Stranded With Her Ex. Jill Sorenson

at the simple, no-frills structure. It was the least intimidating feature on the island. And she, like most scientists, didn’t believe in ghosts. If she had, she might have believed in an afterlife, as well. Faith was a comfort she’d been denied in her darkest hour, and she wasn’t going to start being superstitious now.

      “I’m more worried about the sharks,” she admitted.

      The deckhand grunted his response and jerked his chin toward the shore. “They’ll be coming for you now.”

      She caught a glimpse of two dark figures walking along a footpath etched into the side of the cliff, a few hundred yards from the house. With no docking facilities, setting foot on the island was a tricky process. The research biologists had access to a beat-up old Boston whaler, hoisted above the surface of the water by a formidable-looking crane.

      At fifteen feet, the boat was smaller than a full-grown great white.

      While she watched, one of the figures boarded the whaler, and the other lowered it to the pounding surf below. In a few efficient moments, the boat was speeding out to pick her up.

      “Don’t panic,” she whispered, squaring her shoulders.

      The man driving the boat brought it alongside the charter and killed the engine, exchanging a friendly greeting with a crew member.

      When he stood, throwing the deckhand a rope to tie off the whaler, she studied him with unabashed curiosity. His legs were covered by dark, waterproof trousers and knee-high rubber boots, same as hers. Unlike her immaculate, just-purchased ensemble, his clothes were well-used and far from spotless. His jacket was splotched with what might have been bird droppings, and his face was shadowed by a week’s worth of stubble.

      “Seen any sharks today?” the deckhand asked.

      The man grinned. “Day ain’t over yet.”

      Based on his dark good looks, she guessed that this was Jason Ruiz, the Filipino oceanographer she’d been communicating with via email. She’d seen a grainy photo of him once and it hadn’t done him justice.

      The deckhand lobbed her duffel in his direction. After catching it deftly, Jason motioned with his gloved fingers. “Toss her to me. I’m ready.”

      The deckhand’s eyes were merry, full of mischief.

      Daniela took a step back. “I’d rather not—”

      “We’re just messing with you,” Jason said, patting the aluminum seat beside him. “Jump over here.”

      She moistened her lips, measuring the distance between the boats with trepidation. The expanse was less than two feet, but the drop went quite a ways down. And, although the whaler was tied off, it was still a moving target.

      Her stomach churned as she watched it pitch and sway. “Jump?”

      “Yeah. And try not to hit water. Just because we haven’t seen the sharks doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

      The deckhand laughed, as if this were a joke. It wasn’t. This time of year, the sharks were most definitely there. They came to the Farallones every fall to dine on a rich assortment of seals and sea lions.

      Daniela stared at the surface of the water, feeling faint.

      She’d been briefed about the boat situation, of course. But reading a matter-of-fact description detailing the steps needed to access the island was different than actually going through with it. Leaping from a charter to an aluminum boat in shark-infested waters was madness. One false move, one tiny miscalculation, and…

      Gulp.

      Jason gave the deckhand a knowing smirk. “Just throw her to me, Jackie. She can’t weigh much more than that bag.”

      “No,” she protested, taking a step forward. She was pretty sure they were teasing again, but she also didn’t want to give herself time to reconsider. Chickening out before she’d begun was not an option.

      She took a deep breath and grabbed Jason’s proffered hand, hopping over the short but frightening precipice.

      She didn’t fall into the water. She didn’t hit the aluminum seat, either. She collided with Jason Ruiz, almost knocking them both off balance. He threw his arms around her and braced his legs wide, holding her steady until the boat stopped rocking.

      Daniela clung to him, her heart racing. She hadn’t been this close to a man in a long time, and it felt good. Strange, but good. He was much taller than she was, and a lot stronger. She could feel the muscles in his arms and the flatness of his chest against her breasts.

      He smelled good, too. Like salt and ocean and hard work. But even while she registered these sensations, there was one irrational, overriding thought: He’s not Sean.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat.

      “Don’t mention it,” he murmured, making sure she was ready to stand on her own before he released her. “I never get tired of beautiful women throwing themselves at me. I only wish I’d showered in recent memory.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “There’s a shortage of hot water on the island, and we’re all a bit rank.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t smell bad.”

      “Really? I thought I smelled like bird crap and B.O.”

      Laughing, she shook her head. “Bird crap, maybe.” The faint odor of ammonia filled her nostrils, but it was coming from the island, not him.

      “I’m Jason.”

      “Daniela,” she said, grasping his hand. As quickly as it came, the sexual tension between them dissolved. He was still smiling at her in an appreciative, masculine way, and she was smiling back at him, unable to deny his considerable appeal, but there was no intensity to their mutual admiration.

      With his easy charm and handsome face, he probably had a way with the ladies. She’d known men like him before. Her ex-husband, for one. Women had always dropped at Sean’s feet, and he’d done little to discourage them.

      Feeling her smile slip, she pulled her hand away.

      If he noticed her change of mood, he didn’t remark upon it. “Ready?” he asked, catching the rope the deckhand threw at him and tucking it away.

      Nodding, she perched on the edge of the aluminum seat, paralyzed by self-consciousness. She was so far out of her element here. The past two years, she’d been in virtual seclusion, working from her desk at home and putting in late hours at the research facility. She’d interacted with more spreadsheets than animals. This trip was, in part, an attempt to get her life back. A return to her roots.

      She hadn’t chosen conservation biology to spend all her time indoors.

      Rubbing elbows with other scientists, most of whom were men, was nothing new, and she was no stranger to roughing it, but she hadn’t socialized, much less dated, in ages. The close proximity of a hot guy rattled her more than she’d like to admit.

      And she couldn’t stop comparing him to Sean.

      The two men probably knew each other. There weren’t that many shark experts in the world, let alone the West Coast, and Jason was from San Diego. They were close in age, although Sean was about five years older. Both of them were tall and fit and remarkably good-looking. They were also consummate outdoorsmen and staunch environmentalists, more comfortable on a surfboard than in a boardroom.

      Upon closer inspection, Jason was the more striking of the two, with his dark eyes and sensual mouth. But Sean’s all-American ruggedness had always hit her in the right spot.

      Daniela turned her gaze back to the calm-inducing horizon. She hadn’t seen Sean in over a year, but he still managed to monopolize her thoughts.

      Jason maneuvered the whaler into position beneath the boom, a task that required concentration and dexterity. When he found the right place, he stood and hitched the heavy metal hook to the hull with no assistance