by Ana Sparks
“Ow!” I exclaimed, bouncing back a few steps. I put my hands up to cup my nose, knowing it wasn't broken, but worrying all the same, as my eyes began to water.
“Are you okay?”
A comforting pair of hands dropped onto my shoulders, and I looked up into the most dazzling pair of green eyes I'd ever seen.
Dr. Joel Lockhart was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He was clean-shaven in all of the headshots I’d seen of him, but when working on set, he always had the most delicious five o'clock shadow. His eyes were almost surreal in their brightness, offset by long, thick lashes. I'd never seen a mouth curve so sensually without its owner even trying, just like I'd never seen such facial symmetry that screamed perfection in a natural-looking way.
I'd developed a crush on the doctor from our first day on set, and I wasn’t alone—he was a gorgeous specimen, and he had admirers of both genders among the crew. Now, I'd gone and embarrassed myself in front of him, in one of the worst ways possible. I was never this clumsy, and my cheeks burned with embarrassment.
I dragged my eyes away from his and dropped my hands, scrunching my nose a little to make sure everything was still working correctly.
“It's fine,” I said. “I'm fine. Sorry.”
He smiled, and my insides melted like butter on a hot summer's day. His white, straight teeth gleamed, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners, adding a touch of honesty to the polite gesture.
“You should watch where you're going,” he replied, straightening. “You have such a pretty face. It would be a shame to damage it.”
He sauntered off with a wink, and I disintegrated into a puddle on the floor. He thought I was pretty? Oh dear, this day was full of extremes. First, I'd found out that my sister was a criminal, and the FBI would probably soon be knocking down my door to find her. Now, the most beautiful man I'd ever laid eyes on had just genuinely complimented me. Although my encounter with the doctor didn’t fix anything regarding the situation with Chelsea, at least it got my mind off the matter for a few minutes. I was happy to allow myself to daydream about Dr. Lockhart, if it meant I wasn’t ruminating over the fact that I could be arrested any minute.
I went back to my work mechanically, thoughts occupied by my sister and the doctor's words.
One second I'd be giddy, the next, anxious and depressed. It was as wild a rollercoaster as any I'd ever been on, and I desperately wanted off. More specifically, I wanted the problem with my sister to go away, without her disappearing or ending up behind bars.
But what could I do? It wasn't as though I had a magic wand I could wave that would give her a new face and identity so she could escape.
Or did I?
It was a crazy idea, but wasn't this a crazy situation? And crazy situations called for crazy solutions, right?
At our next break, I took another walk, but this one actually had a purpose. I found Dr. Lockhart inside the director's tent, and waited outside for them to finish their conversation.
Joel Lockhart was a plastic surgeon, and a good one at that. He even had a clinic here in the Bahamas, so he'd be the prime candidate to make my sister into someone else. She had a bunch of money now, and if she had to spend some of it on plastic surgery to make sure she wasn't caught, that was tough.
Hell, I'd probably have to get work done too, now that I thought about it. Especially since I was technically involved—or, at least, my face was. I wasn't just involved by proxy, either; talking to Dr. Lockhart would officially make me a willing member of my sister's new criminal organization. Membership: two.
Dr. Lockhart's eyes settled on mine the moment he stepped out of the tent. His lips curved into a smile of recognition.
“Hi, Dr. Lockhart,” I said, feeling blood rush to my face. The heat was already almost too much to bear, and now I had a blush to worsen the redness of my flush. Great. “I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment?”
“Of course. Megan, right?” He replied in a silky-smooth tone. I nodded. “Please, call me Joel. I hate dealing with formalities. It's why I spend so much time on tropical islands—much less pomp and circumstance.”
I wrung my hands nervously and started to walk, gesturing for him to follow me. We'd spoken before, but never about anything personal. It was usually just me passing along a quick message. He'd certainly never told me to call him Joel before.
Once we were down by the waves, out of earshot of the crew, I stopped and turned to him. The sunlight played with his hair, bringing out little threads of gold amidst the otherwise dark locks. He waited patiently for me to speak, which was good, because I needed the time.
“I have a bit of an embarrassing request,” I confessed. “And I think you might be the man for the job.”
Joel raised an eyebrow. “You'd be surprised how much it takes to shock me, these days.”
I pictured telling him that I wanted him to give my sister and me new faces, so we could start new lives, since she'd stolen a bunch of money from her employer and was now on the run from the law. I doubted even he had heard that one before.
Instead, I told a variation of the truth. Heavy on the variation.
“I was wondering if I could come in for a consultation sometime,” I said. “At your practice.”
Joel's other eyebrow raised to join the first. “A consultation? For surgery?”
I nodded.
“Why would you want to do that?” His honeyed tone was laced with genuine curiosity.
I shifted nervously under his all-encompassing gaze. “I'm trying to get more into acting, but I think if I'm ever going to make it big-time, my face could use a little tweaking, you know?”
“No,” he said, brow furrowing. “I don't know. I think your face is perfect the way it is.”
My legs jellified and threatened to give out from under me. He thought my face was perfect the way it was. What did that mean? It was such a strong, definite statement to make about somebody he barely knew. Why would he say that unless there was some reason he didn't want to work on me?
“Wouldn't it be against your professional interests to turn down a potential client?” I asked.
The corner of Joel's mouth crooked into a charming half-smile. “I never said I wouldn't do it. I can certainly book you in for a consultation. I suppose I just don't understand why someone as naturally beautiful as you would want to alter their face in any way.”
There it was again, like a blow to the head. He thought I was beautiful.
I'd always been aware that I had a pretty face. How could I not be, when I grew up alongside a mirror of myself? It was always easier to see beauty in other people, and finding Chelsea beautiful was the same thing as finding myself beautiful. There was little I would actually want to change about my face, except maybe a few less freckles spattered across my cheeks. All the same, knowing I was pretty, and hearing it from a gorgeous man whose job it was to make people beautiful, were two very different things.
“Great.” I smiled. “So how do we do this? Do I call your clinic and make an appointment? Is there some sort of deposit?”
Joel folded his arms over his chest, making his biceps strain against the fabric of his bright blue dress shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows in the heat, revealing long stretches of tanned and toned forearm, and the addition of the bicep eye-candy was almost more than I could handle. Perhaps I should have found a doctor that wasn't quite so...distracting.
“I have some time tomorrow, actually. No need to call. Let's say nine for your appointment?”
I nodded happily. “Nine sounds great.”
It was the weekend, so I had all the time in the world for the next two days. I would need it.
“Your clinic is on Andros Island, right?” I asked.
“It is.”
Everything I'd heard about Andros told me that the island was the ultimate tropical paradise. Lush rainforests, white sand beaches, and enough seclusion to make the place your own personal heaven. I just never thought I'd end up on it,
since I was so busy with work.
“I'm not really sure how to get there,” I said. “Is there some sort of ferry?”
Joel's eyes twinkled, as if I'd said something amusing. I couldn't for the life of me think what that could be. I licked my lips, and noticed his eyes tracking the movement before he gave me a cheeky, almost mischievous look.
“Meet me at the dock just before nine,” he said.
With that, Joel turned on his heel and headed back towards the set. I watched him go, his hands thrust casually in the pockets of his tan slacks. Everyone else was baking in this heat, but Joel bore it effortlessly. I supposed that must have been one of the benefits of living between Miami and the Bahamas all year round. Acclimatization. Then again, he seemed to do everything effortlessly. I watched him trod back across the sand, gliding over it as easily if it was asphalt.
I went back to my own work, feeling a little less stressed about the days ahead. Even if the appointment I'd made to see about getting my face—and Chelsea’s, which I’d tell him later—changed felt more like a date than anything else.
Chapter Four
The boats on the dock bumped lazily against each other in the morning sunlight, as gentle waves slapped against their hulls. There was little activity this early in the day, since most people preferred to take their mornings slow and steady around these parts. I would have preferred that too, but I was on a mission.
I'd spent the past few weekends down by the pool at my hotel, curled up on one of the lounge chairs with a book and big, floppy sunhat. This sudden change of pace had knocked me a little off balance. Everything seemed so intense now, and I could practically feel the clock ticking down to when someone would come after Chelsea, and she'd be forced to run.
“Where is this guy?” Chelsea asked. Her face was scrunched-up behind her oversized sunglasses. She wasn't a fan of my plan, especially since it would mean spending some of her ill-gotten cash. I didn't care whether she liked the plan or not. As far as I was concerned, if she didn't want to get extensive and expensive plastic surgery, then she shouldn't have embezzled a boatload of money.
“He said he'd meet us here.” I craned my neck, looking over the heads of tourists milling around the marina. “Be on the lookout for anyone who looks vaguely like a Greek god.”
“Noted.” Chelsea brightened noticeably. “You should have mentioned that sooner. You would have gotten a little more enthusiasm from me.”
I frowned and gave her a brief shove. “I wish you'd stop being so cavalier about this. It's serious. He might be hot, but he'll be scary as hell when he’s standing over you with a scalpel in hand.”
She grinned. “It's not like I'll be awake for it.” Chelsea was less concerned about the surgical aspect of our predicament than the financial aspect. I was the exact opposite.
“Oh, mama.” Chelsea smacked her lips. “I think I see him.”
I followed her line of sight to the man leaning against the wooden railing that marked the beginning of the dock.
I didn't realize that Joel could get any hotter, but somehow, he had. He was wearing a well-fitted navy polo—which beautifully highlighted his toned pecs and abs—paired with a casual pair of khakis. He was wearing aviator sunglasses, and the wind ruffled his dark hair. Somehow, he was even sexier dressed-down than dressed-up.
“That would be him,” I said. Quieter, I added, “Be good.”
“I'm always good,” she hissed out of the side of her mouth as we approached.
“You're telling me you don't remember the time you stole a hundred thousand dollars from your former employer?”
“Shut up!”
“Hey Joel,” I greeted. “Thanks for meeting us.”
Joel's eyebrows raised behind his sunglasses as he looked between us. I expected such a reaction, considering I'd made it seem like it would just be me. But hey, we looked exactly the same. That practically made us one person, right?
“Sisters or close friends?” he joked.
I laughed nervously. “Sorry, my sister wanted to come along when she heard what I was meeting you for. This is Chelsea.” I gestured to my sister, who had already removed her sunglasses and was staring at Joel lustfully.
He put out his hand and shook hers. “Joel. Lovely to meet you, Chelsea.”
I couldn't stand how intensely Chelsea was staring at him, so I cleared my throat. “What's the transportation situation? Do you have a boat?”
Joel retracted his hand and put his sunglasses back on, then gestured to a seaplane bobbing at the end of the dock.
“That's yours?” I asked. My eyes must have been the size of saucers. Luckily, my sunglasses hid my surprise.
“Last time I checked.” He smiled mischievously. “Unfortunately, I didn't realize I'd have two passengers. It only has two seats.”
Crap.
Chelsea answered Joel before I even had time to think of a workaround. “Why don't you two go ahead? I'll sit this trip out.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. She'd been salivating over him in overdrive since she had first laid eyes on him, so I didn't know why all of a sudden she was happy to let me take over.
Chelsea responded to my look with an encouraging smile. “Go on. I've got lots of trouble I can get into today that doesn't involve surgery.”
“Don't get in any trouble,” I muttered. “I mean it. You better be in the room when I get back.”
I gave her my key and strict instructions not to leave the room, and then walked with Joel to the end of the dock.
“I can't imagine it would be a very long flight from here to Andros Island,” I said, trying to make conversation in wake of my embarrassment regarding my sister.
Joel gave me the side-eye behind his sunglasses. “It's not. About fifteen minutes or so, depending on the wind.”
“Do you always pick up potential clients in your airplane?”
He chuckled. “No. Usually, they already have their own form of transportation.”
I blushed, feeling officially out of my element. What was I doing out here with him? He probably thought I was nuts for this whole plastic surgery business. No, he definitely did. He'd basically said as much. So why entertain my request, anyway? I wondered if he suspected something. It was impossible. It had to be impossible. But why were my hands suddenly clammy?
Joel, however, did not seem to have noticed my mini-breakdown. So much the better. He stopped in front of the plane and offered me a hand up into the cockpit, smiling warmly.
“Normally, if I have to pick up clients, I bring the boat,” he said. “The ones I really like get the plane.”
I couldn't tell whether the flood of relief that washed through me was from the realization that he knew absolutely nothing about why I really wanted to change my face, or because he'd just said he liked me. Either way, I was pleased as punch by this development, and I took his hand gratefully. It was warm and strong, just like him. Once I was inside the cockpit, I scooted over to the passenger seat, and the plane bobbed and dipped as the waves cycled beneath it.
I was impressed to see there wasn't a pilot already onboard. He'd given me no reason to think otherwise, but for some reason, I hadn't thought that Joel would be the one flying us over to Andros. He set me up with a headset and I waved a final goodbye to my sister as he started up the engine.
“Have you ever been on a float plane before?” Joel asked.
“Nope. But it can't be much different than a regular plane, right?”
He grinned cheekily. “You tell me.”
Being on a floatplane—or, I suppose, just a small plane in general—was a much different experience than being on a commercial airliner. I nearly shrieked with excitement as we began soaring toward the open ocean, gaining speed until we lifted off into the azure sky. Then, we were flying.
It was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. It felt like we were just another seabird, soaring low on the horizon with only the wind keeping us aloft. It was a strange sensation, smelling the
salt spray of the ocean while soaring above it. I felt the urge to put my hand out the window, like I used to as a child on road trips, but this was no car.
I turned to look at Joel, watching the ease with which he flew the plane. I'd never seen someone look so relaxed.
“You must really like flying, huh?” I asked.
Joel flashed me a white smile. “It's a favorite hobby of mine, yeah. My father flew in the Air Force, so it was always something I dreamed of, growing up.”
Did everything about him have to be so goddamn attractive? I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to start acting like the giant jerk I thought he secretly should be. He was a plastic surgeon, for God's sake. He changed the way people looked for money. I would've thought that such a profession would come with an overbearing ego, or a natural penchant for snobbery. But, so far, he'd been nothing but genuinely nice to me.
I let my gaze slide from his tanned, muscled forearms to the hands gripping the steering column. They were so strong, so masculine. I'd always had a thing for hands, and Joel's looked as though they had been sculpted by a Renaissance master. I imagined him cupping my face in them, kissing me long and deep. I imagined his hands running down the length of my naked body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They'd probably be a little rough and calloused, but soft enough to stroke me in a way that would send fire dancing along my nerve endings. Oh God, they would feel good.
“You okay?”
I shook my head and blinked. I'd zoned out looking at Joel's hands, which luckily meant I could pretend I'd been staring out the window instead.
“Uh, yeah.” I smiled sheepishly. “I guess I just got a little mesmerized. I'm not used to…all this.”
“It's amazing, isn't it? Get ready, we’re making our final approach.”
As I felt the aircraft swing down from the sky, I wondered what the hell I'd been thinking. The last thing I needed was to get caught up in stupid, girlish fantasies about Dr. Joel Lockhart. Had I forgotten why I was here in the first place?
