They’d covered a lot of ground in just a few hours. He’d learned that Gail was passionate about literature, art and classical music, but that she hadn’t had much in the way of leisure time. She had a quick mind and a quicker wit, and he’d laughed his ass off more than once. She told him that she’d had the same best friend since elementary school, like Jesse. And Gail had been through a lot with her ex-husband. Though she was discreet and kind when she talked about her ex, the basic story was enough for Jesse to comfortably stick Curtis Chapman in the “Grade-A Douche Bag” column. It was no mystery why Gail had kept her distance from men since.

He’d noticed how Gail’s eyes lit up whenever she mentioned her daughter, an honors student waiting to hear whether she’d been accepted to the University of Pennsylvania. It had been just the two of them for many years now, and Jesse was impressed with how Gail had juggled everything.

He’d discovered that Gail’s laughter had a roller-coaster lilt to it, starting low, then building, then softening again. He’d enjoyed the ride every time.

And Jesse had figured out why he’d been so damn attracted to her from the start. He liked her. He’d liked her the first time they spoke and he’d gone on liking her. And all that was before he even touched on how enjoyable it was just to look at her.

Gail was beautiful, certainly. He loved that she’d let her hair down and it fell in soft waves around her face. He thought her eyes were stunning—a kind and warm café au lait that sparkled when she smiled, and that she’d accented with a single stroke of eyeliner on her upper lid. Those eyes were framed in long lashes and delicate, light eyebrows. He liked her little nose. And that silky peach-pink mouth—surely she’d noticed him staring at her lips. The truth was, he wanted to kiss her again. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough kissing.

The rest of Gail Chapman was, in a word, lovely. She had firm, delicate arms and soft, small hands. She was probably about a size eight, with a shapely bottom, nice but not overly large breasts, great legs and cute feet. A lot of women would have chosen to strut that kind of stuff in skintight Dolce and Gabbana. Not Professor Gail. Her choice was breathable cotton from the L.L. Bean catalog.

The idea made him hard enough to cut glass.

“Am I keeping you from anything?” Gail asked. “We’ve been here a long time. I didn’t mean to monopolize your day.”

“Me?” Jesse was shaken from his stupor. “No. I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

She sent him a sweet smile, then lowered her eyes.

By this point, Jesse believed he had a decent working knowledge of Gail Chapman, and he knew his hunch had been more than wishful thinking. Beneath that mild-mannered exterior lurked a wild woman just dying to escape. She knew it, too. She’d basically admitted it back at the Hemingway house. “I’m unstable, and very, very deprived.”

But Gail was still fighting it. She was still afraid of it. And Jesse decided that he was the man to facilitate her release. He’d provide her a safe and comfortable place where she could let it all go.

“How about you?” he asked. “Am I keeping you from anything?”

She thought that was funny. “Nope.” She looked right in his eyes and pursed her lips. “So tell me more about your day-to-day life.”

Jesse had been telling her his story all afternoon. Most of it, anyway. Sometime after his second glass of wine, he’d made a decision. Bottom line—he wouldn’t lie to her. Should Gail or her daughter ask if he was J. D. Batista, the author, he’d say yes, he was. Gail would probably be angry with him and think she’d been misled somehow, but he’d deal with that when it happened. In the meantime, Jesse’s plan was to tell her enough of the truth that he could sleep at night, but not enough to alter the sweet and uncomplicated connection growing between them.

“Well, in addition to working on Fred’s boat and helping with the walking tours, I usually write every day.”

Gail’s eyes flew wide. “Seriously? You’re a writer?”

“I try to be,” he said, watching carefully for any flicker of recognition in her eyes. There was none.

“Wow! That’s so exciting! What do you write?”

“Mostly fiction,” he said. “I also do a little poetry, and lately I’ve been trying my hand at a screenplay, which is a lot tougher than I imagined.”

Gail’s brows knit together. “Do you think you’ll be published one day?”

Jesse froze. Answering this question honestly without giving himself away was going to be a challenge. He was an author with eight New York Times bestsellers under his belt, but, as every writer knew, that was no guarantee of future success.

“There’s always hope,” was Jesse’s answer.

Gail let go with a laugh. “I knew it all along, of course,” she said, a knowing look on her face. Jesse thought his charade was over until Gail finished her thought. “I knew you had to be a writer or an English teacher.”

Jesse smiled. “Yeah? What tipped you off?”

“Your vocabulary,” she said, folding her arms under her breasts. “You cursed your shutter hinge using words like artistry and substandard along with the usual shits and fucks.”

Jesse choked. Hearing those words come out of professor Gail’s mouth was as jarring as it was hilarious. “Sorry you were subjected to that,” he said. “I get a little uptight about my house sometimes. It means a lot to me.”

Gail raked her fingers through her hair and studied Jesse for a moment, her brown eyes focused on him. “I need to ask you a personal question, Jesse,” she said. “If you don’t want to answer me, just tell me to go to hell.”

He couldn’t imagine ever needing to do that, but he agreed.

“How can you afford your place?” She looked repentant the instant the words tumbled from her mouth. “What I mean is, that’s a really expensive house and you’re a man with a couple of part-time jobs—you know, the starving artist type. I don’t get it.”

“Ah,” Jesse said.

“Are you a drug smuggler? A member of organized crime?” She leaned closer and her expression became quite serious. “Have you embezzled millions from those who trusted you?”

He laughed hard. When he’d gained his composure, he answered her. “I assure you, I am none of those things. And I’m not starving.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, but I had to ask. We’re living right next door to you. You’ve kissed me. I’m having a romantic lunch with you and I’m wildly attracted to you. It’s something I needed to know because…” Gail stopped speaking and rubbed a hand over her mouth anxiously. “Here’s the deal, Jesse. I learned my lesson with Curtis. I have no interest in wasting my time with a man who’s not on the up-and-up. Honesty is more important to me than anything else. Period.”

Jesse didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony. He was interested in a woman with trust issues rivaling his own, yet he couldn’t give her what she wanted—complete honesty—because of his own trust issues. Not yet, anyway.

“No apology necessary, Professor,” he said. “I inherited the house from my grandmother a few years ago along with part of her estate. I’m the last one of my family who still lives in Key West.”

“Oh.”

It got quiet between them for a long moment. Gail turned to look out on the water, and Jesse was struck by the elegant curve of her neck, the perfect angle of her jawline. He wanted to kiss her there. He wanted to kiss her everywhere.

Without turning back around, Gail flashed her eyes at him, catching him in midgawk. She smiled.

Jesse smiled back.

“This is my first vacation in six years, Jesse. Did I tell you that?”

“No.”

Gail faced front in her chair again, her hands folded in her lap. “You offered up a toast today, a toast to a vacation I’d always remember.”

“I did.”

“Well, that’s what I want. Can you help me with that? Do you have time in your schedule?”

From the depths of his brain, he felt the monster stir. It had somehow managed to stay dormant all day, but the honeymoon was over.

What about his deadline?

Jesse had less than two weeks to get his manuscript in shape. Normally, this would mean twelve to fourteen hours a day at his laptop, breaking only for the necessities of caffeine, food, a punishing workout and sleep when he could calm his mind enough to allow it.

Yet, in Gail’s company, he’d forgotten all about his deadline. Not only that, he’d forgotten how getting involved with Cammy had nearly ruined his life, and that he was attempting to forge a comeback with this book.

Did he have time for Gail? That was a good question. But the real question was this: What the hell am I doing? Am I nuts?

Jesse swallowed hard. “How many days do you have left on this vacation?”

“Eight nights, nine days.”

“And what exactly do you want to do?”

Apparently, Gail had already given this a great deal of thought, because the list tumbled out fast and furious. “I want to learn to scuba dive. I want to go on one of those booze cruises under the stars. I want a naked therapeutic massage. I want to swim with the dolphins and learn to dance the salsa. I want to eat all kinds of exotic delicacies I can’t get back in Beaverdale. And I want to go skinny-dipping.”

Gail paused. She closed her eyes for an instant, and to Jesse it looked like she was summoning the courage to continue. Suddenly, her eyes flew open. “And I want you to make wild, unrestrained love to me, Jesse.”

He sat with that last request for a moment, narrowing his eyes, working the logistics out in his head. “Do we have to tackle everything in that particular order?”

“Not necessarily.”

“All right. Good to know.” Jesse’s heart pounded in his chest. Gail’s bluntness was amusing. It was damn hot, too. “So,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Would you mind if we combined a couple of those activities, you know, in the interest of time?”

A wicked smile had crept onto her pretty little mouth. “Like going skinny-dipping with dolphins?”

“That could work.” Jesse reached across the table for her hand, and she slid it into place without hesitation. “Or I could feed you exotic foods while demonstrating the salsa and massaging your naked body under a canopy of stars.”

“That sounds like an efficient use of everyone’s time,” she said.

It was at that moment that Jesse told his deadline monster to fuck off. He told the memory of Cammy to fuck off. The woman sitting across the table from him was one in a million. He’d never met anyone like her. He didn’t think women like her existed, except in the pages of his books. So what if he had to ask for another two-week extension? It wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“All right, then.” Jesse rose from his chair and helped Gail to a stand. As soon as he got hold of her, he yanked her close and kissed her hard. He wanted to make a statement with the kiss. He wanted Gail to know she’d found the right man for the job, that she was in very capable hands. Jesse slid his palm down the curve of her back to the globes of her L.L. Bean-covered ass, where he gave her a firm squeeze.

She jumped. Jesse ended the kiss. “We’d better get going.” He grabbed the straw bag and hooked it over Gail’s shoulder before guiding her back toward land. “We’ve got a lot on our schedule.”

Chapter six

“HELLO? MOM?”

“Hi, honey. What are you up to?”

Holly rolled her eyes. What are we up to? She couldn’t believe this. What are you up to was the issue.

“We’re still hanging with the friends we met this morning. We’re down near Mallory Square and want to stay for the sunset celebration then go for pizza. Would that be okay?”

“Sure. That sounds fun. Just remember your midnight curfew.”

“Right.”

Just then, Hannah got all up in Holly’s face and started asking questions. “Is she with him? What are they doing?” Holly shushed her friend and shooed her away.

“So, what have you been doing today, Mom?” Holly hoped she sounded casual enough.

“Oh, a little of everything,” was her answer. “I took the Hemingway tour then wandered around the island to get my bearings. I talked to some of the locals then had lunch. I’m getting ready to jump in the pool.”

And? And?

It looked like there wasn’t going to be any and. Holly realized her mom wasn’t going to say a word about the hottie captain, which pissed her off because her mom always got so parentnoid on her about the importance of honesty, but here she was—not one word about how she’d shamed herself zooming around town with her skirt yanked up to her granny panties!