“You know how I told you I was a writer?”

She nodded, frowning.

“I’m J. D. Batista. I’m a bestselling suspense writer. Have you ever heard of the ‘Dark Blue’ series set in the Keys?”

Gail turned her head to the left and stared off into space, as if she was trying to conjure up a distant memory. “Vaguely,” she said, looking at him again, her eyes suddenly devoid of emotion. “Then again, I’ve never really cared for that kind of trash.”

Her words stung. “Okay. I deserved that.”

Gail laughed. “This is hilarious,” she said, the sarcasm oozing from her voice. She put a shaking hand to her mouth before she went on. “So let me see if I got this straight—you lied to me about your writing, telling me that you hoped to be published one day when you already had a major career? And you did this because you thought I was another psycho tourist out to get you?” The tendons in Gail’s neck stuck out like guitar strings. “Is that what this is all about?”

Jesse couldn’t help but see the irony of the situation. Gail Chapman was the only woman whose opinion mattered to him, and she was sickened by his deceit and thought his work was trash.

This hadn’t turned out the way he’d hoped.

“Gail, please listen. I only wanted to be sure you liked me for who I was as a person before you knew I had money and fame.” Jesse’s legs felt weak. He’d blown it with her. He knew it. “I always planned to tell you.”

Gail laughed bitterly. “Really? When? When I was already home? When I came upon your books in some Walmart somewhere?” She flapped her arms in agitation. “Or maybe you wanted to wait until after I’d fallen completely, totally in love with you! Oh, wait—that’s already happened!”

“Please forgive me. I made an awful mistake.”

“You know what the worst part is?” Gail’s cheeks had become red and blotchy with anger. “You knew how important honesty was to me! I told you, Jesse. I told you that I’d been burned by a lying, cheating, embezzling asshole, and that honesty was the only thing I absolutely had to have from a man.”

Jesse’s head felt as if it would explode. In trying to protect himself, he’d hurt her. “I am so sorry,” was all he could say.

Gail wasn’t finished. She poked a finger in his chest. “But think about this—however bad that girl hurt you, Curtis hurt me more. It was my husband who betrayed me, not some tramp from the vacation house next door. Yet I still opened up to you, Jesse! I had the courage to be myself with you!”

He’d never felt this low in his life.

Gail spun around. She headed out his bedroom door and made a beeline directly toward his office, the door to which he’d intentionally left closed whenever she came to the house. Jesse watched her flip on the light and stand in the doorway, nodding.

He came up behind her and leaned an arm on the doorjamb. He’d never before felt queasy with embarrassment at the sight of his framed book covers and rave reviews.

Gail spun around to find that his arm blocked her way out. She stared at him with cold, hard eyes. “The tragedy is that I did love you for who you are—who I thought you were, anyway—and if I’d known from the start that you were some famous mystery writer I would have found a way to love you in spite of it!”

“It’s really more suspense than mystery,” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re a total dipshit, J. D. Batista. Hey, that must be what the ‘D’ stands for! Dipshit!” She ducked under his outstretched arm and raced down the stairs in her bare feet. He ran after her.

“Gail, wait! You can’t just walk out. We need to talk!”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” she said, reaching for the front doorknob and looking over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know when and if I ever feel like talking to you again.”

Jesse placed his hand on her back, but she jerked away from his touch. Those soft brown eyes burned.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” she said, preparing to slam the door behind her. “Thanks for the vacation memories!”

Chapter eight

JESSE SAT AT HIS DESK. He stared out the window at the banyan tree, his first cup of morning coffee in his hand, still reeling from what had happened with Gail the night before. What his agent just told him hadn’t improved his mood any, either.

His publisher had said no on the two-week extension request. They wanted the manuscript by 10:00 a.m. the next day. But for good reason, Beverly told him in an excited voice. They’d moved up the pub date of that book by six whole months. And they’d decided to send him out on tour with his summer release.

“This is a sure sign that they believe in you, Jesse, that they’re certain you can turn those numbers around.” Beverly waited for some type of enthusiastic response from him, but when she didn’t get one, she continued on. “I’m not sure you realize how big this is. Authors aren’t getting this kind of support right now, Jesse, not in this economy. And they’re behind you even though your numbers are down.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Jesse? Do you hear what I’m saying? Isn’t this fabulous?”

Not exactly.

Gail was leaving in twenty-four hours, the exact same time his publisher expected to have his completed manuscript in hand. How was he supposed to send in a halfway decent manuscript and win Gail back at the same time?

Jesse got up from his chair and began to pace. “So I guess this isn’t a good time to tell you that I was about to ask for a two-week extension on top of the two-week extension they just nixed?”

Beverly didn’t answer right away. “No,” she eventually said. “That wouldn’t be smart.”

He walked back and forth in front of the eight custom-framed book covers hanging at precise intervals on his office wall, knowing in his heart that Gail had been right. He was a dipshit.

His agent had one more point to make, apparently. “I have to ask you, Jesse, what’s going on in your life that’s more important than your career? You seem quite distracted. You’re not having more problems with that crazy tourist, are you?”

He stopped pacing and leaned a hip up against the windowsill. For some reason, all he could think of was the moment Gail first slipped her hand into his, just before he took her on the moped tour. Before that day had ended, she would have revealed her heart to him, made him laugh and pranced around in a dental floss bikini for him.

Jesse stood straight, the truth of it suddenly hitting him like a boat anchor upside his head. When he’d told Gail he was falling for her, he’d meant it. But it was more than that. Gail Chapman was the only woman he wanted. She was the one he’d been looking for. And it was as simple as that.

“Did I lose you, Jesse?”

“Nope,” he told his agent. “Still here.”

“Is everything all right in your world?”

Jesse laughed. He could never tell Beverly what was going on. If he told her that a really special woman was staying in the rental house next door and he’d fallen in love with her, his agent would dump his ass as a client. Then she’d send an emissary to Key West to track him down and shoot him where he stood. And Jesse wouldn’t blame her one bit.

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

“Then get the manuscript to them by tomorrow morning.”

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. How had he gotten into this mess? He had to finish a book and win Gail back—at the same time. “Fine. Tell them it’s on the way.”

He hung up. He sat down at his desk once more, knowing he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.

HOLLY SCOOTED THE CHAIR closer to the desktop computer and signed in to her Internet account, warning everyone that her typing might not be up to snuff on a strange keyboard.

“Then let me do it,” Hannah said, pulling up the chair to her right.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Holly shook her head. “This is my mother’s heartache, so it’s only right I should get the honors.”

Gail took the seat to the left of her daughter, cautiously sipping at the hot cup of coffee in her hand. It had taken some convincing, but she’d agreed to accompany the girls to the Internet café in Old Town to do a little research on J. D. Batista, master of fiction, in both his books and his life.

She had nothing else to do. They were leaving the next morning. Besides, she’d cried so much that they were out of tissues at the house.

“Okay, girls!” Holly said in what Gail thought was a voice far too perky for the occasion. “Get on Google and let’s search the living crap out of him!”

A couple of clicks on the keyboard, and there he was. That sure didn’t take long. Gail had to admit that Jesse looked exceptionally handsome in his publicity shot, and that yes, the picture did look familiar. She’d probably seen his face and his books in a dozen bookstores over the years, but since she didn’t read that stuff, it never registered with her. She peered closer to the photo, deciding something looked off about him. He wasn’t wearing his little silver earring, for starters. He was clean-shaven. And his eyes seemed friendly but empty somehow. Flat.

Gail sat up straight. Her chest pulled tight. The reason Jesse’s publicity picture looked strange to her was that it wasn’t the Jesse she knew. What she was looking at was his public face, and she’d seen him only on his home turf. Gail had become accustomed to Jesse’s eyes when he looked at her—when they made love, danced, laughed together, or walked hand in hand. Maybe he’d been himself with her that week, after all.