Marcus didn’t pick up, but Ian left a message on his voice mail, then headed back to the station. He’d finish the paperwork waiting on his desk and hopefully, by the time he was ready to head home, he’d hear from Marcus.

Anything to take my mind off Marisol, he mused as he drove toward the station. After all they’d experienced together, it was odd that a tiny sliver of jealousy had struck him so hard. But then, she could have been with another man. Marisol was a very sexual woman, a woman who acted on her desires. How did he know there wasn’t another man who might be better at satisfying those desires than he was?

When he pulled the squad car into the station parking lot five minutes later, he noticed his brother’s truck parked out front. Ian hopped out of the Mustang and strode inside. Marcus was chatting with Sally at the front desk, deep into a discussion of hull design and sail dimensions.

“I was just going to call you,” Sally said. “Your brother is here.”

“I can see that.” Ian beckoned for Marcus to follow him back to his office. Marcus, dressed in a faded T-shirt and baggy shorts, flopped down in the guest chair and idly began to flip through a copy of Law Enforcement Monthly.

“I just left a message on your cell,” Ian said.

“I know. I was talking with my new boss, Trevor Ross, and couldn’t put him on hold. I figured I’d come over here and see you since I thought we might go out for a pint or two.”

“So, how’s it been going, baby brother?” Ian asked.

“I’ve been living like a monk, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m moving out to the boat tomorrow. How are you doing?”

“Great,” Ian said. In truth, he felt as if everything he’d enjoyed over the past few days had suddenly gone bad. What had begun as a simple sexual relationship, had grown more serious than he was willing to admit. He considered Marisol his, exclusively, though nothing had been decided between them.

“No women?” Marcus asked.

“I plan to win this bet. Piece of cake.” Ian didn’t like lying to his brother, but better to keep him in the dark for now. The whole pact had been a ridiculous idea from the start, so if he accidentally broke it, his brothers would have to understand. Having sex with Marisol hadn’t really been an accident. It had been a premeditated act of desire, one that he’d thought about from the very moment he’d met her.

“I’ve been thinking this probably isn’t going to work,” Ian said. “How are we supposed to learn anything about women if we stay away from them?”

“Celibacy is supposed to give us perspective,” Marcus said, peering over the top of the magazine.

“Why do I need that?”

“Maybe you’ll figure out why you behave the way you do around women?”

“But what if the perfect woman came along and everything was just right and I knew she was the one. And then, I had this stupid pact to think about. Would you pass up your one chance at a woman like that?”

Marcus thought about his answer for a long time, then shrugged. “How would you know she was perfect? Are you talking about someone who is really hot? Or someone you’d want to spend the rest of your life with?”

“Both,” Ian said. “Hypothetically. I mean, would you walk away from someone like that?”

Marcus sat up and tossed the magazine aside. “I don’t know. I suppose if I really believed she was the one, then you and Dec would understand. And what’s the point of letting the right one get away just because of some silly pact. It defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

“Exactly,” Ian said.

Marcus nodded. “But you haven’t met the one yet, have you?”

“No. I just met this woman the other day and got to thinking. She was pretty enough, but I met her on the job and-”

“No mixing business with pleasure?” Marcus asked.

A long silence grew between them, both of them deep in thought. At least Marcus would understand Ian’s choice. And Declan wasn’t the kind of guy who’d begrudge any family member a bit of happiness. Ian glanced over at his brother as he considered telling him the truth about the past few days.

But instead, Ian decided to bring up a different subject. “Have you ever been jealous?”

Marcus frowned. “Of what?”

“Jealous. Of another guy.”

“I was wicked jealous of Steve Fillinger after he got that Corvette for high school graduation. I remember telling him the year before, when we got our driver’s licenses, that it was my dream car and he convinced his da to buy it for him just to piss me off.”

“That’s not really jealousy,” Ian said. “That’s envy. I’m talking about when a woman you’re with shows an interest in another man.”

Marcus shook his head. “Not really. I guess I’ve never really cared about someone enough that it bothered me.”

“Me, neither,” Ian said.

So did that mean that he was beginning to care for Marisol? Even now, he recalled the fierce reaction he’d had when he suspected she was entertaining another man. Was it because he was afraid of losing her for good, or simply losing her for that night? He’d gone over there hoping for a repeat of their previous encounter but would have been satisfied to spend a few hours talking to her. But then, suddenly, everything had become more complicated.

He wanted to discuss it all with his brother, but though they often talked about women, they’d never really discussed the frustrations of trying to navigate a real relationship. Probably because neither one of them had ever had one. Ian was in strange, new territory here and he didn’t like how it felt.

Marcus stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Let’s go get ourselves a pint and drown our sorrows.”

Ian nodded. A pint or two sounded just fine to him. But he wasn’t sure he had any sorrows to drown just yet. He wouldn’t know that until the next time he saw Marisol Arantes.

4

MARISOL SNATCHED the jar of chocolate sauce from the shelf and distractedly read the calorie content, sighing softly. Nearby, another shopper studied the label on a bag of marshmallows. At 11:00 p.m. on a Friday night, they were a sorry bunch of souls, alone on a perfectly good date night, resigned to eating through whatever cravings they might have.

Her mind contemplated the uses for chocolate sauce and immediately bypassed ice-cream sundaes and settled on the sexual options. She lapsed into a fantasy in which she poured chocolate all over Ian’s body and then licked it off. But then, chocolate sauce would be so filling. Perhaps, whipped cream would be a better choice.

Marisol tossed the sauce into her cart, frustrated by her inability to decide what she really wanted-beyond sex. She’d already concluded there were no foods that could serve as a substitute, or even come in a close second. Butter pecan ice cream, Oreo cookies, barbecue potato chips might soothe the hunger, but never really get rid of it.

It had been three days since she’d last seen Ian. She remembered his parting words-call me. And though she’d been expected to make the next move, she’d been reluctant to do so. Sascha had been right. After what she’d discovered in the crate sent by her father, the last person she ought to be sleeping with was a police officer.

Still, her decision to avoid him hadn’t diminished her desire for Ian. She’d been edgy and restless, unable to focus on her work and constantly replaying the moments they’d spent together. Everything she started had been left half-finished and Marisol was growing increasingly confused about her feelings for the town’s police chief.

She hadn’t come to Bonnett Harbor looking to jump into a wildly satisfying sexual affair-she’d come here to work. The affair had just happened and for her part, she’d been glad for it. But now that she’d put a stop to it, Marisol realized she’d begun to need Ian for more than just sex.

As she strolled through the snack aisle again, Marisol looked over her shoulder and noticed someone following her. He’d been behind her for some time, a middle aged man in a nice suit and undone tie, mildly attractive, yet definitely not her type. Divorced, Marisol calculated, and searching for love at the supermarket. Or maybe just a simple one-night stand.

Ian hadn’t been her type, either, far from it. If she’d met him at any other time in her life she might have rejected him, as well, might never have experienced his touch or his taste, the sound of his voice or the scent of his skin.

Marisol continued her aimless stroll, heading toward the freezer section in search of her favorite banana cake. She turned the corner onto the dairy aisle, suddenly craving onion dip, then froze. Her cart slid to a stop in front of the cream cheese. Ian stood ten feet away, perusing the yogurt selections. She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if she might be able to turn around without being noticed, but when Marisol looked up again, she caught him staring at her.

He wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he was dressed in a faded T-shirt that advertised some fishing service, baggy shorts that hung down nearly to his knees and battered flip-flops. His hair, usually so neatly combed, looked carelessly rumpled. Marisol took in the paint-stained sundress that she’d chosen, smoothing her hands over the wrinkled skirt. Drawing a deep breath, she started toward him, prepared to nod and pass him by if he didn’t say anything to her.

For a long moment, he just watched her with an unreadable expression, a carton of yogurt clutched in his hand. Then, Ian stepped out from behind the cart, dropped the yogurt on the floor and walked over to her. In one easy movement, he captured her face in his hands and kissed her, his tongue immediately invading her mouth.

Marisol was so surprised that she didn’t have time to react. The contact sent a shock wave through her dulled senses, but then came that wonderful rush of heat that his touch always brought. Her knees wobbled and he caught her around the waist to steady them both. Slowly, the ache that had settled into her body since the last time he’d touched her began to abate and she sank against him.