Confessions of a Girl-Next-Door. Jackie Braun

      It was an interesting statement coming from a woman who was next in line to the throne of her own kingdom.

      “I don’t know of anything offhand. You can check, but given the time of day and the storm, my guess is that most places are closed for the night.” He snorted. “You know the island. Sidewalks pretty much roll up after eight o’clock.”

      He imagined she’d grown accustomed to glitzy, late-night parties with exclusive guest lists and the finest gourmet cuisine. Yet she didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of no real nightlife here.

      Her smile was nostalgic, damned near fond, when she replied, “Yes, I remember.”

      Was that really why she’d come?

      Sure, she’d told him she needed to get away, but weren’t there all sorts of fancy spas in Europe—and America, for that matter—more likely to fit the bill for a royal retreat than an out-of-the-way island that catered to the needs of middle-class tourists seeking good fishing, great scenery and a slower pace?

      Hank reached them then, toting the last of her bags.

      “Don’t worry, miss. Nate’s house has plenty of room. You can stay there at least for tonight.” He glanced at Nate for corroboration.

      What else could Nate do but nod? The quiet evening at home he’d envisioned just an hour ago now included two overnight guests. He knew from previous experience that Hank snored like a drunken sailor. Nate also knew that it was Holly who would keep him awake this night.

      CHAPTER TWO

      HOLLY wasn’t sure what to do since Nate’s invitation was begrudging at best.

      That hurt. Not that she’d expected him to greet her with arms wide open. In fact, she hadn’t been expecting to see him at all. She remembered how determined he’d been to leave the island for big-city living. But his displeasure right now was palpable, even if, for just a moment when they’d wound up sitting in the lake, he’d reminded her of the handsome young man who’d made her teenage pulse race with a simple smile.

      As tempting as it was to turn down his offer, she had to be pragmatic. As she recalled, the island had a finite number of accommodations available. She would be lucky to find anything else on such short notice, so she followed him and the pilot up the beach.

      Tomorrow, she could return to the mainland if need be. Tonight, she needed a place to stay. Jet lag was catching up with her. And that short flight over from the mainland had left her with white knuckles and a queasy stomach. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have chanced it, especially this late in the day, with no firm reservation and a storm blowing in. She’d not only risked her life, but also the life of the pilot. A fact Nate had been only too happy to point out. Despite what he must think, it wasn’t like Holly to be so thoughtless. But as with every thing the past several days, desperation had her acting out of character.

      Her hasty plan’s imperfections were glaringly obvious now. She should have been more thorough in her arrangements before packing her bags and jetting across the Atlantic. That much was clear now. What had been as transparent as glass less than forty-eight hours ago was that she had to get away.

      She caught up to Nate and glanced sideways at his stern profile. He wasn’t exactly glad to see her. But it was her own emotions that gave her pause. She wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing him again.

      Once upon a time, she’d thought … Mentally, she shook her head. It was foolish to recall those dreams. They’d been unrealistic then. Now, they were unfathomable. Once again, she felt the grip of destiny tighten around her like a vise. There was no escaping it. Not completely, anyway, even if she hoped to find respite for a few days or a week. Holly groaned.

      She didn’t expect it to be heard over the wind, but Nate turned and asked, “Something wrong?”

      “No.”

      “No?” His brows rose.

      His wry expression and disbelieving tone came as a bit of a surprise. Back home no one would have dared to question her—well, except for her mother, who browbeat Holly regularly over the most minute of things. Holly needed to be perfect. Or at least give the illusion of perfection at all times. Interestingly, coming from Nate, she rather enjoyed it. She’d much rather he treated her as an equal, even one with whom he was angry.

      They reached the house, a cedar-sided bungalow that she remembered from her visits to the island as a girl. Back then, he’d lived in it with his parents, and she’d always been welcome inside for a bite to eat or to watch the telly on a rainy afternoon. His mother, she recalled, had been amazingly tolerant of such things as sandy feet and soggy swimsuits.

      From the outside, the place looked much the same except for a newer and larger deck that wrapped around to the side entrance. Hank beat them up the steps and shucked off his shoes before opening the squeaky-hinged screen door and going in. That left Holly and Nate standing on either side of the welcome mat.

      Nothing about Nate’s demeanor at the moment was very welcoming.

      “This is too much of an imposition,” she began. It definitely was too much of something.

      “It’s fine,” Nate insisted. “No big deal.” He toed off his soggy shoes and pushed them against the side of the house next to Hank’s battered sneakers.

      “I’ll pay—”

      “It’s only one night, Holly … Hollyn … Princess ….” He shoved his damp hair back from his forehead in agitation. “What am I supposed to call you?”

      From his tone, she imagined he already had a pet name or two in mind. “Holly is fine.”

      She wanted to be just Holly again. That was, after all, why she’d made this rash trip in the first place.

      He looked doubtful, but nodded. “I insist you stay, all right? As my guest.”

      His words might have been more reassuring had they not been issued through clenched teeth. But any retort she might have offered was lost when he reached for the back of his damp T-shirt and pulled it over his head.

      Holly swallowed hard, but that didn’t keep her mouth from watering. As a teenage girl, she’d admired Nate’s form. He’d been wiry then, lean and several inches shorter than the six foot three she judged him to be now. He’d shot up, filled out. Quite obviously, he worked out. A sculpted abdomen such as his was no happy accident of genetics.

      “Your turn.”

      His words startled her. She felt her cheeks grow warm, though it wasn’t only embarrassment that caused the building heat.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Your shoes. If you wouldn’t mind, take them off out here.”

      Half of his mouth crooked into a wry smile as he draped his shirt over the banister. He was enjoying her discomfort, enjoying that she was as off balance now as he’d been while wading through the surf earlier.

      Holly glanced down at her feet. The shoes he’d tried to spare damage with his chivalrous offer to carry her ashore were not only wet, but also covered in sand and other natural debris from their trek over the beach.

      “Your mother never minded the sand.”

      “She did, but she was too polite to say so. Regardless, since I clean the place now, I make the rules.”

      “Right.” Envisioning him with a mop in one hand and a feather duster in the other helped take some of the sting out of his words.

      She did as Nate asked and padded inside behind him.

      Hank already had made himself at home on the couch in front of the television. His stocking feet were propped up on the coffee table, a long-necked brown bottle was in one hand and the remote control was in the other. A baseball game was on. Holly didn’t know much about the American pastime, but she’d always enjoyed listening to