Is she pretending she has a moral compass? Or does she think that sounds like the right thing to say?

  “You didn’t have any more family left in California?”

  Bethany doesn’t answer for a long while. “Like I said, it’s complicated. Who did you spend Christmas with?”

  Just like that, she’s done opening up. I count it as a win for now. I know more about her than I did when we walked into this place, and it’s only day one. I knew before I started this ploy that I would have to be patient.

  Even though it chafes to tactically retreat, I do it with a smile. “My younger brothers. They’re in college and they’re a pain in my ass, but I love them.”

  “So what did you do in North Dakota?”

  “Besides freeze my balls off?” I joke, both to lighten the mood and to distract her from the fact I’m not answering that question.

  My dad never told me too much about Bethany. He probably didn’t know a lot about her personally—likely by her design. She’s interesting…but not warm. My dad, on the other hand, would probably have told her all about his three sons, and probably more than once. I doubt she absorbed the information; I know her type. She would have efficiently taken notes about his family and tucked them away in his file, then peeked at them just before each meeting to make sure she appeared engaged and interested. If I mention Bret’s and Bry’s names, that might ring a bell. I haven’t told her my last name yet—not that she’s asked. If it comes up, I’ll lie.

  She smiles. “Besides that. I assume you tended bar?”

  “Some. I did a little of a lot of things.” All oil-related. Becoming a jack of every trade tends to happen when you own your own business. “Since my parents are both gone, I’ve been running their company, but I’m selling it. Not what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “Then what? Will you give up bartending?”

  “I don’t know what’s next. I should get back to North Dakota, but…” Let her think I’m torn and lost and could use a friend.

  “But maybe you’ll wait until spring? To preserve your balls and all,” she teases me.

  “Which will damn near be Memorial Day, but maybe.”

  As she nods, silence falls again.

  Our food is ready, and an employee kindly brings it to us. I grip my hot coffee and study Bethany as she plucks a napkin from the dispenser and lays it across her lap. She’s avoiding my gaze now. She’s nervous.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Her startled stare bounces up to me. Is she surprised that I can read her? “I’m just out of my element. When I lived in California, work kept me really busy. I never had time for friends or…”

  Dates. Boyfriends. Lovers. That’s what she means. I frown. Her claim makes no sense. She has to be lying. A woman as sexy and intriguing as Bethany must have had men crawling after her since puberty.

  “Anyway…” she goes on. “It’s nice to talk to someone. Thanks.”

  I’m going to have to decipher her statement later in detail, figure out how her assertion is even possible. For now, I smile. I’m making progress. And I need to set her at ease. “You can talk to me anytime.”

  She takes a delicate bite of her sandwich, chews, then swallows it down with some water before cocking her head at me. “Why are you being so nice? If you were hitting on me, the answer would be obvious. But you haven’t—thank you for that—but I’m confused.”

  By the fact we’re relative strangers chatting amicably? Or because we’re people who have no particular agenda in mind except getting to know each other? “Why? My motto is that you can never have too many friends. When we first met, that guy hounding you pissed me off. And I guess it’s the protective older brother in me—”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m older than you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s the man in me. Either way, I don’t like bullies. I especially don’t like bullies who prey on women.”

  She smiles softly. “Your parents raised you right.”

  “I like to think so. Speaking of parents, where were yours this holiday?”

  “My mother married not long ago, and I’m giving her and her husband some space.” Bethany looks away and shuts down. “My father and I…”

  Nearly a minute passes before I resign myself to the fact that she doesn’t intend to finish that sentence. “You said it’s complicated?”

  “Very.”

  “Do you know where he is?” I know he’s out on bail, but where is he living until the trial?

  “Not exactly.”

  They aren’t in contact? After being his accomplice for years and scamming their clients with him, now that he’s been implicated and arrested, is she cutting him loose? If so, that’s cold…

  “Did you speak to him at all?”

  “He left me a voice mail.”

  “And?” I want to demand an answer right now, but she’s stiff and definitely uncomfortable. We’ll come back to this line of questioning later, when I’ve gained more of her trust, made inroads. I can’t expect that she’ll spill all her secrets to me after a few hours.

  “And that’s it. How’s your burger?” she asks.

  Another dead end. I fight not to grit my teeth and nod instead. “Good.”

  She sends me a little smile, and I chow down a bit more, give her time to relax. I even volunteer to fetch her more water after she empties her cup.

  When I return, I realize she’s almost done with her sandwich. So am I. My limited time is ticking by too quickly. I need to try to push again, this time from a different angle.

  “So I hear that barfly bugging you yesterday has been hounding you since you started working at the bar. Is he just trying to get you into bed? If so, calling you a fucking bitch isn’t going to win him any brownie points.”

  “He’s a jerk.” She sidesteps my question.

  “Absolutely. I wanted to punch him in the face.” I can say that with all honesty.

  When I glance at her wrist, I’m a little shocked to see bruises forming in the shape of his fingers. I don’t think twice before I reach across the table and take her hand in mine.

  There’s that fucking jolt of awareness again. Across from me, I hear her smother a gasp.

  I swallow down my hot rush of renewed lust. “Beth, this looks horrible. You should have let me get you some ice.”

  With a shrug, she tugs her hand free. “I’ll be fine. I’m getting really tired and I’d like to get home.”

  In other words, I finally crossed the line and shoved her out of her comfort zone. She’s done for the night.

  Fuck.

  “Sure.”

  Silently, she rises and cleans up after herself, then lifts her purse onto her shoulder. She looks nervous again.

  I send her a smile I hope has some charm and motion her to the door. “This way…”

  Bethany heads to the parking lot. I wish she hadn’t thrown a baggy T-shirt over her bikini top. I wish I didn’t notice her smooth, firm legs and her gorgeous ass sway with every step. Weirdly—and not merely because I need information—I wish she’d stop shutting me out.

  In the car, she settles into the passenger’s seat and closes her eyes with a sigh.

  “Tired?”

  She turns to me. “Confused.”

  I start up the car and head east down the road. “Why’s that?”

  “I know Montana propositioned you tonight.”

  She does, huh? “Why would you think that?”

  “She told me she was going to. She asked me what I knew about you.”

  Oh, this is interesting. “So why are you confused?”

  “You turned her down, but you’re driving me home? I don’t get it. She was willing to…”

  “Have sex with me?”

  And Bethany isn’t. That’s her subtext as she nods. We’re both fully aware of that fact, so why bring it up? Because, maybe, she’s thought of me as more than a potential pal? If so, maybe refusing Montana will earn me more of Bethany’s trust.

  “I know. The truth is, I’d rather drive you home,” I say.

  Honestly, I’m not sure why I said no to Montana. She’s fun, easy on the eyes, and even easier to get into bed. What’s not to like? Back in North Dakota, she would have been the blessed cure for a blah Friday night. But now? Maybe I’m too into justice to give a shit about an uncomplicated lay.

  Bethany blinks at me. “Thanks for making the sacrifice. You didn’t have to.”

  “It wasn’t a sacrifice.” Spending time with Bethany is way more important than mindless sex. “I’m here on the island for a reason, and it’s not to get laid.”

  “Wow. That’s a refreshing point of view,” she says, sounding even more surprised. “Can you head down Highway 36?”

  “Sure,” I murmur. “Refreshing, huh? Someone in your life a man-whore?”

  “You could say that.” Under her careful reply, there’s a story. I want to hear it. But her demeanor tells me this is another closed subject—for now.

  She spends the rest of the drive giving me directions until we pull up at a place that’s seemingly in the middle of nowhere. I see a sign that reads Sunshine Coast Bed and Breakfast.

  “You’re staying here?”

  She nods. “This is Keeley’s business.” I must look confused because she rushes to add, “My oldest brother’s wife. She’s got a whole yoga, organic food, and happy times approach to running this place. I think what sells most people on coming here, though, is the killer view and the charm. They haven’t been open long, and she’s already attracting some famous people. My sister and her husband, Noah Weston, were married here, which put it on the map. Since then, one of President Hayes’s best friends, Dax Spencer, and his bride, Holland, honeymooned here. Rumor has it Shealyn West, that TV actress, and her new husband are coming here for their honeymoon, too. Keeley is really excited.”

  “That’s great.” It’s impressive, but I’m more interested in the fact that Bethany is perfectly happy to chat—as long as the subject doesn’t get too personal.

  I make a mental note to broach “safe” topics next time we’re together, lull her into letting her guard down.

  “I’d give you a tour, but…”

  It’s dark, and everyone is probably asleep.

  “I’d love that.” Especially if it means locking her into spending more time with me so I can work her over. “Another time?”

  As I pull up to the front and put the car in park, Bethany immediately opens the door like she can’t wait to escape. Then she pauses. “Thank you for the ride. I’m sure my brother thanks you, too. He already has to be up in two hours, so I have no doubt he appreciates you letting him catch as many Z’s as possible.”

  “Really, it’s no problem. I’ll be happy to do it tomorrow, too.” I hope Ash will lend me his car again.

  “Bethany,” I hear a man call somewhere past my left shoulder.

  I turn my head to find a figure standing on the lanai. He’s tall. Even in silhouette, I can tell he’s well acquainted with the gym. I can’t make out his expression since he’s in shadow, but the warning vibes he’s sending my way are hard to miss.

  She stands. “I’m here, Maxon. I’m sorry if we woke you up.”

  “When I didn’t hear from you somewhere around two, I got worried. I sent a couple of texts…”

  Bethany pulls her phone from her small purse. “Sorry. I didn’t hear them.”

  Maxon steps into the light. Now I can read his expression. He’s wondering what I’ve been doing to his sister that precluded her from hearing her messages ding.

  True, I don’t know this particular guy, but I know how most brothers think. Even if Bethany is new to their family dynamic, brothers—especially older ones, which Maxon is—are protective. He can either be my ally or my roadblock, depending on how I handle him.

  I kill the engine of the car and step out, approaching Bethany’s brother, hand outstretched. “I’m Clint.” Shit. I need a last name. Obviously, I can’t tell her it’s Holmes. So I pull my mother’s maiden name out of my ass. “Clint Dietrich. Beth and I work together. I offered to give her a ride home.”

  The expression I shoot him is designed to assure him that I would never hurt her.

  He shakes my hand, takes my measure. I meet his gaze. He visibly relaxes. “Maxon Reed.”

  “Nice to meet you. Great place.”

  “Thanks.”

  A redhead with a little ponytail and a big, pregnant belly waddles onto the lanai, shielding her eyes from the headlights. “Maxon?”

  “Everything is okay, sunshine.” He turns to kiss her forehead. “Go back to bed. Bethany is home.”

  “Oh, hi.” Then she frowns and looks my way. “You brought her home?”

  “Yes.”

  Bethany cuts in, “Keeley, this is Clint.”

  I give her a friendly wave, less because she’s several feet away and more because I have a suspicion that Maxon doesn’t want me anywhere near his wife when she’s only wearing a slinky bathrobe.

  “Great to meet you,” she says. “Thanks for saving Maxon the trip to town. Want to come in for some coffee?”

  I’d love to talk to these people, see if I can get them to fill in some of the blanks Bethany is refusing to. I don’t think Maxon will be too forthcoming, but I’m hoping cheerful little Keeley will be. But now isn’t the time. Maxon is scowling, and Bethany looks displeased by her sister-in-law’s offer.

  “Thank you, but I’ll take a rain check. I’ll see you tomorrow, Beth. Let me know if you want a ride home then.”

  “Thanks again.” She shuts the car door, then tucks her hair behind her ear, looking a lot more like a schoolgirl than a grown woman who’s scammed people out of their fortunes.

  Again, I can’t escape the fact she looks nervous. Why is that her nearly perpetual state around me?

  Interesting question… One I definitely need to figure out soon.

  Chapter Three

  Two nights later, Bethany sets her tray on the bar with a clatter and leans on the hard surface with a sigh. “Andy said we’d be busy on New Year’s Eve. He wasn’t kidding.”

  “I’d say we’re in hell, but I’d be insulting the underworld,” I quip. “I’ve been mixing drinks so quickly for the last hour and a half, I’m not even sure I’ve taken more than a breath or two.”

  “Same, brother,” Ash chimes in beside me.

  “Terry really isn’t coming?” That possibility distresses me.

  Ash shakes his head. “He went to urgent care this morning. It’s definitely the flu.”

  “Shit,” I groan. “The next few hours are going to be like the seventh circle of hell.”

  Bethany gives me a grudging smile. “My feet already feel like they’ve traversed rings of fire. I don’t know how I’ll last another four hours. At least the tips are good.”

  In part because she’s gotten really proficient at waitressing. But also because she looks absolutely stunning with her pillowy lips painted red and a spaghetti-strapped black dress that ends mid-thigh. It isn’t low-cut or flashy like Montana’s bright red number. But it hugs her perfectly, and I’ve spent half the night staring at her. So have most of the guys in this place, including loud-Hawaiian-shirt dude. He’s back—for the fifth day in a row. His behavior is borderline harassing again, so I’ve been trying my best to watch over Bethany. I can’t deny, though, that I simply like looking at her.

  I also can’t deny that I’d like to do more than look. In fact, the raunchy fantasies saturating my brain are both making me angry and making it tough to concentrate. I need to snap out of my NC-17 daydreams and focus.

  “You doing okay with Mr. Asshole?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “About like every other day. He wants another Bud on draft. The honeymooners a few tables over both want Sex on the Beach shots and a fishbowl of the rum punch to share. Then I need a whiskey neat and a dry vodka martini for the two guys at the front who told me they’re looking to ring in the near year with a meaningless fling and asked if I’d be interested.”

  I hope like fuck she said no.

  My knee-jerk reaction is a kick in the balls. It’s one thing to want her admittedly gorgeous body, but to be jealous?

  Fuck.

  I’d love to tell myself that I’m simply concerned she’ll be distracted by a couple of tourists and stop focusing on the rapport we’re building—the one that should soon start netting me the information I need. But I know better.

  What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve known Bethany for a handful of days. We’ve only talked a few times. I certainly haven’t touched her. And I’m not going to. Sure, the horny guy in me would love to peel off her clothes, lower my body over hers, and press her to my bed before I find some relief deep inside her. Even if I don’t want to want her, she’s attractive and I’m a guy. Lust is easy.

  But this feels uncomfortably like more than mere desire.

  God, I can’t pleasure someone who hurt my family so much. I’m here to give Bethany her just desserts, damn it, not orgasms. But to covet her? No. Absolutely fucking no.

  “They sound like douches. What did you tell them?” I do my best to sound nonchalant. “Interested?”

  Logic tells me she’s not. In fact, she doesn’t seem interested in any man, me included. Because some other guy who apparently couldn’t keep his pants zipped burned her, so she finds me “refreshing?” Maybe. But one thing I do know? Since we met, Bethany hasn’t acted like a duplicitous criminal mastermind. She works hard, does her job, and refuses to fraternize. Then I take her home alone because Ash seems glued to Montana these days. During the drive, I try to coax her to open up to me…but it’s as if the bit she confided the other night scared her from revealing more.

  I’m hoping tonight will be different.

  The last hour leading up to midnight is particularly grueling. Everyone wants a fresh round to toast the new year. Champagne bottles come out of the chiller, bubbly gets poured, glasses get raised. As people start the last ten seconds of the countdown, accompanied by a tape-delayed feed on the TV from Times Square, Bethany drops her tray on the bar, grabs herself a glass of water, and takes a sip.