An Innocent in Paradise (2 page)

“I didn't— How did you know I lied?” She groaned inwardly. She couldn't even lie about lying. That was just sad.

“Easy.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest in a move Grace knew was meant to daunt her. And it was working, sort of. She was more than a bit overwhelmed by him, if her inability to breathe was any indication.

“I don't hire inexperienced waitresses,” he continued. “Since we did hire you, your application must've stated that you knew what you were doing. And you obviously don't, which means you lied. And since you no longer work for me, I can be as rude as I want.”

“I hope you'll reconsider,” she said, sniffing with annoyance at the logic of his argument. “I had a very good reason for lying—er, fudging the truth.”

“Fudging?” He leaned one hip against the edge of his desk. “I can't wait to hear this.”

She frowned at him. “Are you willing to listen to reason?”

“I'm a reasonable man,” he said, waving his hand at her as if granting her permission to speak. “Just make it fast. I was on my way to making a very important phone call when I was interrupted by your little scene out there.”

“Oh, I'm really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, me, too. So?”

“Right. Well, it's simple, really.” She took a quick moment to wish she was dressed in something more professional than a bikini top that revealed most of her breasts and a thin wisp of cloth that was knotted well below her belly button. But since she couldn't exactly run back to her room and change clothes, she took another deep breath and blurted, “You have spores.”

He stared at her for a length of time, then shook his head. “No, I don't. I bathe daily.”

She blinked, gasped, then laughed. “Oh, no, not
you
personally. Your island. There are rare spores growing here on Alleria that will save lives someday. I'm a research scientist and I've come here to collect and study them.”

He continued to stare her down as he seemed to consider the situation. She thought she saw something akin to a hint of reasoning in his eyes. But then he checked his watch and said, “Okay, nice try. I'll expect you off the island within the hour.”

“What? No!” She jumped up from her chair. “Mr.
Sutherland, you don't understand. I refuse to leave this island. I need to stay here and work.”

He shook his head. “I'm afraid you're the one who doesn't understand, Ms. Farrell.”

“You're wrong. I do understand,” she insisted, shaking her finger at him. “I know I lied and maybe you think you have every right to fire me, but I am not leaving this island until I get what I came for.”

 

Logan couldn't help but admire the fire of righteous vehemence in Grace Farrell's eyes. It seemed to light up her entire body and made him wonder if she would show that same level of passion in bed. When he thrust himself into her, would she scream with pleasure?

His eyes narrowed at the mental picture and he shook himself back to reality. What the hell was he doing, thinking of her in terms of a sex partner? She'd lied on her résumé, broken his glassware and wasted his time. She had no business staying on his island a minute longer than necessary.

But the vivid sexual image took a few knots of wind out of his sails and he took a moment to reconsider the idea of throwing her off the island. Yes, she was a liar, but she was a gorgeous one. Why not enjoy a few rounds of mutually enjoyable sex before tossing her off the island?

Hell, that idea was growing more appealing by the minute. Maybe he'd been working too hard lately, because he realized he wasn't quite as ready to get rid of her as he was a few minutes ago. Didn't mean he trusted the woman for a second, but frankly, he hadn't been this amused or intrigued—or aroused—in months. That was worth a few minutes of his time. It wouldn't hurt to let her talk.

“So tell me about these spores you're so anxious to find,” he said, as he sat and made himself comfortable on
the overstuffed couch. Might as well enjoy the show for as long as it lasted, he thought.

She was pacing now and pounding her fist into her palm, clearly committed to her cause. “Allerian spores flawlessly mimic human reproductive genes and are essential to my continued experimentation in gene replication. I've been working on this project every day for almost ten years and have been using the same batch of spores for the past two years. It's imperative that I acquire a fresh consignment in order to obtain new funding and continue my studies.”

“Gene replication?”

She stopped midpace. “You know what that is?”

“Well, sure.” He frowned. “Generally. Yeah.”

“Oh, that's good. That's wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breastbone. “Then you understand how important my work is and how vital it is that I find new spores. My dissertation detailing their meiotic patterns and the ability to exploit the resulting haploid cells has already gained international interest. I'm positive that further study will ultimately lead to unlocking the secrets to curing some of the worst diseases known to modern man.”

“Oh, yeah?” He'd lost her at “meiotic patterns” but wasn't about to mention it.

“Absolutely.” She held up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together. “I'm this close to finishing the preliminary studies and I've applied for further grant money in order to move to the next level. It's urgent and important work. But I need fresh, large batches of spores and I need them soon.”

“I see,” he said, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa.

Clearly frustrated by his blasé tone, she stopped her
pacing and said quietly, “Look, Mr. Sutherland, I am a scientist, a very good one. And I…I need this job here in order to conduct my studies. Your resort is the main source of employment on the island.”

“It's the
only
source of employment, Ms. Farrell, but let's not nitpick.” Staring out the sliding glass doors, he carefully avoided making eye contact as he returned to his original argument. “So the reason you lied on your résumé was so that I would hire you so that you could live here at my resort for free and study our spores.”

“Well, yes, and—”

“And you thought you'd coast right into the mindless job of waitress in our cocktail bar to cover your costs.”

“I suppose that's right, but—”

“And yet, you've never been a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, no, but—”

“Well, then.” He lifted his shoulders in a move meant to indicate only one conclusion. “At the risk of repeating myself, you're fired.”

“Wait!” She rushed over and sat on the couch mere inches from him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid, anxious breathing. Her scent, some exotic blend of spice and…was it orange blossoms?…enveloped him. Up close, he could see a pale smattering of freckles on her shoulders. He had the most bizarre urge to touch them.

“Haven't you heard a word I've said?” she said. “I'm not leaving.”

“You don't have to leave,” he said genially. “Feel free to book a room at the resort and study spores as much as you want. But don't expect me to subsidize your trip.”

“But…” A heavy frown marred the smooth surface of her forehead and her lower lip was in danger of quivering. She wasn't going to cry, was she? If she did, Logan swore he would throw her out of here faster than she could
say
meiotic
…whatever. Crying was the ultimate weapon of female manipulation. He'd learned that the hard way.

“I can't book a room here,” she confessed. “It's too expensive. The only way I can stay is if you'll let me work for you.”

He raised one eyebrow. “No.”

“Fine,” she said defiantly, and jumped up from the couch. “I'll sleep on the beach, but I'm not leaving.”

“Wait just a damn minute,” he said, standing. “Nobody sleeps on my beach.”

She turned. “
Your
beach?”

“That's right. I own most of this island and I say who comes and goes. And I don't want vagrants setting up camp on my beach.”

“I'm not a vagrant,” she muttered as she folded her arms tightly across her chest. Her lower lip stuck out in a pout and as much as he hated the manipulation game, he had to admit he wanted to run his tongue over those pouty lips of hers. He had to give her points for that.

She swallowed nervously and took another deep breath and it seemed to help her regain some inner resolve. Her lips tightened and she faced him head-on. “I'm not leaving, Mr. Sutherland. I need to find those spores. I won't go home without them.”

He observed her quietly for a long moment. “You don't look like a research scientist.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do my looks have to do with anything?”

He almost laughed. Her looks had almost everything to do with why he'd allowed her to make her case in the first place. If she didn't understand that, then maybe she
had
been hiding out in a stuffy laboratory for the past ten years.

Wait. Ten years? He knew she couldn't be much older
than twenty-five, which meant she'd been doing her so-called research since she was fifteen. If she was telling the truth, that is. Obviously, she wasn't.

She was a liar, plain and simple.

Before he could comment aloud, she waved her arms and forged ahead. “Fine. I may not look like your notion of a research scientist, but that's exactly what I am. And I have every intention of staying here until I've got everything I need to finish my work.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.”

He noticed she was barely able to keep from squirming under his sharp gaze. Good.

Then, without warning, she stepped even closer and stared hard at him, eye to eye. Well, eye to chest was more accurate, since he towered over her. But that detail didn't seem to intimidate her.

“Look, I'm not above begging,” she admitted. “I intend to stay on this island and I'm willing to do anything you want me to do. If you refuse to let me be a cocktail waitress, I'll clean hotel rooms or wash dishes or…or water your plants. I just ask that my mornings be kept free for the spores. That's why the cocktail waitress job is ideal, but there must be something else I can do around here. Oh, I can cook! Well, I'm not a great cook, but I can make salads or cut up fruit or…”

Anything he wanted her to do?
Did she realize how dangerous that offer was? Was she truly that naive? For a second or two, Logan wondered about her and her wide-eyed innocence, then roughly shook the thought away. He didn't believe it. Grace Farrell was as manipulative as every other woman he'd ever met. Intriguing, gorgeous, sexy, but a manipulative liar just the same.

Damn, his brain was fogging over from her erotic scent. Maybe he was crazy, but he wanted his hands on her.

“Fine,” he said. “You've got one week to prove you can handle the cocktail waitress job. If not, you're off the island.”

“Oh, thank you!” Without warning, she threw herself into his arms. “Thank you so much. I can do it.”

He drew in her scent and warmth, then forced himself to take hold of her elbows and nudge her out of his arms. “Just make sure you don't break any more glasses.”

“I won't, sir.”

“And don't call me sir.”

She smiled tentatively. “Mr. Sutherland.”

“Nobody calls me that, either. It's Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan. And please call me Grace.” She surprised him by taking hold of his hand, then gazed up at him, unsmiling. “You have no idea what this means to me and to the world at large. And I promise, I'll be the best cocktail waitress you've ever hired.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yes,” she said with confidence, then let go of his hand and whipped out her small notebook. “I'm very smart and a quick learner. I've already memorized the ingredients of every drink in the bartenders' guide I bought. And as far as lifting the trays? Well, it's just physics, after all. Simply a matter of determining the correct spatial placement of the glassware on the tray. Look.”

She flipped the pages and showed him a diagram. “As you can see, it's an exact duplication of our own solar system. In miniature, of course. My theory is that if the drinks are dispersed in this pattern on the tray, equilibrium will be achieved and there shouldn't be any spillage.”

His mouth twisted in an acerbic grin. “Interesting theory.”

“Yes.” She stared at the diagram, then back at him. “I was just a little surprised to find out how heavy the tray was when I lifted it. But I know I can—”

“That's right, Grace, it's more than just physics,” he said deprecatingly. “There's also a little matter of balance and proper weight distribution, not to mention the right application of upper-body strength.”

“Oh, that's good,” Grace said, eagerly grabbing a pen from his desk to make some notes in her pad. “That's very good. So you agree, it's a perfectly simple job once you get the dynamics hammered down.”

He shook his head and wondered when, exactly, he'd lost control of the conversation.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Sutherland.” She slipped her notepad into her waistband, then gave his arm an encouraging squeeze. “I promise you won't be sorry.”

“It's Logan,” he repeated. “And you've got one week to improve or you're out.”

S
he'd escaped banishment by the skin of her teeth.

Shivering slightly at the recollection of yesterday's lecture from Mr. Sutherland, Grace continued folding and organizing her clothes in the sleek bureau drawer.

Despite the fact that she expected to be here at least a month, everything she'd brought barely filled two of the drawers. But, back in Minnesota, when she'd packed her suitcase, she'd figured she wouldn't need much more than a few shirts and shorts to wear while searching for spores during her off-hours. And the hotel provided a uniform for its cocktail waitresses.

“Uniform.” She shook her head at the term. Serena, the lounge manager, had asked her size, then handed her two brightly patterned bikinis and a see-through scrap of cloth they laughingly called a skirt.

But Grace was desperate to stay, so she didn't really mind wearing the outfit. And she didn't mind carrying ten
to fifteen pounds of drinks on her shoulders if it meant she could work and live in the hotel for a month while she collected her precious spores.

The fact that she only had a few days to prove she could carry those trays on her shoulders was something she didn't want to contemplate too closely. Needless to say, she'd begun an intense upper-body workout that morning, knowing she needed more strength in her arms and shoulders.

Glancing around the luxurious hotel room with its elegant white wainscoting, coffered ceilings and wide-open view of the sparkling Caribbean waters, Grace allowed herself to revel in a moment of happy amazement. How in the world had she landed in such a beautiful place?

Of course the question was rhetorical, she thought with a smile, since she knew exactly how she'd arrived.

But it was remarkable that less than forty-eight hours ago, she'd been racing through the Minneapolis airport to make her flight. It had been difficult to run in her wool coat and thick sweater, heavy jeans, gloves and boots.

What a difference between then and now. Today she wore a bright pink tank top, thin linen shorts and sandals.

The frantic energy she'd felt two days ago on her way out of town was still coursing through her veins. Even though she recognized the source of the energy, it was disconcerting all the same. She'd always lived a quiet, well-ordered, disciplined life. Predictable. Safe. But now she was flying blind with absolutely no idea of what would happen next. Logan Sutherland had made it more than clear that she was here on borrowed time.

She was annoyed that none of her research on the Alleria Resort had uncovered the fact that the Sutherland brothers actually owned most of the island. That little fact had taken her by surprise and Logan had known it and used it
to his advantage. She would have to stay alert to any other revelations if she found herself in his company again.

As she brushed her long hair back into a ponytail, she took careful note of the fact that her neck and shoulders were warming up at the very thought of Mr. Sutherland. No surprise there. Despite his threats and ultimatums, he was the most wickedly attractive man Grace had ever seen.

Not that she'd seen all that many attractive men in her lifetime. She would've remembered. Her mind was a steel trap, after all. But, no, gorgeous men like Logan Sutherland didn't tend to hang around the university research laboratory much. More like, never.

She knew he'd expected her to cower when he'd issued his ultimatum. But Grace never cowered. She'd been challenged countless times in the past and had always risen to the occasion. Mr. Sutherland—Logan—had simply thrown down a different sort of gauntlet than she'd been faced with before.

No worries. Because what Logan hadn't taken into consideration was that Grace Farrell was nothing if not a fighter. She relished obstacles; the higher level of difficulty, the better. To her, this was a new game to play, a new puzzle to be solved. She would learn the rules of the game using logic and reasoning, just as she'd done throughout her life. Then she would decipher the puzzle and win the game. To do otherwise was inconceivable.

She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was time to go to work. But as she glanced out the picture window at the stunning views, she wished for just a moment that she could stop all the clocks, take all the time in the world and just enjoy herself. She wanted to feel the sun on her back, walk barefoot in the white sand and frolic in the blue waters of Alleria Bay. She wanted to drink champagne and kiss a handsome man under the Caribbean moon.

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” she admonished herself. Those kinds of thoughts were not only foolhardy, they were dangerous. The clock was ticking. Time was of the essence.

There was no place in her life for fun and frolic, never mind kissing. Her entire life, her research, everything she'd ever worked for, would go down the drain if she didn't act quickly to staunch the damage already done.

She checked her kit bag to make sure she had everything she needed, then grabbed a towel from the bathroom and left the hotel room.

Crossing the bright, tropical-themed lobby, Grace stepped outside and felt the first rays of the warm sun on her skin. She adjusted her sunglasses and walked a dozen yards along the rows of swaying palm trees until she reached the edge of the white sand beach.

Now this was paradise.

She allowed herself thirty seconds to breathe in the spectacular view of the tropical island. Startlingly clear water stretched as far as the eye could see. Behind her, farther inland, were rolling green hills studded with more palm trees and lush vegetation. Sailboats bobbed at their moorings in the bay and sea birds flew overhead.

Her thirty seconds were up. Taking another deep breath, she hunkered down for the next forty minutes. Walking from palm tree to palm tree, she searched the base of each trunk where the roots divided, looking for a sign of the rare Allerian spores she'd come here to observe.

The sun was already warm at eight o'clock in the morning and she was glad she'd doused herself in sunblock. She should've brought a hat with her, too; but she'd been in such a hurry to pack and leave Minnesota that she hadn't fully considered the effects of the tropical sun on her sen
sitive skin. At times like this, she was forced to admit she wasn't quite as smart as everyone thought she was.

Another case in point, her awkward conversation with Logan Sutherland yesterday. She cringed inwardly, knowing that most of what he'd accused her of was true. Yes, she'd lied on her résumé, although that was for a good cause. But what she really hated admitting was that she'd foolishly underestimated the job of cocktail waitress. That wasn't smart. She wouldn't make that mistake again, especially after seeing firsthand how hard everyone in the bar worked.

“Just let that go,” she murmured. At least Logan had relented and allowed her to stay, thank goodness. She had a full week to redeem herself and she vowed to do just that, if only for the sake of the spores.

Now if she could only find the darling little critters.

A sailboat under full sail skimmed across the bay and Grace stopped to watch it. Everywhere she turned on this island, in any direction, she could find something new and wonderful and exotic to look at. She stretched and allowed the sunshine to permeate her skin. Had she ever felt this warm and cozy without the benefit of a down jacket?

She'd lived in Minnesota her entire life and she was perfectly happy there, of course. But she was just beginning to realize that she'd spent a good portion of her life being cold. No, not just
cold,
she thought.
Chilled to the bone.
She was so tired of being cold, so weary of bundling up in heavy coats and mittens and long underwear and wool scarves for more than half the year.

Alleria was beautiful and, more important, it was
warm.
If she couldn't truly let herself go and relax and enjoy her time here, she could at least savor the warm weather. It was so completely different from anything she'd ever experienced before.

Standing in a cozy patch of shade cast by a huge cluster of coconuts hanging in a nearby palm, Grace took another minute to stretch out her muscles. She rolled her shoulders and raised her arms up in the air, then bent at the waist to touch her toes. She was starting to ache a little from her upper-body workout and it felt good to stretch and bend.

Once Logan had pointed out the need for balance and upper-body strength, Grace had known what she had to do. She'd begun with thirty push-ups when she first got out of bed this morning. She was in decent condition physically, but she needed much more strength in her upper arms if she expected to lift those hefty cocktail trays every night.

She was determined to make Logan Sutherland acknowledge that she took her waitressing job seriously. She couldn't afford to be sent home. She absolutely had to get her funding; and to do that, she had to find and collect enough Allerian spore specimens to conduct her lifesaving experiments for the next few years.

As she straightened up and moved to another tree, she pondered the sadly obvious fact that Logan Sutherland couldn't care less about her scientific work. No, he just cared that she performed her job as cocktail waitress as well as anyone else in the company. But if that's what it took to keep her here, that's what she would to do.

At each coconut palm tree, she knelt down and examined the juncture where the thick palm roots crisscrossed and divided. Feathery fern leaves sprouted here and there and that was where her spores were known to propagate. But tree after tree, frond after frond offered exactly nothing.

She wandered away from the shore and deeper into what looked like a jungle of wild plants and palm trees. Here the thicker vegetation created more shade, but instead of being cooler, it was warmer and muggier. The overabundance of
plant life kept the sea breezes from filtering through and cooling the air. Humidity was a good thing if you were a spore.

Sure enough, minutes later in a shady cluster of coco palms, surrounded by the soft fern leaves that protected them, Grace finally came across the spores she'd traveled thousands of miles to find.

“Ah,” she whispered, “there you are, my lovelies.”

She spread the clean towel on the sand and unzipped her spore kit. Kneeling on a corner of the towel, she used her most powerful magnifying glass to study the precious plant life more closely.

Unlike many plants, these types of spores could thrive without sunlight, but they still needed a warm, moist environment. Glancing around, Grace saw that this part of the island was indeed ideal. The sun was only beginning to shine here so the spores had a part of the morning to thrive in the muggy shade. They seemed happy, reproducing madly even as she watched them through the ultramagnified glass.

Grace smiled at the thought of happy spores. A sense of calm came over her as she observed the microscopic world. She had been experimenting on this rare strain of Allerian spores for so many years, ever since old Professor Hutchins, her teacher and first mentor, showed her his excellent treatise based on the first spores he brought back from the island. That dissertation had led Grace to begin her own experiments using the potential lifesaving properties of these little guys.

Grace glanced up at the clear blue sky and marveled at how far she'd come in her studies of the Allerian spores. They were valuable for so many reasons, including the gene replication studies she'd mentioned to Logan. But she was even more excited by the fact that the mitochondria
found within the spore cells contained a rare type of phytohormone that carried potential medical applications. Her latest experiments had proven that these hormones could have an adverse effect on human cancer cells, causing certain cells to be suppressed or, in the case of her most recent lab trials, to die altogether.

The possibility that Grace's studies could lead to the destruction of cancer cells thrilled her as nothing else had before. She could no more stop this important research than she could stop breathing.

She thought back to the day she first walked into the university laboratory when she was eight years old. She'd spent hundreds of lonely hours in the lab since then, but knowing that all those years of research might ultimately lead to so many lives being saved made her forget her own pain. It had all been worth it.

Recently, Grace had entered a new and critical phase of her research. And even though some of the Professor's last batch of spores were still producing decent progeny, they were beginning to die out. Grace required a fresher, stronger crop of the rare organisms to meet her current needs.

“Current needs,” she grumbled, shaking her head in disgust. If it weren't for Walter Erskine trying to steal her entire life's work, including taking credit for her latest experiments and proven theorems, she wouldn't be so desperate right now. Her cheeks still burned as she recalled how easily Walter had charmed her, how quickly she'd grown to like him, how fervently she'd hoped they would be together always. And she'd actually believed he reciprocated her feelings. Could she honestly have been that naive?

She shook herself free of those unhappy thoughts. She refused to blame herself for falling for his lies. Walter had been quite the smooth operator, after all. Almost everyone
in the department had been fooled. But it was
Grace's
job that was on the line now, not anyone else's.

Snapping on a pair of disposable gloves, she pulled out one of her sterilized petri dishes. With her forceps, she carefully plucked a thick clump of spores from the fibrous base of the frond and held it over the dish. After tapping the forceps against the side of the dish, she watched the spores drop into the dish along with bits of moss and sand.

For the next hour, she repeated the process several more times. She numbered each petri dish and noted in her book the location and features of the palm tree, the angle of the sun and the temperature at the precise time she gathered each of the groups of spores.