She sighed lightly. “Sometimes I wish I was.”
But before he could ask her to follow up on that interesting little comment, she had taken the Vespa by the handlebars and was rolling it toward the rear of his Jeep.
He managed to haul it into the open back and wedge it, albeit somewhat awkwardly, in between the rear spare tire and front seat back. He motioned to the passenger side. “I’d open your door for you…but there isn’t one.” He’d never owned a Jeep before and was definitely enjoying the free feel of it. Having her beside him would just make it perfect. Which was when it struck him that, for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he was actually enjoying himself. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with work.
She got in as he slid back behind the wheel.
“Where to?” he asked.
She didn’t speak for a moment, then shook her head and, very quietly, almost too quietly for him to hear, said, “The Resort.”
He looked at her. “The Resort. As in…The Resort? The private club out on Flamingo Cay?”
“In my own defense, I didn’t pick it. My father did.”
“Your father? I have to meet this guy.”
“No. You don’t.”
She’d said it so emphatically, he had to laugh. “You’re only making me more curious, you know.”
She sighed. “He knew I needed a break. He probably had no idea about the resort’s…reputation. Neither did I, until I got here. The brochure looked totally tame.”
The Resort sat just off the south shore of St. Thomas on its own tiny spit of land. It was one of those private, all-inclusive clubs, like they had in Jamaica or Mexico, where certain rules of decorum were a bit more…relaxed. In this case, extremely relaxed, at least if the local island ads he’d spied in the morning paper were anything to go by.
He glanced at her and decided he didn’t want to risk losing his dinner companion. So he let the titillating subject of Flamingo Cay drop. For now, anyway. “Do you like seafood?”
“What?”
“Seafood? Stuff caught under water and cooked up for people to eat.”
She shot him a long-suffering look, which for some reason made him grin all the wider. “Yes, as it happens, I do. As long as someone else does the catching.” She wrinkled her nose. “And, for that matter, the cooking.”
“Fine, then we’ll go and ditch the Scooter of Death and head to a little place I heard about back closer to Charlotte Amalie.” He was already heading down the coast road as he spoke.
“Why do I get the feeling that I lost complete control the moment I got into this Jeep?”
Sean laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe the same reason that I feel like I lost all control the moment I swerved around that bend in the road…and found you.”
3
LAUREL LET THE WARM, early evening wind snatch and tug at her ponytail…and tried not to think too much about what she’d just agreed to do. A woman alone on an exotic island had no business standing on the side of the road talking to—okay, flirting with—a strange man…much less getting into his vehicle and riding off with him!
He’s a deputy marshal, for God’s sake, she reminded herself. He was hardly going to attack her. Yeah, but he’s still a man. And she knew quite well just how capable they were of causing a great deal of trouble, no matter their job description.
She shook that train of thought from her head. She’d given Alan far too much of her precious time back at home. She’d be damned if she’d let him ruin any part of her precious break. Break. She squelched the urge to laugh. So far she’d been on the island a grand total of twenty-four hours and this was the first time she’d felt remotely relaxed.
She’d wandered down to the pool just after checking in, but the sight of all that young, fit, taut and mostly naked skin—and dear Lord but there had been a never-ending sea of it—had dampened her enthusiasm for revealing her pasty-white, bench-sitting, thirty-two-year-old body. She’d spent her first evening in her room, sitting on her balcony with a glass of chilled wine, trying to pay more attention to the setting sun than to the somewhat startling goings-on in the club below. She didn’t consider herself a prude by any means but, for heaven’s sake, the nightclub in the center of the resort resembled something more of a Greek orgy than the open-air dance floor the brochure had purported it to be.
But not to be daunted, this morning she’d gamely pulled on her newly purchased vacation clothes and taken the water taxi over to the mainland, deciding to rent a scooter to see some of the island. And we all know how well that went, she thought wryly. From the engine conking out when she was miles from anywhere, to leaving the tags on her shirt, one would think she needed a keeper.
She skimmed a glance sideways, then hid the private little smile. Okay, so things were looking up. But she wasn’t sure, despite the badge and his claim to being a workaholic, that having Sean Gannon as her keeper was going to prevent her from getting into any more trouble. In fact, he made her think about all kinds of trouble she could get into. If she let herself go there. Which, of course, she would not.
It was just a nice dinner. And that alone was a heck of a lot better than the evening she’d envisioned just an hour earlier. Which had basically involved making it back to the resort, on her knees if necessary, showering off the road dust and sweat, then collapsing facedown on her bed. With maybe a room service meal later on, if she revived herself in time.
Dinner with the deputy was definitely a step up. Not that she planned on sharing that particular sentiment with him.
He wasn’t the kind of man one encouraged. He was quite bold enough as it was, without any provocation from her. Though for some reason she couldn’t quite name, he’d managed to provoke her a deal more than most men. It’s only dinner, she reminded herself yet again, firmly shutting out images of what she could be doing back on Flamingo Cay with a man like Sean Gannon. Suddenly the club’s atmosphere seemed a lot less sleazy…and a lot more sensual.
Not that she’d ever encourage that kind of lascivious behavior. Because, after all, she was a judge. And a Patrick. If her father knew where he’d sent her, he’d surely be horrified. At least she hoped he would be. So dinner it was. And nothing more would come of it, although just the realization that something more might made her body zing.
It had been a long time since she’d had zing. A really long time.
Sean turned at the sign indicating The Resort’s water ferry dock and Laurel shut out any and all trailing thoughts about Sean and Flamingo Cay…and zing.
“Everything okay?” Sean asked. “That was quite a sigh,” he added when she looked at him questioningly.
“Oh,” she replied. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t the company. Promise.”
He still looked concerned. “Just how far did you have to push that thing anyway?”
“Not all that far.” It had felt like a million miles. On the surface of the
