BRITTANY OPENED HER EYES as the first fingers of dawn stretched through the screened window and was instantly wide-awake.

Her head and her heart felt heavy with the revelations of the night before. She knew that later she’d go back over what Zach had said and dissect it, word by word, but right now she had a decision to make.

Go or stay?

She knew they’d taken a huge step. She didn’t want him to feel suffocated or trapped, or as if he had to run from her. Whole nights were for serious relationships and this wasn’t—theirs wasn’t—

Shit.

She should definitely go.

She slid out of bed, stumbled over his shoes that had been abandoned halfway across the floor and froze. A quick glance towards the bed told her Zach was still sleeping and she tiptoed across the room with exaggerated care, like a character from a cartoon. Her clothing had been strewn around the place during her striptease and she gathered it up and dressed quickly.

Carrying her running shoes in her hand, she sneaked out of the door and closed it quietly behind her, but not before taking a last look at Zach. He was still sleeping, sprawled on his front with his eyes closed.

Her insides softened and she felt a rush of emotion. He was sleeping. Really sleeping.

And that was good, wasn’t it?

That was progress.

As she walked away from the cabin, salty sea air brushed over her face, chasing away sleep. The air smelled fresh after the rain and the ground was damp under her feet.

She was grateful that Seagull’s Nest was out of sight of the camp and nowhere near the buzz of the harbor. If she’d had to do the walk of shame along Main Street at this time of the morning, she would never have heard the last of it.

To reach Castaway Cottage from the camp, she had to choose between a long hike through the forest or a blowy walk around the cliffs.

She chose the cliffs.

The sea breeze tangled her hair and shimmered over her skin, blowing away the last cobwebs of sleep.

It was cool, and she zipped her sweater on the second attempt and kicked up the pace.

Her body felt deliciously used, but it wasn’t the sex that kept her mind occupied as she walked, it was the other things.

He’d talked to her.

Under the comforting blanket of darkness, he’d finally talked to her. And he’d said more to her in those few hours than he had in the months they’d spent together when she was eighteen.

Remembering those revelations brought a stinging to her eyes and a pressure to her throat.

It had been a tiny glimpse, that was all, but enough to make her realize just how blind and selfish she’d been back then.

With the naivety of youth she’d thought the past was something that could be shrugged off or left behind, like a piece of clothing that no longer fit. She hadn’t had the maturity to understand how deeply Zach’s past had affected him or to understand how it would impact on his relationships.

She’d thought she’d known him, but she hadn’t known the most important thing of all.

At the time she’d been so damn proud of accepting him as he was. Except that she hadn’t, had she? She hadn’t truly known who he was. She’d allowed him his secrets, hadn’t tried to access those dark depths he guarded so carefully.

The ache in her throat grew worse.

How could she have been so selfish and unthinking?

She’d wanted him, and she’d allowed the dizzy excitement of being with him to cloud her brain and obliterate her common sense.

She’d treated him like a goal, something that could be obtained if she worked hard enough, like an A grade in English. And when her marriage had failed, she’d limped away, blaming him, whereas in actual fact, the blame lay firmly in her lap.

Now, finally, she understood why he found it hard to sleep.

He’d had to stay awake to protect himself.

She imagined Zach, little and terrified, moving furniture against the door, afraid to drift into a deep, defenseless sleep. The thought made her nauseous.

When she was growing up, she’d watched her parents argue and ultimately divorce. She’d lived with her grandmother and seen her father on his occasional flying visits to the island. She’d considered herself sophisticated and mature, knowledgeable about the world. It unnerved her to realize how deluded she’d been.

She’d known nothing.

Certainly she knew nothing about how it must have felt to be afraid for your own safety. She’d never been afraid to fall asleep. Never felt the need to stay awake to protect herself.

Zach had told her he’d been removed from his home at the age of eight.

She remembered being eight. On her eighth birthday her grandmother had arranged a picnic on Shell Bay and most of the island had turned up. Everyone had brought food and they’d spent the day playing ball games and scrambling over the rocks.

It had been innocent fun, another happy childhood memory to add to the others, like creating a photo album in her brain. Zach had his own album, his own set of memories, and it made for ugly viewing.

She rubbed at her chest, trying to relieve the ache.

In her job, it took patience and long, painstaking hours to remove the layers and find the secrets of the past buried deep. And the secrets meant little when viewed in isolation, which was why archaeologists constantly clashed with treasure hunters who often removed a find from a site before it could be properly catalogued.

Context.

It was a word she’d used on an almost daily basis over the past few years. Context was essential to building a picture, for establishing a relationship between things. For finding and making connections. Discovering more about a person wasn’t so different. You uncovered the past. You made connections and looked for context.

After that short, telling conversation during the night, she felt as if she’d been given a brief glimpse at the album in Zach’s head. She’d seen dark shapes and shadows but very little detail.

Feeling tired and low, she clambered to the top of the bluff and sat down on the rocks. It was early, but already there were yachts cutting through the waves and she recognized the familiar lines of the Alice Rose, the schooner that had once belonged to Ryan’s father and was now run as part of his business at the Ocean Club.

She was admiring the elegant lines of the boat and stewing in her own guilt, when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye and saw Alec running up the path towards her. His T-shirt was damp and glued to his skin, his dark hair ruffled by the wind.

Pirate, she thought and managed a smile. “Good morning, Shipwreck Hunter. You’re up early.”

“I was going to say the same thing to you.” He came to a halt in front of her and she shrugged.

“I’m an early riser. What’s your excuse? Running away from your fans? Emily told me a carload of women arrived last week with the express intention of tracking you down.”

He took a slug of bottled water, a gleam in his eyes. “Should I move?”

“No. You know the islanders. John told them he’d heard a rumor you’d moved somewhere else. How do the women know where you live?”

“Some damn journalist decided it was romantic that I live on what he described as a ‘deserted island’ and chose to publicize the fact. I suppose I should be grateful he left off my zip code.”

“Deserted?” Brittany lifted her eyebrows. “Makes you sound like Robinson Crusoe. Clearly he’s never visited the island in the summer.”

“And let’s hope none of them do. I need to buy John a drink next time I bump into him. Are you all right?” He lowered his water, his eyes on her face. “You look pale. Wrist bothering you?”

“No. It’s—” She felt an overwhelming need to talk to someone but she couldn’t do it without revealing Zach’s secrets and she wasn’t prepared to do that. “It’s nothing.”

Alec sat down next to her. “Tell me.” His voice was kind and her eyes filled.

“Don’t give me sympathy.”

“I promise not to give you sympathy. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Have you ever totally messed something up because you thought you knew everything and then discovered you knew nothing?”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

“Maybe.” She shook her head, blinking rapidly, and felt his arm come around her shoulder.

“I’m not sure whether we’re talking personal or professional,” he said slowly, “but whichever it is, the theory is the same. We make the best judgments we can at the time, Brit. We take the information we have and we use it. That’s all anyone can do.”

“But what happens when you realize that you were missing the essential facts when you made your judgment? What happens when you realize you didn’t know anything at all and everything you thought and believed was totally wrong?”

He stroked her arm with the tips of his fingers. “It happens. New information comes to light all the time, both in history and in science. You know that. The same thing happens in life. You use the new information. You keep moving forward. That’s how we make progress.”

Progress.

Keep moving forward.

But was there a future for her and Zach? Now that she knew a little about his past, she wanted to know more. She wanted him to share, not because she had a grisly interest in the grim details but because she understood that sharing required trust and more than anything she wanted him to trust her.

She wanted him to know that she was a friend as well as a lover. Someone who would never let him down. Someone who wouldn’t walk away no matter what life threw in their path. Even if their relationship was never anything more than a mix of friendship and sex, she wanted him to know it was something he could rely on.

But she was terrified he was going to wake up and decide that telling her had been a mistake.

Terrified he’d withdraw from her.

Aware that Alec was still by her side, she managed a smile. “I don’t want to hold you up. You need to nurture that fit body for your adoring fans.”

He didn’t budge.

Instead, he stared out to sea.

“Can you imagine navigating these waters without GPS and radar? No wonder so many ships hit the rocks. Those poor sailors wouldn’t have had a clue what was hidden beneath the surface.” He kept his arm around her. “You stayed at Zach’s last night.”

Tears blinded her and she gave a choked laugh. “Who needs GPS and radar when we have the Puffin Island spy network.”

“I’m observant. I ran past your cottage and you weren’t there. Which means you walked here from a different direction and that direction happens to come straight from Seagull’s Nest.”

Brittany wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I thought you were a historian, not a detective.”

“There’s an overlap. I’m assuming Zach is the reason you’re looking as if your pet has died.” He offered her his water and she shook her head.

They’d known each other for years, since Alec had arrived on the island to write his first book on naval warfare. Introduced by Ryan, they’d discovered a surprising number of overlapping interests. Since then Alec’s career had soared, thanks to his on-screen charisma and talent for presenting complex information in a way that fascinated the general population.

He’d slotted naturally into their friendship group, although in reality, between her travels and his, they spent very little time together.

“Basically I’m crap at relationships,” Brittany muttered and he gave a short laugh.

“Then I’m going to be very short on good advice because I’m crap at relationships, too. There are some things man never seems to get better at, despite studying.”

“And woman.” She sniffed and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You studied it? Seriously?”

“I read a few books.”

Of course he had. Studying was Alec’s answer to everything. “But it didn’t help? How are things for you?”

“If by ‘things’ you mean my ex-wife, I can tell you that things have never been better between us.”

Knowing how scarred Alec was following an acrimonious divorce, Brittany was surprised. “You’ve reached an understanding?”

“We have.” He spoke in the smooth British accent that had American audiences swooning. “She doesn’t contact me, and I don’t contact her. It’s the happiest we’ve ever been.”

Brittany gave a choked laugh and shook her head in apology. “I’m sorry. I’m not really laughing.”

“Laughter is healthy.”

“Someone needs to invent a GPS that helps navigate relationships. They’d make a fortune. Do you ever think about your marriage?”

“I try not to.”

“Well, for the record, I think your ex-wife is crazy.” Brittany gave him an affectionate nudge with her shoulder. “Does she know there are a million women out there who dream about being married to you? You are the original Action Man.”

“That was part of the problem. The outdoors was something she liked to admire from the other side of a double-glazed window. If it was something that was going to mess up her hair, she wasn’t interested. I can only stay indoors for so long before I want to break out. I’m like a caged tiger. That’s why the balance of writing the books along with the TV shows is perfect.”

“Do you ever think about what went wrong?” She did. Since coming home, she thought about it constantly. She’d been so upset, it had stopped her from taking a long hard look at her own actions. It had been easier to blame Zach for everything.

“I know what went wrong. Our problem was that we didn’t like each other. We had nothing in common outside the bedroom and sex is never enough to sustain a relationship.” He glanced towards her and frowned when he saw the tears on her cheeks. “Never seen you cry before. Do you want me to call Emily? Ryan?”

She shook her head, touched by the offer. “I’ll be fine, but thanks.”

“I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you don’t look fine, angel.” His kindness was the final straw.

She stood up and pulled herself together. “I will be after a few strong cups of coffee. How about you? Are you going back to England anytime soon?”

“December.” He stood up, too. “I have a meeting with my publisher and I’m giving a talk at the Maritime Museum in Greenwich.”

“You’ll be over there at the same time as Sky. You should give her a call. You could go to her exhibition. Have dinner or something.”

Alec gave a faint smile. “I don’t think so. I’m doing a twelve-step program to give up my addiction to having dinner with beautiful, high-maintenance women.”

“Sky isn’t high maintenance. Far from it.” It frustrated her how many people took one glance at Sky’s blond good looks and made that same judgment.

But what was the point in arguing with him? Sky was in an established relationship with Richard Everson and even if she weren’t, Brittany wouldn’t have put her optimistic, wildly creative friend with a hardened cynic like Alec Hunter.

She pushed her hair back from her face. “I should go. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime.” He paused. “So do I take it you and Zach are involved again?”

“I wouldn’t describe it as involved, exactly.”

“Be careful. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Unsmiling, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

She felt the comforting warmth of his touch and thought for the millionth time in her life that without her friends her life would be a barren wasteland.

“I won’t be hurt and I’m not in trouble. I’m not one of those women who think the only relationship worth having is one that could potentially end in wedding bells.”

He laughed. “If that’s true, then you might be my perfect woman.”

“Alec, we would kill each other.” She gave him a light punch on the arm and carried on walking. “See you around.” She threw her parting words over her shoulder and made her way down the narrow path that wound its way down to Shell Bay.

There, nestled on the far side of the beach, was Castaway Cottage.

Despite everything, her heart lifted.

Was there a more perfect place to live on the whole planet?

She didn’t think so, and judging from the number of calls she had from real estate agents, she wasn’t the only one with that opinion.

She stared at her home for a moment, absorbing the truth.

For the first time in her life she didn’t want to leave.

There was no urge to travel, no restless pull or wanderlust.

She wanted to stay.

She wanted to spend Thanksgiving with her friends and have Christmas here, too. Maybe Sky and Richard could be persuaded to join them for a few days.

Mulling over the possibilities, she walked the final distance and took the sandy path that led to the front door.

She let herself in, decided that coffee was her priority and walked through to the kitchen.

And there, fixing the lock on her back door, was Zach. He wore black jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled back and he looked sexier than any man had a right to look.

Her mood lifted and her heart flew.

Shit, she thought. I am in trouble.

Serious trouble.

HE SHOULD HAVE stayed away.

When he’d woken and found her gone, he should have thanked his lucky stars she’d made that decision. Instead he’d felt a gut-wrenching disappointment and that unsettled him far more than finding her in his bed would have.

His brain had told him to stay away, and yet somehow he was here, standing in her kitchen, remembering the kindness in her eyes as he’d given her a glimpse into the toxic wasteland of his past.

He was trying to work out how to best make his excuses and leave, when she flashed him a smile.

“Maybe I should just give you a key? Then you could come and go as you please without breaking in.”

“I don’t need a damn key.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. His tongue felt thick and his head was spinning. She’d pulled her hair into a simple ponytail but it was uneven and a little tangled and he knew he was to blame for that. “Everyone can gain access to this place just by giving the door a push. Hilda’s right, it’s time someone fixed that.”

That was his excuse for being here.

It sounded pathetic, even to him, and presumably she thought so, too, because she raised an eyebrow.

“Who is ‘everyone’? I’m pretty much on my own out here.”

“Which is why you need a decent lock. The world isn’t populated by fairy-tale characters.” He knew. He’d witnessed firsthand the tarnished side of human nature. It was something he never wanted her to see. Except that she had, and he was the one who’d shown it to her. In a careless moment he’d given her a glimpse into a past he tried never to look at himself.

There was a metallic taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach.

He wanted to wind the clock back and unsay the words but it was too late for that.

All he could do was wait for her to mention it and then make it clear the subject was closed.

He braced himself, ready to block her attempts to dig deeper.

She didn’t mention it.

Instead she walked across the kitchen and pulled open a door. “You don’t need to worry about my ability to defend myself. I’m a black belt in karate and I won a couple of medals with this when I was in college.” This turned out to be a sword, which she kept in a long bag in one of the cupboards. “I’m not as skilled with my left hand but I could still do damage to an intruder.”

He’d expected pity. He’d expected sympathetic looks and an awkward conversation where she encouraged him to open up and he struggled to escape like a fish on a hook.

He hadn’t expected her to be standing in the kitchen pointing a sword at his chest.

Some of the tension left him. “It’s a sabre.”

“You fence?”

“No. But I once flew a fencing team to a competition. We were delayed by fog and by the time we managed to take off I knew more than I ever needed to know about that particular sport.” His heart rate slowed. “I thought your expertise was Bronze Age weapons.”

“It is, but my interest is broader than that. Weapons interest me. The ability to cut was vital for early man. Paleolithic hunters needed to kill and dismember animals, and the distinction between blades for hunting and blades for weaponry was pretty blurred for a long time.” She swept the sword through the air in an elegant movement and then returned it to the cupboard.

Zach watched. “Might be simpler just to get a decent lock on the door.”

“Don’t spoil my fun.” She leaned against the cupboard and closed it. “I’ve been waiting half my life to confront an intruder with a sword. Think I’d give them a shock?”

“Maybe.” The thought of her confronting an intruder, with a sword or otherwise, turned him cold. “I hope you won’t ever need to find out.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Zach. I can take care of myself.” Her voice was soft and he knew she wasn’t just talking about the physical threat of an intruder.

“The first stage of taking care of yourself is having basic security in place.” Choosing to ignore the message she was sending, he returned to the job he’d been doing when she arrived. He’d stopped at the store and bought the best lock Puffin Island had to offer. The best had been pitiful, and he’d felt like making some suggestions to Ted Whittaker, who owned the only hardware store on the island, then decided he didn’t need to draw attention to a past that was already part of island gossip.

A past Brittany now had access to.

The cold rush of panic was disturbed by a clatter as she lifted mugs from the cupboard.

“How much do I owe you for the lock?”

“Nothing.” He wiped his brow with his palm. “Turns out Ted Whittaker is Grace Green’s uncle.”

“I know who Ted is, but— Oh!” She filled the kettle and gave a nod of understanding. “You’re the hero of the hour and he gave you the lock without charge?”

“I’m guessing Grace has been exaggerating, but so far I’m getting more free stuff than I did when I stole it.”

“I love that.”

“Yeah, there’s an irony there.” And there was an irony in the fact that he was the one with the skills of breaking and entering, and yet Brittany had somehow found her way into the locked vault inside him. She’d sneaked in there, around the deadly barbs of protection that had kept him safe for years. He watched as she made fresh coffee and poured it into both mugs. The rich fragrance of roasted beans filled the kitchen. “That’s the best thing I’ve smelled in a long time.”

“It’s not bad, but I miss Greek coffee. Thick, black and guaranteed to keep you awake when you’re working on a paper in the middle of the night.”

Both of them knew he didn’t need coffee to keep him awake.

He already spent most nights wide-awake.

Except for last night. Last night, he’d slept.

Not wanting to analyze the reason for that, he removed the screws from the old lock. “Who takes care of this place when you’re away?”

“When I don’t have a friend in crisis living here, Ryan watches out for it and Susan Miller tends the garden to stop it from getting out of control. Zach, you don’t have to—” She winced as the lock fell into his hand. “All right, you’ve proved your point. I need a new lock. But if you replace it with a shiny, secure version how are you going to get in next time you hear me scream?”

“I’ll push twice as hard as I did last time.” He ran his finger over the wood of the frame, trying not to think about how he’d felt when he’d heard her scream. “This whole damn door needs replacing.”

“Then I’ll arrange it. I don’t expect you to do it.” There was a pause as she added cream and sugar to his coffee. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. You didn’t have to do this.”

Yes, he did. And that was the scariest thing of all. For the first time in his life he had no idea how to stay away.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“It was early. And I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about waking up and finding me there. I know we talked about some stuff you haven’t told anyone before. I just want to assure you that I’d never share it. Not with anyone.”

He ignored that. “You should have woken me. I would have driven you home.”

“It was good to see you sleeping.” She sat down at the kitchen table in a graceful movement. “And it’s a pretty day. Perfect for a walk. I met Alec on the cliff path.”

That bothered him more than it should have. He knew from listening to Ryan’s teasing that Alec had a large female fan base. “You two have plenty in common.”

“We share some interests, that’s true.” She sipped her coffee. “He’s a good friend. Nothing more.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“No, but I thought I’d clarify before you break that new bolt you’re putting in.”

“Like I said, your love life is none of my business.” He lifted his eyes from the lock and met her steady gaze.

“After last night I would have thought it was fair to say that you at least have a stake in it. I’m not going to push you, Zach. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but if you ever feel like hooking up again, let me know.”

“Hooking up?” He tightened the screws, checked the bolt and decided it should be enough to deter a casual housebreaker as long as they didn’t know what they were doing. “Is that what we did?”

“I don’t know what we did, Flynn. Do we have to put a name to it? Generally I’m not big on labeling things unless I’ve pulled them out of the ground.” Looking tired, she pushed the mug towards him. “You should drink this before it gets cold.”

As it dawned on him that she didn’t intend to subject him to an interrogation, he slowly relaxed. Putting down his tools, he sat down opposite her. “Tell me the most exciting thing you’ve ever found.”

“On a dig?” She propped her feet on one of the empty chairs. “It’s nothing like the movies. Discovering King Tut’s tomb is the exception rather than the rule, but you don’t need to uncover a room of sparkly objects to get excited. Standing on a patch of ground, knowing that you’re literally going to uncover the past—well, that sets my pulse racing. You find something, maybe just a fragment of pottery, and straightaway you’re thinking about the people who used it and how they lived.”

He watched the light dance across her eyes. Even sitting still she exuded energy and vitality, as if she believed everything and anything were possible if approached with enough enthusiasm and determination.

“So you’re a detective.”

“In a way, yes. And I love it. Archaeology is a perfect combination of history, science and mystery. How about you? What do you love about flying?”

“There’s not much about flying I don’t love.”

But that wasn’t enough for her, of course. “Is it the technical challenge of understanding the aircraft? The buzz you get from knowing you can fly?”

“Mostly it’s the freedom.” Zach picked up the mug and drank. It was the best thing he’d ever tasted. Smooth, strong, and with none of the bitter aftertaste that so often marred the flavor of coffee. “When you’re in the air there are no walls or doors, just open space.” And his need for that open space, for the freedom, was something that came from deep inside him.

“Would you take me up sometime?” She spoke softly. “Not because you’re taking me to an appointment, but so that I can sit with you in the cockpit and see what you see?”

He never let anyone sit with him in the cockpit unless he was flying with a copilot, which was rare. And he’d never taken a woman on a pleasure trip, at least not the sort that involved strapping in and cruising at six thousand feet.

But her hand was on his and her eyes, bright and intelligent, were looking at him hopefully and somehow he felt himself nodding.

She smiled, and that smile knocked him off balance and fried his brain.

Sexual attraction he could deal with, it was the other feelings that shook him up like a wind gusting at thirty-five knots. Being with her was like being injected with adrenaline. Pushing women away was one of the few things in life that had come easily to him, but for some reason he’d lost that skill around Brittany.

Instead of pushing her away, he wanted to carry her up to the bedroom, strip her naked and keep her there until she’d told him every single thing she’d done in the years they’d been apart.

It was that last thought that drove him to his feet.

She’d open up. She’d trust.

And then he’d let her down.

“I should go.” He gathered up his tools and made for the door, trying not to look at her sexy eyes and her wind-ruffled hair.

“Thanks for fixing the lock. I owe you.”

He almost crashed into the table in his haste to leave the room.

It was only as he closed the door behind him that he realized she’d made no move to stop him leaving.