Sean. Donna Kauffman

      Sean flashed a grin. “I don’t mind an audience. Just don’t care for sand in my britches.”

      Trent hooted then slapped him on the back as Sean opened the door of his rental Jeep. “Well, whatever the hell you have planned, you have a good time doing it. And if you’re looking for a good meal to bolster the stamina, give Sam’s a try. It’s past your hotel about a mile or so, right on the water. The snapper is incredible.”

      “Thanks for the tip. I’ll catch you in the morning.”

      “Nine sharp.” Trent sent him a mock salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But by all means do everything I’d like to do but can’t.”

      Sean just snorted. “Hey, I saw that picture of your wife on your desk. I’m not feeling all that sorry for you.” He waved as he pulled out, leaving Trent laughing but nodding in agreement. Sean smiled, thinking Mrs. Warner was probably going to have a very good night.

      He drove back to the hotel, wondering what it was like to head home to the same woman night after night, for years on end. Hell, he wondered what it was like to head home to any woman, any night, period. He used his job, and the dedication and time he put into it, as his reason—excuse, really—for remaining single. But if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit it went beyond that. He was so used to being captain of his own domain, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t imagine adjusting his lifestyle to include the wants and needs of another person.

      He sighed and shifted his attention to the stunning island scenery. Maybe he simply wasn’t cut out for marriage. Considering the huge family he’d come from, it pained him to even think that, much less imagine telling his parents. Yet the evidence was piling up, the years were passing by. He felt a little twist in his gut at the notion of never having kids. But you sort of had to have the relationship and the wife to get to the rest, didn’t you?

      Well, wife and kids or no, he sure as hell wasn’t planning on entering a monastery anytime soon, either. And while he hadn’t had much time to devote to extracurricular activities of late, he sure had some time now.

      A whole week of it. Starting right now. He gripped the steering wheel a bit harder as he took the curving island road toward his hotel. So where in the hell did he begin? He’d apparently missed out on the airport love connection. Which left him with island social life. But he was too old to pick up chicks in bars. Not that he’d ever been all that keen on the bar-hopping and club-cruising scene, even when he’d been young and stupid. Which left…what? He snorted. “Call girls…and bonfire bunnies.” He wasn’t entirely sure which option scared him more.

      “You’re a pathetic excuse for a bachelor, you know that?” Christ, he was still young, and although women’s tongues probably didn’t hang out when he walked by, he didn’t think he was too hard on the eyes. His body was in pretty damn good shape, thanks to all that Special Ops training. He wasn’t rich, but living alone hadn’t left him exactly hurting financially. And yet you can’t figure out how to get laid to save your life, he thought in disgust.

      He slowed the Jeep as he neared the hotel entrance. Situated on a little jut of land, the hotel was not exactly remote, but not sandwiched in the middle of a cluster of other hotels or tourist traps, either. Off the beaten track. Like his love life of late, he thought with a dry smile.

      Best of all, his room was on the top floor of the four-story building. It boasted a stunning view of Hassel and Water islands rising up from the clear blue of the water out past the harbor and the mountains bumping up behind the curve of the shoreline on the opposite side of the bay. He’d run the beach this morning as the sun had edged the horizon and thought he could definitely get used to such a daily routine. Living in Denver, his view was usually of mountain roads and snow-crusted peaks. He’d enjoyed his years stationed there, but he had to admit that the warmth of the sun was a welcome change. Reminded him of Louisiana. Of home.

      He glanced up at the hotel, then down at the cluster of white-clad hotel staffers, dotting the beach, busily preparing for the evening’s festivities…and pressed the gas pedal. He drove past the parking lot and continued on down the coast road, out toward the east end of the island. He passed Sam’s, thinking maybe he’d take a long evening drive, come back for a nice fish dinner, then run the beach as the sun set. Be back in his room before the party began. Shower, sit on the balcony with a beer, put on that suspense thriller he’d picked up at the airport and listen to the festivities and music below while he relaxed. All in all, not a bad evening. Even if there wasn’t going to be any sex involved. Sex was great, but certainly a man could manage to survive—

      Sean hit the brakes as he rounded a bend and swerved away from a woman pushing a small Vespa motor scooter along the edge of the road.

      She was wearing snug navy pants that ended just below the knee, spanking-white sneakers and a loose white T-shirt knotted on one hip. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped her loose ponytail to cling to her cheeks and neck. Her face was flushed and her white cotton shirt clung to her back. Just how far had she pushed that thing?

      Sean immediately tugged the steering wheel and pulled off the road. When she darted him a suspicious glance, he realized that his Good Samaritan act might not be so interpreted by a woman alone on a quiet stretch of road. So, along with a smile, he pulled out his wallet. The one with his badge tucked inside.

      “Hey, there,” he called as he got out of the Jeep and flipped open his wallet. “Do you need some help? Sean Gannon, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” His smile widened as she paused. “In case you thought I was the St. Thomas stalker or something.”

      He’d expected…Well, he didn’t know. Some flash of humor or even exasperation at his lame attempt at charm. He hadn’t expected the real flash of…Fear was too strong a word. But she’d definitely tensed up a bit at the term “stalker.”

      “Is there one?” she asked, finally finding an amused smile. Her voice was smooth, a bit melodic…almost familiar-sounding.

      “One what?” he asked distractedly. Then his brain clicked into gear. Damn, he really did have to get out more. “Oh, no, there isn’t. I just didn’t want you to be alarmed.”

      She leaned the motor scooter against her thigh and turned to face him more fully. “You have an odd way of putting a woman at ease.”

      “It really has been too long, then,” he murmured more to himself than her.

      “Since what?” she asked.

      He evaded answering that by saying, “Something tells me you’d hold up just fine, even if I wasn’t a Good Samaritan.”

      She smiled fully then, and he found himself wishing she’d take those dark sunglasses off so he could see her eyes.

      She nodded at the wallet he was still holding out. “So, Deputy Gannon. You here on business?”

      “Yes, ma’am.” And listening to her, he finally realized why she seemed familiar to him. “What makes you think I’m visiting, though? We have offices here on the island.”

      She nodded at his Jeep. “Rental.” She smiled again when he nodded in appreciation of her deduction. “Nice tan, though.”

      He chuckled. “Actually, I just got here. That’s from sun glare off the snow back in Denver.”

      “And you were forced to leave the cold and the snow to come here. Tough assignment.”

      “Yeah, it’s hard work.” He grinned. “But they let me out nights.”

      “Which you spend rescuing damsels in distress. Don’t you know how to take time off?”

      “Are you asking because you also need help in that department?”

      She looked surprised. “What do you mean? For all you know, I spend all my time scootering around exotic islands.”

      He gestured to her scooter. “Rental.”

      She fought a smile. “So?”