An Innocent In Paradise

by Kate Carlisle

  Waving down the head bartender, he snarled out his order, “Pour me another scotch, Sam.”

  Taking advantage of the early-morning quiet, Logan hauled his windsurfing board down to the deserted beach just as the sun was cresting over Alleria Peak. He slipped the board into the water, adjusted the mast and sail and then slid on top and started paddling.

  It might’ve sounded strange to someone who didn’t know him, but from the first time he swam in these waters, Logan had recognized Alleria as home. It was warm all year round so he never had to wear a wet suit. And it was clean. Even at twenty feet, he could see the sandy bottom of the sea. That was a minor miracle after years of surfing and sailing the rough and churning waves off the coast of Northern California-where he and his brother had grown up and where, when they were seven years old, their father had taught them how to surf.

  Logan paddled a few more yards out. Then in one quick move, he rose to a standing position on the board and yanked the uphaul rope, pulling until the sail was upright. Grabbing hold of the mast and boom, he angled the sail until it caught the barest hint of wind. Balancing his weight on the board, he turned and headed for open water beyond the tip of the peninsula that formed the bay.

  Alleria Bay itself was a tranquil inlet with few waves and the mildest of winds. But out beyond the break, the eastern trade winds provided plenty of excitement for any resort guests interested in windsurfing or sailing.

  In a few hours, Logan would have contracts to study and phone calls to make. But right now, surrounded by wind, water and speed, he tried to blow off all thoughts of business and enjoy the moment. It wasn’t easy; he was hardwired for success and had had a difficult time relaxing lately.

  An unexpected swell crested and broke into a wave inches from his board. Logan took instant advantage, raking the sail back, then throwing the mast hard into the wind while jumping and lifting the board into the air and twirling it over the wave.

  “Hot damn,” he shouted with good humor. He’d managed a one-hundred-eighty-degree flaka, a hotdog maneuver he hadn’t pulled off in years. He laughed as the wind picked up. The move reminded him of the days when he and Aidan had lived to surf. Back then, Logan had considered surfing the closest he would ever get to spirituality. It was all wrapped up in the notion of man and nature coming together through the elemental forces of the universe, the movement of water against earth, the changing of the tide, the passing of time.

  He could still recall that exact moment in his youth when he’d stared into the eye of a twelve-foot wave and realized that if he could stand up on a flimsy piece of fiberglass and ride over the spuming water like Poseidon on a dolphin-teamed chariot, he could damn well conquer anything.

  That understanding had kept both brothers at the top of their game as they traveled the world and competed in-and won-numerous international competitions. Because they were identical twins competing at the highest echelon of surfing circles, they were often treated like celebrities with all the perks that came with the territory. Especially women. They were everywhere and temptation was strong.

  It was a wild life that might’ve eaten them up if they hadn’t taken to heart the life lessons their father had taught them early on. Thanks to Dad’s good example, they didn’t take the lure of the high life too seriously. They also followed the number-one rule of surfers everywhere: Never turn your back on the ocean.

  In other words, Logan thought: Pay attention. A guy never knew when a wave might knock him down or a shark would eat him alive.

  Logan had learned the hard way that the rule applied to women especially. He’d let down his guard five years ago when he met Tanya and convinced himself he was in love with her. When he asked her to marry him and she said yes, he thought his life was complete. A year into their marriage, she was killed in a car crash and he thought he might die along with her. It wasn’t until the funeral that Logan found out she had been driving off to meet her lover, some clown that had worked in the twin brothers’ accounting office.

  Never turn your back on the ocean. If his wife’s betrayal wasn’t enough to remind him that women, like sharks, were not to be trusted, Logan only had to remind himself that his own mother had deserted them when he and Aiden were seven years old.

  With a determined pull on the boom, Logan angled the sail around and headed back to land. For the past few years, his emotions had drifted between grief that Tanya had to die and guilt that he’d never really loved her anyway. He had finally resigned himself to the fact that he just wasn’t capable of love-and that was fine with him. Women were in plentiful supply and he certainly enjoyed them. A lot. The more the merrier. But that didn’t mean he would ever fall in love and he sure as hell would never trust another woman again.

  As he sailed closer to the beach, he spotted Grace Farrell walking through the clusters of palms growing in profusion along the bay. The muscles of his hands tightened around the mast and boom as he watched the gorgeous research scientist pause at each palm tree to study the roots and base. He was glad to see she’d taken his advice and worn a wide-brimmed hat today, along with a loose shirt with sleeves that would protect her sensitive shoulders from the unrelenting heat of the sun.

  But there was barely anything covering up her long, shapely legs and even from this distance, he could appreciate the view of those legs and her luscious bottom as she bent over to search for spores.

  Spores, for God’s sake.

  After a moment, she straightened up, then noticed him and waved. He grinned and aimed the board in her direction and sailed to within a few feet of the beach.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Same to you.” Logan folded the rigging and secured it to the board with a Velcro strap. Then he pulled the board onto the sand far enough to insure that it wouldn’t slip back into the water.

  “Hunting for more spores?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Have you been out long?”

  “About an hour,” he said.

  She stared at the board, then back at him. “How in the world do you stay upright on that thing?”

  Logan ran both hands through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “It’s magic.”

  “It would have to be,” she mused. Her gaze slipped down to his wet, bare chest. “Would you like my towel?”

  “No, thanks. I’m okay.”

  She held it out for him. “But you’re so wet and, um, well, it’s your towel, actually, since I took it from my hotel room.”

  “Well, since it’s mine,” he said, chuckling as he took the towel. Maybe she hadn’t seen many dripping-wet men in swim trunks back at her research lab because she seemed awfully flustered. He hoped like hell that he made her uncomfortable. It would serve her right for manipulating and lying to him.

  He took his time drying himself off as he studied her. She’d been on the island four days now and true to her word, she spent each morning hunting for spores, then worked the cocktail lounge in the afternoons and evenings. And she hadn’t dropped a single glass since the first day’s fiasco.

  He noticed her cheeks had a rosy pink glow from her mornings in the sun. He liked the glow almost as much as he liked her fabulous legs and perfect rear end. Even knowing the woman was a liar and not to be trusted, Logan found her incredibly appealing. He wanted her in his bed with an urgency that was going to reveal itself any second now if he didn’t get the hell out of here.

  “I’ve got work to do,” he muttered finally, and handed her the towel as he walked away.

  Grace clutched the damp towel as she stared at Logan’s backside until he disappeared through a door into the hotel. Then she pressed the towel to her face to cool herself off. She was certain she’d never met such a formidable man. Certainly not one with a body like that. Or eyes like that. Or hair, so adorably short and blond and spiky when wet.

  But for goodness’ sake, did that mean she had to practically drool in front of him? And could she possibly have thought of anything dumber to say to him? How
in the world do you stay upright on that thing? What was wrong with her?

  She blamed it on his smile. This was the first time he’d smiled at her without showing his sarcastic or ironic side. The sweetness of it had nearly blinded her. And talk about upper-body strength. The man was built. She’d wondered what he looked like under his business suit and now she knew. The knowledge was life affirming, to say the least.

  She turned back to her task but was still trying to shake off the effects of Logan’s smile ten minutes later. She silently recited the periodic table of elements, an effective trick she used whenever she was having trouble concentrating. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working today. She feared that smile of his might have a half-life of more than several hours because she was still caught up in its spell.

  With a sigh, she walked away from the beach and deeper into the forest of vegetation. Despite the heat, she appreciated the extra layer of humidity, knowing it was the best breeding ground for her beloved spores.

  “Beloved spores,” she uttered aloud, shaking her head. Did that sound pathetic or what? But the truth was, sometimes she felt closer to the tiny, one-celled meiotic organisms than she did to people. Well, except for Phillippa, of course. Her lab partner and mentor had been her friend for years and right now, she could use someone to talk to. One thing she loved about Phillippa was that she always had an opinion about everything. Grace wondered what her friend would think of Logan Sutherland.

  Grace was certain Phillippa would declare him “hawt.”

  Okay, he was hot, all right. But as she pushed past a giant fern, Grace gave herself a good talking-to. It didn’t matter whether Logan was hot or not. He was her boss and Grace had no business thinking of him that way. All she needed from Logan Sutherland was his approval of her work in the cocktail lounge, nothing more.

  She forced all thoughts of Logan away and got to work, backtracking to the palm trees where she’d found spores yesterday. Close to the base of each tree, she pounded a discreet wooden marker into the sand so she would know the trees from which she’d already extracted specimens. She planned to remove the stakes on her last day here; but, until then, they would provide a handy map for her to follow.

  An hour later, she left the palm trees behind and headed back to the hotel. After running into the staff commissary to grab a sandwich, she returned to her room to document her findings and refrigerate several more petri dishes filled with fresh specimens. She showered and dressed for work, happy she’d been assigned to the swing shift from two o’clock to ten. The bar stayed open until three in the morning and the servers on the late shift got the best tips, but Grace preferred to wake up early and go to bed relatively early.

  As she walked through the lobby toward the cocktail lounge, she passed a pretty young woman sitting on one of the smooth rocks that surrounded the tropical waterfall, crying. Grace paused, wondering if she should say something. Would the management frown on a cocktail waitress approaching a hotel guest? Did it matter? The woman was clearly distressed, so Grace went with her instincts and walked over to the woman.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  The woman looked up and pressed her lips together to stop from blubbering in front of a stranger. “I’m fine.”

  “We both know that’s not true.” Grace sat next to her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks. “I’m on my honeymoon.”

  “Then you should be happy, not sad,” Grace said.

  “But…I can’t talk about it.”

  “Sure you can.” Grace patted her knee. “I’m not sure I can help, but I can certainly listen.”

  Logan halted halfway across the lobby when he spotted Grace deep in conversation with one of the hotel guests. They sat by the tropical waterfall and he approached cautiously, not wanting to make a scene. But caution wasn’t necessary. The women were so engrossed in their chat, they didn’t notice him.

  Grace was dressed for work in her bikini top and sarong, and Logan knew without checking his watch that her shift was about to begin. So what was she doing out here? He stepped closer.

  “So if he spends more time right here at this spot,” Grace said, tapping her notepad with her pen, “I think you’ll be very happy.”

  The young woman took Grace’s notepad and stared at some diagram she’d drawn. “Are you sure it’s right there? He didn’t seem to get anywhere near that spot.”

  “But he will,” Grace said. She took the notepad, tore out the page with the diagram and handed it to the woman. “It’ll make a big difference, I promise.”

  “I hope so,” the woman said with a watery smile. “I don’t want to spend my entire honeymoon crying.”

  “I’m sure your husband doesn’t want that, either.”

  The woman hugged Grace, then jumped up. “You’re so smart. Thank you.”

  Grace looked at her wristwatch and stood. “Please let me know how it goes. I work in the cocktail lounge in the evening or you can find me on the beach most mornings.”

  “I will.” She waved the piece of paper as she hurried away.

  Grace waved, then turned toward the cocktail lounge-and gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “I own the place,” Logan said, folding his arms across his chest. “What was that all about?”

  She fluttered her hands in the air. “Oh, nothing. Sorry I can’t talk now. I have to get to work.”

  “It’s okay. I know the boss.” He grabbed hold of her arm. “You can be a few minutes late. Now tell me what’s wrong with that woman. Did someone from the hotel bother her?”

  “From the hotel? Oh, no. Absolutely not.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I swear it. She just had a…a little disagreement with her new husband. I saw her crying and I tried to comfort her.”

  “That’s it?” Logan glanced in the direction the woman had gone, then back at Grace. “Is she all right?”

  “I think she’ll be fine,” Grace said.

  “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good. I don’t like to see my guests crying in the lobby.”

  She nodded earnestly. “I can see how that would be a problem. But she’s okay, I promise. Now I’d better get to work.”

  “Fine.” Logan watched her walk all the way across the lobby and into the lounge. No doubt about it, the woman had a world-class backside and he itched to get his hands on her. He wasn’t particularly happy about it because she was basically a pain in his neck. But as he walked back to his office, he resolved to seduce her as soon as possible. And then he’d kick her off his island.

  “Six piña coladas, Joey,” Grace said, and wished she could sit down and rub her feet. Anyone who ever thought waitressing was an easy job should be forced to do it for a week wearing high heels.

  “Coming up, Gracie girl,” Joey said.

  She smiled at her coworkers’ nickname for her. Nobody had ever called her Gracie until she arrived in Alleria. She liked it. She’d never thought much about it before, but back home, everyone took her so seriously. A few people called her Grace, but usually she was addressed as Doctor Farrell. Even by her parents, who were completely intimidated by her title and her intelligence. Nobody here called her Doctor Farrell, thank goodness. They had no idea she had four PhD’s and would probably laugh their butts off if they found out.

  “Hunk alert at three o’clock,” said Dee, a pretty, dark-haired waitress from New Jersey, as she sidled up next to Grace.

  Grace glanced at her watch. “What happens at three o’clock?”

  Joey and Dee exchanged grins, then Dee put her arm around Grace and said, “Poor baby’s led a sheltered life.”

  “I guess I have,” Grace admitted.

  Joey leaned over and whispered, “She’s alerting you that the boss just walked in.”

  “And he is looking hunk-a-diddly-dumptious,” Dee said, smacking her lips.

  Grace laughed. “Oh, wait, three o’clock, I get it.” She turned to her right and saw Logan, th
en quickly turned back and tried not to show she was flustered. “Does he come in every night?”

  “He usually stops in, but never stays long,” Dee said, then frowned. “Until recently, anyway. Last night he was here for a couple hours. Not sure what that’s all about. I hope we’re not getting laid off.”

  “The place is filled to capacity every week, so nobody’s getting laid off,” Joey said, then cast a less-than-subtle stare at Grace.

  Dee frowned at him. “You think?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Joey said as he opened a new bottle of rum.

  “What?” Grace said, glancing from one to the other.

  Dee raised both eyebrows. “Has the boss got his eye on you, Gracie girl?”

  She grimaced. “He just wants to catch me making a mistake so he can fire me.”

  “We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, honey,” Dee said, patting her shoulder. “Although, I gotta say, if I caught the eye of someone that hunkalicious, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my cool.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Mmm-mmm. Is it getting hot in here or what?”

  Grace elbowed her. “You’re crazy.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dee said, chuckling.

  “Here’s your piña coladas, Gracie,” Joey said. “You need help with the tray?”

  “You’re sweet, but I’ve got it.”

  “I’ll say you’ve got it,” Joey said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Now work it.”

  She laughed as she walked away with her drinks, fairly certain she’d never “worked it” in her life. But she was more than willing to try.

  “I had three orgasms!” a woman cried.

  Logan whipped around, shocked to recognize the young woman who’d been crying in the lobby yesterday afternoon. She had Grace wrapped in a fierce hug and she was jumping up and down.

  Logan had just returned from an early-morning run up the peninsula and back. When he saw Grace walking toward the palmetto grove, he started to follow her, but her new best friend grabbed her first.