GOING to the bonfire tonight? Did I mention your hotel puts on a nice beach party?”
“Yes, you did,” Sean replied. Several times. He shook his head as he held the door for Trenton Warner, the head deputy of the Virgin Islands Marshals Office in St. Thomas. “But I don’t think so.”
Trent looked crestfallen. But then, he hadn’t been exactly subtle in his efforts to set Sean up with some extracurricular activities. “Come now, all work and no play—”
Sean laughed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to play. Just that I wasn’t planning on doing it at a hotel beach party.” He’d been put up in a nice little hotel on Morning Star Bay, a bit of a distance from Charlotte Amalie, the capital city of St. Thomas. And the place was definitely teeming with scantily clad women. Except for the fact that they were a tad bit too…well, nubile, for his taste. Which was likely exactly why Trent had booked him there. Even though Sean was only thirty-four, gazing down from his balcony at all that tanned, oiled skin on women barely old enough to vote, made him feel…well, old.
“Whatever you say,” Trent said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you.” He was fifty-five, married, with two sons currently enrolled at Florida State. “What good is staying single for so long if you’re not going to take advantage of it?”
“I imagine there are places other than that beach shindig to find a little company,” Sean responded, though he hadn’t the first clue where that might be and, in truth, had no real plans in place to find out.
“Ah, sly devil.” Trent laughed and nudged him in the side. “You’ve probably already hooked up with someone. What, did you meet her on the plane? Or in the airport this morning on your way in?”
“No, I haven’t ‘hooked up.’” And yet he couldn’t deny that the balmy air and white sandy stretch of beach had made him feel a bit…needy.
“Sure, sure. You just don’t want an audience,” Trent goaded. “A little island-magic-just-for-two. I get it.”
Sean flashed a grin. “I don’t mind an audience. Just don’t care for sand in my britches.”
Trent hooted then slapped him on the back as Sean opened the door of his rental Jeep. “Well, whatever the hell you have planned, you have a good time doing it. And if you’re looking for a good meal to bolster the stamina, give Sam’s a try. It’s past your hotel about a mile or so, right on the water. The snapper is incredible.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll catch you in the morning.”
“Nine sharp.” Trent sent him a mock salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But by all means do everything I’d like to do but can’t.”
Sean just snorted. “Hey, I saw that picture of your wife on your desk. I’m not feeling all that sorry for you.” He waved as he pulled out, leaving Trent laughing but nodding in agreement. Sean smiled, thinking Mrs. Warner was probably going to have a very good night.
He drove back to the hotel, wondering what it was like to head home to the same woman night after night, for years on end. Hell, he wondered what it was like to head home to any woman, any night, period. He used his job, and the dedication and time he put into it, as his reason—excuse, really—for remaining single. But if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit it went beyond that. He was so used to being captain of his own domain, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t imagine adjusting his lifestyle to include the wants and needs of another person.
He sighed and shifted his attention to the stunning island scenery. Maybe he simply wasn’t cut out for marriage. Considering the huge family he’d come from, it pained him to even think that, much less imagine telling his parents. Yet the evidence was piling up, the years were passing by. He felt a little twist in his gut at the notion of never having kids. But you sort of had to have the relationship and the wife to get to the rest, didn’t you?
Well, wife and kids or no, he sure as hell wasn’t planning on entering a monastery anytime soon, either. And while he hadn’t had much time to devote to extracurricular activities of late, he sure had some time now.
A whole week of it. Starting right now. He gripped the steering wheel a bit harder as he took the curving island road toward his hotel. So where in the hell did he begin? He’d apparently missed out on the airport love connection. Which left him with island social life. But he was too old to pick up chicks in bars. Not that he’d ever been all that keen on the bar-hopping and club-cruising scene, even when he’d been young and stupid. Which left…what? He snorted. “Call girls…and bonfire bunnies.” He wasn’t entirely sure which option scared him more.
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a bachelor, you know that?” Christ, he was still young, and although women’s tongues probably didn’t hang out when he walked by, he didn’t think he was too hard on the eyes. His body was in pretty damn good shape, thanks to all that Special Ops training. He wasn’t rich, but living alone hadn’t left him exactly hurting financially. And yet you can’t figure out how to get laid to save your life, he thought in disgust.
He slowed the Jeep as he neared the hotel entrance. Situated on a little jut of land, the hotel was not exactly remote, but not sandwiched in the middle of a cluster of other hotels or tourist traps, either. Off the beaten track. Like his love life of late, he thought with a dry smile.
Best of all, his room was on the top floor of the four-story building. It boasted a stunning view of Hassel and Water islands rising up from the clear blue of the water out past the harbor and the mountains bumping up behind the curve of the shoreline on the opposite side of the bay. He’d run the beach this morning as the sun had edged the horizon and thought he could definitely get used to such a daily routine. Living in Denver, his view was usually of mountain roads and snow-crusted peaks. He’d enjoyed his years stationed there, but he had to admit that the warmth of the sun was a welcome change. Reminded him of Louisiana. Of home.
He glanced up at the hotel, then down at the cluster of white-clad hotel staffers, dotting the beach, busily preparing for the evening’s festivities…and pressed the gas pedal. He drove past the parking lot and continued on down the coast road, out toward the east end of the island. He passed Sam’s, thinking maybe he’d take a long evening drive, come back for a nice fish dinner, then run the beach as the sun set. Be back in his room before the party began. Shower, sit on the balcony with a beer, put on that suspense thriller he’d picked up at the airport and listen to the festivities and music below while he relaxed. All in all, not a bad evening. Even if there wasn’t going to be any sex involved. Sex was great, but certainly a man could manage to survive—
Sean hit the brakes as he rounded a bend and swerved away from a woman pushing a small Vespa motor scooter along the edge of the road.
She was wearing snug navy pants that ended just below the knee, spanking-white sneakers and a loose white T-shirt knotted on one hip. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped her loose ponytail to cling to her cheeks and neck. Her face was flushed and her white cotton shirt clung to her back. Just how far had she pushed that thing?
Sean immediately tugged the steering wheel and pulled off the road. When she darted him a suspicious glance, he realized that his Good Samaritan act might not be so interpreted by a woman alone on a quiet stretch of road. So, along with a smile, he pulled out his wallet. The one with his badge tucked inside.
“Hey, there,” he called as he got out of the Jeep and flipped open his wallet. “Do you need some help? Sean Gannon, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” His smile widened as she paused. “In case
