“Is it hard to stay sober?” The words had slipped out before she could stop them.

He said nothing for a time and she debated whether to apologize.

“I don’t think the struggle ever goes away,” he finally said, turning to her, his tone reflective. “But it’s gotten easier.” His lips quirked up. “I spent a lot of years trying to blot out the bad parts; but it doesn’t really make any of it go away. Turns out I kind of like seeing things the way they really are.”

The sky darkened around them and the mosquitoes and no-see-ums came out to feast. Maddie could practically hear them scoffing at the citronella.

“It’s your perfume,” Will said. “It attracts them.”

She should have known better. Hud had told them that early on when they’d complained about insect bites, but she’d automatically spritzed herself with scent after her shower.

“Personally, I think you smell great.” His voice was husky. “I understand where the mosquitoes are coming from. I might even be slightly jealous of them.”

He stood, giving her a moment before he reached for her hand to draw her to her feet. She felt a crackle of sexual electricity arc between them. Her eyes fluttered shut as he bent to fit his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and firm. The kiss began slowly but grew hot quickly. Way too hot for her brain, which seemed unable to process the fact that William Hightower was kissing her—and she was kissing him back.

“I don’t normally ask permission.” He kissed her again, more deeply this time. Lust—there was no other name for it—rippled through her. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Maddie?”

She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to talk. She just wanted to feel his lips on hers, lose herself in the overwhelming heat of him.

He placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up so that their eyes met. “We’re adults. We’re obviously attracted to each other.” His eyes were darker than the night sky. There was passion in them. Passion for her. “Unless you say otherwise, I’m going to make love to you.”

They were alone here. With no one to chaperone them. No one to know what they did or didn’t do. Her body tightened, strained toward his. But her brain couldn’t absorb the enormity of what was happening. How could she possibly do this? How could she bare her middle-aged self to a man who had slept with some of the most beautiful women in the world? She hadn’t even kissed anyone but Steve for the last thirty years.

She took a step back, pulled her hand free, broke the connection.

She aimed her eyes somewhere to the left of his chin.

“I . . . I have to go. I . . . I’m sorry. I . . . thanks for dinner.” Her hands clasped in front of her. She stole a glance at his face and saw that the heat in his eyes had begun to give way to what she was afraid was surprised amusement.

“I . . . I really appreciate the offer. It’s a . . . good offer.” She was nodding her head now for emphasis. “But I think I’d better get to sex. I mean to bed. No, no, I mean to sleep.” If she didn’t stop now she’d babble on forever. “So . . . good night.”

“Good night, Maddie.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “You be sure and sleep tight.”

“Thank you. You’re tight, too.” She closed her eyes in abject humiliation. Then, before she could make it worse, she turned and pretty much fled toward the houseboat.

Chapter Thirty-four

To say that Maddie had trouble sleeping that night was kind of like saying Noah had assembled a few animals on his ark. She tossed and turned from the moment she laid her head on her pillow, unable to forget that she was alone on a deserted island with William Hightower. Who for some unknown reason—which might or might not be the fact that she was the only available female on the premises—wanted to make love to her.

Make love. As in have sex.

She sweated through the night and knew that this time she couldn’t blame it on menopause or the inadequate air-conditioning or anything but the two ridiculously contradictory things she felt: unbridled lust and abject humiliation at how she’d handled their encounter. Personal modifiers even more unfathomable than fifty-one and single.

At two A.M. she moved to the main cabin and lay on the sofa staring out the rectangular window at a slice of moon and bits of the star-filled sky. At three she went up on deck, where the warm breeze riffled her hair and she heard the steady kick and splash of laps being swum in the swimming pool.

For a wild moment she considered simply slipping naked into the pool, which would keep him from seeing her imperfections, and silently, with no stammering or Freudian slips, offering herself to William.

In this scenario they’d have wild monkey sex, whatever that was, and then somehow, possibly while his back was turned, she’d slip out of the pool and disappear into the night. Where she’d become some brief but treasured memory.

Coward.

Back in her cubicle of a room she stared up into the shadowed ceiling and debated which was worse: the fact that she’d humiliated herself so completely or the fact that she’d run away from something that she had never imagined could happen and was unlikely ever to happen to her again. The idea of starting a new life, being free to take risks and even make mistakes, sounded so wonderful. Until you actually had to do it.

Maddie cursed, slapped at her pillow, turned on her side. She was still chastising herself and wondering how she would ever face William Hightower again when sleep finally claimed her.

Romeo and his band of Juliets woke her a few hours later, and she forced herself out of bed, made a cup of coffee, and carried it out to the deck, shocked to discover that the cock-a-doodle-doo had occurred so close to daybreak. The sun was just on the rise, a red sphere breaking through the morning mist. She settled on the bench seat, brought her knees up to her chest, and breathed the beginnings of the new day into her lungs. Across Mermaid Point she could see fishing boats heading out for the day, the big ones headed offshore past the reefs, the smaller, backcountry skiffs headed into the bay. Dive boats were already floating beside their mooring balls out near Alligator Reef Lighthouse. Fishing was an early morning sport; perhaps the most successful anglers got their lines out while the fish were still half asleep and not yet fully caffeinated.

At six thirty the air was already hot and muggy. She was smiling at the thought of fish sipping tiny cups of coffee, when William stepped out of the pavilion wearing only cutoffs and carrying a fishing rod. He crossed the small half-moon of sand and moved out into the shallow water. His arm arced behind him and then arced forward. She watched him for a time as he whipped his line back and then outward again, admiring the fluid, balletlike nature of his movements.

She dithered yet again over how to face him. But this morning, in the clean bright light of a new day, continuing her internal debate seemed silly. They were confined on a small island, in exceptionally close proximity, for another six to eight weeks. Climbing into a hole and disappearing seemed unlikely. Dying of embarrassment was even unlikelier. It was the Fourth of July. By the next afternoon everyone would be back and it would be business as usual; plenty of people to hide behind, work to dilute her desire. She felt something akin to panic when she realized that it might also mean a missed opportunity that might never come again.

As William had so astutely pointed out, they were both adults. It was time to start acting like one.

Maddie washed her face, brushed her teeth, twisted her hair up in a clip, and pulled on shorts and a bathing suit top. Pouring a second cup of coffee, which she carried with her, she left the houseboat and walked past the tidal pool and out to join William, where he stood almost knee-deep in the water.

“Good morning.” Her voice broke on the greeting but she pretended not to notice and, thankfully, William did the same. He looked like a noble savage or early hunter-gatherer with his bronzed skin stretched taut over a lean, muscled frame, his shaggy dark hair with its streaks of gray brushing his broad shoulders.

“Morning.” His tone was casual as he turned toward her, but then, it was unlikely that his interest in her the previous night had been anything but casual, just like all sex undoubtedly was to him. Her reflection shimmered back at her from his mirrored sunglasses.

“What are you fishing for?” She matched his tone and wished she had sunglasses to hide behind.

“Bonefish. Last two hours of tide going out is a good time to get them. But they’re tricky and skittish.” He lowered his sunglasses briefly and looked pointedly at her. “They don’t call them gray ghosts for nothing.” He turned his attention, taking the rod back and then forward, the yellow line snapping forward and disappearing beneath the surface.

“What kind of bait are you using?”

“They like small shrimp and small crabs, but I’m using an epoxy head fly.”

“Is that one of the ones you made?”

“Yeah.”

“The bushy yellow one or the shiny copper thing?”

He smiled, a simple flash of white teeth, and she felt herself begin to relax.

“Shiny copper colored. I didn’t know you were so interested in fishing.”

“Never thought about it before I came here. Is it difficult?”

“Mostly it just takes patience. Both learning to fly cast and understanding how the fish think.”

“Fish think?” Who knew, maybe they drank tiny cups of coffee, too.

“Well, I’m not sure they could ever be accused of premeditation, but they can be pretty wily. And bonefish are fast as all get-out.”