“Emily.” He said it slowly and then gave a smile that seemed to elevate the temperature of the air by a couple of degrees. “Welcome to Puffin Island.”

CHAPTER TWO

SECRETS AND FEAR. He’d sensed both the moment she’d opened the door, just enough for conversation but not enough for the gesture to be construed as welcome.

He knew when a person had something to hide.

It was in his nature to want to unwrap secrets and take a closer look. He’d tried to switch that side of himself off, but still the instinct to ask questions, to dig and delve, persisted.

There were days when it drove him crazy.

To distract himself, he thought about the woman.

He’d woken her. One glance had told him she was the type who liked to be prepared for everything, and his visit had caught her unprepared. A few strands of silky hair had escaped from the clip on the back of her head and floated around smooth cheeks flushed from sleep. She’d been deliciously flustered, those green eyes focused on him with fierce suspicion.

She’d looked as if she were ready to defend someone or something.

Maybe that body.

Holy hell.

Ryan was proud that he hadn’t swallowed his tongue or stammered. He’d even managed to keep his eyes on her face. Most of the time. Then she’d taken a deep breath that had challenged the buttons on her sober shirt, and those full breasts had risen up as if hopeful of escape. The resulting jolt of sexual hunger had been powerful enough to make him lose the thread of the conversation.

It had been a struggle to keep his mouth from dropping open. Even more of a struggle not to press her back against the wall and prove that, even though they had Wi-Fi, not everything on Puffin Island was civilized.

If he was lucky, she hadn’t guessed how shallow he was.

Picking up the pace, he ran back along the coastal trail, dropped down to the rocky shoreline and then climbed up again, pushing hard until his lungs screamed for air and his muscles ached. No one looking at him now would be able to guess that four years earlier he’d died in a pool of his own blood. It was thanks to the skill of medics he hadn’t stayed dead.

He paused at the top because one of the promises he’d made to himself was to take time to appreciate being alive. Of all the places he’d traveled in his life he considered Penobscot Bay, Maine, to be the most beautiful. Forty miles long and ten miles wide, it stretched from Rockland on the western shore up around the Blue Hill peninsula to Mount Desert. The scenery ranged from wave-soaked rocky islands to lush national park. To a waterman it was heaven, to an outdoorsman a playground. To him, it was home.

On a day like today he wondered why it had taken him so long to come back. Why he’d had to hit the bottom before making that decision. He’d stared into the mouth of hell and might have fallen, had it not been for this place.

He’d swapped stress for sandy shores and rocky tidal pools, the smells and sounds of foreign cities for the crash of the sea and the call of the gulls, food he couldn’t identify and didn’t have time to eat for lobster bakes and hand-cranked ice cream. Instead of chasing the truth, he chased the wind and the tides.

He was smart enough to appreciate the irony of the situation. As a teenager he’d been so desperate to escape he’d fantasized about swimming the bay in the dead of night to get the hell off this island. He’d been trapped, imprisoned by circumstances, his cell mate the heavy burden of responsibility that had clung to him since the death of his parents. To keep himself sane, he’d dreamed about other places and other lands. Most of all he’d dreamed about being anonymous, of living in a place where the only thing people knew about you was what you chose to show them.

Taking a mouthful of water from the bottle in his hand, he watched a schooner glide across the bay, its sails plump with the wind.

On impulse, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Brittany. By his calculations it should be afternoon in Greece.

She answered immediately. “You’re calling to tell me you messed with my friend?”

“I offered the hand of friendship as requested.” He waited a beat. “You didn’t tell me there was a child.”

“It slipped my memory.”

Knowing that nothing slipped her memory, Ryan wondered why she’d chosen not to tell him. “I was starting to think you’d done me a favor. I might have known there would be a catch.”

“A kid isn’t a catch. You treat children like viruses, Ryan. Man up.”

He smiled. “So what’s the story? You said she was in trouble. Am I to expect a visit from an abusive ex-husband?”

“Why does it matter? You’d handle him with one hand behind your back.”

“I like to know what I’m dealing with, that’s all.”

“You’re dealing with my stressed friend. Keep her safe.”

Tags: Sarah Morgan Puffin Island Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net