But when he’d seen Erin across that room, laughing, full of life, he’d been attracted to what he’d never had: true feeling. And when he’d talked to her, she’d forced everything he’d been questioning into clear focus: he was disgusted with what he’d made of himself so far. Yeah, he was well off with the money, but what else? What really mattered? In her genuine way, down-to-earth, candy-shop-owning Erin had given him a glimpse into what could be. And when she hadn’t fallen all over herself to hop right into bed with him, he’d been intrigued, challenged, enlightened.

She could change what isn’t working, he’d thought, revitalized and even a little afraid of that conclusion.

But he was just Erin’s freakin’ “transition man.” There’d been no bones about that from the beginning due to that breakup she never wanted to talk about.

Rain began to sprinkle down from the sky, and Wes looked up into the gray.

What was he doing here?

“Wet alert!” Erin said as she barreled out of the minimall onto the sidewalk, clutching her teeming shoulder bag, grabbing his arm and hustling him to an overhang in front of a restaurant.

She was laughing again, infectious and cleansing. But he couldn’t smile with her this time. He was still swamped in his idiot, life-altering brooding.

“Hey, there.” She tugged on his arm, eyes wide and silvered with happiness.

Happiness? Why? Had he done something to make her that way? Was that his purpose as a “transition man”?

Erin wasn’t giving up. “What’s going on?”

He shook his head, extremely unwilling to get into it. He didn’t want to hear what she would say, didn’t want to know once again that he was just a passing thing. Hearing the truth-that she thought he could never change out of “transition” and into something else-would stab him.

The scent of spices floated out from the restaurant, woven with the heavier warmth of tortillas and beer. She tilted her head at him, as if trying to read what was going on under the facade he battled to uphold.

Then she stood on her tiptoes, placing a soft, unexpected kiss on his mouth.

The light pressure tore through him with more power than any climax. Shaken, Wes grabbed onto her hip, needing an anchor.

“Hungry?” she asked, her breath moist on his lips.

All he could do was nod, still overwhelmed by such a little gesture. He was hungry. Too hungry for her.

But she was talking about burritos and enchiladas, not anything else.

As she pulled him by the hand into the restaurant, he knew that maybe she could fill herself up with some lunch, but it wouldn’t help him one bit.

Because it wasn’t food he needed.

7

AFTER DALLYING AWAY the entire afternoon-eating, shopping, then drinking at the exuberant Papas and Beers bar-a much healthier Erin finally agreed to go back to the ship an hour before it set sail again.

Why return early? She didn’t know. After last night’s fiasco, she had no doubt that the curse was going to mess up any attempt at nookie anyway. And that had brought her to a definite conclusion: why not try to have fun in other ways when it was obvious that karma had it out for her in the bedroom? Surely she could at least show Wes a good time without the curse interfering. And, all in all, she was having great fun with him: he was everything she’d hoped for.

As they got ready for an early formal dinner seating-Erin had begged Wes not to miss it since she really, really wanted to try escargot-she watched him closely. He’d been quiet all day, and why not? He’d invited her to be with him for a reason and, even though she’d insisted on paying her own way when he’d brought up the desire to treat her to an all-expenses-paid weekend, there was some expectation on his end. There had to be. But he was being a gentleman about it, not pushing the issue.

And that surprised her. Wasn’t the Wes Ryan supposed to pretty much take what he wanted? That’s what they said, anyway. But how much of this man was just reputation? More importantly, how much of him was something more? How much of him was contained in that mysterious undertow she’d glimpsed in his dark eyes every time he thought she wasn’t looking?

Even with all the questions dogging her, dinner was just as wonderful as she’d expected. The escargot was nicely textured and prepared, but there was also lobster. Oh, lobster. Wes liked watching her devour it, so she played to him, catered to his visual fantasies as a substitute for what they’d been missing so far. And even though they chatted with the other guests seated around the table, it felt as if Wes were the only one there. The whole time, she was aware only of him: his masculine scent, his thigh inches away from hers under the table.

Afterward, to work off the food, they decided to stroll on the decks under a night sky that had somewhat cleared. A lazy wind ruffled Wes’s hair as he halted, then leaned back against a deck rail. Behind him, the water whispered by as the Lady Oriana meandered to sea. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, which was opened at the collar, black pants and dark Italian leather shoes.

As Erin rested on the rail next to him, facing the ocean, she plucked at her seasickness bracelets: baby-blue sweatbands that clashed ever so slightly with her Roma-print evening dress. “I haven’t eaten this much during a twenty-four-hour period since…I don’t know. Maybe Christmas with my family? My mom’s a mad cook.”

“But does she fire up the Cherries Jubilee tableside?” he asked, referring to their dessert treat that night.

With his careless assurance, Wes turned to rest his side against the railing, slanting his body toward hers. Erin’s skin prickled, hyperaware with the trace memories of last night. His remembered kisses dusted over her face, neck, chest…

The ladies’ man would be expecting the same tonight, too, now that she wasn’t sick anymore. But he would want it to go further, to a natural conclusion that made her pulse tremble.

She kept her eyes on one of her seasickness bracelets. “I just want you to know, Wes, this was a good idea-to relax for a weekend away from all the hustle and bustle back home. I’m having a great time.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. But then he reached over and slid a finger under her bracelet. At the feel of his skin on her wrist, her belly twisted, injecting her with nervous anticipation, a yearning so strong she could barely contain it.

Smoothly, he moved his finger out from under the elastic, then cupped her hand, turning it over so her palm was facing the sky. As he stroked the underside of her hand, his warm skin was rough, striking friction against her flesh.

With his other fingers, he traced down her palm-her lifeline. She shivered. He seemed to know how to apply the right amount of pressure.

“Looks like Madame Karma was correct about that long life,” he said, voice soft and low. He brushed over another line on her palm. “But what’s this? Not a business line…Huh.”

His touch sent a fizz of electricity under her skin, sizzling every cell to steam.

“What do you see?” Oh, man, why was she asking? She couldn’t get into what the fortune-teller had said about “the one.” She needed to cut off this conversation now. But how could she when he was dragging his thumb down over her wrist, just above the bracelet? Her knees almost buckled. Blood rushed downward, flooding the area between her legs with heat.

“I see,” he said, swirling his thumb lightly over her skin, “that your karma curse goes beyond just a long life or the candy shop. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Part of her wanted to explain everything and allow him further inside of her, but the other part held her back: she wasn’t supposed to be worried about this kind of thing with Wes. He wasn’t supposed to be interested in that way.

The part that’d been so affected by her breakup won. She steered the subject away from anything that had to do with intimacy.

“Nope, Madame Karma was just all about business and lifelines. And if I’ve screwed up my chances for making the candy shop the best it can be by not ‘going with the flow,’ I’ve got to change that.” Stick to business. Don’t mention the love part of the prediction-don’t you dare. “Cheryl’s not only my greatest friend, but she’s also my partner, and I can’t allow my own personal bad luck to drag her down, too, especially…” Erin trailed off, nerves twanging.

Great. Even business talk was making her anxious. Was there anything that didn’t these days?

Wes stopped flirting, clasping her hand instead. “What is it?”

Biting the inside of her lip, she continued, thinking it was actually kind of nice to have Wes as a sounding board for this since it was hard to lay all her fears out for Cheryl.

“Cheryl’s really gung ho about the franchising, but I’m the one who’s dragging my feet. That’s why karma’s messing with me.”

Bull. She knew better.

“Expanding isn’t something to look so down and out about,” Wes said.

“I’m scared.” There. She’d voiced it. And she wasn’t just talking about the shop, either.

“Scared of what?”

She risked a peek up at him. “Of failing, I suppose. I guess moving toward franchising would…” She stopped, made a confused face because what she was about to admit didn’t make much sense when expressed in words. “I guess taking this next step would mean that this is it, this is my life, and if the attempt fails, where do I go next? What do I do? And-” she swallowed “-would I be able to handle the fallout?”

“Right. Those damned transitions.”

As the words hung there, the wind seemed to cuff around them, avoiding them as much as she wanted to.