Her guests were poking their noses out of their rooms, heading into the main room for coffee and rolls, talking to each other about the storm. With the sun out and the breeze a soft whisper, fragrant with flowers and salt air, you could almost imagine the tropical storm had never hit. Except for the torn-up palm trees and the mess that had been left on the white-sand beach. She’d have to go out later and patrol for any sea animals tossed onto the sand—hopefully there weren’t any. Just piles of kelp.

  Stepping onto the porch, Karen glanced around. She needed to figure out what needed to be done first, but it seemed like everything was just overwhelming. There were times she just wanted to give up—but how could she do that when this hotel had meant so much to her folks? Dad had wanted to leave her a legacy, and he had.

  But she wasn’t sure she could keep it going. But how could she leave? Every day she spent here had her falling in love a little more with the island—with the slower paced life and the sun and the surf. She even loved the parade of guests that came through. But maybe she wasn’t cut out for this kind of life.

  The tears started again. She sniffed them back and straightened her shoulders. She had work to do. Moping around wasn’t going to get anything done. Hearing someone call her name, she followed the sound back to the shed behind the outdoor bar.

  Mike stood with his back to her, his hands smudged with dark grease. He wiped his hands on a rag and glanced at. He looked away and back, and his frown deepened. “Have you been crying?”

  She sniffed. “Allergies.”

  He shook his head but turned back to the generator. “You’re right. You need some parts. But I might be able to get this hunk of junk working. Is there an auto supply store or a garage on the island?”

  Karen leaned on the door frame. “Now you’ve got to be kidding. This is a resort—meaning we’re all about pleasure and leisure. Anything else has to be shipped in.”

  Turning, he stared at her. “Okay, what about a boat yard. You have to at least have that.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, we’ve got a small place a couple of miles from here.” She stared at him, tilted her head to the side. “I thought you were some kind of business guy?”

  With a grin he turned to her. “Does that mean I can’t fix things? Look, I get what you’re trying to do here. You’ve got a great location—really good potential. My brother and I started out about the same. Lots of ambition and plans, and then we worked our tails off.” Mike glanced at the generator. “And, yeah, I’ve spent more time in corporate board rooms than I have repairing junk like this, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have to rebuild my own first car from the ground up. Besides, the sooner I get your place up and running, the sooner I can get hold of someone at my firm and get my life back.”

  She pushed off the door frame. “Meaning you can get back to first class room service? Fine. Works for me. Before you walk down to the boat yard, you can help me finish the cleanup outside.”

  Turning, she headed for the gardening shed on the opposite side of the hotel. Behind her she heard a weak, “Walk?” Mike added a few more colorful swearwords. With a smile, she turned and called out, “Oh, I left you some better shorts and a top in the kitchen.”

  Chapter Five

  She spent the morning cleaning. Everything. She couldn’t afford a maid, so she did the rooms herself, changing sheets, getting the laundry in, putting up fresh towels. She left fruit and fresh flowers in each room. It was a good thing she only had four rooms occupied, but the truth was if she had the hotel filled, she’d be able to pay for help. Trouble was, she was caught between a skinny chicken and a not so fresh egg—she needed paying guests to be able to afford the advertizing to get more guests coming so she could hire staff and make this a first-class hotel again. She also needed these damn storms to lighten up for a time.

  Trudging to the laundry room with her arms full of dirty linen, Karen let out a long breath and decided that what she needed most was lunch. She’d only had coffee this morning. Guests would be on their own for lunch today, but she might be able to manage a meal for them this evening. Anything to make them love their stay—because no one would be leaving for a couple of weeks unless they wanted to pay for the cost of a chartered flight back to Fiji.

  Heading down the hall to the kitchen she smelled something spicy and heard bubbling. Her stomach rumbled.

  Mike glanced up from the stove and smiled. “Seems I’m not the only one starving.”

  He’d put on the shorts and shirt she’d left for him. His hair was wet as if he’d just showered. He was also barefoot—and had sinfully beautiful feet. Long and narrow with high arches, and those tan legs of his. Where did a business guy like him get off with a tan all over?

  She leaned one hip against the counter. “This cooking thing of yours is getting to be a habit.”

  He smiled at her. “You had a chicken in the fridge, so I made parmesan chicken. Any way to get some ice in here to keep the rest of it from spoiling?”

  Turning, she put some plates on the table. “We might get some ice from Doobie’s—that’s the boat shop.” Heading to the stove, she leaned over the chicken. “Smells great.”

  “Thanks to you, I now have five dishes I know how to make.” Mike nodded to the back door. “Let’s eat outside.”

  She stared at him. “On what? The umbrellas and furniture went into storage as soon as we heard the storm was coming—which reminds me, I’ve got to get it out again.”

  “Already there,” Mike said and pushed out the back door.

  Outside she saw he’d set up one of the palm umbrellas with its metal table and chairs. Eyes narrowing, she stared at him. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  He shrugged. “Best I could do for now. I found a bottle of wine—not yours. It was part of the trash dumped on the beach. The god of the sea giveth as well as taketh away. I think it might be off the ferry, so I’m hoping my luggage will wash ashore.”

  “Don’t hold your breath on that. Dakuwaqa is notoriously fickle.”

  “Daku-who?”

  “Don’t make fun of the guardian of the reef to Fiji. He’s pretty fierce and he can change himself into a shark. He protects all the islands.”

  “Sounds like a nice guy I don’t want to meet.” He dished out the chicken and poured the wine. “I couldn’t find any noodles or potatoes.”

  “I keep a bag of rice in the pantry. Noodles just go limp on you this close to the beach. Potatoes cost a fortune, and forget crackers.” She took a bite and gave a soft moan. “This is amazing. Anyone tell you that you could open a restaurant?”

  “With five dishes? Yes, and no way. I know how much work that is, and that’s more than even I like to take on. I hope you don’t mind, but I cheated. I found the recipe for the chicken in the kitchen. It was labeled ‘Karen’s favorite.’”

  Throat tight, Karen put down her fork and looked away. “Yeah, Mom always was a stickler. Wrote down everything. You should see her journals. Filled to the brim and I’m not talking a few. She said what good was memories if you never shared them.” Looking up, she smiled. “She was a great lady.”

  “You're lucky to have memories. I have…well mostly it’s photographs of stuff I should remember and don’t.”

  Picking up her wine glass, she sipped the pale liquid. “For stuff from the sea, this isn’t bad.”

  He put a hand over hers. “Look, I…I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to lose your parents—both at the same time. That sucks no matter what age you are.”

  She nodded. She knew she should pull away, make some kind of joke, but she couldn’t.

  He was the one to pull away. He glanced at the beach and ocean and shook his head. “You know what the worst part about it was? It was so damn dumb.” She saw the agony in his eyes and heard it in his voice. “I was pissed off at them for years. Why them? Why us? They were good people and we were happy. And it just sucked big time.”

  She gave a small laugh. “I know. And then if you tell anyone you either get too much sympathy or—”

  “Too much curiosity.”

  She nodded. “It was hard that I wasn’t here for them. I felt like I should have been here.”

  “Don’t you have like a hospital and emergency services?”

  Sitting back in her chair, she picked at her chicken. “On the main island. We do have a nurse and midwife here though.”

  “Wow. I’ll keep that in mind if I ever have a baby.” He laughed. “So what did you do before you came over to follow in your parents’ inn-keeping shoes?”

  “I’m an attorney. Or was.”

  “Ah, that explains it. The bulldog attitude, why you’re so damn suspicious of everything.”

  “Excuse me, but just what do you mean by that?” Sitting up, she narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be suspicious of someone showing up with a story and not much else?”

  He held up his hands. “Didn’t mean anything bad by it. Some of my best friends are lawyers. Well, not friends, but they keep my company out of trouble. Mostly. I just meant you came across with a ‘don’t take no crap from no one’ chip on your shoulder.”

  Karen dug into her chicken. “It is the way I was raised. My father was an attorney before he retired to the island. He fell in love with the place.”

  Mike glanced around. The sound of the surf rushing onto the beach and the cry of birds filled the quite. He pulled in a breath and let it out. “Yeah, I can see how it can get under your skin when it’s not trying to kill you. How about we go inside and dig up some dessert?”

  She stood up. “We have more work to do. I’ve been meaning to repaint the main building and I’ve got some furniture I have got to get rid of.”

  Mike groaned. “Of all the islands and all the hotels, I would have to end up with a slave driver for a boss. Okay, lead on. What else can I do for you today, ma’am?”

  Chapter Six

  Four hours later Mike just wanted to crawl into his bed and stay there. For a month. He needed another shower—he stank of his own sweat. Or a swim. The blue waters of the sea had been calling to him all afternoon. But he couldn’t even manage the energy to stumble down to the beach for a quick dip.

  He’d gotten one, “You did a good job. Thanks.” And three smiles from his temporary boss. The smiles almost made up for everything else. The world lit up when Karen Whitaker smiled.

  She was also becoming more interesting the more time he spent with her. She seemed tough—a firecracker. But then he’d catch her in one of her moods, staring up at the sky, or at the hotel, her eyes huge and almost swimming with emotion. For a heartbeat, she’d look close to heartbreak. She was in some kind of trouble—he knew that distant look in her eyes meant worries. Judging by the amount of work to be done around this place—and the lack of staff—he was betting money was one of the troubles. He had yet to find out what other troubles might be piling up on her.

  But he might be one of those troubles headed for her. Or maybe he was going to be the solution for her. Maybe she was over her head and just looking for a way out—a way back to the States.

  He smiled at that idea. He’d love to see her in New York, in some tight, short dress and high heels and…and what? Here he was seeing her as a date for a few hot nights in New York, but when did he ever have more with a girl? Either they got tired of his demanding work schedule and dumped him, or he waved them on their way before he got bored with them. Somehow, Karen wasn’t boring. Not so far at least.

  A soft knock sounded on his door. He gave a groan and Karen’s bright voice came though the thin wood “Want some dinner? I’ve got frozen pizza in the oven.”

  Dragging himself out of bed, he met her at the door. “Where do you find the energy?”

  She grabbed his wrist. “You need food. And coffee. She pulled him to the kitchen, settled him at the table with hot coffee and pizza. The sizzling pepperoni had him sitting up.

  Slipping a plate in front of him, she sat down next to him. “I figure we might as well start eating up the frozen stuff before it thaws.”

  “Dammit—I didn’t get down to that boat shop today.”

  She shrugged. “Tomorrow. I doubt they’ll have what you need.”

  “Ye of so very little faith. What made you a cynic?” he asked. She began picking the pepperoni off her pizza. He stared at her. “And what made you buy a pepperoni pizza when you don’t eat pepperoni? Are you crazy, woman?”

  “No, just a careful shopper. The pizza was on sale, and how can you pass that up? I like the olives better. So tell me more about yourself, Mr. Mike Collins, mover and shaker.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Does your brother cook, too?”

  “No. And he’s not as cute as me, either.” Mike grinned. “Zach’s okay. For a brother. He refused to see us split up, so he dove in to raise me. Our parents had insurance, so that helped.”

  She pulled a face. “Smart of them. My folks—not so smart.”

  “None? Or not enough?”

  She pushed out a breath. “Not near enough.”

  “Ouch. That’s rough. We had enough to keep the house. Zach started working, but wouldn’t let me get even a part-time job. Typical pushy older brother.”

  She grinned. “I wouldn’t know about that. Only child here.”

  “Ah, you got all the goodies, then. Zach did the whole night school route to get his diploma. And worked two full time jobs. Can we say workaholic?”

  “He sounds pretty amazing.”

  “Unlike me?” Mike asked. And he wasn’t sure if he was angling for a compliment or not.

  She smiled and sipped her coffee. “You said you were into football. You still do any sports? Did you come here for the scuba? The surfing?”

  “Nothing that much fun.”

  Finishing her pizza, Karen licked her fingers. Mike tried hard not to gawk. She had great hands—not soft ones, but strong, sturdy hands. Blunt, unpainted nails, no jewelry. No pretentions.

  Sitting up, she said, “How about we go to the beach?”

  “Now?”

  “I know the perfect spot. The sun is still up, it’s supposed to be a full moon tonight, and all the clouds are gone. Come on—don’t be a spoilsport.”

  “Well, when you put it that way.”

  “Meet you on the back porch in ten.”

  Mike figured he could use his shorts for swimming—or just chuck them off. He grabbed a towel. He still needed to get some kind of footwear, but for now bare feet suited him just fine. He met Karen at the back. She’d changed into a colorful, flowered bikini. He could see the straps of it under her pale blue sarong.

  She gave him a sideways glance.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. But she smiled in a way that left him wondering if she’d been checking him out.

  He followed her to the beach. She gave a small gasp, as if she was upset to see the disaster of trees and limbs everywhere. Muttering, she started stacking the debris into a pile. He threw his towel down on the sand and helped, even though his back screamed at him and his bum knee complained. He couldn’t let her do this all on her own.

  When they had the worst of it stacked, she dusted off her hands, and he suggested, “Maybe we’ll light it after we go for a swim?”

  “Sounds good.” She pulled off her sarong. Moonlight and the last golden rays of the sunset spilled over her skin. He’d been thinking of her as wry, small and skinny. Now he found out he’d gotten it wrong. She had curves all right—dangerous ones. High, pert breasts and hips that left his mouth watering. He wanted to put his hands on her. But she turned and with a laugh ran towards the surf.

  “You coming?” she yelled.

  He studied the water. So calm today. Small swells and a low ruffle of foam, and nothing like the high waves that had swept over the ferry the other day. He followed her to the edge of the water, and splashed straight in. When he turned—the warm surf lifting and lowering him, wrapped around his waist—he saw her standing at the edge of the sand. “Come on, chicken. You scared to get wet?”

  “It’s colder than I thought it’d be.” Clutching her arms, she stepped back from the water.

  “Oh, no you don’t. This was your idea. Come on—you’re supposed to be the native guide.”

  She shook her head. “I’m a transplant. A fake native.”

  He surged forward.

  With a giggle, she turned to run. He caught her, and she gave a squeal. Lifting her up, he carried her into the water, her gigging and kicking, but not that hard. Her skin felt like satin. He tightened his hold. “Ready?”

  “No!” she shrieked and grabbed hold of her nose.

  He took her under with him. She came up sputtering and gave a laugh. “God, that’s cold.”

  Putting his arms around her, he pulled her close. “I’ll warm you.” He looked down to see she was staring up at him, her smile frozen, her eyes intense and bright. He’d thought she’d laugh and punch him. Instead, she pressed herself against him, passion and need heating her gaze.

  “Oh, yeah?” she whispered it so low he barely heard her over the soft pound of the surf.

  “Yeah.” He bent down to capture her lips with his. He tangled his fingers into her wet hair and sucked in a breath that was all her. She tasted of salt water—and pizza sauce. She tasted like paradise. He took his time, exploring every part of her mouth until he’d mapped all of it, every touch of her tongue, every inch of her lips, every taste and sensation. He kissed her over and over, until she gave a soft moan.

  She shifted and pushed herself against him, brushing her breasts against his chest, leaving him wanting to rip off that slip of a swimsuit she had on.

  Her skin had heated—her body felt to him like it was on fire. Burning from the inside out, he hoped. He reached around, grabbed her butt and pulled her up against him. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist. He traced the swells of her breasts over her bathing suit top, and pulled back to stare into her eyes. She was panting for air just like he was. Lowering his mouth to hers he kissed her and trailed his lips down the side of her throat and then over to her earlobe to gently nibble it.