Книга - Stranded At Cupid’s Hideaway

Stranded At Cupid's Hideaway
Connie Lane








“I didn’t want to see you before you got here. I don’t want to see you now!”


“I don’t believe you.”

Laurel threw her hands up in exasperation. “Of course you don’t believe me.” She stalked over to her supply cabinet and rummaged around. “You can’t just walk back into my life and expect things to be the way they were four years ago!”

“Who said I wanted to?” Noah closed the distance between them. “Did I say I wanted to, or did I assume, since your grandmother said you wanted to see me—”

“That I was ready, willing and able to throw myself at you?”

His eyebrows slid up along with his smile. “Aren’t you?”

Of course not.

The words were there, at the tip of Laurel’s tongue. She was certain they were true. So why couldn’t she get them out of her mouth?


Dear Reader,

Heartwarming, emotional, compelling…these are all words that describe Harlequin American Romance. Check out this month’s stellar selection of love stories, which are sure to please.

First, the BRIDES OF THE DESERT ROSE continuity series continues with At the Rancher’s Bidding by Charlotte Maclay. In the delightful story, a princess masquerades as her lady-in-waiting to save herself from an arranged marriage—and ends up falling for a rugged rancher.

Also available this month, bestselling author Judy Christenberry’s Randall Honor resumes her successful BRIDES FOR BROTHERS series about the Randall family of Wyoming. Although they’d shared a night of passion, Victoria Randall wasn’t in the market for a husband…and Dr. Jon Wilson had some serious romancing to do if he was going to get this Randall woman to love and honor him!

Next, when an heiress-in-disguise overhears a handsome executive bet his friend that he could win any woman—including her—she’s determined to teach him a lesson. Don’t miss Catching the Corporate Playboy by Michele Dunaway. And rounding out the month is Stranded at Cupid’s Hideaway, a wonderful reunion romance story from talented author Connie Lane, making her series romance debut.

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin American Romance


Stranded at Cupid’s Hideaway

Connie Lane






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Connie Lane remembers the day she got her first library card, and the first book she took out of the Cleveland Public Library: Horton Hatches the Egg. In her writing career, she’s found the perfect chance to combine her love of reading with her overactive imagination. Writing as Constance Laux, she’s published nine historical romances. As Connie Lane, she writes both category romance and single-title romantic suspense/comedy. She lives in a suburb of Cleveland with her husband, two children and an oversized Airedale named Hoover.




Books by Connie Lane


HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

932—STRANDED AT CUPID’S HIDEAWAY










Contents


Chapter One (#u0baecfd2-0f05-531d-b66b-637c85ccb5d6)

Chapter Two (#ue64c4826-dda5-5187-9eb5-347c65652f3b)

Chapter Three (#u6216bbd7-f7e6-5100-af3f-7f33b3aea8c1)

Chapter Four (#u225ad003-8416-56c3-96da-bc0db3b257ab)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Laurel Burton thought she knew everything there was to know about Cupid’s Hideaway. Though the bed-and-breakfast inn on Lake Erie’s South Bass Island was her grandmother’s brainchild and retirement project, Laurel spent enough time in the rambling old house to know every inch of the place and of the business.

She knew how many bottles of champagne it took to fill the ornate tabletop fountains in each of the inn’s four distinctive—and distinctively named—guest rooms and how many cases of bubble bath were used in the heart-shaped bathtubs and which of the regular guests preferred what kind of scented candles. She knew that the plants in the Almost Paradise room needed to be turned and watered on Mondays and Thursdays, that the martini bar in Smooth Operator had to be restocked at least once a month, that the red velvet drapes in Close to the Heart were a bitch to clean and that there had to be a pair of blue suede shoes under the bed in Love Me Tender. Always.

And even though she didn’t know it for sure, because when it came to profit and loss there was some information Maisie liked to keep to herself, Laurel could guess the kind of killing her grandmother made in the gift shop just off the lobby. There was a big markup on scanty lingerie. Almost as much as there was on massage oil, discreet sex toys and teas that were—or so Maisie swore—guaranteed aphrodisiacs.

Laurel knew Cupid’s Hideaway, all right. Basement to attic. Wraparound front porch to backyard garden. Front to back and side to side.

But she never knew the place was haunted.

At the bottom of the winding stairway that led to the guest rooms, Laurel’s legs froze at the same time her stomach caught fire. Noah Cunningham couldn’t be standing at the main desk chatting with her grandmother. It wasn’t possible. It had to be a ghost.

“Deep breaths, Laurel,” she whispered to herself. “Deep breaths, just like you tell your patients in labor and delivery. In and out. Slowly. Slowly.” She steadied herself and closed her eyes, sure that when she opened them again, the hallucination would be gone.

She was wrong.

Eyes closed. Eyes opened. He was still there.

Live and in living color.

Not the ghost of anything but her own past.

Laurel was carrying an armful of newly laundered, flowery smelling towels and she pressed them close in hopes of keeping her heart from banging its way right out of her ribs. Good thing neither Noah nor Maisie had seen her yet. Noah was leaning against the front desk, and his attention was on Maisie. She was too busy flittering around and giggling at everything Noah said to pay any attention to anything but him.

Laurel had the advantage. At least for the moment. She could see without being seen and she used the opportunity to regroup and collect her thoughts and her wits. It didn’t hurt that she also had a chance to size up the man she had tried not to think about for the last four years.

Noah was still as handsome as hell and twice as tempting as sin. Just like in the old days. Still the same chestnut brown hair, cut closer at the sides and shorter on top than he used to wear it back in the days when it always looked as tousled as it did when he just got out of bed. The cut wouldn’t have worked on most guys, at least not most guys of Noah’s age and professional reputation. It was a little too young, a little too cocky, a little too nonconformist. But then, she supposed that made it a classic case of truth in advertising. The haircut suited Noah’s personality, and if what she’d heard from colleagues was true—things they insisted on telling her even though she insisted she didn’t want to hear them—Noah’s way of wearing his hair had spawned a trend of sorts with the medical students he regularly lectured. Wasn’t that just like Noah? An innovator when it came to everything, even hair.

Laurel ignored the tiny thread of resentment that threatened what was left of her composure. Instead of regretting the past, she concentrated on the present. And on the man standing not twenty feet away. The one she’d walked out on four years before and swore she’d never see again.

His profile was the same, of course. Firm chin. Nose that was a little crooked from his days playing college rugby. He was a shade under six feet tall, and one look was all it took to tell Laurel he was still running a few miles every day. His exquisitely tailored navy cashmere suit made the most of a body that was long and lean. It did great things for his nice, tight behind, too.

Caught off guard both by the thought and by the memories it conjured, Laurel sucked in a sharp breath and warned herself to get a grip. Noah’s rear was none of her business, not anymore, and just so she wouldn’t forget, she forced her gaze up and away from it. His jaw was long enough and square enough that it should have warned people he could be stubborn beyond reason. No one ever guessed. Not until it was too late. Or in Laurel’s case, not until it was way too late.

She knew why, of course. She’d known it all along. It was because of his smile. The one that lit up a room and invited confidences and made everyone he honored with it feel as if Noah was singling them out for special treatment.

For a couple of incredible months, that smile was the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night. It was still the thing she remembered most about him. That, and how much it hurt when she found out his smile wasn’t any more sincere than he was.

Funny how old, healed wounds could slice open so quickly. Laurel blinked back tears and thought about the irony of it all. Judging from the blush in Maisie’s cheeks, she wasn’t troubled by any of the old stories. But then, Noah and Maisie had always gotten along famously. Looked like his smile was still working its magic, and Laurel supposed she should be grateful it was. While Noah and her grandmother were busy acting like old buddies, she could compose herself. She could collect herself. This might be her only chance. Unless…

She glanced to her right, gauging the distance between herself and the ornate front door that led out to the porch and the lawn that sloped down to the lake.

She could make a break for it, and if she was quick and quiet, no one would ever know she’d been there. The coward’s way out? There was no denying that. But then again, maybe it was better to be a coward than it was to be a stammering idiot. And if Noah turned around, if he saw her, if he talked to her, something told her that acting like a stammering idiot would be the least of her problems.

Her mind made up, Laurel had already made a move toward the front of the house when she heard Maisie call out. “There she is! It’s Laurel. Laurel, come here, sweetie, and see who stopped to visit!”

Laurel gritted her teeth. Her breath tight in her throat, her palms damp against the stack of towels, she pasted a half surprised, half I-really-don’t-have-time-to-stop-and-chat smile on her face and crossed the lobby toward the man who four years earlier had broken her heart into a million tiny pieces that still hadn’t found their way back together.

The closer she got, the more Laurel saw that she wasn’t the only one who was surprised by this unexpected encounter. As if it was happening in slow motion, she saw Noah’s mouth drop open and his disbelieving glance go from Maisie to Laurel and back again to Maisie.

“But…” He spluttered. “But you said—”

“I said Laurel was cruising. Yes, I know.” Maisie smiled and nodded, and her perfectly styled, perfectly white curls bobbed along with her. Reaching across the desk, she patted Noah’s hand. “She was cruising. She was—”

“I was out on the lake on my sailboat,” Laurel intervened. There was no use letting Maisie try to explain. Something told her there was no easy explanation. Not for this. “Out on the lake,” she said with a glance over her shoulder toward one of the windows that looked at the water. “For three full hours. You calling that cruising, Grandma?”

Not one to let something as simple as the truth get in her way, Maisie twinkled. “Well,” her grandmother said, “technically…”

“Technically, nothing.” Laurel plunked the pile of towels on the desk. Though she wasn’t sure what was going to fall out of her mouth, she turned to greet Noah. She couldn’t quite force herself to offer her hand just like she couldn’t quite look him in the eye. She started out by staring at his lips, but that didn’t work, either. Too many old memories there. Instead, she concentrated on the splashes of red and yellow on his two-hundred-dollar Italian silk tie.

“Hello, Noah,” she said. “What brings you to Cupid’s Hideaway?”

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Laurel had the feeling she might not like the answer. She darted a look around the lobby. There was no sign that Noah was there with a significant other, and she let go a long, shaky breath. It was bad enough seeing him so unexpectedly. She wasn’t sure how she would have handled it if she knew Noah and some woman were checking in for a little hanky-panky in the land of heart-shaped tubs and massage oils with names like Love Nibbles.

“He’s here to visit, of course.” It was Maisie who answered, Maisie who hurried around to the front of the desk and grabbed Noah’s arm and tugged him toward the parlor where, this time of the evening even when there were no guests, she kept a fire blazing in the fireplace, and tea and cookies on the old rosewood buffet in the corner. “And isn’t it a nice surprise?”

It wasn’t, and Laurel congratulated herself. At least she had the presence of mind not to point that out.

“We’ll get some tea,” Maisie said, “and I’ll call Meg. I know she’s home tonight. She probably wouldn’t mind at all if I asked her to stop by and cook you up a nice dinner.”

“Maisie!”

The name came in unison from both Noah and Laurel, and they looked each other square in the eye for the first time, as if deciding who should go first. Noah won. Of course. Noah always won.

“I’m afraid I don’t have time for dinner,” he said and the familiar voice caused a tingle to sparkle up Laurel’s spine.

She warned herself that tingling was not in her own best interests and, turning, gave her grandmother the kind of look that was known to quell noisy preschool patients and whiny senior citizens who more often than not gave her a hard time about getting their flu shots. “He doesn’t have time for dinner,” she said, and before she could convince herself this was a perfectly ordinary conversation in perfectly normal circumstances, she turned to Noah. “Why don’t you have time for dinner? What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I just need to get the—” Realizing he was explaining to the wrong person, Noah swung his gaze from Laurel to Maisie. “If you could just get it for me,” he said. “I’ll get out of here. I have a meeting in Chicago tomorrow and a flight out of Cleveland tonight.”

“Tonight? Oh.” Maisie’s smile wilted around the edges. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “Oh, dear.” Her eyes wide, she looked to Laurel for help.

With a sigh, Laurel surrendered. “What Maisie means,” she told Noah, “is that it’s seven forty-five. The last ferry for the mainland left forty-five minutes ago.”

Noah pinned Maisie with a look. “Are you telling me—”

Maisie turned to Laurel.

Feeling like an interpreter caught in the middle of two people who weren’t going to speak the same language, even if one of them knew what the other was saying, Laurel rolled her eyes. “What that means is you can’t leave. Not tonight.” Another thought occurred to her and she brightened. “Unless you charter a plane over at the airport and—”

“Oh, I don’t think so, dear.” Maisie’s grin was as sheepish as her smile was mischievous. “Frank at the airfield has a granddaughter, you know. And today’s her birthday. He left for Toledo this morning, so he could celebrate with the family. I hear he’s not coming back until tomorrow.”

“So…” There was only one conclusion, but apparently Noah didn’t quite have the nerve to put it into words. Whatever he was doing there, it was obvious he was getting more than he bargained for.

“So you’ll stay the night!” Maisie’s mind was made up, and she brushed her hands together as if she could get rid of the problem that easily.

But, though Maisie knew Noah, she didn’t know him nearly as well as Laurel did. And Laurel knew he wasn’t about to get railroaded. Getting railroaded wasn’t his style. Especially when getting railroaded meant staying on the island.

It was the second time in as many minutes that Laurel’s memories threatened to overwhelm her. She didn’t give a damn if Maisie noticed. She intended on reading her grandmother the riot act later for cavorting with the enemy. But come hell or high water, there was no way she was going to let Noah know how much seeing him again had thrown her for a loop.

Desperate for some time alone to process everything that was happening, Laurel grabbed the stack of towels and went to the linen room on the far side of the lobby. She pushed the door open and set the towels on an empty shelf, and when she saw that they weren’t stacked just right, she pulled them out and piled them up again. She wasn’t stalling. At least that’s what she told herself. Right after she told herself that the one and only reason her hands were shaking, and her knees were weak, and her heart was flopping around like a Lake Erie walleye was that there was a touch of flu going around the island and she’d probably picked up the bug at the clinic.

The strategy worked. For exactly fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of peace and quiet. Fifteen seconds of deluding herself. Fifteen seconds, and she knew there was only so long she could hide.

Smoothing a hand over her green-and-blue sweater, Laurel forced herself to the front desk. She was just in time to see Maisie shaking her head.

“No room at the hotel over near the marina,” she was telling Noah. “Booked solid. Fishermen. I know that for a fact because I saw them check in this morning when I stopped in to say hello.”

“Then there’s got to be another bed-and-breakfast,” Noah ventured. He must have realized how tacky he sounded because he amended the statement instantly. “Not that this doesn’t look like a terrific place. It does. Maisie, you’ve done wonders with it. But it doesn’t look like there’s anyone else staying here tonight, and I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble just because of me, and—”

“No trouble at all!” Maisie grinned like the Cheshire cat. “And you’re right. There are no other guests. You’ll have your pick of the rooms. Won’t that be nice? Now let’s see. What do you need?” Her snowy eyebrows raised, Maisie looked around as if she expected to find Noah’s luggage. Of course, he didn’t have any. When he walked into Cupid’s Hideaway, he had no intention of staying.

“Toothbrush? Toothpaste? Comb? Mouthwash?” Maisie ticked off the list on her fingers. “We have it all in the gift shop, but of course we wouldn’t expect an old friend to pay.”

“He’s not an old friend,” Laurel said.

“I’m not an old friend,” Noah concluded at the same time.

Maisie laughed, the sound of it brushing softly against the lacy curtains and the pink lightbulbs and the gold cherubs painted on the ceiling, which featured a perfect blue sky studded with fluffy white clouds. “Of course you are,” she said, firmly ignoring Laurel. She turned a smile on Noah that was every bit as persuasive as his own and blushed as pink as the angora sweater she was wearing. “You’re my old friend. I hope you haven’t forgotten that. And I would never ask an old friend to be anything but a guest in my establishment. No more arguments,” she said when Noah opened his mouth to speak. “It’s my fault you missed the ferry. I should have warned you the schedule has changed now that it’s fall and the tourist season is over. The least I can do is offer you a place to stay for the night and a nice, hot breakfast in the morning. Be a sweetie, will you, Laurel? Help Noah pick out what he needs from the gift shop and then get him settled in a room.”

Gift shop? Room?

For a couple minutes, Laurel had been lulled into thinking she had some semblance of control. She’d spoken to Noah, she’d stood within three feet of him and she hadn’t lost her cool or the self-respect it had taken her four long years to rebuild. But now Maisie was asking the impossible. The gift shop? Laurel looked that way. Because it was late and there were no guests, the lights in the shop were off but she knew what was waiting in the darkness beyond the closed door. Edible underwear. Furry handcuffs. See-through nighties. Just thinking about it all made Laurel’s face get hot and her insides turns to mush. The gift shop with anyone else, she could handle. The gift shop with Noah? She curled her fingers into her palms and wrapped her thumbs around them, fighting to regain control.

Walking into Maisie’s gift shop with Noah would be like walking through Yellowstone Park with a Hi Bears! I’ve Got Food sign around her neck.

“Grandma, I—”

Before Laurel could say another word, the front door popped open and a familiar voice echoed through the inn. “Where’s my little honey bunch?”

At the sight of Dr. Sam Ross, Maisie’s cheeks got a little rosier and her twinkle intensified. Doc Ross was a mainstay on the island, a general practitioner who had been treating everything from broken bones to tourists who had partied a little too hardy, for as long as Laurel could remember. He’d retired four years earlier and much to Laurel’s delight, he had accepted her offer to buy his practice. Doc Ross was a big, blunt man with a ruddy complexion and iron-gray hair. In the over-seventy crowd, he was the pick of the litter, the bachelor most sought after by the island’s blue-haired matrons. Much to their dismay, Doc only had eyes for Maisie. There was no doubt that Maisie returned his affections, but no chance, or so she said, that she was looking for anything permanent. Not at this stage of the game. That didn’t stop Doc from trying. Even though it must have been the third or fourth time that week he’d seen her, he carried a dozen red roses and a bottle of champagne, and when he got to the front desk, he presented them to Maisie with a flourish.

“Oh!” Maisie twittered like a schoolgirl. She introduced Noah quickly, right before she took Doc’s arm and headed toward the back of the house and her private rooms.

She called to Noah over her shoulder, “Laurel will take care of you!”

“Oh, no, you’re not getting away that easily.” Laurel went after her grandmother. She untangled her from Doc’s grip and pulled her into a corner. “What’s going on here?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you mean, dear.” Maisie had the nerve to look straight into Laurel’s eyes and smile. She giggled, and the color rose brighter than ever in her cheeks. “If you’re talking about me and Doc, you know the answer. A woman has needs.” She gave Laurel a broad wink and when all Laurel did was stare at her in wonder, her grandmother tapped her on the arm and leaned close. “All women do, sweetie. Maybe it’s time you remembered that.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about him.” Laurel shot a look over to her shoulder at Noah.

“Yes, I know,” Maisie said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, too. Good night, dear.”

Too stunned to move, Laurel watched Maisie and Doc disappear into the long hall past the kitchen. A second later, the door to Maisie’s private rooms closed and the muffled strains of La Bohème started up from Maisie’s CD player and seeped through Cupid’s Hideaway.

Needs?

Laurel was perfectly willing to accept that she had needs. Nobody had to point that out. She’d even indulged them a time or two in the years since she’d returned to the island and opened her practice. It was never anything serious. How could it be? Except for the small population that stayed on the island year round, most of the men she met were tourists. And there was one thing about tourists. They never stayed around.

Kind of like Noah.

The thought vibrated through her, deep, undeniable and bitter. But before she had a chance to remind herself this was not the time and place to think about it, the air warmed around her. She didn’t need to turn around to know Noah had come nearer.

A second later, she felt the brush of his hand against her shoulder.

“You still wear the same perfume,” he said.




Chapter Two


Seeing Laurel again was a lot like getting sucker punched.

That would explain why Noah’s gut was tight. Why his head was buzzing. Why it felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. She wasn’t supposed to be there, and to say he’d been caught by surprise was the understatement of this, or any other, century.

When Maisie called him earlier that morning, she said Laurel was cruising. And when Noah thought of cruising, he thought of big ships, rum drinks and steel drum music. When he thought of cruising, he thought of far, far away.

Which Laurel definitely was not.

Noah had spent a whole lot of time in the last four years telling himself that he didn’t miss Laurel. Not even a little. There were times when he even believed it.

Funny how fast all the positive reinforcement could go out the window. Funnier still that the warmth of Laurel’s skin against his could throw him back in a time warp and make all the old emotions feel new. The sensation was like a drug that lulled him into la-la land at the same time it zipped through his bloodstream and set it on fire. Allowing himself a long, slow smile, he took a step closer. He let his eyes drift shut, and drank in the scent and the warmth of Laurel and the amazing connection he’d thought he’d never be lucky enough to feel again.

It was all a big mistake, of course. Letting her know he remembered her jasmine and roses perfume. Getting close enough to feel the electricity that buzzed in the air between them. Touching her. In light of the games that former lovers played, he had to be making the strategic blunder of all times.

He supposed he could chalk it up to shock. Or an overactive imagination. Or just plain, old stupidity

But, God, it felt good to be so near her again.

“And it still smells wonderful.” Noah didn’t realize he’d spoken until he heard the sound of his own words whisper on the air between them. “Your perfume.”

“Of course I’m still wearing the same perfume.” It wasn’t so much the snap of Laurel’s words that brought Noah out of his daze as it was the fact that she stepped away from him. By the time he opened his eyes, he found himself holding nothing but thin air.

Laurel was already an arm’s length away. Her feet were apart. Her arms were tight against her sides. Her hazel eyes flashed lightning. “I’m still doing a lot of things I used to do,” she said. “But then, I’m not the one who changed.”

“So much for the formalities, huh?” Noah pulled his hand to his side. He supposed he should be grateful that Laurel reminded him of what he should have remembered in the first place. But then, she always was good at setting ground rules. Almost as good as she was at igniting his fantasies, his emotions and his libido.

Good thing she broke the spell before he could act like even more of a bonehead. Good thing she reminded him that history or no history, she was—thank goodness—strictly off-limits. He didn’t come three miles from the Ohio mainland into the middle of Lake Erie to have his ego crushed, and he didn’t need to give her any more of an opportunity to do it. Already he was sure she was marking her mental scoreboard: One to nothing, Laurel Burton.

Noah promised himself he’d even the score. Sometime soon. But if he was going to do that, he’d need to catch her off guard. Waiting for his opportunity and using the time to get himself and his thoughts on solid ground, he rolled back on his heels and took a look around the Cupid’s Hideaway lobby.

“So she finally did it, huh?” Noah asked, his voice as neutral as his look. “Maisie always talked about opening up a place of her own. It’s—”

“Amazing is sort of the all-purpose word I like to use to describe it.” Laurel’s explanation was as quick and efficient as her movements. Chin down, steps quick and sure, she headed to the other side of the big front desk. To get something? Or to put as much distance as possible between herself and Noah? He knew the first scenario was probably true. He chose to believe the second. It played better with his plan.

She scooped a strand of her shoulder-length hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. Her hair was the same color as the old mahogany desk, rich with red undertones and colors that, in the soft light, reminded him of the leather covers on his collection of antique anatomy books. She was wearing it longer than she had in medical school, and Noah watched it swing against her back as she walked. He supposed here on the island, with its slow pace and its minimal demands on her education and her skills, she had more time to mess with her hair. At least more time than she’d had in the old days, when the only time she had was for her work and the only thing she messed with was Noah’s life, his career and his heart.

Not a good thing to think about. At least not with Laurel only a couple feet away. Except for the one time it really mattered, she always had the uncanny habit of reading his mind.

Telling himself it was something he couldn’t afford to forget, Noah glanced around, from the frothy paintings on the ceiling to the chintz-covered furniture and the pink lightbulbs in the fixtures on the wall in back of the desk.

“It is an amazing place, and Maisie is an amazing woman to keep it all going.” Laurel said exactly what he was thinking. No surprise there. It was a knack they’d always shared. “The people who come to visit appreciate it for what it is,” she said. She ruffled through a pile of the day’s mail and sorted each letter into one of five cubbyholes. “Quirky. Different. Fun in its own weird sort of way. They’re nice people.” She stopped and reached for another pile of mail and as she did, she allowed her gaze to travel to Noah. She looked him up and down. “At least most of them are nice.”

Noah could ignore a lot of things. This wasn’t one of them. He was at least willing to act civilized. She, it seemed, was just going to be Laurel. He didn’t need to remind himself what that meant. Laurel could be bull-headed. She could be opinionated. She could be as tough as nails and as hard as rocks and as determined as anyone Noah had ever met.

Another whiff of perfume drifted by and reminded Noah of something else.

She was also the most sensual and passionate woman he’d ever had the misfortune to fall in love with, and she’d never been afraid to show that side. At least not to him. He’d spent plenty of time trying to forget that. He wondered if Laurel had, too.

A slow smile brightened Noah’s expression. She wanted to play hardball? Maybe he’d just found a way to score some points of his own.

He waited until Laurel started sorting a second pile of mail, and when she was paying more attention to the latest sale circular from the local grocery store than she was to him, he flattened his hands against the desk and leaned forward. When she was done, he was ready for her. He was only inches away, and when she looked up and realized it, she caught her breath. Her pupils widened. Her breasts pressed against her sweater. Noah allowed himself one quick look of appreciation before he raised his gaze to hers.

“You used to think I was nice people,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I did.” Laurel skimmed her tongue over her lips. Caught by the warmth of Noah’s look or maybe by the pull of the same memories that threatened to turn him upside down and inside out, she leaned closer. Closer still. Her lips a heartbeat from his, she gave him a one-sided, cynical smile. “What the hell was wrong with me, anyway?”

“Right.” Noah pulled back and gave her a smile that was so stiff and artificial it hurt. Make that Laurel Burton two, Noah Cunningham nothing. He watched her ruffle through four sets of keys.

“What will it be?” she asked. “You’re Maisie’s only guest for the night so I suppose you get your pick of the rooms. They’re right up the stairs.” She pointed. “And they’re all marked. You in the mood for a tropical paradise?” She jingled the key, and when he didn’t reach for it, she held out another. “A flashback to the sixties? A little rock and roll? Or a whole bunch of red velvet and gold paint?”

“I’m in the mood…” Noah thought long and hard about what he was going to say next. Well, maybe not too long or not too hard, but he did think about it. He thought about what Maisie had said earlier about getting the things he needed, things like a toothbrush and a comb. And when he thought about that, he thought about the way Laurel’s cheeks went dusky at the mention of the inn’s gift shop. He was looking for a way to break down her legendary self-control? Maybe he’d just found it.

“I’m in the mood for a toothbrush.” He sang the words in a low, pure baritone and when he did, he knew he hit the mark. Laurel stiffened and that nice, dusky color in her cheeks went a little ashen.

“Toothbrush. Fine. Sure.” Laurel’s fingers fumbled over the keys. She glanced across the lobby toward a room that looked innocuous enough. The door of the room was closed but Noah suspected it had once been an enclosed porch. The door had an oval glass insert that was covered from the inside by a lace curtain. On the outside of the glass in a beautiful flowing hand were written the words Cupid’s Love Shack.

Noah’s eyebrows rose along with his expectations.

“That’s the gift shop,” Laurel said. “Right over there. You’re looking right at it. We never lock it. Go on in. Get the stuff you need.” She headed to the other side of the desk. “I’ll just go upstairs and make sure your room is—”

“Oh, no!” Before she could zoom out of his reach, Noah grabbed her hand. “I think you’d better help me out.”

“Help? You?” Laurel made an effort to sound cocky. It might have worked if her eyes didn’t dart toward the Love Shack. If her pulse wasn’t beating double-time against Noah’s hand. “Since when does the great Dr. Noah Cunningham need help from anybody? I think you can handle it, Doc. There aren’t a whole lot of choices you need to make. Green toothbrush. Blue toothbrush. Crest or Colgate. Small decisions. The kind you should be able to handle all on your own.” She stopped and her eyes widened, as if she’d just remembered something. “No. Wait a minute,” she said. “The way I remember it, you were pretty good at handling even the really big decisions all on your own.”

If she was trying to distract him, it almost worked. Almost. They’d talk about the decisions each of them had made some other time. Now was not the time for soul-searching or introspection or regret.

It was time for a little sweet revenge.

Being as gentle as he was sure to let her know he wasn’t going to change his mind, Noah wrapped one arm around Laurel’s shoulders. “I just wouldn’t feel right going into Maisie’s gift shop and taking things,” he said. “If you’re with me, you can keep a list. You know, help Maisie out when it comes to inventory.”

Laurel took one more look at the closed door of the Love Shack. She drew in a long, shaky breath and gave Noah a sidelong look. “All right,” she said, and he felt her stiffen against him. “If that’s what you want.”

They walked across the lobby, Noah’s arm looped over Laurel’s shoulders. No big deal in the great scheme of things. At least it shouldn’t have been. At least it wouldn’t have been if every step they took didn’t make Noah remember how perfectly they fit together. Laurel’s blue jeans scraped against his cashmere suit. Her hip swayed against his. Her hair spilled over her shoulder and brushed his neck. By the time she swung open the door to the Love Shack and flicked on the lights, Noah’s skin was buzzing as if he’d been loofahed from head to toe.

“Toothbrushes.” Like a sentry on duty, Laurel stood in the doorway, her back to the open door, her spine as rigid as if a broom handle had been shoved up her sweater. She pointed to a display on a glass counter to her left. “Lots of toothbrushes. Pick one. And a comb.” She pointed to another display. “Heck, throw in a bottle of mouthwash if you like.” She smiled a toothy, stiff smile. “Get what you need and let’s get out of here.”

“What’s the hurry?” Humming softly to himself, Noah did a turn around the tiny gift shop. What was the word Laurel had used to describe Cupid’s Hideaway? Amazing? Amazing didn’t begin to describe the Love Shack.

On first glance, the place looked about as normal as every gift shop in every hotel Noah had ever been in. Next to the rack of toothbrushes was one of those spinning wire racks full of postcards, islands scenes mostly, though he saw some that were sepia-toned, Victorian reproductions that showed everything from ladies in lacy underwear to a man and a woman in what must have been—at least for the time—a torrid embrace. Cute. Sentimental. Romantic, he supposed, in a fluffy, old-lady sort of way.

At the far end of the room was a display of scented candles, soaps in packaging that was tied with ribbons and a variety of massage oils in colored glass bottles arrayed on the windowsill.

“Oh,” Noah cooed, picking one up and reading the label. “Love Nibbles.”

He wiggled his eyebrows in as near as he could come to a lecherous look and got no response at all from Laurel. Too bad. There was a time when she would have been as interested in a little love and a little nibbling as he was. A time when they would have laughed over the name and hurried home with a bottle to find out if it was as delicious as its label promised.

Regret wasn’t a pretty feeling to experience or to watch, and before Laurel could suspect how hollow his stomach felt and how empty his arms had been for the four long years they’d been apart, he replaced the bottle and continued with his tour. At the door, he stopped to examine a glass display case.

The case was about five feet long and three feet high, pretty ordinary, really. The kind of display case he’d seen in bakeries and clothing stores and bookstores all over the country. But one look and Noah knew this was no ordinary display. He whistled low under his breath and bent to take a closer look. The case was filled with the most amazing variety of sex toys he’d ever seen.

Noah’s temperature shot up a degree or two. Right along with his fantasies. Most of the stuff looked pretty familiar, but there was one especially extraordinary-looking object that even he, with his medical background, wasn’t exactly sure how to use. It was hot pink and about a foot long, no bigger around than a pencil. One end of it was crowned with a flamboyant pink feather.

Imagining the possibilities, he stared at the object for a moment or two before he glanced at Laurel. “I don’t suppose you—”

“Demonstrate?” She pulled her shoulders back and marched over to the counter. “Isn’t it just like you to ask. That’s the most immature, sexist, inappropriate—”

“I was going to say gift wrap.” His hands against the counter, Noah stood and gave her a smile that was as innocent as it was wide. “I was going to ask if you gift wrap.”

“Oh.” A blush rushed up Laurel’s neck and stained her cheeks, but he had to give her credit, she kept her cool. Crossing her arms over her chest, she stepped back, her weight on one foot. “It’s not working,” she said.

“It’s not?” Noah gave her a wink. “It used to work really good.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Either she was one heck of an efficient worker or she was looking for something to do. On the counter was a stack of flyers advertising an upcoming sale at the Love Shack. Laurel grabbed them and carefully folded one after another. “You’re not going to embarrass me, Noah. So don’t even try. We’re both medical professionals. And we’re both adults. How about you cut the crap and we get down to business.”

Noah grinned. “And that business is…”

“Toothbrushes.”

“Toothbrushes. Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, the picture of compromise. “Can I get a bag or something?” he asked.

Laurel reached under the counter and came up holding a small pink shopping bag. “Here. Your bag.” She opened the bag and waited for him to fill it.

Noah took his time. He walked around the gift shop once more, checking things out. He was tempted to take a look through the antique wardrobe that took up most of one wall. The doors of the wardrobe were open, and inside was a variety of lacy lingerie. Pink. White. Lavender. Black. The colors and frothy fabric begged to be touched.

He didn’t. It was one thing teasing Laurel. It was another teasing himself with the memories the filmy clothing conjured. Laurel in lace. Laurel in satin. Laurel in nothing at all.

Shaking off the thoughts, Noah went to the toothbrush display. He plucked one from the rack and dropped it into the bag. He added a travel-size tube of toothpaste and a tortoiseshell comb, but it wasn’t until he reached for a small bottle of minty mouthwash that he realized there was a display he hadn’t noticed. A rack of condoms.

Noah glanced over his shoulder to where Laurel was waiting, the shopping bag open, her gaze fixed on the far wall.

Yeah, they were both medical professionals.

Yeah, they were both adults.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.

He grabbed a pack of condoms and walked to the counter. It wasn’t until right before he dropped it into the bag that he read the package and saw that the condoms were glow-in-the-dark.

When Laurel looked at him, her eyebrows raised, he shrugged. “What? You never know.”

“Right.” She tapped her foot. “Are you done?”

“No.” Noah grinned and continued to explore. When he came to a display of edible underwear, he couldn’t resist. They were packed in plastic shrink-wrap, each pair different, each hung from a little satin hanger. He considered a bright pink bra, but one look at the expression on Laurel’s face and he knew she was right. It was too sexist. He thought about a purple G-string, bubble gum flavored, according to the packaging, and decided that was too blatant. The only thing that seemed just right was a pair of man’s briefs. Brief briefs. They were bright red and, if the package could be believed, tasted like candy apple.

Prolonging the moment, Noah strolled to where Laurel was waiting. He dangled the package over the counter between them, crooking his finger just enough to make the briefs swing back and forth. He watched Laurel’s gaze dip to the briefs and up again. He watched two spots of color rise in her cheeks. He watched her catch her breath.

“So,” he said, “what’s a nice doctor like you doing in a place like this?”

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.” Laurel plucked the underwear out of his hand and tossed it into the bag. “I’m here because tourist season is over and the clinic isn’t as busy now. That gives me some time for myself. And it gives me some time to stop by once in a while and see if Grandma needs anything. When she’s busy, I try to help out as much as I can. And you’re here because…”

Her question hung on the air between them. When the silence dragged out to one minute, then two, she tossed the shopping bag on the counter.

“I can’t believe you just stopped by, Noah. No one just stops by an island in the middle of a lake in the middle of the fall. What’s going on?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “A guy can’t get nostalgic?”

“A guy? Sure. A guy can get plenty nostalgic. But you’re not just any guy. You don’t do anything unless you’ve thought about it six ways and sideways.”

Noah let his gaze slip from Laurel to the case of sex toys. Her hand was on the counter, and he slid his over hers. “I’ve thought about you six ways and sideways.”

“No. You haven’t.” Laurel shook her head, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “You haven’t thought about me, and I haven’t thought about you. I thought we made that pretty clear the last time we saw each other. We promised—”

“We didn’t exactly promise.” Noah barked out a laugh. “I have a photographic memory, remember? Even if I didn’t, I think I’d remember that promise is way too nice a word to describe the things we said to each other. The way I remember it, you said you’d never waste another minute thinking about me,” he reminded her.

“And you said you were glad,” she countered. She pulled back her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You said you’d already spent enough time worrying about a woman who wasn’t worth worrying about.”

“And you said you didn’t care because you didn’t want me worrying about you, anyway.” Noah skimmed his hand up her arm. “You said you could look after yourself, that you didn’t need anyone to tell you what you wanted out of life.”

“And you said that was just fine, because you weren’t going to tell me, anyway.” Laurel’s voice rose along with the tempo of her words. “You said that was great. It was terrific. It was really, really good. You said I should grow up and figure out what was really important. What was important to you, you said, was your career. And you weren’t going to throw it away on some backwater island where—”

“Where the only thing a doctor ever got to treat was broken bones and beestings. Yeah, I know.” Noah had no intention of getting pulled into an argument. Not the same argument. Not all over again. But if that was the case, why was his voice as loud as Laurel’s? He found himself clutching her arm a little tighter. “You said you were happy to finally get things out in the open.”

“And you said goodbye.”

Their words hung in the air, as bitter and painful as they had been four years earlier. Nothing could change the things they’d said or done. Noah knew that. Nothing could erase the pain or the regret. Nothing could bring back the years and the happiness they might have shared.

Nothing.

Noah loosened his grip on Laurel’s arm. He couldn’t change the past but he could, at least, do something about the present. The moment. The instant. And in that one instant, Laurel’s eyes were as pretty as ever, her lips were as full. Her breasts were as lush, and when she pulled in breath after shaky breath and they strained against her sweater, he knew it was one moment he couldn’t let pass.

As quickly as he loosened his hold, he reached for her again, and leaning over the counter, he brought his mouth down on Laurel’s.




Chapter Three


Big mistake.

As soon as the thought formed in her head, Laurel amended it.

This wasn’t just a big mistake. This was a whopper. A screwup. The mother of all mistakes.

Which explained why she felt like a complete idiot.

Which didn’t explain why she was enjoying Noah’s kiss quite so much.

The thoughts tumbled through her head at the same time a riot of sensations assaulted her body. Lips that were skilled. A taste that was unique. A certain heart-stopping sizzle that bubbled through her bloodstream. And the heat.

Laurel tipped her head back, and when Noah parted her lips with his tongue and deepened the kiss, she heard a moan of pure pleasure rise from deep in her throat. The heat of Noah’s hand seared her skin even through her sweater. His lips scorched hers. An answering heat built inside her. She leaned closer. The hard edge of the glass display case poked her in the ribs, and Laurel cursed her luck. If it wasn’t for the display case, she’d be feeling Noah’s arms around her. If it wasn’t for the display case, she’d be pressing her body against his. If it wasn’t for the display case, she could get closer still and let her hands roam over him, exploring and remembering.

If it wasn’t for the display case, she’d be making an even bigger fool of herself than she already was.

The heat that pounded through her veins froze with the icy realization, and Laurel flattened one hand against Noah’s shoulder and pushed away from him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She stopped just short of screeching the question and struggled to collect herself. With any luck, he was as confused as she was. As overwhelmed. As flustered. Otherwise, he might catch on to the fact that she wasn’t sure if she was asking the question of him or of herself.

“Are you nuts?”

Another question she could very well have aimed at herself. Instead, Laurel ran a hand through her hair and moved back a couple steps. It might have been easier to ignore the thread of desire wound tight inside her if she didn’t find herself with her back against a display of itty-bitty panties and teeny-tiny bra tops and eentsyweentsy wisps of lace that tickled the back of her neck and her imagination in ways it shouldn’t have been tickled. At least not when Noah was in the room. Or at the Hideaway. Or on the island.

Beyond the point of knowing or caring if what she was about to do looked as much like a retreat as it felt, Laurel darted from behind the counter and headed for the door.

“Where are we going?” she heard Noah call from behind her.

On her way past the front desk, Laurel grabbed the first set of room keys she could get her hands on. She glanced at the name etched into the heart-shaped brass key chain. “Almost Paradise,” she told him.

Behind her, she heard Noah’s footsteps against the antique Oriental rug. She felt his arms go around her waist, holding her in place. At the same time, his breath brushed against her neck, soft and warm. “Cool,” he murmured. “I have to admit, I wasn’t really planning for that little kiss to turn into a full-scale seduction, but if you’re willing…”

This time, Laurel did screech. She screeched her annoyance and her frustration. She screeched not because of Noah’s suggestion, but because what he was suggesting sounded good to her. Way too good.

“You are crazy.” Laurel spun and darted out of his reach. She slapped the room keys into Noah’s hand. “If you think I’m going to go up to that room with you and—”

“Isn’t that what you just said?” Noah looked from the key to the stairs that wound to the second floor to Laurel. He gave her a lopsided, devilish smile, the kind that in the old days packed the magic punch that could make her do anything. “Let me get this straight. You kiss a guy—”

“I didn’t kiss you, you kissed me.”

“You kiss a guy and you’re having a really good time and—”

“I wasn’t having a good time.” Laurel set her jaw. “You’re imagining that part of it.”

“You’re having a really good time and then you make a move. Not just any move. You move quickly, conclusively, dare I say…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Enthusiastically toward the lobby.”

“Not enthusiastically,” she insisted. “I was never enthusiastic.”

“You move enthusiastically, a woman with a mission. You can’t wait. You can’t wait to get out of the gift shop. You can’t wait to get across the lobby. You can’t wait to—”

“Oh, I can wait, all right. I can wait until hell freezes over.”

“And you grab a set of room keys and you tell me we’re headed to paradise and you mean…What?” He looked at her, his expression hovering halfway between I dare you to try and talk your way out of this one and Go ahead, make my day.

“What I mean…” Laurel moved back one step. Two steps. It was well past time to put some distance between herself and Noah. Some distance between herself and the memories he had a way of evoking, like a magician conjuring something beautiful and tempting where only moments before there had been nothing but thin air. “I mean it’s time for you to go to your room and stay there.”

“You mean…” Noah gave her the sort of wide-eyed, dramatic, smart-aleck look that told her he was going to milk her discomfort for all it was worth. “You mean…good night?”

“I mean good night. What else would I mean? How could any woman in her right mind mean anything else? I mean good night. I mean goodbye. Because I won’t be here in the morning, and that’s when you’ll be leaving.” She hurried to the other side of the front desk. At least with a few hundred pounds of solid mahogany between herself and Noah, she felt as if she stood a fighting chance. “You’ll find everything you need in your room,” she told him, using the kind of honeyed tones that seemed to suit an innkeeper. “Towels. Soap. Shampoo.” She glanced at the little pink shopping bag he’d managed to bring along with him from the Love Shack. “I see you’ve got everything else covered.”

“I do.” Noah moved toward the desk, and Laurel found herself automatically moving back. Even then, he managed to reach across the sign-in book and the room keys and the pile of mail she hadn’t finished sorting. Gently, he touched her arm. His cocky grin softened and so did his voice. “Take it easy, Laurel,” he said. “It was only a kiss.”

Only a kiss?

Laurel could hardly believe her ears. Only a kiss? That? What happened between them in the Love Shack was only a kiss like Pavarotti was only some Italian guy who liked to sing in the shower.

She shook off the thought. And the memories. And Noah’s hand. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d laid it on the line. It was only a kiss. At least to him. At least she knew where he stood. At least she knew where she stood, and where she stood was on the edge of an abyss. She could take a step forward and free-fall headlong into the void. She knew what waited for her there. For a while she’d feel as if she was floating, as if she was flying, and while it lasted, it would be awesome. Like the feeling she had the first time someone called her doctor and the buzz of Fourth of July fireworks and Christmas morning all rolled into one.

But sooner or later she’d land, and when she did, she knew she’d land hard. There was nothing waiting for her but a rocky pit and nothing as sure to make her forget the good times as the bad times.

She had to choose and she had to do it right here and now. She could take the step and start on a dizzying trip that was sure to end with nothing but heartbreak. Or she could convince herself that Noah was right. It was only a kiss.

“Only a kiss, huh?” Laurel congratulated herself—she sounded nearly as nonchalant about the whole thing as he did. “That wasn’t only a kiss, Noah. That was an aberration. A deviation. An anomaly. A freak of nature, like two-headed snakes and those fish that live deep in the ocean where there’s no light so they have these antenna things…” She wiggled her fingers over her head. “And these sort of little lightbulb thingies that flash so they can see where they’re going and—”

“I get the message!” Noah laughed and held up one hand in surrender. “I’m sorry. Honest. I wouldn’t have kissed you if I knew it was going to make you so nervous.”

“I am not nervous.” Laurel tucked her hands behind her back before he could see that they were shaking. She forced herself to look Noah in the eye. “I don’t get nervous,” she told him. “Not about things as inconsequential as that.”

“Of course not,” he agreed. Looking at her looking at him, the smile faded from his face, and he glanced away.

That was a first. Laurel made a mental note. Noah was never the first to back down from anything. Interested, she tipped her head and watched him shift the shopping bag from one hand to the other. Was it her imagination, or had a little of the swagger gone out of Noah? It must have been a trick of the soft pink lighting. She could have sworn he looked as disconcerted by what had happened in the Love Shack as she was feeling.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” he said. “I don’t want you to think that I was expecting that you—”

“No!” Laurel jumped in to interrupt as quickly as she could. She didn’t need Noah to spell it out for her. She didn’t need him to detail exactly what he’d been expecting. She didn’t want to think about what he’d been expecting. Or what she’d been expecting in return. Or what she’d been expecting him to expect.

“I mean, I don’t want you to think that I thought I could just waltz in here after four years and—”

“Of course not.” Laurel decided it was better to agree with him than it was to risk further discussion. Kissing her former fiancé within minutes of running into him after a long separation and a nasty breakup was not the kind of thing a woman wanted to discuss in detail. At least, not with her former fiancé.

Laurel wasn’t prepared for the stab of regret that followed fast on the thought. She could take the surprise and the anger that was part of the package of seeing Noah again. She could deal with the embarrassment she felt at losing her head and giving in to the potent pleasures of his kiss. But regret…

She pulled in a slow breath and let it out.

Regret used to be her best friend. It was one friend she didn’t want to get chummy with again.

Holding fast to the thought, she raised her chin. “Good night, Dr. Cunningham,” she said.

For a second, it looked like Noah wanted to say something. She watched his lips part and his eyes spark, the way they always did when he was headed into some particularly interesting discussion. He apparently changed his mind. Hanging on to the shopping bag, he headed to the stairs. “Good night, Dr. Burton.”

Laurel didn’t watch him go upstairs. There was something just a little too twisted about enjoying the sight of that nice, tight rear of his.

“Don’t need it. Don’t want it,” Laurel mumbled to herself. Maybe if she said it often enough, one of these days she’d finally convince herself it was true. Before she could forget it, she moved to the front of the desk and hurried through the routine Maisie had taught her to follow each night—check to make sure the fire was out, check to make sure nothing was cooking in the kitchen, check to make sure the doors were locked. When it was all taken care of, Laurel grabbed her car keys off the counter in the kitchen and her jacket from where she’d tossed it over one of the kitchen chairs. She thought about stopping to say good-night to Maisie and Doc Ross and decided against it. Something told her they had other things on their minds.

Things she refused to have on her mind.

Laurel headed out of the kitchen and across the lobby. She’d left her car parked in front of the inn so she decided to go that way and lock the front door behind her. On her way through, she flicked off the overhead chandelier and flicked on the couple small stained-glass lamps Maisie left burning all night. She slipped into her lightweight jacket, turned toward the front door and ran headlong into Noah.

“What are you doing?” Laurel pressed a hand to her heart and jumped back a step. “Are you trying to scare me to death?”

He gave her a small smile of apology. “What I’m trying to do,” he said, “is get into my room.” He jingled his key at her. “Doesn’t work,” he said.

“Doesn’t work?” Laurel plucked the key chain out of Noah’s hand and held it up to the light. “Almost Paradise.” She read the room name on the brass heart. “Are you sure you were at the right room?”

“I can read signs,” he said, a bit of sarcasm creeping into his voice. “And I’m pretty good at unlocking doors. One of life’s basic skills. But I’ve been trying the door for the last five minutes, and it’s not working. I didn’t want to bother you, but…well, I don’t think the place will ever get a five-star rating if you leave your guests sleeping in the hallway.”

He was right. Or at least it looked as if he was right. Laurel gave Noah a quick once-over, as if the assessment would tell her if he was telling the truth. “You’re not trying to trick me, are you?”

“Scout’s honor.” Noah crossed his heart. “Besides, what would I possibly be trying to trick you into? Get you up to the room? Lock you in? Take advantage of you?” He laughed, and Laurel bristled at the sound. Was there something so ludicrous about the thought of him taking advantage of her? Before she could answer the question, Noah gave her a friendly pat on the back. “Lighten up, Laurel,” he said. He leaned a little closer and grinned. “It was only a kiss, remember?”

“Right.” Telling herself not to forget it, Laurel led the way up the stairs. Almost Paradise was the first room on the left, and she stopped outside the door. Maisie had opened the inn eighteen months earlier, and by now, Laurel was used to the place. She was used to the wacky decor and the titillating gift shop, used to her grandmother’s sometimes screwy, sometimes explicitly suggestive gimmicks for adding a little romance to the lives of the people who came to stay there. But of course, Noah wasn’t. While Laurel tried the key, Noah eyed the sign outside the door, the one that looked like it had been carved from a tree branch. The words Almost Paradise were engraved into the wood in undulating letters. They were partly obscured by the fat, satisfied-looking snake wound around the branch. Above the wooden snake on a second branch was a bright red apple.

Noah didn’t comment. It was just as well. If he thought the sign was bizarre…

Laurel set aside the thought and turned the key in the lock. It worked just fine. But the door didn’t open.

“That’s funny,” she said. She wrinkled her nose, thinking through the problem. “This door never sticks. The door in Love Me Tender, now that door always sticks. But this one…” She tried turning the handle again, lifting a little this time, thinking that might help. It didn’t.

“The key works.” She locked the door, then used the key again to show Noah there was no problem there. “But the door…” She put her shoulder to the door and pushed. “It’s stuck.”

“Here. Let me help.”

Before Laurel could decide it was a bad idea for Noah to step up right beside her and lean against the door with her, he was already doing it. “On three,” he said. “One…two…three!”

They pushed together, and the door popped open. Unfortunately, neither Laurel nor Noah was ready for it. They staggered into the room together, and Laurel fought to regain her footing. It would have worked nicely if someone hadn’t left one of the tropical plants that should have been by the window in the middle of the floor.

The force of opening caused the door to slam against the wall, then swing shut behind them. Even though two of the walls in the room were floor-to-ceiling glass blocks, it was past sunset, and they were facing the lake. The room was dark. Laurel saw the plant at the last second. She sidestepped it, pivoted. She would have been fine if she hadn’t tripped over her own feet. She heard herself let out a yelp of surprise, felt herself falling. She braced her arms to stop herself from hitting the floor and waited to feel the impact.

It never happened.

From behind her, she felt Noah’s arms go around her waist. He caught her so fast, he knocked the wind out of her, and while she struggled to catch her breath, he lifted her, held her. And completely lost his balance.

“Hang on,” she heard Noah warn, but by that time, it was too late. Fortunately for her bones, she landed on her back on the bed. Unfortunately for the rest of her, Noah landed on his stomach right on top of her.

Above her, she heard Noah try to catch his breath. She saw him smile. He adjusted his weight against her. “You folks have a great way of making guests feel welcome. Is this what you call room service?”

“This is what I call annoying.” Laurel tried to squirm out from under him. It was a bad plan from the start. Squirming only made her breasts scrape against Noah’s rock-hard chest. Squirming only made her legs tangle with his. Squirming brought her hips in direct contact with his, and direct contact told her more about the situation than she wanted to know. Noah hadn’t changed. He’d always told her that she could arouse him at the drop of a hat. There were no hats dropping at the moment, but that didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

“It’s only a bed,” Laurel told him, the emphasis on only.

“Uh-huh.” Noah settled himself more comfortably, his hands on either side of her. “And it’s only a little physical contact.”

“You bet.” Laurel hoped the breathy voice she heard wasn’t coming out of her. It was hard to be sure when she was feeling so light-headed. Hard to get her bearings when her heart was pounding so violently she was sure the entire island could hear it. “Only a little physical contact,” she agreed. “And it’s going to stop right now.” She braced her hands against Noah’s chest and pushed, and when he sat up, laughing, she thanked her lucky stars and whatever guardian angels watched over doctors with more lust in their hearts than they had brains in their heads.

Laurel tugged her sweater into place and sat up. She knew Cupid’s Hideaway as well as she knew her own house in town and she knew there was a lamp close by. She leaned forward, reaching for the lamp on the bedside table. “Let’s get some lights turned on,” she said, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded too tight and her words sounded a little too rushed and formal. “Then you can get settled for the night.” She turned the switch on the lamp, and nothing happened.

“What the heck?” Laurel tried again. “The bulb’s burned out,” she grumbled. Moving carefully in the dark, she stood. “Maisie keeps more lightbulbs in the bathroom,” she told Noah. “You stay here. I’ll just go…Ouch!” Her shin slammed into a second potted plant, one she swore wasn’t in the middle of the floor the last time she’d been in the room. She rubbed the spot where she knew there would be a bruise by morning. “I’ll get a bulb.”

Carefully, Laurel negotiated her way through the room. Even in daylight, finding a path through Almost Paradise could be a challenge. The room had been designed by Maisie and brought to life by an architect who was skeptical at best. Not a romantic and not possessing Maisie’s imagination or her fondness for fantasy, he didn’t understand why a room needed winding paths covered with carpet that looked like grass and bordered with tropical foliage. He didn’t understand about the waterfall, either, and listening for the gurgle so she could maneuver around it, Laurel headed into the bathroom. She hit the light switch at the same time she heard a splash. Noah barked out a curse.

Laurel spun around just in time to see him ankle-deep in the pond that took up one corner of the room.

She fought to control a smile. “I told you not to move,” she said.

“You told me not to move. You didn’t tell me there was a lake in the middle of the room. Damn!” Noah lifted up one foot and watched water drip off the leg of his expensive trousers.

“You didn’t hurt any of the fish, did you?”

He glanced at the water, then at Laurel, and even though the room was bathed only with the light that seeped from the bathroom, she could see the flush of anger and embarrassment that stained his face. “The fish are fine.” He shook one leg and stepped out of the pond. “I don’t suppose you could toss me a—”

“Towel.” Laurel already had one in her hand. She lobbed it to him before she turned to look for a lightbulb in the vanity below the sink. Retrieving one, she headed into the bedroom.

“What the hell kind of place is this?” She found Noah looking around the room, his expression as incredulous as his pant leg was wet.

Smiling, Laurel got rid of the old lightbulb, screwed in the new one and flicked on the lamp next to the bed. The light brought the room to life, and just as she expected, Noah looked more amazed than ever.

Not only were the walls made out of glass blocks, the ceiling above the bed was a skylight. There were tropical plants everywhere, and as Noah had already discovered, a small pond in the corner, complete with a waterfall and a family of goldfish.

One eyebrow raised, Noah glanced Laurel’s way. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Not me.” She smiled. “Maisie. And Maisie’s never kidding. Not when it comes to Cupid’s Hideaway. This is her version of paradise.”

“More like—” Noah didn’t finish the comparison. He didn’t have to. He untied his wing tips, stepped out of them and poured the water that filled his right shoe into the pond. He peeled off his sock and laid it on the rocks that surrounded the pond.

“I didn’t bring a suitcase, remember?” He undid his belt while he gave Laurel a beseeching look. “I don’t suppose you folks have bathrobes or something for guests to use.”

The request echoed in Laurel’s head. She might have been listening to it if she wasn’t so busy watching Noah. She’d forgotten how sure and capable his hands were. He unfastened his belt with the kind of quick economy of movement he used to do everything else. His fingers were long and tapered, the kind of fingers she’d always thought would be better suited to a surgeon or a musician than they were to a professor. She’d forgotten that, too. Too bad she hadn’t forgotten the little thrill she’d always felt as she watched him get undressed. Or the tiny flickers of desire that always followed when she thought that Noah getting undressed usually meant her getting undressed. And when they were both undressed…

Laurel yanked herself back to reality. Just in time to keep herself from succumbing to too many vivid memories. Not in time to keep Noah from knowing exactly what she was thinking. He’d stopped what he was doing—thank goodness—and he was looking at her, his eyes sparking a suggestion and his lips quirked into a smile that told her the suggestion was suggestive.

The very thought was intriguing. And as bad an idea as Laurel had ever had.

Apparently, Noah felt the same way. At the same time she pulled herself from the brink, he turned his back on her to unzip his pants.

“Bathrobes. Check.” Before she could convince herself there was any merit in doing anything else, Laurel darted into the bathroom. Maisie was especially proud of the Hideaway’s bathrobes. She didn’t scrimp when it came to the Hideaway, and the bathrobes were a perfect example. They were thick and comfortable, and each one had a cute little cupid embroidered over the heart. They were supposed to be for her guests’ use while they were at the inn, but more often than not, her guests purchased them before they left.

The bathrobes were always hung in the same place, on hooks behind the bathroom door. Laurel reached behind the door and grabbed what was hanging there. She knew from the start that what she’d retrieved wasn’t a bathrobe. It wasn’t big or heavy or plush enough. In fact, it was positively tiny. But she was already on her way to the bedroom before she realized exactly what she had in her hands.

Under normal circumstances, Laurel didn’t embarrass easily. But ever since she’d walked into the lobby and found Noah at the front desk, her life had been anything but normal. She looked at what she was carrying, and her cheeks shot through with heat. Her stomach clenched. Her heart pounded once, twice, and she swore it stopped.

“I’m wet and cold,” she heard Noah say. “Hurry up with that bathrobe, will you.” He glanced at her over his shoulder, and before Laurel could tuck it behind her or make up an excuse that sounded even a little adequate, he saw what she was holding. Noah’s mouth dropped open, and he turned. His belt was on the bed next to him, his pants were already unzipped, and a hint of green-and-white checked boxers showed at the fly. He held up his trousers with one hand and pointed at Laurel with the other.

“That’s not—”

Laurel squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. That might have been a whole lot easier if the breath didn’t wedge against the ball of panic in her throat. “No bathrobes,” she told him. “At least not that I can find. This is the only thing here for you to change into.” She held out the bit of green fabric. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one before. I think…” She looked again at the triangular wedge of fabric. It had straps sewn to it, like a thong, and it was embroidered to look like—

“I think,” Laurel said, “it’s a fig leaf.”

She didn’t wait to see how Noah might respond. She didn’t want to know. Her cheeks on fire, her heart in her throat, her knees as wobbly as if she’d run a couple miles, Laurel thrust the fabric fig leaf into Noah’s hands and headed for the door. She bolted into the hallway and slammed the door closed behind her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Laurel caught sight of the wooden snake carved into the sign. Its grinning face and flashing eyes told her it knew exactly what had happened inside the room. Exactly what she was thinking. Exactly how close she’d come to ignoring all the good advice she’d given herself over the past four years.

“What are you looking at?” She glared at the snake right before she pushed away from the door and headed downstairs, far from Almost Paradise and all the temptation that lay just on the other side of the door.




Chapter Four


Noah didn’t need a lot of sleep. Which was a good thing for a guy with a schedule as hectic as his. More hours in the day—and the night—allowed him time to travel, lecturing at all the medical schools that were chomping at the bit to get the hottest internist in the country on their schedules. More hours in the day—and the night—allowed him to catch up on his reading and the lecture notes he was usually preparing and afforded him the opportunity of meeting with his students, his colleagues and reporters from medical journals who were, more and more lately, requesting interviews with the doctor many other doctors considered to be one of the most gifted instructors in the business. More hours in the day—and the night—gave Noah the luxury of having a social life, too. Not that he was a wild man. He knew his limits—physically as well as emotionally. He also knew that even a doctor with a reputation as good as his and a future as bright as any, needed to blow off a little steam now and again.

But even a guy who didn’t need a lot of sleep needed some sleep. And some sleep was exactly what Noah didn’t get in Almost Paradise.

Grumbling, he rolled over onto his stomach and took his pillow with him. He clamped it over his head, doing his best to shut out the morning light that filled the room thanks to the overhead skylight and the glass-block walls. It didn’t work. The pillow didn’t block out the funny, gurgly sound of the waterfall, either, or the now-and-again plop of the fish as they swam around in the little pond across the room. It sure didn’t do a thing to stop the memories that had kept him tossing and turning all night.

Noah knew a losing battle when he saw one and he flipped over and chucked the pillow aside, a kind of overstuffed surrender flag. There was no use trying to sleep, just like there was no use trying to forget everything that had happened since he walked into Cupid’s Hideaway, so he kicked off the blankets. Scraping his hands through his hair, he sat up and looked around.

It wasn’t just a bad dream.

The tropical plants were real. The winding paths were real. The faint background noise was real, too, a recording of roaring lions and squawking birds that must have been on a timer because he hadn’t—thank goodness—heard it during the night.

As if he needed more proof that he was smack-dab in the middle of a situation he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d gotten himself into, Noah saw the fabric fig leaf on the bed beside him. No doubt, the fig leaf was Maisie’s idea of a joke, a little prop never meant to be worn but rather to be used as a kind of trigger designed to titillate the imaginations of the couples who stayed in Almost Paradise. Like the entire Cupid’s Hideaway concept, the fig leaf was clever and bizarre and a little corny. In its own warped way, it was also very funny.

So why hadn’t he and Laurel done any laughing?

Not a question Noah wanted to consider.

Hoping to get rid of the memories as easily as he got rid of the kink in his neck, he stretched and got up, headed to the bathroom. He was done asking himself questions. It was bad enough he’d spent the night second-guessing his handling of the situation and wondering where he got off thinking he could waltz into what was essentially enemy territory and come out without being handed his head, or at least his heart, on a silver platter. It was even worse realizing that four long years of telling himself he’d done the right thing—both for himself and for his career—didn’t amount to a hill of beans. Not when Laurel was stretched out on the bed and he was lying on top of her.

Halfway down a winding path lined with flowering orchids, Noah stopped, nearly upended by the thought. He sucked in a long, slow breath, willing his heartbeat to slow down, telling himself to remember that there was more to any relationship than simply sex.

An easy enough concept to understand. Or at least it should have been. But try as he might, he couldn’t forget that in the months he’d shared with Laurel, simply sex wasn’t so simple. With Laurel, it was more like great sex. Mind-numbing sex. Heart-pounding, better-than-ever-before-or-since sex. He also couldn’t forget that in that one moment, there in the dark in Almost Paradise, when Laurel’s breasts were pressed to his chest and Laurel’s breath was warm against his skin and Laurel’s heart beat to the same manic rhythm as his, he’d wanted her again. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone. Or anything. At anytime. Ever.

The thought was enough to send Noah’s temperature soaring, and that was enough to convince him he was in deep trouble. He knew what he had to do. He was a man of science, one who was the first to sneer at the touchy-feely stuff so many pseudoprofessionals advocated. But this time, he knew he had to make an exception. This time, it was time to listen to his instincts.

And his instincts told him to cut and run.

He knew exactly what he had to do. Get the Golden Apple and get out of there. After all, it was what he’d come to the island for in the first place.

Even after all these years, just thinking about the prestigious award he’d been presented by his medical school graduating class never failed to stir a curious brew of emotions in Noah. Pride, sure. How could he not be proud of the fact that he’d been honored as the most successful, the most competent, the most admired student in his class? It was a mark of distinction he hadn’t been about to turn down. Not even when he found out Laurel had come in second for the award.

But there was something else tangled up with the pride, some emotion that was hard to define but impossible to ignore. Part anger, part disbelief, part baseball-bat-to-the-side-of-the-head surprise. Every time he thought about the fact that when Laurel walked out on him, she had the audacity to take the Golden Apple with her.

Four years removed from the incident and the residual effects still burned through Noah like acid. All the more reason he needed to get away from Cupid’s Hideaway. And get away fast. He’d take the ferry to the mainland. He’d get back to his life as he knew it. It was all he ever wanted.

No. Noah corrected himself. Not precisely true. Today he wanted something else, too—a long talk with the fluffy little old lady who’d played him for a patsy.

Once he was done, he’d get out of there. The sooner he was off the island, the better. It was time to put some distance—and all the water in Lake Erie—between himself and Laurel. Just the way he’d done four years earlier.

Satisfied that he’d reasoned through the problem and come up with a solution guaranteed to preserve his self-respect as well as his self-esteem, Noah stepped behind the screen of living tropical plants that served as a shower curtain. He lathered down with a bar of soap that looked like a miniature pineapple, washed his hair with shampoo that smelled like coconut. Considering all that had happened in the last fourteen hours or so, he had to admit he was pretty pleased with himself.

Which didn’t explain why his mind kept wandering. Or why every time it wandered, it wandered straight to Laurel. Or why, every time it did, he found himself turning down the water temperature.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Noah was downstairs in search of coffee. And answers. What he found instead was an empty lobby. There was no fire dancing in the fireplace as there had been the night before, no tea on the buffet. He heard some off-key singing coming from the kitchen but he knew the voice didn’t belong to Maisie, not unless her tastes included vintage Rolling Stones along with her La Bohème. He headed down the long hallway beside the front desk. The first door past the kitchen had a pink-feathered wreath hanging on it and a dainty needlepointed picture to the left of the door, one of a fleshy cherub with a naughty smile on his face. He knew he’d found what he was looking for.

“Good morning!” Maisie chirped in response to Noah’s knock. He pushed open the door and found her looking as perky as the birds that darted around the patio outside her office. She was dressed in a pantsuit that perfectly matched the last of the summer’s hot pink geraniums growing in pots around the patio door and she was bent over what looked to be a set of blueprints. When Noah walked in, she rolled up the blueprints, tied them with a red velvet ribbon and stashed them in the corner.

Maisie’s smile was as bright as the sun that filtered through the lace curtains. “Sleep well?” she asked.

“Frankly, no.” Noah didn’t need to remind himself that he was fond of Maisie. He always had been. But as much he liked Laurel’s grandmother, he couldn’t afford to be hoodwinked by that sunny smile or the old-lady act. Not again.

He crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with the kind of look that had been known to make even third-year medical students shake in their shoes. “You want to explain what this is all about?”

“This?” Maisie’s eyes went wide, and her hand automatically went protectively to the blueprints. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. A woman has to have her secrets.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.” Noah pushed off from the door and ventured into the room that was, in its own way, as bizarre as Almost Paradise. But instead of plants and tropical bird calls, Maisie’s office was filled with cupids. There were glass cupids on the bookshelves directly across from Noah, silver cupids and porcelain cupids arranged on the windowsills. There was a candle cupid merrily burning and making the room smell like roses, a cupid carved out of wood that apparently doubled as objet d’art and door-stop and, on the table next to the brocade couch, another cupid that looked to be made of solid chocolate and had one wing bitten off.

The cupids shared table space with candles of all shapes and sizes, potpourri, bunches of brightly colored fresh flowers and more lace then Noah had ever seen at one time in one place. There was a thick Oriental rug on the floor and the kind of white-and-gold furniture he had always associated with fussy old ladies and the French bordellos he’d seen only in the movies. The walls were a color that reminded him of shrimp. The woodwork was gold, a color that was repeated in the picture frames, Maisie’s desk accessories and her old-fashioned, ornate telephone.

Refusing to get distracted—again—Noah turned. “What I mean,” he said, “is—”

“Coffee. Yes. Of course.” Like a butterfly on speed, Maisie flittered to the front of her desk and headed through a doorway that apparently led to the kitchen. She was back in a minute carrying a thermal carafe decorated with bright red hearts. She handed the carafe to Noah and disappeared again. This time when she came back it was with a tray that contained a coffee cup that matched the carafe, along with a crystal sugar bowl and cream pitcher and a porcelain plate filled with what looked and smelled like freshly baked blueberry muffins. “One lump or two?” she asked, setting the tray on her desk and taking the carafe from Noah.

“We weren’t discussing coffee.”

“We weren’t, no.” Maisie filled his cup, adding one sugar and no cream, just the way he liked it. “But I was,” she said, handing him the cup. “I’m the inn-keeper, and my guests’ comfort is my utmost concern. Especially when the guest in question is such an old and dear friend. How did you like your little piece of paradise?”

It was on the tip of Noah’s tongue to tell Maisie that one man’s paradise was another man’s perdition. He didn’t, but only because she was so sincere and so darned pink and fluffy, he didn’t have the heart. He swallowed his words along with a sip of coffee.

“I know, I know.” Maisie patted his arm. “It’s a bit much at first, isn’t it? I mean, all that beauty. It’s enough to take your breath away, and I can understand why you’re not thinking clearly. And then there’s the temptation…” She sighed. “Overwhelming.”

“Right.” As soon as Noah set down his cup, Maisie filled it. “It’s a great room, Maisie, but I—”

“That’s a given, isn’t it? Almost Paradise is…well…” Maisie giggled, and the sound reminded Noah of the bubbling water in the pond upstairs. “It’s paradise!” She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “It’s my favorite room here at Cupid’s Hideaway, though I don’t let any of the guests who like the other rooms know that. They each have their own tastes, of course, and who’s to say that one person’s taste is better than another’s? But, you see, when I mentioned beauty and temptation, I wasn’t talking about the room.”

Noah hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he saw the muffins. He had one in his hand, and he stopped and glanced over his shoulder toward Maisie. “Not talking about the room? Then what—”

The answer struck with all the subtlety of a meteor crash landing, and suddenly a muffin didn’t seem like such a good idea. He set the muffin on the plate and brushed his hands together, getting rid of the bits of sugar that had stuck to his fingers. He wished it was as easy to brush off the disturbing images of Laurel that Maisie’s comments had conjured. Laurel’s beauty was enough to take his breath away. And as for the temptation…

Noah braced himself against the memories and reminded himself that Maisie was the last one who needed to catch on to the fact that thinking about Laurel left him feeling as if he’d been plugged in to a two-twenty line. Correction. Maisie was the second last one who needed to know.

Noah was determined to keep to the subject he’d come to discuss in the first place. “Look,” he said, “why you decided to lie to me about Laurel being on the island is your business.”

“Lie?” As if he’d spoken in another language, Maisie peered at Noah, her eyes narrowed. “I’d never do such a thing. I said she was—”

“On a cruise.”

Maisie clicked her tongue. “Not precisely, dear. I said she was cruising. Two entirely different things.” Looking more than ever like the bunny in the battery commercial, Maisie scooted to the other side of her desk, going in her own direction in spite of how Noah tried to keep the conversation on track. “And wasn’t it a nice surprise to see her again?”

Noah set down his coffee cup a little faster than he realized. Coffee splashed over the side and onto the silver tray, and he wiped it up with the napkin that had been left next to the plate of muffins. “It was a surprise, all right.”

“And I do so like surprises!” On the other side of the room, Maisie bustled around, opening cabinets and closing them again. By the time she was finished, she had a linen cloth in one hand and a basket with a handle in the other. She put the cloth into the basket and piled the muffins into it. “And Laurel likes surprises, too.” Smiling, she held out the basket to Noah. “Which is why she’ll be so pleased when you show up at the clinic with breakfast.”

“Oh, no!” Noah stepped away from the basket of muffins, the twinkle in Maisie’s eyes and her ridiculous suggestion. “I’m not here to renew old acquaintances,” he reminded her. “You know that. I told you that when you called yesterday.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost ten, and the way I figure it, there’s got to be a ferry over to the mainland soon. I’m going to be on it.”

“Yes, yes. Of course you are. I can understand that. It’s just that…” Maisie chewed the shocking pink lipstick off her lower lip. “Well, I hoped you’d take these muffins to Laurel. She doesn’t always remember to eat—”

“Laurel’s dietary habits are none of my business.”

“—and she doesn’t always keep sensible hours—”

“Neither are her work habits.”

“—and she did mention that she hoped she’d see you again before you left.”

“She did?” The simple statement caught Noah completely off guard and started a kind of buzzing in his bloodstream. He knew why. It was all the fault of Almost Paradise. He knew that for a fact. If it wasn’t for the wacky room with its heady, earthy scent, its winding paths and the plants that were where plants weren’t supposed to be, he and Laurel never would have ended up tumbling onto the bed together. And Maisie’s announcement wouldn’t have left him feeling so weak-kneed.

But they had tumbled on the bed together, and in those few, electrifying moments Noah wondered if Laurel was just as interested and just as aroused as he was. Looked like he just might have the opportunity to find out.

Noah sucked in a sharp breath, fighting to control the mixture of white-hot heat and frosty-as-ice disbelief that collided inside him like a cold front moving across the Texas panhandle in the dog days of August. The results were the same. A tornado that stirred his blood and turned what had been a well-ordered world on its head.

He took a minute, letting the thought settle and getting used to the feel of it. Not exactly easy when he considered that he’d spent the last four years learning to live with the idea of never seeing Laurel again.

Not that he thought there was any future in it. For either one of them. He knew some wounds were too deep to heal. Some hearts could never be resuscitated. No matter how skilled the doctor.

It was a fact. And facts were impossible to dispute. Which explained why Noah found the whole thing so impossible to believe. It didn’t explain why the next thing he knew, he had the basket of muffins in his hand and was headed out to find Laurel.

“I WISH I could help, Laurel. Honest. But…”

Gilly Wilson’s face was an unbecoming shade of green. Understandable considering that Gilly was not only six months pregnant, but had the flu, as well. The fact that she’d had the energy to pack her husband’s lunch before he left the island for his job on the mainland that morning and get her three-year-old to day care on time impressed the heck out of Laurel. In spite of everything, Gilly had also managed to get her five-year-old twins to the clinic for their annual checkups. No doubt about it, Gilly was a candidate for Mother of the Year. At least in Laurel’s opinion.

Which was the only reason—besides the fact that Gilly just happened to be her best friend—Laurel didn’t beg, plead and offer Gilly bribes not to leave the room while she examined the boys known around town as the Wild Wilsons.





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