Christian tried to get a read on the men, but the sun was in the wrong position, casting their faces in shadows. He’d been out on these waters a damned long time, a lifetime it seemed, and for much of that, it’d been the friendliest place on earth.

But they’d run into trouble before. They’d been held up three times actually, always out in the middle of nowhere, once while on an island such as this one. He glanced at Denny, who nodded.

Christian drew a deep breath, and then, as he had on that other island, reached into his pocket for the knife he’d tucked there, knowing damned well the women behind him could see exactly what he was doing.

It wouldn’t be a stretch for their overworked nerves and adrenaline to focus on his weapon. Except for one interesting fact-plenty of them seemed to be armed in some manner or another as well. Funny, that. On the surface they were a group of people brought together to a closeness only achieved by sharing near death.

But he knew the truth, that beneath that surface closeness, they were all perfect strangers. Well, not all perfect strangers, because he’d let Dorie in a lot more than he’d ever intended. He couldn’t claim not to know her, or that she didn’t know him. Risking a glance at her, he found her eyes wide on his.

She’d seen the knife. “It’s going to be okay,” he told her, told all of them.

Denny glanced at him in surprise. Yeah, yeah, so he wasn’t exactly known for his gentle bedside manner. That was usually Denny’s area of expertise, babysitting the passengers. Just another example of how far Dorie had wormed her way into his heart. So much so that he’d been awake all last night trying to figure out how to make a go of this thing with her. A real relationship. A long-lasting one. He’d come up with nothing. But he didn’t want to think about that now, not with his heart pumping and adrenaline flowing as the boat came closer.

Normally, he had only himself to think about, worry about. That had changed, and wasn’t that just the crux of his problem. For the first time in far too long, he had something to lose.

Someone, to be exact.

TWENTY-THREE

Dorie’s gaze stuck on Christian’s back, and the knife he held there, so that she nearly missed the huge, beautiful sailing yacht come closer. One of the men on board waved to them as conflicting emotions battered her.

Why did Christian have a knife?

“Ahoy!” one of the men on the boat called out.

Denny lifted a hand in greeting.

“Can I be of any service to you?” the man asked through cupped hands.

He had a British accent, Dorie noted. He wore baggy white linen pants and a matching white shirt with some sort of saint’s medallion at the base of his throat, held there by a thin piece of leather. He had a thin tattoo around each wrist, a diamond in one ear, and a smile on his face. He was dark from the sun, with melting dark eyes and darker hair, sun kissed on the ends, which curled to his collar. He could be a drug runner-a successful one. Or just a successful man.

He took them all in, including the fact that there was no boat anywhere near them, and raised his hands as if to say what happened?

“We limped in after the storm,” Denny called out. “And lost our boat.”

“Ah.” The man handed his helm over to the man standing at his right, and hopped down into the water without regard to his clearly expensive pants. Water splashed up to his knees as he stepped onto the shore, holding out his hand to Denny. “Michael Phillips.”

“Denny McDonald,” Denny said, and the two shook hands.

“So you’re in a bit of a bind,” Michael said in that expensive British voice.

“You could say so.”

Ethan and Christian were behind him, tense and very watchful.

“Men,” Brandy whispered in Dorie’s ear. “They’re playing the who has the biggest dick game.” The Vegas dancer stepped closer. “How did you happen on us?” she asked.

Michael turned his head and looked at her. “I didn’t just happen on you.”

Denny and Ethan went very, very still.

Christian didn’t move either, and Dorie could almost see him mentally wielding the knife she knew he held.

“I own this island.” Michael studied each of them in turn. “We saw smoke from your fire yesterday and figured a boat had stopped for some beach fun. When we saw the smoke again today, I decided to come check it out.”

“You own the island,” Brandy said in a holy shit voice.

He smiled. “Along with a very exclusive getaway on the north side. You didn’t see that, apparently.”

“No,” Denny muttered. “We didn’t.”

“We tried,” Ethan said, “but we couldn’t get over there.”

“Which is what makes it exclusive. We don’t usually have more than a single guest at a time, for privacy’s sake.”

Uh-oh.Dorie knew what that meant. Either he was catering to the rich and famous, or he was a drug runner. God, she hoped it was the rich and famous.

“So you’re stranded,” Michael said calmly. “Stuck here.”

“The guy’s a genius,” Denny muttered, and Dorie wondered if he was put out because he was no longer the only captain on the island, or if it was because he was the only captain on the island without a boat.

Michael didn’t seem concerned with either possibility, or with the fact that the men still hadn’t relaxed. He walked up the beach like he did indeed own the place, and smiled at the women. “Are there any injuries?”

Their matching smiles faded in unison as they remembered.

Bobby.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low with obvious concern as he took in each and every one of them. “Who’s hurt?”

“Not hurt,” Denny said. “Missing. We lost one of our crew.”

“In the storm?”

They all looked at each other, and Dorie was right there with them. What to say now? Yes, in the storm, but one of us might have assisted that loss? The ramifications of saying anything close to that hit her like a one-two punch. The authorities would be called, and each of them who’d been on the Sun Song, including herself, would be held for questioning.

They’d be suspects, one and all. And worse, suspects outside of the United States and its authority, which meant they’d be held in a foreign prison.

“It’s complicated,” Christian said calmly. “But we’ll need the authorities.”

Michael lifted a brow. “Is there a crime scene?”

The silence became weighted until Christian spoke. “The crime scene was on the boat.”

Michael just looked at them. “So there are…” He counted. “Seven of you.”

“Yes,” Christian said.

“Been a rough few days, I imagine?”

“Actually,” Brandy said. “If it hadn’t been for poor Bobby, I wouldn’t have minded any of it.”

“A noncomplaining woman.” He gave her a second look. “What a refreshing surprise in a guest. I have radio communications and a telephone line. You can call whoever else you need to. Consider yourself rescued. You could be out of here by nightfall.”

His boat, aptly named Elegance, was every bit as beautiful as the Sun Song had been. Even more so, if that was possible. The ride wasn’t long, but Dorie took in the crystal chandeliers, the brass fixtures, the wealth and sophistication in every inch of the yacht and felt bowled over by all it represented. “Do you sail often?”

“Used to.” Michael served them all champagne. “But then I built my place, and…” He lifted a shoulder. “Now I’d rather be on the island, if I’m not working.”

“Working?”

“Writing scripts. Producing.”

Cadence blinked.

Brandy gasped.

So did Dorie. “Are you… that Michael Phillips?”

Michael smiled.

“Oh my God,” Cadence said. “I saw you get your third Oscar this year. I love you. I mean-” she stuttered when everyone laughed. “I love your work.”

“The elusive, hermitlike Hollywood big shot,” Andy said slowly, sitting forward, flashing his million-dollar smile. “Hey. Someone more famous than me.”

Michael laughed and topped off their flutes. “I don’t know about that. Ah, here we go. Up ahead.”

His place was quite simply the most amazing thing Dorie had ever seen. The mansion was cut into the mountainside as if a part of it, all wood and various levels with walls of windows and so many decks she couldn’t count, shaded by lush growth and flowers in every hue.

Michael’s crew maneuvered them to the dock with hardly a bump, and when they tied off, they all stepped onto the wood and stared up the grassy cliffs with amazement.

“Wow,” Cadence said, speaking for all of them.

“Let’s go inside.” There were two sets of rock stairs cut into the mountainside, leading straight up the cliff to the house. Michael gestured for them to take the left route. At the top, Dorie turned in a half circle and realized she could see nearly half the island, and what looked like the entire ocean and horizon. She’d had her breath taken away before but this cut right through all that and stole her heart.

Completely.

She stood at the top of the world it seemed, the house behind her, the entire ocean in front of her, and simply couldn’t breathe.

“There’s a phone just inside,” Michael said.

Right. Back to the real world. She looked at Christian and realized the truth. She wasn’t ready to go.


Christian walked through the room he’d been given, stripping as he headed to the bathroom. It was done. The authorities called, loved ones notified, nightmare over.

The only negative-and it was a big one-Bobby’s body had been found, so the rescue had turned into a retrieval.

Christian hated that.

Given the situation, he knew there’d be a circus of authorities descending on the island as quickly as possible.