Teasing Her Seal. Anne Marsh

his BC, he planted his feet on the sandy bottom. Who was he kidding? He was headed straight for shore. Toeing off his fins, he submerged and let the small waves push him toward the beach.

       4

      “CARSON HOSPITAL DOESN’T have your acceptance letter on file. Tell me you signed the letter.”

      What were the ethics of lying to one’s mother? Three thousand miles apart, and Laney still fought the urge to look over her shoulder, because a stellar international calling plan made it sound as if Ellen Parker were standing right behind her. Tossing her cell phone into her beach bag had been her first mistake. Answering at the Jaws ringtone had been her second.

      Unfortunately, her mom was a pro and correctly interpreted the ensuing silence. A top-notch hospital administrator and former oncologist, she excelled at detecting bullshit. “That letter is your second chance, Laney Parker. Do you know how many favors I had to call in to get it?”

      Laney had a lot of experience fielding unhappy phone calls from her mother. And, in this case, her mom actually had a valid point. Thank you seemed too...bland. Unappreciative. Because, in truth, she did appreciate her mother’s attempts to fix the disaster she’d made of her medical career.

      “I’ve signed it.” She just hadn’t mailed the letter yet, because that would mean admitting she wasn’t going back to S.F. General.

      She’d been sacked. Let go. Fired out of hand. No, not fired, exactly, because she’d been politely asked to submit her letter of resignation so everybody could pretend she’d simply decided to exchange her dream job covering San Francisco’s busiest trauma bay for the much tamer, less exciting challenges of a small city ER. Her mother exhaled, the sound magnified by a stellar cell phone connection. “Give me the tracking number and I’ll follow up on it.”

      Her mother made no mention of Laney’s vacation-cum-honeymoon. Of course, her mother was also a fixer. As was her father. Realizing Laney was faced with a broken engagement, an AWOL fiancé and the general end of life as Laney knew it, her mother had homed in on Laney’s unemployed status as the problem du jour and, any other time, Laney would have genuinely appreciated the effort. After all, she didn’t want to be unemployed and broke for long, especially given what this trip had cost her.

      She just didn’t want to give up on all of her dreams in the span of the same month. And she definitely didn’t want to be banished to Stockton and its less-than-riveting medical practice.

      You’re an adrenaline junkie.

      Who had voluntarily stranded herself on a hot, tropical, ultra-boring Caribbean island. She flopped back down onto the sand. Was there a twelve-step program for people like her? Working as a trauma surgeon might be exhausting, and it almost entirely negated the possibility of a personal life—as her ex-fiancé could attest—but she missed her ER rotations. She itched to be doing something other than working on her suntan, and laying the groundwork for a future case of skin cancer didn’t cut it.

      Today was another postcard-perfect Caribbean day with blue sky and full sun. She crossed her legs lotus-style at the surf’s edge, searching for ever-more-elusive inner peace while her mother ran through the next steps in the get-Laney-gainfully-employed-again plan. It was a good plan, but the sand was wet and getting places it had no business being in her bikini bottom. The heat prickling her skin also indicated a pressing need on her part for more sunscreen. Maybe the resort gift shop stocked SPF 700. She’d check it out as soon as she hung up on her mother.

      “I’ll get you a tracking number,” she said.

      Her mother’s short huff of disbelief echoed down the line as she correctly interpreted that promise. “You didn’t send it.”

      “I will.” There. She was committed. Stockton awaited and her future was settled. That was carefully orchestrated plan number one.

      “You know I just want what’s best for you.” Her mother took a deep breath. Laney had already heard the speech that followed—multiple times. She didn’t need or want to hear it again. No matter how well-intentioned her mother was, she and Laney didn’t always see eye to eye.

      “Absolutely.” Laney counted to thirty, but relaxing was more challenging than she’d anticipated. After all, she was playing singleton on an island designed for couples. Gray’s face popped into her head. Maybe he could be convinced to play.

       Danger.

      Her mother wrapped up her phone check-in to take her next call. Laney wasn’t sure her final thanks even registered. Her own phone chirped a reminder that she had a spa appointment in fifteen minutes. She turned off the reminder and tossed the phone back into her bag.

      No more massages.

      Avoiding Gray? That should be carefully orchestrated plan number two. She had twelve nights left on Fantasy Island, and she’d scheduled approximately two hundred hours of yoga, kayaking and beach sprints. Hot sex wasn’t on that schedule.

      And Gray wasn’t interested anyhow.

      “Massages are not good for me,” she said aloud. Weren’t massages supposed to be relaxing? Instead, she was tense, which might have to do with the unwarranted attraction she’d felt for her masseuse. She flopped down on the sand, feet in the water, hoping a change in perspective would help. The palm tree overhead was sporting a bumper crop of coconuts. Given the way her week had gone, it was all too easy to imagine getting concussed by a falling coconut. She’d seen stranger things in the ER.

      A crab scuttled up the side, pinchers waving. Closing her eyes, she replayed yesterday’s cabana scene, hoping for a better ending. Nope. Her humiliation was still complete. She’d tried to order a guy off a menu. That wasn’t her. And it hadn’t been fun. She made a mental note to tell Ashley that her recommendation sucked. Or, possibly, she simply sucked at having fun. She certainly needed more practice.

      Cracking an eye, she glared at the crab that had paused halfway in its ascent. “I am officially the most boring, least fun person on the planet.”

      The crab didn’t answer. It was probably a male.

      It was certainly pretty enough to fit in. Fantasy Island had some of the most gorgeous men on staff that Laney had ever seen. Gray, for example, was supremely handsome if grumpy. He was also reserved, impossibly self-controlled and not much of a talker—but he had magic hands. She could attest to that. And, best of all, he would have been a temporary man. When Laney’s two weeks were up, she would have been able to board a plane and he would have stayed put, safely left behind on this teeny-tiny island and at least three thousand miles from her new trauma bay. That would have made him perfect because, after her failed engagement, she needed a break from commitment and notions of happily-ever-after.

      The gentle tug on her foot was unexpected. She jerked upright, kicking out hard. Had the crab enlisted reinforcement from his crab buddies? Did they stock alligators on the island?

      “It’s just me,” said a gruff male voice. Oh, God. She knew that voice. Its owner had figured prominently in some very racy dreams last night, saying You’re beautiful while the voice’s owner did wicked, wicked things with his fingers. She wasn’t sure which had been her favorite part.

      “Why are you here?” She kicked out, splashing water at him. She’d liked him better in the dream, probably because she’d been saying sexy, smart stuff rather than staring at him with her mouth hanging open. In response to her complaint, he wrapped a big, warm hand around her ankle and gently tugged her foot to the ground.

      “We need to discuss your need for the rough stuff.” Seconds later, a body followed the hand as Gray leaned up on his elbows. The man had no personal boundaries at all, because his world-class swim move put him between her legs and gave him a view of her bikini bottom that neither she nor the suit’s maker had ever intended. She hoped nothing had shifted. God, this was so not