Chapter One

 

    “What do you mean the motor won’t start?” Aidan Cross glowered at his captain standing in the lower deck galley. “This is a yacht. It has to start.”

    “I’ve been in the engine room for the last half-hour,” Joe said glumly. “It’s the ignition controller system.” He held the recalcitrant part aloft and glared at the box.

    “I noticed we didna troll for a while,” Ian pointed out.

    “I didn’t. I was here in the galley making us sandwiches.” Aidan frowned at Joe. “We carry replacement parts for everything on this yacht. Just put in the spare.”

    Joe held out the part again. “This is the spare. The original crapped out during the night around Mobile. We replaced it while you were sleeping, so you never knew.”

    Aidan had coerced his Princeton roommate to take a Gulf Coast cruise with him. The yacht belonged to Aidan. The roommate was Ian MacVicar, a big Scottish Highlander as famous for his family’s brand of scotch whisky and a string of hugely popular pubs strung across the British Isles as Aidan Cross was for his five-star golf resorts scattered worldwide.

    The two friends had been tarpon fishing since early that morning. Ian had hooked a big one around noon that had kept the two friends busy for almost two hours. After they released the powerful fifty-pounder, Aidan had gone inside to make them club sandwiches, the only thing he could create in a kitchen. His yacht chef—who always worked his cruises—was absent with a family emergency, and Aidan hadn’t wanted to hire a last-minute stranger.

    Though he could make his club sandwiches, it was Ian who fed the two friends, the captain, and the three crewmen nightly. Ian made what he called his pub grub, and all had eaten rather well. Aidan’s pantry and freezer always left port filled, so Ian had plenty to work with.

    “Where are we?” Aidan groused. “The middle of nowhere in the Gulf of Mexico?”

    Joe swallowed. “Not exactly. We made good time last night, and before the engine quit on me, we made it to Cypress Key. We’re only four or five miles offshore. You were so busy with your tarpon, I didn’t tell you we’d reached your destination. I’ll take the part ashore and get it fixed. If there’s no marina repair service or they can’t fix it, I’ll have a new part overnighted.”

    “No, you stay with the ship,” Aidan ordered. “I’ll take it inshore after we eat our sandwiches. Write down what you think the ignition controller problem is. I want to get the correct repair. If I need your help, I’ll call your sat phone.”

    Joe exited the galley to prepare the work order, and Aidan placed their plates of sandwiches on the table in the galley.

    “What destination was Joe talking about?” Ian wanted to know.

    “The site of my new golf resort.” Aidan grinned. “Stole the parcel right out from under BDC.”

    “I imagine Rhett fashed over that.” Ian’s and Aidan’s college buddy, Rhett Buchanan, owned the BDC.

    Aidan’s grin swiftly faded. “I gave a half-partnership in the project back to Rhett as my penance for that mess over the sale of Lily’s property.”

    “Garrett mentioned that mess when we were back in Biloxi. Said Rhett’s attorney tried to steal her property for himself and sell it back to ye.” Garrett Tucker, Rhett, Ian and Aidan had all gone to Princeton together and remained close through the years since.

    Aidan groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was too close for comfort.”

    “Aye, but ye fixed it in time, like ye fix everything else.”

    “You’re right, and I fixed some awesome turkey club sandwiches for us. Now sit down and eat, so I can head to shore with the controller.”

    “I’ll go with ye,” Ian volunteered.

    “Nah, you never get a chance to fish in Scotland. Stay here and catch another big one.”

    “Och! We got fish in the lochs back home.”

    “Ye dinna have any the size of the braw tarpon ye caught today,” Aidan mimicked Ian’s accent and clapped Ian on the back. “Heck of a catch.”

    “Worth my trip across the pond.” The six-foot-five Highlander grinned and bit into his sandwich. “That and seeing our friend Garrett and his new bride, Andi. Did I hear Garrett right the other day? Ye had something to do with Andi’s wicked stepmother and stepsister going to jail?”

    Aidan sighed. “Just tried to fix an old mess. Turns out the forgery of Andi’s father’s will may have been the stepmother’s idea, but the actual forger was Andi’s stepsister. Had my investigator dig up the goods on the two.”

    “Holy saints above.”

    “I still can’t believe Garrett eloped to Vegas,” Aidan grumbled. “I should have been a groomsman for the big party.” He was glad he’d taken his yacht to Biloxi to see for himself how happy their friend was with his new wife.

    “Me too,” Ian agreed. “But I believe the lad might have been in a wee bit of a hurry.”

    Apparently, the happy couple didn’t need the furor or expense of a big wedding. They only needed each other. Aidan felt more envy for Garrett than he cared to admit. He wanted some of that joy for himself.

    “I think you might be right. But I was out of the country and missed the whole thing.” He scowled. “Hell, I helped get them together. Sort of.”

    Ian laughed. “Yeah, Garrett told me how you helped. Had your big bad Irishman do a background check on the lass. You’re lucky Garrett didn’t take a swing at ye for that.”

    “Well, I was worried about him.” Aidan got up and pulled two beers from the refrigerator and handed one to Ian.

    “Ye were worried the lass was after Garrett’s money, ye were.”

    “Of course I was. Don’t you ever worry about women chasing you for your money? Now that you’ve made your millions?”

    “Och, I dinna have to worry about lasses chasing after me. They couldn’t catch me.” The big Scot grinned. “I’m too busy running all over Scotland to have a serious relationship with a lass or anything more than a weekend here or there. Keeping watch on the Ruffians is a full-time job.”

    “I’d forgotten you called your nephews the Ruffians. How many are there again?”

    When Ian grimaced, he looked fearsome. Ian MacVicar, laird of his Scottish clan, stood six foot five—even taller than Aidan’s friend Rhett Buchanan—and looked like a throwback from the Vikings of old with his longish hair and curls the color of Williamsburg bricks. Packaged with a frame that made men wince and women stare, and shoulders wide enough to fill a doorway.

    “Och, between my three older sisters, there’s six nephews plus the demon twins. Enough to oversee most of my pubs.” Ian took a long pull on his beer.

    “I’ve been meaning to go visit those world-famous pubs of yours. Saw an advertisement in an airplane magazine on a flight back from Italy.”

    “Aye, ye’ve been promising for a decade to come to Scotland for a rematch of that whupping I gave ye on the Bunker Hill golf course.” Ian’s big laugh again filled the room.

    Aidan shook his head. “Not again. You beat me once in college, and you’ve never let me forget it.”

    Oddly, Ian sobered. “O’course not. Ye were the best. None could beat ye. That’s why I’ll never let ye forget it. Only Rhett could beat ye, and that was usually when ye were hung over.”

    “I beat him once,” Aidan reminded him.

     Ian grinned. “Ye should have gone on the tour.”

    He sighed and bit into his sandwich. No way would he go there. Not today, not when he could be happy today and enjoy being with his friend. Pain and regret were for the times when he was alone.

    “Life had other plans for me, Ian.”

    “Life and yer da. I understand, lad. Believe me, I do. My own da had other plans too. Insisted I come back from college and go right to running the distillery.”

    “Did you ever want to do something else?”

    “Aye. Build pubs.”

    Aidan laughed.

    “So, I have a good reason for still being single. Ye don’t.”

    “Sure I do. In fact, there was a time, Rhett, Garrett, and I were all on the same page. Marriage was not in our particular stars.”

    Ian frowned. “Ye lads didna want lasses and bairns of yer own?”

    “We did, but the execution of that task seemed impossible. Finding women not after us for our money seemed a herculean feat. Women were always after our money.”

    “I’m finding out what that is all about.”

    Aidan nodded. “Those pubs made you a millionaire.”

    “Many times over,” Ian grumbled. “That’s when the lassies started showing up. Some I knew, but they hadn’t expressed a prior interest until word of my scotch and pub franchises were bandied about.”

    “We just stuck with actresses and models who were up front about their gold digging,” Aidan admitted.

    Joe appeared in the galley with a handwritten work order he set on the table next to Aidan along with the part.

    “Will you lower the runabout?” Aidan asked and popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth.

    “Aye, sir.”

    “There’s a dearth of actresses and models in the Highlands,” Ian continued when Joe disappeared up on deck. “I’ve had to make do.”

    “What? You didn’t pull out your shamrock and make a wish for a babe who didn’t want your money?”

    “Och, ye wanker! Now yer confusing me with your investigator, that big Irish. The guy doesn’t even have a proper accent.”

    “Maybe because he was born in New Jersey.”

    “Whatever. I’m leaving.”

    They heard the runabout hit the water, and Aidan grabbed Ian’s arm as he made for the stairs.

    “No, you’re not leaving. You’re coming back down to the fishing platform, and you’re going to catch fish until I get back. Try for something small enough we can eat, like a grouper or a mahi.”

    “I should go with ye,” Ian groused.

    “Why should both of us get screwed out of the good fishing in these parts? Cypress Key’s a sleepy little tourist town. Nothing exciting every happens there. That’s why I bought the parcel here for my next resort. It will be an immediate hit in these parts.”

    “Which is why I have to go and check out your fabulous parcel.”

    “It won’t be fabulous for at least eighteen months. Right now, it’s an abandoned airstrip bordered by scrubland.”

    Ian stared. “Maybe I will stay and fish.”

    Aidan grinned. “I’ll check out the parcel, while I’m waiting for the part to be fixed, and be back by sunset. Have the fish grilled when I get back.”

    Ian saluted and Aidan hopped aboard the twenty-eight-foot ski boat they used for a runabout and cranked the motor.

 

~~~~~

 

    Casey Stuart’s two o’clock boat tour to the island had turned out far better than she had hoped. The boat held ten bench seats—five on either side of the center aisle—and all had been almost full. Plus, everyone had asked questions and laughed at her jokes. The two-hour tour took her guests into the bay and past the white pelican rookery on a small sandbar, then on to the real Cypress Key—a small island offshore, for which the adjacent mainland town had been named.

    The tour disembarked guests at the key for a walk-on-your-own tour of the island’s history and artifacts—a graveyard of original settlers, foundations from the first eighteenth-century homes, and native birds and wildlife—all laid out in a map Casey handed them when they departed the boat.

    Her guests had returned laughing and in good cheer, which increased the tips she got at the finish of the tour. Groceries, she thought as the last guest stepped off the boat and headed up the dock toward the town marina parking lot.

    Casey rented two slips on the only dock on the north side of the public double boat ramp. The remaining docks and slips all lay south of the ramp. Unfortunately, the two sets of tie-up cleats on the opposite side of her dock belonged to Mayor Bartow. The mayor stored his personal craft in the boat house at his mansion on the Gulf. His only son, PJ, used the rented spot on the other side of Casey’s dock for his speedboat.

    She had heard a boat engine throttle down for the marina no-wake zone as she said goodbye to her tour guests and now dreaded the possibility of PJ’s arrival and subsequent harassment or flirtation, depending on his mood. She refused to look back and felt rather than saw the incoming boat tie up to dock cleats directly behind her tour boat.

    No way would PJ be that brazen when he had cleats of his own on the other side of the same dock, though his penchant for buttheadedness knew no bounds. Anything was possible.

    The space behind hers belonged to her Uncle Frank’s second tour boat, presently in dry dock for hull repairs, and she was too happy with her present tour to chastise the errant boat driver, PJ or whoever had mistakenly used the cleats. Especially since Frank’s second boat would be quarantined until they could pay the exorbitant bill they had not planned for or expected.

    “Just a few barnacles ate into the paint,” Frank had said. “Nothing to worry about.”

    Nothing to worry about. Right. Frank’s favorite saying.

    Turned out the boat had dry rot. Expensive dry rot. Major hull-replacement dry rot.

    With the last guest safely off and headed for the parking lot, Casey turned to face the trespasser.

    She stopped.

    Swallowed hard.

    Swallowed again, but her dry throat persisted.

    The boater was drop-dead gorgeous. Light-brown hair with sun-blond streaks, long enough to thread fingers through along his collar. Add to that chocolate-brown eyes that trapped and held you, like puppy-dog-cuddlable brown one minute and a sensuous you’re-not-safe-with-me hazel-ish the next.

    Like now.

    She fought for the presence of mind to smile at all that hunkiness.

    Then came the fireworks.

    His smile—straight, perfect white teeth—held a hint of mischief and seduction and the power to kick her feet from beneath her as she tiptoed down the gunwale to ostensibly secure the back canopy and check gas-tank levels. Mostly for a reason to get a closer look at this hottie. The sound of a second boat flying into the marina barely registered. Her eyes were still locked on the hottie’s take-me-I’m-yours mouth.

    By the time her brain had caught up with her girly parts, the vast wake from the second boat’s way-too-fast approach had set up a tsunami strong enough to rock her big tour boat and knock those aforementioned metaphorical feet right out from under her. Unsuspecting and still enthralled by the stranger, Casey went blindly over the side.

    At an angle. Not straight and backward.

    Her skull clipped the stern on her way over the side. The beautiful masculine smile she had fixated on disappeared when everything else went black.

 

~~~~~

 

    Life was often funny or full of irony, Aidan thought, as his runabout cut across the Gulf toward the tiny tourist town of Cypress Key. He had more money than ninety-nine percent of the population in America, and yet he wasn’t happy. Worse still, he couldn’t say why he wasn’t happy. He enjoyed brief spates of happiness, usually when he spent time with or helped out his friends. Like today, fishing with Ian. He had high hopes that somewhere along this Gulf Coast tour he might figure out what in this world could finally make him happy.

    Once upon a time, he would have been anxious to get back to his next business venture with Cross Enterprises, building his five-star golf resorts all over the world. The luster had left that rose in recent months. No doubt his uncertainty was tied to two of his closest friends, Rhett and Garrett, getting married. There was a time the three of them thought marriage wasn’t in their particular stars. Sure, Aidan wanted a wife and a family. Eventually. The execution of the act is what seemed impossible. Finding a woman unaffected by his money seemed an impossible task. Women were always after his money.

    Fortune and Fate had other ideas and had smiled on both Rhett and Garrett. Each one had found a woman who loved the man, not the bank account. Yet, it had been hell for his friends getting there. Clinging doubts about women always being after their money had almost submarined both of their relationships. Aidan would never deceive a woman about his identity or pretend he didn’t have money like Garrett had tried.

    No sirree!

    Everything with Aidan was on the up and up. No doubts for him. He would know if his woman really loved him. His instincts were honed razor sharp, and his instincts would shape his story. He refused to go in search of love. Love would just have to find him.

    Now, if he could get his business acumen back on track, he could look forward to his next project and shrug past all this weird angst and uncertainty. He could only hope this cruise and his time off just playing golf and fishing would fill the gaps in his soul and re-ignite the fire for his future projects.

    A slip of land appeared on the horizon, and Aidan spied what looked like a tour boat up ahead as he glided between an offshore island—Cypress Key from the dozens of satellite photos his acquisition team had provided—and a sandbar of roosting pelicans. Amazing albino pelicans he promised himself a closer look at later.

    The tour boat motored toward a marina on the mainland so that was the boat he decided to follow. Shrimp trawlers littered the length of the gulf shoreline in both directions.

    Cruising closer, Aidan could see the marina was small by South Florida standards, and the forty-foot tour boat looked almost full. He let the vessel dock before he eased his runabout into the marina, careful not to set up any wake since the tour patrons were already disembarking onto the short dock. Slowly he angled the boat in and used the pair of dock cleats directly behind the tour boat. He could always move his boat later if someone had paid for the space, but for now, he needed to ask this tour guide for directions. His satellite cell had shown only one boat repair shop, and he hoped there were more, or he could get scalped on repairs.

    The tour guide was female, though he based his judgment on the slight build and the blonde ponytail at the back of her head. As she turned to bid her patrons goodbye and accept proffered tips, her profile halted his exit from the runabout. Definitely female, no makeup, peaches-and-cream complexion, possible freckles—too hard to tell from the side—and emerald-green eyes. Or rather eye. If the right half of her face matched the left, he may be in for a real treat.

    Turn slightly so I can see you, sweetheart.

    Still he didn’t exit his boat. Just watched the blonde guide—clad in basic khaki cargo shorts and a matching khaki shirt with some type of pocket logo—make each tour patron feel as if they had been the only guest on her boat. She greeted each one by name and remembered personal tidbits that her excited guests had shared during their cruise.

    The last guest to leave was a geriatric, white-haired patron clad in a pair of those hot-pink long shorts Aidan’s girlfriends called capris. He knew all about capris since too many of his previous dates accidentally left them behind after visits to his Palm Beach home. All the girls had eventually called and asked to come back and get them. When women were that obvious about seduction, Aidan FedExed their capris back to them.

    When the geriatric guest finally stopped talking and delivered a hug, the female guide seemed way too accommodating. The grandmother tottered down the wooden dock to catch up with her matching capri-wearing, white-haired friend waiting in the parking lot. The blonde tour beauty shoved the bills in a pocket of her shorts without even counting her tips, and she blessedly turned.

    Yep. Lord be praised.

    The right profile matched the left. The effect was stunning.

    The beauty gazed right at him, having no doubt sensed his boat’s arrival. No frown, though her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. If he hadn’t been staring into them, he might not have noticed. Maybe the boat space was open for rental.

    Aidan knew he turned women’s heads without trying, and mostly it annoyed him. Because the aforementioned women then made a subsequent pass at him. He wanted to be the chooser in any hookup. This particular beauty could stare as long as she wanted. Instinct assured him he could still be the chooser here.

    The blonde stole his breath. He wasn’t usually a go-after-blondes guy, except for the brief crush he’d had upon meeting Rhett’s wife Lily, though she wasn’t yet Rhett’s when Aidan made her acquaintance. He would make a second exception for this fresh-faced stunner.

    Her green eyes reminded him of twin emeralds, visible even from here. Eyes that bored into your soul and jostled your heart. Despite the desire tugging at his body, his faithful instinct suddenly cried out, Careful! This woman might end up important to you.

    His little tour guide hopped from a bench to the gunwale with grace and then tiptoed down the narrow ridge to the stern. He couldn’t help but grin at her athleticism and balance. Her eyes never left his, though his may have wandered down to her beautiful tanned legs and back up.

    She stopped dead. Her lips, luscious and a perfect pink, twitched and then stretched into a smile.

    Aidan’s heart threatened mutiny if he didn’t get closer. This woman was pretty before, gorgeous when she smiled.

    How rosy could he make those lips with a properly-delivered kiss?

    Aidan heard the whine of an incoming boat. Ignored it. Assumed the craft would scoot to one of the multitude of slips and docks on the other side of the boat ramp. Plus, he refused to take his eyes off his smiling tour guide just yet.

    Assumed, as the saying went, often made an ass of me.

    The large incoming pleasure craft swooped to a blunt landing on the other side of the dock by throwing the powerful engine into reverse to halt forward motion. The subsequent tsunami-sized wake had no such reverse or brake and pitched his boat and the tour vessel up on a roiling crest and back down, sending his green-eyed girl into a dive.

    Headfirst.

    Over the side.

    Grabbing for balance himself, Aidan couldn’t tell if she had made a clean entry. He scrabbled toward the bow of his boat.

    One second.

    Two.

    Three.

    Four seconds. Too long.

    The water looked to be six or seven feet deep at low tide. The beauty should have surfaced. He kicked off his shoes and went over the side at the spot where she went down. The fool driver of the errant boat hollered, “Hey!” but Aidan kept going.

    The dark marina water made it hard for him to see her. Aidan went by feel more than sight when he searched. Precious seconds elapsed until his hand felt a sneaker. He tugged the beauty’s motionless body from beneath the darker shadow of the tour boat and bolted for the surface.

    Forcing her head above water, he made a straight shot between the boats and under the dock—only possible, Thank God, due to low tide—and gained his footing at the base of the boat ramp. He swung the girl up and into his arms.

    When he reached shallower water, he angled her front first over his arm. She coughed twice and gagged out a couple of mouthfuls of seawater. At the top of the ramp, he stepped up onto the dock, then knelt and laid her down face up, ready for CPR.

    He put an ear to her chest. Grabbing a limp wrist, he searched for a pulse, then heaved a sigh of relief at her slow but steady heart rate. She coughed again. He put his ear to her nose and mouth and detected breathing. Shallow, but air in and air out.

    Come on, baby. Open those beautiful green eyes for me.

    “You there!” The late boat arrival glared down at him.

Aidan ignored the jerk and scooped the unconscious woman into his arms, ready to sprint for the parking lot for a ride or directions to the closest doctor or hospital.

    An arm grabbed Aidan and swung him around. The jerk was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than Aidan’s six foot three. Had the look of a football player going to seed with a belly paunch already committing a false start. Dark-haired and glowering . . . a fight picker who now blocked his path. Aidan had no time for this.

    “Don’t you touch her!” Jerk shouted.

    “I’m taking her to the nearest doctor,” Aidan hollered back at him, “and you’re going to tell me where that is.”

    “You’re not taking her anywhere!”

    “That your boat?” Aidan nodded at the newly arrived sleek speedboat just to clarify.

    “Yes. Now leave her alone!” the pompous jackass commanded.

    “You don’t know how to drive a boat, you knocked her into the water, and you deserve this!” Aidan planted a foot in the ass’s gut and booted him backward into the marina’s dark water.

    Not waiting to see if the guy surfaced, Aidan jogged toward two guys backing a boat trailer down the ramp. “Where’s the closest doctor?” he demanded.

    The driver pointed up the street. “Three blocks straight ahead at the corner of C Street and Third. The Davis Walk-in Clinic. It’s not a hospital, but it’s a good-sized facility. All we got in Cypress Key. You want us to call 9-1-1?”

    “I can get there before the ambulance arrives,” Aidan called back over his shoulder as he hoofed it through the parking lot and out to Third Street.

    The beauty breathed on her own, and her heart beat slow but steady. Yet panic had settled on him all the same. He forced all he had into his strides, seeing the goose egg on his beauty’s forehead growing larger and her beautiful face growing paler. She felt so tiny and helpless in his arms, and the wave of protectiveness that hit him almost caused him to stumble. Thankfully, the observers who stared from the side streets they passed were also helpful and provided last-minute directions when Aidan called out.

    Bursting through the automatic glass doors of the clinic, Aidan was met by a nurse who directed him to an examining room where he laid the beauty down on the only bed.

    “Doctor Davis will be right in,” said Nurse Hansen, according to her nametag, and Aidan threw up his hands in frustration.

    He slid the only chair next to the bed and took the beauty’s hands. Some calluses he noticed; she obviously was used to physical work. Not the kind of woman he usually dated. You’d be hard pressed to find a single callus amongst the lot of them. He stared at her flawless skin with the spray of freckles across her nose. An inexplicable urge to count them as he kissed them hit him hard.

    Her eyelids fluttered, quieted, then cracked open. As before, her incredible green eyes nipped at his heart.

    “Hey there,” he whispered and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

    “Who—?” her voice rasped. She tried to clear her throat.

    “Take it easy. You swallowed some seawater. Your throat must be sore.”

    She frowned and tried again. “Who are you?”

    He smiled, knowing he shouldn’t, but damned if he didn’t want to kiss her even at a time like this.

    “Name’s Aidan. I pulled you out of the drink. You’re at the Davis Clinic.”

    Another frown. Probably trying to remember.

    “Thank you,” she whispered.

    “My pleasure.”

    Her eyes closed and didn’t reopen. He squeezed her hand. Nothing. Aidan scowled. Just as he rose to go drag the doctor back here, a young man in scrubs, mid-thirtyish, strode into the room and stopped to eye Aidan’s wet clothes. This guy’s nametag read John Davis, M.D.

    “What happened?” Davis automatically felt for a pulse.

    “One minute she was balanced on the gunwale of her boat, the next she was in the water. I didn’t see her hit her head, but the goose egg on her forehead says differently. She came to a few minutes ago, then went out again.”

    The doctor’s frown said not good. He gently lifted each eyelid and flashed his light in her eye. The pupils looked dilated, even to Aidan.

    Davis narrowed his eyes. “How did she fall off the boat?” he asked as he held a stethoscope to her heart, then her lungs. Definite accusation in that tone.

    Aidan stiffened. “A wave rocked her tour boat hard and sent her over the side.”

    The doctor’s shoulders relaxed marginally. “How do you know Casey?” His tone swept back to accusatory as he stared at Aidan.

    Protective. Maybe a boyfriend.

    “Casey?” Aidan repeated. His beauty had a name. A cute name.

    “Casey Stuart.”

    “I don’t know her. I saw her go over the side, and I dove in when she didn’t immediately surface.”

    Davis gaped for a few seconds and started to say something when a commotion outside the examining room stopped him.

    “Where is she?” a male voice demanded, loud enough for the whole clinic to hear. “Where’s my niece?”

 

~~~~~

 

    Casey heard the voices. Familiar voices.

    Uncle Frank? Why is he yelling?

    “Let go of her!”

    She fought her way up through the darkness just like when she sank beneath the tour boat and couldn’t move.

    A hand gripped hers. Warm. Secure.

    She remembered a face. A name . . . Aidan.

    Fighting her traitorous eyelids, she worked to force them apart so she could see who was hollering and who held her hand. First, one eyelid opened. Then two. Both promptly slammed shut at the blinding light.

    The large hand engulfing hers gave a gentle squeeze.

    “Come on, baby,” a deep voice said softly.

    She tried again. First the left eye, then the right. Just a crack.

    Beautiful blond-streaked hair, a touch too long. A large strong hand gripped hers. Broad—way broad—shoulders, and then . . .  She recognized those same sneaky, chocolate-brown puppy-dog eyes. The eyes that had made her throat go dry back at the boat. No mischief in them now. Was that worry? Concern?

    His big hand squeezed again. “Glad you’re back.” His voice sounded gentle. Secure like his hand. “How’re you doing?”

    She could wrap that deep voice around her like a cocoon and melt into those concerned, heart-stopping-brown eyes.

    “Okay, I think,” she whispered.

    He leaned over. For a closer look? Or a kiss? Or dear Lord, please let it be a kiss. She hadn’t had one in almost a year, and that one had been utterly forgettable—an ambush by PJ Bartow.

    “I said, Let go of my niece!”

    “Now, Frank, take it easy,” someone grumbled.

    The spell was broken. That voice belonged to her Uncle Frank. She turned her head to find him and winced. Moving her head hurt.

    “That, I don’t like to see.”

    Another voice. She shifted just enough to see Dr. John Davis.

    “Just lie still, Casey.” Davis signaled to someone in the hall, and Davis’s male nurse bustled in with a gurney.

    Davis moved back into her line of vision. “I think you may have a concussion, Casey. We need to do some tests.”

    She groaned, and he quickly added, “They won’t take long.”

    Staying awake was too hard, her eyelids proved too heavy. She squeezed back at the warm hand rubbing soft circles on hers, as if to say I’m sorry, and let the darkness take her.