So at that moment, as the plane descended onto what already looked like a tropical paradise surrounded by a neverending blue-green sea, Holly and Hannah gave each other a wink and a thumbs up.

Let the partying begin.

Chapter two

OH, YESSSS.

Gail pulled the chain on the ceiling fan, and the wide rattan blades began to whir. She placed her glass of lemonade on the wicker table, along with the stack of brochures she’d collected at the airport, then settled into the porch rocker. She pulled the cotton sundress down over her thighs and wiggled her toes in the shade provided by the big palm tree. This was hard to believe. For ten glorious days she and the girls would be relaxing in this adorable, tidy little house on Margaret Street. What luck it was to find this place at the last minute—and right in the heart of historic Old Town! The rental agent said a family called to cancel only six hours before Gail made her inquiry.

“It must be fate,” the woman had said.

Whatever it was, the place was idyllic. They had their own inground pool out back, where the girls were already swimming, reggae music pumping out of a pair of outdoor speakers. They had a gas grill, a big-screen TV with cable and DVR, and in Gail’s master bath she had a Jacuzzi tub and a shower stall! It was heaven on earth! Now all she had to do was decide which activities they’d do when they weren’t relaxing at the house. They could choose from snorkeling, water scooters, sailing trips, deep-sea fishing, swimming with dolphins and all kinds of historical tours.

Sure, this vacation was pricey, but it had been a snap to justify the expense. Since this was the first vacation Gail had taken in six years, she’d calculated that she’d spent only $447 per year on vacations during that time. If that wasn’t thrifty, she didn’t know what was.

Gail took a sip of the ice-cold lemonade, savoring the complexity of the sharp sweetness as it slid down her throat. As she rested her head against the rocker, she felt a lock of hair stick to her damp neck. She was perspiring. Already. This was fabulous! Thanks to the miracle of flight, she’d been picked up in a bone-chilling Philadelphia rain and dropped off in the subtropics.

Gail let go with a sigh of relief, the stress falling away like a shell, her dry winter skin sucking in the humidity like a sponge. Her chest and bare arms were gently tickled by the ceiling fan’s breeze.

Oh, how she’d needed this chance to unwind. Kim had been absolutely right.

“What the goddammed fucking hell?”

Gail’s head popped up and her ears perked. The man’s voice was so close it sounded as if he was right on top of her.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

She swiveled her head to her right. She saw movement on the other side of the thick screen of foliage separating her yard from the house next door. Then she heard a few banging sounds, like someone taking a hammer to metal.

“This is patently absurd,” said the baritone voice in the next yard. “I pay twenty-five bucks each for historically accurate reproduction shutter hinges, and this is the kind of substandard crap I get? In less than two years? Does no one have a sense of pride in their artistry anymore?”

Gail leaned forward on the edge of the rocker and peeked between two large flowering bushes, looking to see if the man was speaking to anyone. She determined that he was alone over there, which made her even more curious. What kind of man would buy historically accurate reproduction shutter hinges and then talk to them? Curse at them? While using words like “patently” and “substandard,” no less?

She craned her neck. She could almost see him. If only he’d turn to his left a bit…almost there…now just a little bit more…

Gail’s eyes widened in comprehension.

Oh.

So that’s what George Clooney would look like after a month on the beach—all sun-roasted and sexy, salt-and-pepper scruff on his face and threadbare jeans hanging low on his chiseled hips.

Gail watched her foulmouthed neighbor examine what was obviously the offending hinge. He moved it back and forth in his hand, his scowl deepening, the muscles undulating in his hands, wrists and forearms.

She couldn’t take her eyes from him. A hot heaviness started low in her belly, and the longer she stared, the more intense the heat became, spreading, rising, causing her breath to become jagged. Despite the warm air, full-on goose bumps broke out on Gail’s arms.

She blinked. She licked her lips. The dark-haired hinge examiner wore a tiny silver hoop that glinted in the dappled sunlight. Maybe he was a pirate, one of those dangerous smugglers Kim had mentioned, a pirate smuggler with a rippling layer of muscle beneath the tanned skin of his abdomen. A pirate with defined biceps and strong shoulders. A pirate with an English degree.

Without warning, he looked up. His piercing blue eyes flashed at Gail, first with surprise, then with irritation. She gasped. She slammed herself into the back of the rocker, eyes straight ahead, hands gripping the armrests while she held her breath. How embarrassing. She shouldn’t have done that. Now her neighbor would think she was nosy.

“Oh, great.” An instant after the scholarly pirate made that sarcastic comment, Gail heard his sandaled feet clomp up his porch steps. Then she heard his door opening and closing.

Well, that had been awkward. Apparently, Gail didn’t even remember how to behave around extremely attractive men. Kim had been right. She really should’ve gotten out more.

“DID YOU SEE THE WAY THAT dude looked at us?” Hannah spread herself out on her stomach at poolside, dangling her fingers in the shallow end while Holly floated nearby in the warm water. “I swear he was undressing us with his eyes.”

Holly laughed. “All guys do that. They can’t help themselves.”

“Yeah, but that dude was sick hot.”

“You need to slow down,” Holly said, paddling over to where Hannah lay. “Pace yourself, girlfriend. We’ve been here, like, two hours. He was just the cabdriver.”

“I know, but he was hard-core exotic!” Hannah lowered her forehead to her arms and sighed.

Holly swam to the pool edge and propped herself on her elbows, kicking her feet lazily in the water behind her. “I’ve got a feeling this place is going to be crawling with sick-hot guys, and we’ve got ten whole days to meet every one of them, right?”

Hannah lifted her eyes, her expression now serious. “Your mom’s sweet and this place is totally tight. I kinda feel bad in a way, you know? We’re going to be having such a ballin’ time and she’s just going to be sitting around reading on the porch. It’s sad.”

Holly laughed. “But that’s her idea of fun! She’s not much of a partier. She can’t dance or anything. So I wouldn’t worry too much about my mom.” Holly wagged an eyebrow and was careful to lower her voice—not that her mom could hear anything while that Shaggy tune was pumping out into the courtyard:


Who da man dat love to make you moist and wet—uh?

Who da man dat love to make you moan and sweat—uh?

“If you say so,” Hannah said with a shrug.

“So what do you want to do tonight? Should we sneak out to the main party area? What’s it called again?”

“Duval Street?”

“Right.”

Hannah ratcheted her neck back in response. “What are you, wack or something? Of course we should sneak out to Duval Street!”

“All right, then,” Holly whispered. “We’re going to need a plan.”

SHE SMELLED HIM BEFORE she saw him, catching a whiff of clean male skin and fabric starch in the breeze. He stood on the sidewalk, head covered in a bright white captain’s cap with a navy blue bill, the barest hint of a smile spreading across his clean-shaven face. For some reason, he’d gotten rid of the salt-and-pepper scruff and the hoop earring. Why? Why would he do that? It was a tragedy!

Equally tragic was the fact that he was now fully clothed, wearing a pair of pressed white slacks and a pale blue golf shirt embroidered with the words “Luna Cruises, Captain J.D.” He knocked playfully on the front gate, though it was unnecessary. Gail had been staring at him, openmouthed, for a good three seconds.

She flew to her feet, a brochure for therapeutic massage skidding across the porch floor.

“Good afternoon. My name is Jesse,” he said in the same baritone voice he’d used to curse the shutter hinge about an hour before. “I’m your neighbor. Just thought I’d introduce myself and welcome you to Key West.”

Gail’s throat had seized shut. She couldn’t speak. She felt like an idiot—a mute idiot. “Guh,” she finally croaked out. “Guh-ail. From Pennsylvania.”

The man approached the porch, stopping on the bottom step, careful not to invade her space. He held out his big, browned hand.

Gail shoved her damp palm toward him. After an instant of contact, he withdrew, hiding his hand in his trouser pocket. It was almost as if he couldn’t stand the idea of touching her, even though he’d initiated it.

“Well,” he said, looking down toward the porch floor uneasily. “Here. You dropped this.” He scanned the cover of the brochure before he returned it to Gail. “So you’re thinking of getting a massage?”

Gail blinked several times and continued to stare. She couldn’t help it. He wasn’t George Clooney. He was better. And he wasn’t a pirate. He was a legitimate boat captain! And all she could think of was how the clean-shaven captain’s big hands would feel rubbing her naked flesh, some type of aromatic tropical oil providing a friction-free slide from her heels to her hairline, and everywhere in between.

“Oh, yeah, that would be so great,” she whispered.

He studied her for a moment, then his dark eyebrows drew together in a scowl. She thought he had the sultriest deep blue eyes she’d ever seen in her life—even with the grimace.

“Okay, then. Enjoy your visit.”

Just then the front door flew open, and Hannah and Holly literally stumbled onto the porch, laughing loudly and dripping pool water at their feet. They stopped in their tracks, backs straightening. Holly’s gaze went from the man to her mother, eyes wide in wonder.

“Girls, this is our neighbor, Jesse,” Gail said, somehow regaining the ability to speak in full sentences. “Jesse, this is my daughter, Holly, and her best friend, Hannah.”

“Hi,” Holly said.

“Hey there,” Hannah said, shifting her weight and sliding a hand along the slope of her well-rounded hip.

“Hello,” Jesse said, averting his gaze.

Gail rubbed the back of her damp neck, anxiety coursing through her. She’d never seen that bikini on her daughter before. The garment—if you could call two partially shredded strips of fabric a garment—was not appropriate for a high school student, or anyone who didn’t make their living thrusting her pelvis onto a pole. However, Holly’s swimsuit was a burka compared with the three triangles Hannah was sporting, and Hannah was far more endowed than her daughter.

“Excuse me, but I need to get to work. Enjoy your stay.” Jesse smiled politely and tipped his cap to the ladies before he left. They watched him walk from the house, out the gate and down the sidewalk.

No one said anything for many long seconds.

Hannah broke the silence. “Who knew Cap’n Crunch was such a bangin’ hottie?”

The girls broke out into an attack of the giggles. Gail continued to stare down the sidewalk, awash in some kind of stunned awareness, long after the bangin’ hot captain had disappeared.

JESSE REVIEWED THE manifest with the crew chief. There’d be forty-four passengers on board Fred’s customized sixty-foot motor yacht tonight, sixteen of whom had made a vegetarian meal selection and one who needed handicapped access and seating. Once he completed the yacht’s safety check with the first mate, Jesse grabbed a cold drink and watched the crew carry on the necessities—containers of fresh shrimp, grouper and red snapper, hamburgers, barbecued chicken and pork, and veggie burgers. There were vats of several varieties of salads, sandwich fixings, guacamole and salsa. There were several varieties of chips and pretzels. Sodas. Fruit juices. Bottled water. Liquor and more liquor. Mixers. Enough beer for a football stadium.

Jesse knew that every passenger who’d forked over $175 to Luna Cruises had specific expectations for their six-hour ocean excursion. They expected to have a blast. They planned to eat and drink to their heart’s content. They would dance and flirt. The music would be thumping and nonstop. They would get the stunning Key West sunset promised in the brochures and, if the weather held out, their magical night on the water and under the stars. Once they’d returned to Sunset Marina at midnight, the passengers would thank Captain J.D. profusely, maybe sliding a folded ten-dollar bill into his palm, which he’d pass on to the hardworking crew. A woman or two might slip him their hotel room information and a cell phone number. Those went into the trash.