The Lottery Winner (20 page)

The compliment flustered her. “I'm on my feet all day.”

He set the razor on the counter. “All done. Feel better?”

What she felt was frustrated. Sexually frustrated. It might have been years since she'd experienced sexual arousal, but that didn't mean she didn't recognize it. She hoped he didn't notice her response. Her mouth and lips were as dry as the desert. “Yes. Thank you, Ignatius.”

His gaze paused at her breasts. Her nipples were as hard as the cabochons the girls had used earlier. His face flushed—probably not as much as hers—and his chest expanded with a deep breath. Then he stood, carefully placing her foot back on the cool metal footrest of her chair.

“I'm going to take a walk and see if that cat belongs to one of your neighbors. When I get back I'll start dinner.”

Then he was gone.

She leaned back in her chair and exhaled. It was going to be a
long
six weeks. And she definitely could not get the hots for her jailer.

* * *

W
EDNESDAY
MORNING
DAWNED
bright and clear and perfect for painting, but Jessie didn't carry her sketch pad to the dock. Yesterday's conversation with her mother had left her antsy and itching to check items off her list before she ran out of time.

Satisfied with her decision to do something productive with her days off, she sank onto her chair, sipped her coffee and soaked up the colors while debating her options. Today she even appreciated the contrast of the black birds on the white pier next door against the backdrop of a peach-and watermelon-colored sky.

Should she take diving lessons? Tour the Dry Tortugas National Park? Go deep-sea fishing? Not that she was much of a fisherman, but her father, brother and brother-in-law could live vicariously through her stories about going. The park had the most to offer. She could snorkel the coral reef, enjoy wildlife and see the old fort. It was less than seventy miles south of the Keys in the Gulf of Mexico. She could catch a tour boat out of Key West to get there. As soon as she finished her coffee, she'd drive south.

The drone of a boat motor in the distance caught her attention. The craft came closer, startling the cormorants. She recognized the driver instantly. Logan. Her pulse skipped like a stone across a pond's surface. She couldn't blame that or her jittery hands on the dark brew she'd consumed. Like her, Logan wore sunglasses and a hat and had bare legs beneath shorts. Today he wore a loose-fitting pale yellow long-sleeved button-up shirt—the kind the men in her family wore when spending a day on her brother's bass boat.

“Morning,” he called out as he drifted closer. She set down her mug, rose and reached for a line to help him secure the boat.

“I'm celebrating the IRS finally cutting my client loose by fishing at the trestle bridge today. The old Overseas Railway track has historic value. You should see it up close before you leave the Keys. Come with me, Jessie.”

Considering how attracted she was to him and her promise not to let that go anywhere, she should refuse. But not today. Today, seeing something unique to the area with someone who knew it as well as a native made it worth the risk. The national park could wait.

“I'd love to. What can I bring? Should I pack sandwiches?”

“Put on a swimsuit and sunscreen and wear your hat. I already have drinks and snacks. There's a waterfront restaurant where we can dock and eat lunch outside.”

She raced into the house, put on her suit, added a cover-up then reached for her contacts and paused. Logan knew her eyes were blue, and he might be willing to teach her to dive for lobsters, which she couldn't do wearing the contacts. She left them on the counter, slathered on sunscreen, donned her hat and shades and threw her wallet and a towel into her beach bag. Eager for her day of adventure, she practically skipped to the boat.

He offered his hand to help her board. His grip was firm but gentle. A sizzle of sensation bubbled through her veins. She remembered Miri's warning but dismissed it. What she felt for Logan wasn't due to loneliness.

“Sit there.”

She perched on the end of the bench he indicated. “Did you bring your cell phone?”

“Yes.”

He dug into a duffel bag and extracted a plastic box. “Put it in here. It's waterproof.”

He cast off the lines while she did as he'd instructed, then joined her but remained standing. When he throttled up the engine, the bow rose and the craft surged forward, tipping her against the seat. She grabbed the cushion seconds before their momentum carried him backward. The back of his thigh pressed her hand. Her skin burned even after he shifted away.

The engine noise made talking difficult and left her time to enjoy the sea breeze and sights. Logan said nothing until he pulled into a small marina and tied up. “I need to buy bait. If you want to fish, you'll need to come in and get a license.”

Her automatic rejection of the idea died on her tongue. She'd been overly careful and even afraid to do anything because that's what she'd been told to do. But the likelihood of getting caught for fishing without a license seemed greater than someone in the bait shop recognizing her name months after the win. So why not?

She followed him inside. He headed toward the bait side of the shop. She pushed up her sunglasses and went straight to a register beneath a Fishing Licenses Sold Here sign. “I'd like to get a license, please.”

The man flipped out a form. “Need your ID, miss. You want to add a lobster stamp to that? It's only five dollars more.”

“Yes, I do,” she added without hesitation.

By the time Logan came up behind her, she was tucking her new permits into her wallet. Proud that she was that much closer to ticking items off her list, she turned and smiled at him. His eyes widened and his lips parted. A slow smile curved his mouth. “Nice.”

Confused, she blinked, then realized he was seeing her without the contacts for the first time. Pleasure filled her.

“Help you, sir?” The cashier's voice severed the moment.

Logan paid for his items and escorted her back to the boat. Again, he offered his hand to assist her in boarding, but this time he didn't release her. With his other hand, he lifted her sunglasses and studied her eyes. “You should never wear those brown contacts again. You have beautiful eyes.”

Her heart thumped harder. She couldn't explain to him why she wore them. Not yet. Maybe never. “Thanks.”

The moment stretched. Before she could do something stupid, like follow her urge to lean into him, she blurted, “I bought a lobster permit, too. Yesterday, I saw someone diving at the wreck you showed me. He caught one.”

“If we have time this afternoon I'll take you to Jack's secret lobster honey hole.”

“I'd like that.” Logan released her and set them underway.

Anticipation and excitement skittered through her. As the wind tugged at her braid, she couldn't help feeling like she was living for the first time. Crazy, but she didn't know how else to describe the feeling. She only hoped her taste of freedom didn't turn bitter.

* * *

L
OGAN
KEPT
THE
hooks baited and the lines in the water. But he wasn't interested in catching anything for himself. Watching Jessie's excitement each time she fought a fish into the boat was like watching a kid on their first fishing excursion. He couldn't remember when he'd had this much fun.

The end of the rod bobbed hard and she squealed and popped off her seat.

“Reel it in.”

The rod bent and her biceps and deltoids flexed. The woman had been doing more than carrying canvases to develop those. But what? He still knew next to nothing about her. The reel sang as the fish pulled. Her stomach, thigh and calf muscles strained, and not for the first time, he caught himself admiring her body and saying a silent thank-you that she'd shed her cover-up.

“I think this is a big one,” she grunted as she battled, then she staggered forward a few steps. “Help!”

He jumped behind her, reached around her to grasp the rod and keep it and her from going overboard. The sun-warmed flesh of her back pressed into his chest, creating a weld strong enough to fuse them together. She bent forward as the fish pulled harder. The action tucked her bottom into his groin. Fire ignited at the point of contact. He gritted his teeth to hold back a groan and hoped she wouldn't guess what she was doing to him.

“Pull back,” he grated into her ear. “Then reel as you lower the tip.” His tip was currently aching to get out of his pants and into hers.

“I'm trying.” She did as he'd taught her, lowering the rod then lifting again, slowly gaining ground but then losing it as the fish made a run. For the next fifteen minutes, he endured the pleasure/pain/torture of her rocking against him. He felt the quiver of her arms as she tired but continued fighting without any sign of giving up.

“This had better be something we can eat. And I'll bet it's bigger than your last one.”

Her breathless but determined words made him laugh. His last catch was the day's record holder. Jessie's competitive nature had been a pleasant surprise. For the past three hours they—mostly, she—had been keeping score. Inches. Pounds. Keepers. Throwbacks. Their wager—the one who caught the biggest fish got a free dessert—had been her idea.

He dipped his head to fill his lungs with her strawberry and coconut scent and said into her ear, “Feels big. But you haven't landed it yet, so don't start salivating over your free dessert.”

Eventually she fatigued her catch enough to get it close to the boat. It flipped its tail in a last-ditch effort to escape as it surfaced, and she peered over the side.

“What is it?”

“A cobia.”

“Is it a keeper?”

“Absolutely, and good eating. Let me get the gaff.” Using the long-handled hook, he brought the fish aboard.

“It's our biggest fish of the day. Right?”

Her excited gaze flicked to his, stopping him in his tracks. He couldn't get used to her bright eyes. Her excitement was contagious. He grinned. “Congratulations, Jessie. You're going to get your banana split.”

She fist-pumped and did a victory dance on the deck, and he didn't give a flip about losing. Seeing her have this much fun was worth whatever it cost him. “Want a picture with your winner?”

She stilled, hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I do. But I don't have a camera.”

“I have my cell phone.” He showed her how to hold the yard-long fish then wiped his hands on a towel and pulled out his phone to snap the picture. He took the fish and put it in the cooler then leaned over the side to rinse his hands. He didn't know what made him do it, but he jumped, squawked and scrambled his feet, acting as if he were falling overboard. Jessie screamed and grabbed the waistband of his trunks with one hand and banded her opposite arm around him.

That's when his teasing backfired.

The brush of her fingers against his belly and butt nearly made him fall over the gunwale for real. Battling for control, he straightened then turned.

“You scared me.”

He felt like an ass when he saw the pallor of her face and genuine concern in her eyes. “I'm sorry. I was messing with you.”

He reached out to brush a rivulet of sweat from her cheek. Then he did what he'd been wanting to do all afternoon. He threaded his fingers into her hair and pulled her forward.

Their mouths and torsos met like the crackle of oil in a hot skillet. Her lips parted without hesitation and her tongue sought his. He slicked his hands down her back, savoring the soft skin her bikini left bare and pulling her closer. Her arms encircled him and her fingers dug into his waist, kneading and releasing with such sensuality that his knees nearly buckled.

He wanted her ten times more today than he had that night in the parking lot. But a boat in sight of the pedestrian walkway of the old Bahia Honda Rail Bridge was not the place for what he had in mind. Slowly, reluctantly, he forced himself to release her inch by torturous inch. His labored breathing mirrored hers. Her heavy lids lifted and the hunger burning in her pale blue eyes made him want to say to hell with public indecency laws. But he stepped back, letting the ocean breeze cool the fire on his skin.

“Your—” he croaked then cleared his throat. “Your dessert awaits. Afterward we'll add a few bugs to the live well before we head in.”

“Bugs?”

“That's what locals call spiny lobster.”

He needed a cooling dunk in the water now. He hobbled as quickly as his erection would allow to pull in the anchor line.

Making love to Jessie was the only antidote to what ailed him. But would a few weeks of her be enough?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

T
HE
DAY
COULDN
'
T
have been more perfect, Jessie concluded from her waterside table at the restaurant. The shade of an umbrella blocked the sun's afternoon rays but didn't dispel the warmth suffusing her that had nothing to do with the weather.

Logan sat across from her, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned face between bites as he devoured his hot fudge sundae with the enthusiasm of a boy. People in various forms of dress from work clothes to bikinis ate at nearby tables.

“How did you find this place?” she asked.

“It's a locals' secret. Stick with me and I'll show you a few more.” He winked.

Her stomach dropped like a boat anchor. She wasn't just attracted to Logan. She genuinely liked him. She even had a bit of a crush on him. Given the secrets between them and the temporary nature of her stay, she knew she shouldn't become intimate with him, but she suspected that intimacy was as inevitable as the coming sunset.

She wanted to kiss him again, to touch him, and have him touch her so that she could enjoy that rush of sensation. But she didn't think either of them would be happy stopping at kisses.

Nervousness decimated her appetite, making it impossible to finish her ice cream. “I've never seen most of the fish on the Widow's menu whole before today. And I didn't know restaurants would cook your catch for you. Our mangrove snapper was delicious.”

“Back when Jack ran fishing charters, the Widow would clean and cook the catch for Jack's customers. Many of them were like you in that respect. They'd never eaten anything they'd just pulled from the water.”

“What will we do with the rest of our fish? The cooler's almost full.”

He pushed his empty dish aside. “When we get back to your place I'll fillet them. I can teach you how if you want. If not, I'll do it. That's what the table at the end of your dock is for. The scraps go in the crab pot to catch a future meal. Then I'll cook for us. We'll freeze what we won't eat within the next couple of days.”

“You can cook?”

“Jack's not the only one who taught me invaluable skills.” He twisted an imaginary mustache and waggled his eyebrows. This playful side of him melted her heart.

“Are you ready for part two of your adventure?” He rose and pulled out her chair.

She sprang to her feet. “Bring on Jack's honey hole. I'm going to learn to catch bugs and check something else off my list.”

“You have a list?”

“Yes, of things I want to do while I'm here.” She recited the items as they walked back toward the boat.

“I can help you, but you'll need two days to do the Tortugas right. If you can wait until next week I'll go with you and, weather permitting, we can camp there Wednesday night.”

Did that mean sharing a tent with him? “I've never been camping.”

“One more thing for your list.”

She smiled. “I like the way you think. I can wait, and I'd love your company.”

And she meant it. She couldn't have chosen a better companion for the day. Logan knew the area, knew how to have fun and was an excellent, patient teacher. Not once had he made her feel stupid for not knowing how to do something. Not to mention he was sexy.

“Unless you brought a long-sleeved T-shirt, you need to apply more sunscreen before we dive,” he said as they arrived at their boat.

“I...um...just brought this.” She pointed at her cover-up.

“You can't snorkel in that. You've already had a lot of sun today, and I don't want you to burn. I'll do your back if you'll do mine.” He held out his hand.

Knowing he'd soon be touching her gave her a better cardio workout than her coworkers' after-school spin class. She dug the tube from her bag and gave it to him. He squirted a blob into his palm then rubbed his hands together. “Take off your cover-up and turn around.”

She did as instructed, then holding her braid out of the way, braced herself, but nothing could prepare her for the electrifying contact of his hands on her shoulders. Inch by inch, he massaged in the lotion, spreading heat and hunger through her. His hands descended from her shoulder blades to the hypersensitive skin above the side straps of her top, down her spine to her waist and then low on her hips above her bikini bottom. There was no way she could hide the goose bumps pebbling her skin.

She focused on one of the restaurant's brightly colored umbrellas and tried not to moan or hyperventilate. She had never been so aroused in her life, and having it happen in public was shocking. They weren't doing anything illicit, she told herself. So why did she feel so wicked?

And then he lifted his hands, leaving her both thankful and disappointed. Afraid he'd see how much he'd excited her, she struggled to find composure. But there was nothing she could do to hide her hard nipples, which the clingy knit of her top clearly revealed. When she finally turned he was wiping his hands on a towel, which he then tied low on his waist—but not before she noticed his tented trunks. She wasn't the only one affected. The knowledge only excited her more.

He offered her his bottle of sunscreen. Her hands shook as she accepted it and filled her palm with lotion. He presented his back, giving her an opportunity to drag air into her deflated lungs—air that whooshed out again the moment she touched his sun-warmed skin.

The eroticism of caressing his smooth, tanned flesh and feeling his muscles bunch and flex beneath her fingertips was beyond her experience. Mimicking him, she started at the top and worked her way down, relishing each indention along the way.

She'd never had a massage. She'd definitely never given one. But she now knew the appeal of both. Her breaths came quickly. Her mouth dried. And then she reached the waistband of his trunks and had no excuse to continue torturing herself. She'd hated having to take her hands off him to get more sunscreen and now she hated running out of back to rub even more.

He faced her, and she felt like an open book, as if he could see deep into her soul. She ached to remove his sunglasses to see if he was as strongly affected by her touch as she'd been by his, but she didn't. The tight line of his mouth and the rapid rise and fall of his chest were the only indicators she needed. His tiny little nipples were puckered and pebbled.

He nodded his thanks then busied himself casting off lines and getting them underway. By the time he cut the engine and drifted to a stop in the backwater thirty minutes later, she had herself under control. Mostly.

“We're beside another wreck. I'll throw out the anchor. Stay within three hundred feet of the boat after I raise the diver-down flag. Water's shallow. Depth of ten feet.”

She looked over the side. The clarity of the water was unlike any of the bodies of water back home. Dozens of fish swam lazily around the hunks of broken, submerged boat. “It's beautiful.”

“Wait until I take you to a coral reef. The colors of the fish there are like nothing you've ever seen. Photographs don't do them justice.”

She liked that idea. “How did you ever leave here, Logan?”

When he didn't answer, she turned. He'd laid out an assortment of equipment. A frown pleated his brow. “Like you said, I thought I wanted something different.”

He picked up a three-foot pole with a ninety-degree bent end. “This is a tickle stick. Gently tap your lobster's tail with this and he'll walk slowly forward. Then cover him with your net. I'll help you measure him, and if he's legal, we'll bag him. We wear gloves because our lobsters have spiny shells. Have you ever used a mask and snorkel?”

“Yes. Back home in the rock quarry.”

“Good. Ready?”

“Are there any sharks?”

“Maybe. But they're not interested in you, I promise. If one comes close, just bump him with your tickle stick.”

She believed him and trusted him. Excitement spread through her, making her as squirmy as her students the day before summer break. “Let's do it.”

“Stay close to me and I'll show you how it's done, then you can catch your own. Look for their antennae in the grass or under the ledges.”

They donned fins, masks, gloves and snorkels and slipped into the water carrying the sticks and nets. He touched her waist, and despite his gloves, she felt it deep in the pit of her stomach. He pointed down and she followed him underwater. The submerged hull was covered in plants and shells, but hints of the red stripes and blue underbody showed through. He swam to the edge of the wreck and pointed. It took her a few seconds to spot the antennae. Using the stick, he demonstrated what he'd explained and soon had the crustacean netted, measured and bagged. He gave her a thumbs-up and they surfaced. “Lobster dinner for you, ma'am.”

She couldn't wait to try. “Let's go get some more!”

“Your turn.”

She followed him down, swimming parallel to him. He touched her back. She almost sucked water through her snorkel. He pointed out another crustacean. She repeated what she'd seen him do. The lobster shot off. She surfaced for air, then tried again. The second lobster landed in her net. Breaking the water, she whooped with excitement. He high-fived her, then they dived again. After her third lobster, she grew brave enough to hunt solo—probably because she didn't see any sharks.

It seemed like only moments later he swam up beside her and pointed to the surface. She wasn't ready to go in. There were so many creatures in and around the wreck. She wished she had an underwater camera. Maybe on her next trip...

She wanted to come back, she realized. Back to the Keys. Back to the friends she'd made here who liked her without knowing about her money.

Back to Logan? Yes, definitely.

She swam beside him back to the boat and pulled out her snorkel. “That was fun.”

He pushed up his mask and grinned. Her heart flip-flopped like a freshly landed fish. “You're a natural at this, Jessie. I'll dive with you any day.”

The compliment buoyed her. “I hate to leave.”

“We've reached our limit, and we need to head home and cook and clean our catch before it gets dark.”

Only then did she notice the sun sitting low on the horizon and the fatigue of her muscles. They'd been in the water longer than she realized.

“Can't we clean them tomorrow?”

“Not game fish.”

That meant it would be dark before they finished. Logan couldn't drive the boat in the dark. Could he?

But that shouldn't be a problem. She could take him home and pick him up in the morning.

Or she could let him stay. The prospect left her breathless.

* * *

“L
OOKS
LIKE
YOU
got yourself a cat,” Ignatius said as he filled their plates with meat loaf, asparagus and small red potatoes. “The consensus is that it was dumped here the week before your fall.”

“I don't need a cat.” She wasn't a fan of meat loaf, but since she couldn't reach the stove to cook, she had to eat what was set in front of her.

“I'd take her, but I'm out of town too often. I'll ask Bethany if the girls can have her. If not... I hate to take her to the shelter. Too many cats there already.”

She couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for it being destroyed. “If the girls can't keep her, I will.”

“Good. You were great with Chloe and Sydney today, by the way. How did you learn to handle girls—or is it something you women are born knowing?”

She laughed. “Lord, no. It's trial and error—lots of error. I spent a lot of time with Sue's daughters, so I've had some experience. Keeping them busy keeps the peace.”

“I'll remember that.”

Miri stabbed the meat with her fork and shoved it into her mouth. A unique combination of flavors hit her tongue. She chewed, swallowed and ate a second bite, but she couldn't distinguish the seasoning. “What did you do to this?”

Face neutral, he paused with his fork shy of his mouth. “Why?”

“Because I like it, and I don't usually care for meat loaf.”

A sly smile curled his lips. “My secret recipe. You'll never get it out of me. Though you're welcome to try any type of inducement you can think of.”

Was he flirting with her? Her heart pitter-pattered like a young woman's. “You wish.”

“Now that you mention it, yeah, I do. Give it your best shot.”

The twinkle in his eyes caused her lungs to cease functioning. Her head spun. Moisture flooded her mouth. She gulped it down and searched for a safer subject. “How did you learn to cook?”

“Bachelors have two choices—eat fast food all the time or learn to cook. When I was laid up, there was nothing to watch but cooking shows. Figured I might as well learn something. That was before I decided to move south and make the switch to private investigator.”

“What happened then?”

“I had to study my as—tail off, pass the tests, get the licenses and all that red tape.”

“I didn't realize you had to be licensed.”

“I ain't just a pretty face, Miriam Louise.” He said it tongue in cheek. “The cooking shows are addictive. I still watch 'em sometimes.”

A man after her own heart. She smiled against her will. “I watch them when I can't sleep.”

She hated to ruin the truce between them but had to state her case. “I still want you to convince Logan to forget finding Elizabeth and Trent.”

His smile fell. “Not much chance of that. He's convinced his life is in limbo until he finds them. What do you care anyway? It's not hurting you.”

“He needs to date, to meet people, to live, like people his age are supposed to do. I want grandnieces and nephews.”

“Just because he's not living the way you want him to doesn't mean he's doing it wrong. Stop meddling, Miri.”