Swept Away (5 page)

She thought she’d been dreaming...of pirates. Silly. But the truth was, it had been a rather
steamy sort of dream—the pirates had been hot. As best she could recall—although it was
sketchy, as dreams so often were—they’d anchored their ship offshore and shown up on the
island, looking for plunder. She’d responded with something ridiculous like, “There’s nothing
here for you to take but little old me,” and they hadn’t really seemed too upset about that. Even
though in real life pirates would be scary, the ethereal qualities surrounding this particular
encounter had only added to her feelings of “ah, this is nice.”

Sighing at the luxury of such dreamy comfort, she let her eyes flutter open. In the distance, she
found the calming sight of the sea and its whitecapped waves rolling gently in to break on the
shore, the clear blue sky dotted with an occasional cottony cloud—and a man, walking up out
of the water, looking hot and wet and sexy as sin.

She closed her eyes again, quickly, because surely she was still dreaming.
There wasn’t really a pirate coming to ravish her. There just wasn’t.

Not that this guy had looked like a pirate exactly—but if you gave him longer hair and a big
sword, maybe. She caught her breath and prepared to open her eyes again, yet she didn’t—
couldn’t, actually.

Because as hot as he was, she didn’t like the notion that maybe she was losing her mind. Right
when she’d been so relaxed—and right when she’d needed to be relaxed. She suddenly
thought she knew what it must feel like to spot a UFO or Bigfoot.

Open your eyes, idiot, and see that nothing’s there. Then you can go back to sleep and dream
about your pirates again.

When a drop of water hit her stomach, then her breast, her eyes automatically jerked open.

And, dear God, there was a guy! And he was hovering over her—blocking the sun so that it
shone around his head in a blinding halo—and squinting down at her as if she’d just come
walking up out of the ocean.

“Kitten? Is that you?”

That voice! She sucked in her breath so hard it hurt. Brock Denton? What the hell? She was
dreaming. She had to be.

She simply stared up at the guy she still couldn’t quite see and tried to make sense of it, of him.
He dripped on her again.

“It is you,” he said, shifting just enough that she could finally make out his face—his still drop-
dead gorgeous and definitely all-grown-up-even-more-than-before face, as one side of his
mouth quirked in amusement and his gaze fell to her chest. “Very nice, kitten, but I’m afraid
you’re gonna have a nasty sunburn.”

Gasping, she slapped her hands over her bare breasts—yet he’d already turned to trudge past
her through the sand as if they’d just bumped into each other on a public beach and he was
headed for the snack bar.

Chapter Two

W here the hell had he come from? How could this be?

She bolted upright, then turned to look after him, bewildered. “Wh-where are you going? And
what are you doing here? What the hell’s going on?” She’d just woken up in the freaking
Twilight Zone.

He stopped and peered back at her as she struggled to her feet, somehow needing to follow
after him, or at least be on the same level with him—and she realized all over again just how

incredible he was to look at. When they were younger, she’d never seen him with so few
clothes on.

“Answer me,” she demanded. “Where did you come from? What’s happening here?”
His reply came crisp and dry. “I could tell you, kitten, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Keeping her hands over her breasts, she trudged a few steps closer to him in the soft, warm sand. “What are you doing here? Tell me!”

“I could ask you the same question.” Same arrogant tone as always, proving that some things
never changed.

“My father happens to own this island,” she informed him.
“Figures,” he murmured, and it irritated her all the more.
“Which means you’re trespassing.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, pardon me for the inconvenience, honey—I’ll just turn around and
swim on back to the mainland.”

She narrowed her gaze on him, still as confused as the moment she’d woken up. “You really
don’t have a boat somewhere? You really just swam here? How the hell is that possible?”

“Long story and no time to tell it,” he said with a shrug. “But don’t worry, I won’t be in your
hair long. Do cell phones work here?”

“Yeah. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Then we’re not far from shore?” He’d seemed to totally forget that he’d just washed up onto
her island out of nowhere and still hadn’t provided one iota of an explanation.

“Fifteen miles or so,” she said, shaking her head as if to say—Who cares? You still haven’t
told me what the hell you’re doing here!

“Great. Let me have your phone.” When she just stood there for a second, he gave her an
expectant look, adding, “Chop, chop, kitten—I’m in kind of a hurry.”

Sheesh. Despite herself, she turned and dashed back to her lounge chair, snatching the phone
up from the beach. She thrust it into his hand, then realized his dark gaze had fallen back to her
breasts—because she’d dropped her palms to retrieve the phone, damn it!—so her next task
was to turn away from him and scoop up the abandoned bikini top.

“Jesus, this is not my day,” he growled behind her a few seconds later. “You don’t have a signal. Is there electricity here? Where’s your charger?”

Her bikini top suddenly seemed like an impossible twist of fabric and strings that made no
sense. “Somewhere in my bag, I guess—I just got here a couple of hours ago.”

Abandoning the top back to the sand, she turned to glare at him, hands planted at her hips and
no longer caring about her state of undress. “For a guy who just washed up on my beach like a
dead jellyfish, you’re awfully demanding!”

He let out a sigh and ran his hands back through his hair—which she couldn’t help noticing
was a lot more kempt and stylish, even wet, than it had been ten years ago. “Look, kitten,
believe it or not, I’m not trying to be an asshole. But there’s a lot at stake here—which I can’t
explain right now—and I need that goddamn phone. Understand?”

What the hell was at stake? And how had he ended up on her island, for God’s sake? She let
out a frustrated breath in return, trying to decipher him, then grudgingly said, “Follow me,”
starting to march toward the small beach house fifty yards away.

And as she marched, and he followed, a most unsettling realization settled over her. She
wanted him. Badly. As badly as ever. Maybe more. Because the way he kept looking at her
breasts—between ordering her around—made her stomach curl with desire. And because all
things considered, he was probably as close to a pirate as she was ever going to get. And
because he was the one man she’d ever really wanted in a gut-wrenching sort of way, and
suddenly here he was, looking as hot and perfect as ever. And it was a little bit like a dream,
him just floating onto her island out of nowhere, and it would be so easy to just take one more
little shot at seduction...

“Can you hurry it up?”

If he weren’t such a prick.

Yanking open the bungalow’s screen door, she stomped to the bed where she’d thrown her
weekend bag and started digging through. As well as remembering that there were actually lots
of reasons she couldn’t have him, even besides the prick factor. For one, she was getting
married in a week. Yeah, that was a big one. For another, she hated his guts and would never
forgive him for what he’d done to her ten years ago. For a third, she had a weird feeling about
all this—understandable, she supposed, the way he’d just shown up—but she was forced to
wonder just what he’d been doing for the last ten years and if maybe he’d gotten into
something bad.

“Come on, where is it?”

She turned to glare at him. “I can’t seem to find it, you jerk.”

He sighed. “Okay, never mind, I give up on the phone. How about a boat—do you have a boat?”

“Of course I have a boat.”

“Great. You have to drive me to shore—now.” He was looking at her chest again. “And as
much as I enjoy you running around topless, kitten, you might want to put something on for
the ride.”

God, why hadn’t she done that yet? For the moment, her arms would have to do—she crossed them over herself and tried to look more angry than sheepish.

“Give me the keys to the boat,” he demanded, “tell me where to find it, and I’ll get it running.
Put on some clothes and meet me there.”

She hesitated as a hint of distrust rippled through her. “You won’t leave me here? Without transportation?”

“Not if you hurry.” He held his hand out. “Now, the keys. And directions.”

This seemed like a bad idea, but she was finding it hard to refuse him. He was so bossy. He’d
claimed something was at stake. What if that was true and she stood in the way? Grabbing her
sparkly flower key chain up off the bed, she thrust it at him, trying to cover both breasts with one arm. “Go to the left—there’s a path through a wooded area that leads to the dock.”

“Got it.” He started toward the door, then, to her surprise, stopped and looked back. “Thanks,
kitten.”

She meant to nod—but instead only swallowed, hard. Because his eyes still dripped with all
that was hot and sexual, and even given all the weirdness currently surrounding them, his gaze
still possessed the ability to make the juncture of her thighs pulse.

“Hurry,” he reminded her on the way out the door—and she wished she’d brought more actual
clothes.

Kind of.
Brock jogged along the trail through junglelike woods. Nearing the water, he peered ahead
through lush greenery to catch sight of a sexy little Stingray speedboat that had “kitten” written
all over it, right down to the candy-apple red color that reminded him of that Miata she’d once
had.

Jesus, he couldn’t believe stumbling upon her like that. After all these years. She didn’t look
much different, just more grown-up, her long chestnut hair slightly lighter, her body more
mature, curvier. And with those beautiful breasts on display, too—just as pretty as he
remembered. Talk about distraction Katrina Spencer could be a way worse distraction than those chicks on the boat—but that didn’t matter because in half an hour she’d drop him off on
the mainland and they’d go their separate ways. A hint of something like regret niggled inside
him at the thought, yet he ignored it—no choice at the moment.

He bounded into the clearing above a lagoon that sported a small but serviceable dock, lifted his
eyes—and found the Morales brothers’ big white yacht floating quietly in his direction, the
engine cut as the boat glided toward land.