Sean

Dinner with the deputy was definitely a step up. Not that she planned on sharing that particular sentiment with him.

He wasn’t the kind of man one encouraged. He was quite bold enough as it was, without any provocation from her. Though for some reason she couldn’t quite name, he’d managed to provoke her a deal more than most men. It’s only dinner, she reminded herself yet again, firmly shutting out images of what she could be doing back on Flamingo Cay with a man like Sean Gannon. Suddenly the club’s atmosphere seemed a lot less sleazy…and a lot more sensual.

Not that she’d ever encourage that kind of lascivious behavior. Because, after all, she was a judge. And a Patrick. If her father knew where he’d sent her, he’d surely be horrified. At least she hoped he would be. So dinner it was. And nothing more would come of it, although just the realization that something more might made her body zing.

It had been a long time since she’d had zing. A really long time.

Sean turned at the sign indicating The Resort’s water ferry dock and Laurel shut out any and all trailing thoughts about Sean and Flamingo Cay…and zing.

“Everything okay?” Sean asked. “That was quite a sigh,” he added when she looked at him questioningly.

“Oh,” she replied. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t the company. Promise.”

He still looked concerned. “Just how far did you have to push that thing anyway?”

“Not all that far.” It had felt like a million miles. On the surface of the sun. “I’d love a quick shower, though, if you don’t mind.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw the potential suggestiveness of her request register on Sean’s face. To his credit, he didn’t respond to it. Which only made her envision exactly what it would be like to take a shower…with Sean. His face was all hard, tanned angles made more prominent by his almost brutally short haircut. His eyes were dark and they flashed dangerously when he smiled. His teeth were sharply straight and white, set between lips that looked as hard and chiseled as his face…that she bet felt anything but when pressed to someone’s soft skin—

His expression began to change and she vaguely realized he’d been staring at her as she’d fantasized about him. She jerked her gaze toward the water ferry. “I’m supposed to turn the scooter in here. They have depots all over the island, but the guy that rented it to me back in Charlotte Amalie said there was one right by The Resort’s ferry dock and—” She stopped, abruptly aware she was babbling to cover the sudden spike of sexual tension arcing—no, zinging—between them. And, God help her, the man gave very good zing.

To his further credit, when he smiled, it wasn’t smug or knowing. But then, it didn’t have to be. Neither of them could possibly deny the heat blossoming between them inside the tiny confines of the Jeep. And convertible or not, at the moment it felt downright intimate.

“I believe the depot is there,” he said in that flat uninflected tone he had. He motioned behind her.

But she didn’t follow the gesture. She was too busy wondering if it was the marshal’s training that had taken the South out of his voice, or just time spent away from home. When the drawl had crept into his voice earlier, even for those few words, the effect had been potent. It was every bit as commanding…but had an added lush underpinning that made her think of—well, the exact thing she’d been thinking of since she’d climbed in the Jeep. Or since he’d climbed out of it.

God, maybe she should have gone to the nightclub last night after all. Maybe rubbing bodies with some sweaty, mostly naked beach hunk was what she needed to dull this sudden sharp edge of need.

“Thanks,” she said, realizing she’d once again let the silence spin out. He was staring at her, his expression unreadable. When he didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her, she rushed on. “If you’ll help me get the death machine out of the back, I’ll return it, then hop the water taxi over and be back as fast as I can.”

The look of disappointment was brief, so brief she’d have missed it entirely had she not been looking at him as intently as he was looking at her. But he was really nice to look at. And not just his hard face and wide, welcoming smile. His body, even in regulation pants and polo shirt, was rugged-looking and fit. Definitely…inspiring.

“Why don’t you let me handle the scooter return?” he said easily, covering his disappointment over…what? she wondered.

Had he expected she’d invite him to the resort to wait there while she cleaned up? And why did he want to go? To ogle the surroundings—and the guests? Or to, perhaps, ogle her up close and personal? She shivered a little at the idea and quickly slid out of the Jeep to cover her reaction. One thing she already knew about Sean Gannon—he didn’t miss much.

“I’d offer to have you come over to the resort to wait, but they don’t allow unregistered guests to—”

He raised his hand and smiled, his expression open and easy now. “No, that’s fine. I’m okay here.”

Maybe she’d imagined the look of disappointment. He certainly looked as though he didn’t care one way or the other. “Okay, then. It’s just…I thought…” She shook her head. “Never mind.”

His smile flashed wider and he shifted his weight, but didn’t move closer. Still, somehow it felt as if he was. “I’ll admit that I can’t shake this feeling that as soon as I let you out of my sight, you’ll vanish. Like a mirage or something I just dreamed up.”

The sincerity of his tone made her pause. So…he did care one way or the other. Her skin warmed and her heart tripped just a bit faster. “I’m no mirage. And I won’t stand you up.” She smiled. “Besides, a Patrick ruling is never vacated.”

“I’ll remember that.” He slid out of the Jeep and dislodged the scooter from the rear before she could search out any deeper meaning in that statement. He rolled the scooter around to her side of the vehicle. “I’ll handle this and be waiting right here.”

“Wait, you’ll need the ticket stub and the—”

“No, I won’t. Trust me, you’re not only going to have no problem returning this, you’re going to get a full refund for the rental price, as well.”

“But—”

“Consider it your half of dinner. But you shouldn’t have to pay for a broken-down rental.”

She didn’t bother to argue. Partly because he was absolutely right, although she’d have probably just mentioned the malfunction to the attendant and let it go at that. She listened to arguments all day long in her professional life. She wasn’t about to have one on vacation. But mostly she dropped the issue because he had this set to his jaw that told her it wouldn’t have done her any good to argue anyway.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, then grinned. “And may I say that when you play Good Samaritan, you’re really thorough.”

“I believe in always being really thorough,” he said. Again, with no overt inflection to any word he’d uttered.

And yet she had to resist squirming in her capris. Probably it was just her overheated imagination. Or the overheated air. Or both. Then he smiled and she thought, Or not.

“Me, too,” she finally said. It was the best she could manage, because he was still holding her gaze with that direct one of his own.

They both continued to stand there, neither one of them making the first move to walk away.

A bell clanged, announcing that another water taxi had just docked and was taking passengers.

“I should go.”

He merely continued to stare.

“The water taxi—” She didn’t even try to finish when he propped the scooter against the Jeep and silently stepped closer to her. The rest of her breath left her when he lifted his hand. What would his touch feel like? she wondered as her pulse began to thrum inside her body.

She sucked in a small gasp as he almost brushed her cheek…then slid off her sunglasses instead. She wasn’t sure if she was disappointed…or close to climaxing.

“There,” he stated quietly. When she raised her eyebrows in question, he smiled. “I had to know.”

“What?” she breathed.

“Blue or brown.”

She absently realized he was talking about her eye color. It was hard to think straight with him standing so close, almost touching her, and with her dying to know what it would be like to have him touching her, wanting, needing to know, ridiculously so. And all she had to do to find out was to reach up on her tiptoes and—“Did you win?” she said abruptly.

“Win?” he repeated, though he didn’t sound as if he really cared what she meant. He was too busy gazing at her, so directly…so intently.

“The b-bet,” she stammered, hearing her voice dip down an octave or so. “Blue. Or brown.” Her breath was shaky as he shifted another infinitesimal fraction of space closer. “Did you? Win?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a shade deeper, a shade less flat. “I did.”

They were talking, but it was becoming rapidly apparent that the words themselves weren’t important as there was another dialogue going on entirely. The kind that didn’t rely on speech for communication.

“Good,” she said, the word barely more than a breath.

“I have another.”