr. Sullivan are both scheduled for extended visits—two weeks, is that right?”
She looked questioningly at him, and he confirmed her claim with a short nod. The new arrival also looked back at him, then stepped forward and held out her hand.
“Well, then, hello, Mr. Sullivan. I’m Sarah.”
Her voice was clear and pleasant, and he detected a strong northern accent—pure New York City. It sounded good on her. She was a tough cookie, he’d bet. And a delicious one, too. He smiled.
“Logan, please. Nice to meet you.”
As he closed his hand around hers, electricity sparked between them, and Logan felt a heat invade his body that had nothing to do with the summer weather. He watched her azure eyes darken—she’d felt it, too. She dropped his hand a little abruptly and, breaking eye contact, turned back to Karen and her bags.
Intrigued, he watched the tall beauty pick up her luggage. His eyes followed the sway of her hips as she moved past him, the confident stride of her long, long legs. Logan thought he might have to make some time for fun after all.
SARAH LOOKED out the window of the quaint yellow room that she’d been shown to and admired the gardens below. A large fig tree stood beneath her window, shadowing the grass below. She licked her lips—she loved the sensual, sweet taste of figs.
Though it wasn’t something she talked about much, she loved gardens. She used to spend hours walking the gorgeous pathways of the Brooklyn botanical gardens, and she’d always especially enjoyed the pockets of green among the city concrete where people grew tomatoes on stoops and had window and rooftop gardens, some of them very elaborate. Pops had had a rose garden on his patio that professionals would have envied. He used to give her roses to take home every summer; her grandfather was the only man who’d ever given her flowers.
Her bags were not unpacked yet, and she turned to open them where they lay on the large, high bed. The room was small, but light and cheerful. Ian was right, the resort was more like a bed-and-breakfast than a resort—she had expected flashy, impersonal accommodations and crowds, bars and beaches, but this was very personal and…quiet. Maybe a little too quiet for her taste.
She wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, especially not to Ian or anyone she worked with, but she missed the city and the beautiful borough of Brooklyn where she’d spent the past ten years. Living in Norfolk wasn’t bad, but being here, where it was so slow and un-crowded, well, it made her nervous. Antsy.
The teeny apartment she’d had in the city wasn’t much, a small flat on the third floor of a converted
