Drinking down her beer, she snuggled deeper into the couch. The day’s work had left her muscles feeling used, but she was used to hard work. And the beer was a luxury—she usually didn’t drink much. With a happy buzz going on, she reached for another pretzel—and got Mike’s fingers instead. He’d already grabbed the last one. She glanced at him. He smiled at her, his eyes bright. “Last one’s mine. You snooze, you lose.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m not letting that one go.” Grabbed his hand, she snapped the pretzel from his fingers. “See what happens when you challenge the boss?” Mike grabbed for her. She popped the pretzel into her mouth, chewed and held up her empty hands. “All gone.”

  “This means war!” He dug his fingers into her side until he found the ticklish spot right over her ribs. She laughed and tried to grab his hands, but he slipped away and attacked again.

  “Stop please. Okay—I give up!”

  He stopped tickling but didn’t move his hands away. She could hear the movie still playing, the voices muted in the background. The sun was setting, washing the room with a warm golden light. The glow of the TV screen flickered.

  Smiling, she tried to push Mike away. He didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned on his elbows and fingered her hair. “Why do I always want to touch your hair? To touch you?” Lowering his face to hers, he captured her mouth in a deep kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, tasting the yeasty beer on his lips and tongue. He pushed his hand up under her shirt.

  She slid her hands under his shirt, too, and wiggled underneath him. What was it about him that kept her wanting to touch him? This was crazy—nuts. But she wasn’t going to run away again. She wanted him as much as he seemed to want her. Pulling back and breathing hard, he stared down at her.

  She touched a finger to his mouth. “Your room or mine?”

  “How big is your bed?”

  “Big enough.” Scooting out from underneath him, she grabbed his hand and pulled him with her. She left the TV running. In her room, she shut the door. He grabbed her tank top and pulled it off over her head. Stepping close, he licked her skin. “What is it you smell like? Some kind of flower?”

  “More like sweat.” She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him.

  Gripped her hips, he lifting her up and walked her to the bed. He put her down on top of the covers and started to strip. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

  “Top drawer in the nightstand. But they’re a few years old.”

  “Better than nothing.” Pulling open the drawer, he scrambled for a packet. She lay on her side and admired him. God, but he was beautiful—and the scars on his knee just seemed to emphasize the perfection. Long legs, narrow hips, broad shoulders—and that killer smile. He was made to tempt women like her—and she had a feeling he knew it.

  He found a packet and tore it open. Sitting up, she took it from him. “Let me.” She unrolled it, taking her time to smooth the condom over all that hard, velvet length. Then she lay back again. “Well, do you need another invite?”

  He stripped off her clothes, kissing every inch he bared. She lay back, the beer spinning in her head—she shouldn’t be this much of a light weight. She shouldn’t even have invited him into her room, but he had a way of making her forget things like responsibilities and futures. Oh, what the hell—she’d said it. They were both adults. And when was a gorgeous guy like him ever going to cross her path again?

  With her skin bare against the cool sheets, she stared up at him. He settled on his knees between her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist. She was wet already—she could feel the warmth between her legs. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples hardened, just from him staring at her.

  Bending down, he framed her face with his hands and kissed her deeply.

  He sat up again, took himself in on hand and slowly slid inside her. She let her eyes close and her head fell back. “Oh, yeah,” she muttered. “Better than beer and pretzels.”

  He pushed in deeper. For a minute, she burned—it had been a long time and he wasn’t small. She put a hand on his hips and he held still. Opening her eyes, she stared up at him. “You have any idea how big you are.”

  He grinned. “Never had a complaint before.”

  “Well, I’ve got one—you stop and I’m kicking your ass straight to the sharks, Mr. Handyman.”

  “Oh, you have no idea just how handy.” He pulled out and pushed in again, so slow she decided she was going to melt into a puddle of yum. He started to pick up his pace, thrust harder now. She bucked up against him and gave a moan.

  “Oh, no you don’t. Now I’m going to let me call the shots,” he said. He slid out of her. She glared at him, but he slapped her hip. “Over.”

  Turning over, she crawled up onto her knees and elbows. She wiggled her ass at him. “Want it? Think you’re up to it, Mr. Handyman?”

  Holding her hips, he positioning himself on his knees behind her. She could feel his cock nudging her opening. “Happy to nail this down, ma’am.” He pushed in with a hard thrust.

  She gasped and the breath rushed from her. “More,” she gasped. “Harder.”

  He slammed into her again, so hard she would have hit the headboard if he hadn’t have held her still, his fingers digging into her hips. She buried her face in the pillow and gave into a scream. Panting and moaning, her body quivering, she rode the rush that shook through her. For a moment, he held still and she started to slide onto the bed.

  Holding her in place, he leaned over her. “No, I don’t think so honey. I’m not done with you yet.” Reaching around, he flicked her clit with one finger. She shuddered. He reached up and took hold of her breasts, kneading them hard, and catching her nipples between his fingers. He pinched harder and she gave a small yell again.

  “Give it up. Give it all up. Let go.”

  The bastard—he was trying to get to her. She wiggled her hips and started slow circles with them. He gave a grunt. “What’s the matter, handyman?” She ground out the words between gasping breaths. “Can’t take the ride?”

  Grabbing her hips again, he thrust into her—harder and harder. Sweat trickled down between her breasts and along her spine. For an instant, she felt caught by him—trapped. And she loved it. But then she grabbed hold of herself and did that little hip shimmy again.

  He came with a hot burst, sending her over the edge, too.

  She slumped down on the bed and Mike fell down beside her, breathing hard and just as sweat slicked. She lay there, mind empty, but knowing she should get up and kick him out.

  Just a few minutes, she told herself.

  She snuggled into his side and he wrapped an arm around her.

  ***

  She woke to warm sun on her skin, and a heavy arm over her back. What the…? Last night flashed back. Oh, not a dream. She could feel the stickiness between her legs and could smell the sex in the room. The day was heating up—but no way was it going to be as hot as last night.

  Mike stirred, moved his arm away, then got up with a squeak of springs and padded away—probably to the bathroom. When she heard the water running, she grabbed for fresh clothes, shouted, “I’ll make some coffee.” And she scrambled for the kitchen and some kind of safety before she lost her head over him again. She was done with losing her sanity for any guy.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mike watched her hustle from the room. “What happened to we’re both adults?” he called out. She didn’t answer. He wanted to follow her, grab her, and slam his mouth down on hers, kissing her until she melted in his arms again. Instead he grabbed his shorts and jerked them back on.

  What the hell was her problem? She’d been more than ready to jump into bed with him last night, but this morning she was back to being the prickly hotel owner. Did she have some kind of mental issues? Or just issues with him? He dragged on his shirt.

  The sooner he could leave, the better, he told himself. But when he walked into the kitchen and saw her fumbling with the coffee, he shook his head. He came over to take the coffee pot from her hands.

  Jerking away, she glared at him. “I can handle it. I’ve been handling everything for months—on my own!”

  Hands up, he backed up a step. “Are you like a control freak or something?”

  She turned, slammed the coffee pot down and put her palm on the kitchen counter. “Something? Look, buster, I get it that you’re some kind of hot shot in New York. And we both know you’re heading out of here as soon as you can—”

  “So that’s it? You think I should be planning early retirement here? You’re looking for a happy ever after, and pissed that I’m not it?”

  She grabbed the coffee pot and started to fill it with water. “Read up on your fairy tales—they’re usually bloody, as in Cinderella’s step sisters get their feet cut off, and yeah, I’m thinking that’s more my kind of role in this life. Forget the happy—I’m just in it for a good time and you’re the one who keeps trying to make it more.” Coffee pot full, she turned off the water and turned to stare at him. “So let me ask you—what’s your problem? You don’t like being on the other side of love ‘em and leave ‘em. Well, that’s your problem. Now do you want to earn your keep or sleep on the beach?”

  Mouth pressed into a tight line, Mike shook his head. “Why don’t I walk down to that garage you mentioned. I’ve got a list of parts you need.”

  She gave a sharp nod. “Fine. Have them put it on my account. Get what you think you need, and you can take back any parts that won’t fix it.” Turning away, she got busy with the stove.

  Mike watched her for a minute. The urge to grab her and kiss her and get back the woman who’d been in bed with him last night dug under Mike’s skin like a thorn. But, dammit, she had a point. He wasn’t liking being on the other side of the brush off. He also wasn’t going to prove her right by making a big deal of this.

  Heading to the employee locker room, Mike dug into the locker, found a pair of sandals that almost fit and started for the garage. Maybe someone there had a working phone.

  Chapter Twelve

  They didn’t.

  And no one seemed too upset about the phone lines still being out, or about the power being questionable. He found half the parts he needed, got smiles and taught the Fijian version of a warm hello—ni sa bula!—and an offer of fish just caught. He took the fish, signed for the parts and started back to the hotel. He didn’t see Karen so he left the fish on ice and tried his hand repairing the generator.

  He got it coughing and finally got it to catch, but the damn thing made such a racket he shut it off. He’d let Karen know it was running and she could decide if she wanted to try to power the hotel. He had a feeling it would barely get the lights working—and good luck keeping the freezer cold.

  Heading into the kitchen, he found a plate with a cold meat sandwich set out. He ate the sandwich, cooked up the fish, along with rice, and left that for Karen.

  The next few days went by with them just missing each other. He’d find coffee waiting for him on the stove—and sometimes toast or a meal. He figured she was pulling food from the freezer by now since pizza appeared one night for dinner. The weather shifted from sunny and humid, to rain on a couple of days, and Mike stared up at the clouds, worried for the first time. They looked way too much like the clouds he’d seen building up on the day he’d taken the ferry.

  Ten minutes later, he heard a distant wail.

  Karen came tearing out of the hotel, yelling for him, her eyes huge and her long hair flying. “That’s the alarm,” she yelled. “Means another cyclone coming.”

  The wind was already starting to kick up. Mike rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  She grabbed her hair with one hand to try and tame it. “It’s the season. We’ve got to get the hotel ready.”

  Following her, he knew the drill. Shutters closed, boards nailed up over the shutters. He’d used four of the boards for the generator shed, and they came up short.

  Chewing on her lower lip, Karen glanced around.

  Mike pulled in a breath and pushed out the words. “We can use the boards from the huts.”

  “What! No way. My dad put those in.”

  “It’s either them or the main hotel—and you still have two guests to worry about.” She shook her head. Mike stepped closer. “You know I’m right, so will you stop being so damn stubborn and listen for once.”

  She stiffened. “I did listen to a know-it-all guy once—and got nothing but trouble for it.”

  “Karen, you know—”

  “I know, I know. What you’re saying makes sense. I just—”

  “Hate taking apart those damn huts. Okay—what would your dad have done?”

  She shook her head, but she also waved a hand. “Go get the boards and let’s get this done.”

  By the time they had the hotel secure, Mike could barely stand up against the push of the wind. It seemed to come at him from every side, pushing rain into his face, and slapping him with palm fronds and forcing him to duck bits of flying junk.

  Heading inside, Karen locked the door behind him. She also pushed the table in front of it.

  “That bad?” he asked.

  “I need to see to the guests. They’re going to want to be in the center of the hotel. We have a storm room there. Get the lamps and oil out will you?”

  He followed her orders and fifteen minutes later she came back for lamps. She gestured to a door just off the kitchen. “We’ll stay in the pantry. If we’re lucky, this will blow over hard and fast.”

  She left with two lamps.

  Mike wondered if his brother was now about to launch a search party for him—he must have heard about the storms on the news. But Mike had been gone for weeks before this without being in touch with the main office. And he’d warned Zach that he’d be visiting some of the smaller islands, and would probably be out of contact.

  Zach would be thinking that Mike had decided on a few days of playing around, due to the storms, and maybe that’s what he should be doing. Loafing on the beach after this storm blew over with a tall drink and Karen in a bikini sounded damn good. But Mike had to admit he was getting a kick out of getting stuff done at the hotel.

  So much of his work ended up producing intangibles. Marketing campaigns that ran and disappeared. Image promotions that were good for thirty days. That was one of the reasons—once Zach changed the direction for the firm—that Mike had wanted a change as well. There was a lot more that could be done—particularly with Karen’s hotel.

  He’d been studying the place as he’d worked on it. The core structure of the main hotel was good—fresh paint would help the place, but he’d like to see some of those narrow hallways knocked out. New furniture should be brought in—something that fit better with the island setting and which looked less like it had been pulled from a rummage sale. And those huts—he still wanted to burn every one of them to the ground and replace them with local built luxury huts.

  A massage/spa hut in the middle, and expand the number of huts to about ten, placing them around the grounds for maximum privacy as well as beach and pool access. The place also needed a kitchen upgrade, a bar outside that also offered a grilled menu. Karen could double her profits by offering extra services—full meals, fine dining in the evening, lunch menus, and even some entertainment with local performers.

  He had a hundred ideas, but he kept his mouth shut. He was sure Karen would only snap at him if he even suggested an idea. And while he wasn’t the boss around here, that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting attached to the place. It was different to put sweat and labor into a place—he could see why Karen was so caught up in trying to make it work. Not only did it connect her to her folks, but she’d put her own labor into the hotel.

  She came back to the kitchen and waved for him to follow. Picking up the other two kerosene lanterns that he’d lit, he wound his way down a hall and into the pantry.

  Inside the cramped room, he saw shelves of canned food, bags of rice, and a couch. He blinked. Karen picked up a radio and turned it on to an emergency station.

  “Couch, food…hey is that a wine?” He picked up the dusty bottle. “Everything you need.”

  “Yeah, dad wasn’t everything, but he was efficient. My mom told me the delivery men hated trying to get that sleeper sofa in here.” Putting down the radio, she rubbed her arms. “News is this is supposed to be a bad one.”

  He glanced at her and saw the worry in her eyes. Putting down the wine, he picked up a deck of cards. “What do you say to some strip poker?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  A reluctant smile curved her lips. “I don’t think so, buddy. Do you play cribbage?”

  They spent the next few hours on cribbage, gin, poker, and blackjack. Mike decided to invent a few new rules for no-peekie-baseball poker, and Karen came up with a version of blackjack that made most every card wild. Every now and then she’d jump when the wind shook the hotel, or banged something into the place. She left the pantry twice to check on Juilet and Ted.

  “How are they holding up?” Mike asked when she came back the second time.

  “I think Juilet missed her calling as a storm chaser. Poor Ted should have left with the Nessers.” Flopping down on the sofa, she pulled her hair over her shoulder and slumped. “Another storm like this and I’m out of business.”

  “Oh, come on. You must have insurance.”

  She shook her head. “Canceled after my folks died. They’d been cutting back on paying, too, so while I got some cash from it, it wasn’t nearly enough to cover repairs.”

  “So you took out a loan?”

  She glanced at him and sat up. “How did you know?”

  “It’s what I’d do. You need capital to get a place like this up and running—it’s a serious money hog at times. But you’ve got a great location—don’t knock that.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “So what would you do if this were your hotel?”

  He grinned at her and started into his plans—the restaurant, replacing the huts, expansion. “You’ve got the ideal spot for eco-tourism—sustainable hotel, everything recycled and renewable. Solar and wind power—hell, just listen to that wind. You could power the whole island with the right setup. Buy local, use local craftsmen.”