CASTAWAY COTTAGE HAD stood at the edge of the curve of sand known as Shell Bay for over half a century. Built of clapboard and surrounded by a pretty coastal garden, it had been purchased by Brittany’s grandparents just after their marriage.

Brittany’s mother, Linda, had been born there and spent the next twenty years longing to escape the confines of island life. At that time the sole economy of the island, like so many in the area, had been fishing. It wasn’t until years later that a wealthy Bostonian had discovered the island by chance on a sailing trip and proceeded to build a home. Others had followed and, together with tax breaks encouraging people to live and work there, the fortunes and population of the island had been boosted. But for Linda, life had been all about the lobster and the never-ending cycle of worry that went with the business.

Marriage had been a way out. Brittany’s father had worked as an engineer for an oil company and was often away, leaving Linda alone on an island she couldn’t wait to escape.

Brittany was ten when her parents had divorced. Her mother had immediately remarried and moved south to Florida. Brittany, settled on the island, had stayed with her grandmother.

Occasionally her mother would visit, more to confirm her life choices than to spend time with her daughter. Her father she’d rarely seen. Wrapped in the warm cocoon of her grandmother’s love, Brittany had barely noticed their absence. She’d grown up knowing that families came in different shapes and sizes, and the island community was so small and close-knit, she’d taken for granted the support of a wider group of people who knew and loved her. She’d been taught to swim by Kathleen, her grandmother, but it had been John Harris, the harbormaster, who had settled her down on the edge of the quay one day and shown her how to tie a bowline. John was the first to take her sailing and Dave Brown, who had lobstered the waters around Puffin Island for three decades, had been the one to teach her about the business that had been a mainstay of the island’s economy for longer than anyone could remember. Along with other islanders, she’d spent time helping him get ready for the season. She’d scraped the buoys, pressure washed the hull of his boat and painted the side where the surface had chipped from hauling traps. In return he’d taken her out on the water. From him she’d learned about hydraulic haulers and bottom sounders, that the temperature of the water changes with the seasons and that lobsters migrate from shallow waters to deeper ones. And from her grandmother she’d learned how to cook the lobster in a fish kettle and eat it fresh, dripping with butter. Raising a child on Puffin Island was a communal activity, especially during the long winters when so much of the time was spent indoors, often without power. Brittany had understood that the fortunes of the island were linked with the waters that surrounded it, and she also understood why people were working to change that.

A thriving island needed people, and people needed work.

Some of the older islanders resented the large influx of visitors that swelled the population over the summer months, many of them wealthy Northeasterners from Boston, New York and Philadelphia, but most accepted them as necessary for the survival of the community.

It wasn’t until her late teens that the warm embrace of the community began to feel more like constriction and interest became intrusion. Instead of feeling soothed by island life she’d felt smothered, unable to breathe without at least ten people knowing the depth of each breath she took. She’d started to wonder what it would be like to live in a place where the whole population didn’t know what you had on your report card.

And then she’d fallen in love with Zachary Flynn.

Zachary Flynn.

With a groan, Brittany rolled over and opened her eyes, remembering the events of the night before. It hadn’t been a dream. He was really here, invading her home.

Outside dawn had barely broken and a quick check of her phone told her it was only 6:00 a.m.

Thanks to the time change, her body thought it was already after midday and as a result she was awake. Exhausted, but definitely awake.

After Emily had left the night before, she’d stumbled up the stairs and collapsed onto the bed, too tired to undress let alone wrap her mind around the problem of Zach. She hadn’t even bothered sliding into the bed her friend had made up with clean sheets. Instead she’d covered herself with the pretty patchwork quilt lovingly stitched by her grandmother as another layer of protection against the cold months and taken refuge in sleep.

Now, with sleep evading her and the gradual dawn lighting the gunmetal gray of the sea, she had no choice but to think about the events of the day before.

Her head still heavy from the journey and the time change, she sat up and scooped her hair away from her face.

The quilt lay on the floor by the bed where she’d kicked it during the night. Probably a result of dreaming about Zach.

Crap.

When she’d made her decision to return home to heal, she hadn’t planned on finding him here. If she’d known, she would have stayed in Greece. In a moment of wild panic she contemplated flying back to Europe but dismissed the idea instantly. If she left now he’d know she was running away. And she didn’t run from anything. Her grandmother had taught her that.

You stood and faced things. You dealt with them.

So how should she deal with this?

Indifference. That was the way to go.

Whenever she saw him, which hopefully would be infrequently, she’d pretend indifference. She’d deal with this situation with quiet dignity.

How hard could it be?

Through the open windows she could hear the rhythmic crash of the surf on the rocks, and the pretty muslin curtains billowed in the breeze. Not for the first time she was grateful that Castaway Cottage was away from the main hub of the island. It meant that he would have no reason to come here.

She flopped onto her back and stared up at the same ceiling she’d stared at growing up.

No matter how conflicted her emotions about Zach, it felt good to be home.

And Castaway Cottage wasn’t just home, it was a haven. Despite the fact she was alone in the house, the feeling of security wrapped itself around her.

How many times had she lain here, listening to her grandmother clattering beneath her in the kitchen? She’d sung as she’d cooked, humming to herself as she’d whipped up pancakes to go with blueberries freshly harvested from the bushes outside the cottage door.

Pushing aside the pang of sadness, Brittany gave herself a little longer in bed, and then sat up.

Self-pity wasn’t going to help and as her grandmother wasn’t there to kick her butt, she’d kick her own.

But first she had to find a way of managing everyday tasks with a broken wrist, starting with a shower.

After that, she’d walk across the fields to the Ocean Club and meet Emily and Ryan for breakfast. The sea air would wake her up.

Turned out that undressing with her wrist in a plaster cast wasn’t easy.

Inside the bathroom she pulled her T-shirt over her head and lost her balance. Steadying herself against the wall, she dropped it on the floor, followed by her shorts and underwear. Who would have thought that stripping one-handed could be so hard? Or that taking a shower while trying to keep her cast dry required something close to gymnastics. Making a mental note to buy more shampoo on her trip to the harbor, she was congratulating herself on how well she’d managed and was about to reach for a towel when she noticed something on the floor of the bathroom.

And screamed.

ZACH HAD KNOCKED on the door, prowled around the house and had reached the conclusion Brittany wasn’t home when he heard the scream. It was like something from the most gruesome horror movie and it froze his blood.

Cursing under his breath, he vaulted over the fence and used skills he wasn’t supposed to have to open her back door.

It took him a matter of seconds, and he wondered not for the first time why islanders were so lax about their security. She might as well have left the door open with a notice saying All Welcome.

His heart was pumping, his hands clammy as he anticipated what he might find.

Fire?

A masked intruder?

For Brittany to be scared it must be something truly threatening.

He strode through the kitchen, noticing with a frown that it looked as if an intruder had been having a party. A couple of unwashed dishes were stacked on the counter and the table was covered in bags. Following the direction of the scream, he took the stairs two at a time and reached her in under a minute.

She was flattened against the wall of the shower, naked and shivering. Her body was gleaming wet, droplets of water clinging to the rosy tip of her breasts.

“Christ.” Distracted by the lean lines of her glorious body, Zach banged his head on the low door frame and saw stars. He remembered too late that he’d done the same thing the last time he’d set foot in Castaway Cottage.

She’d been naked then, too. At the time he’d taken the blow to the head as punishment for his sins, which had been considerable.

This time the sin was all in his head, but the pain was real enough.

Her gaze connected with his as she finally registered the identity of her rescuer.

“Zach! What the hell are you doing here?”

“You screamed.” It took effort, but he hauled his gaze up to her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Shivering, she pointed to the corner of the bathroom.

“That.”

He turned his head from smooth, golden limbs and raw temptation and saw the thong on the floor. He’d seen more substantial dental floss. Heat uncurled inside him. “You dropped your underwear?” And then something moved and he saw the problem. An intruder, but the not the sort he’d been expecting. “It’s a spider.”

“I know what it is.” She spoke through her teeth. “Get rid of it. Please.”

If he hadn’t been trying to will his libido into sudden death, he would have laughed. He’d never met a woman more capable of looking after herself than Brittany. If a man had broken into her house, she probably would have knocked him unconscious with the nearest heavy object, but a large insect left her quivering and helpless.

Forgetting his intention not to look at her again, he shifted his gaze back to her. “So it’s still spiders.” He noticed that her hair was longer. Or maybe it just seemed that way because it was wet. It lay over one shoulder in a dark heavy mass, leaving the other bare. “You always were scared of them. Nothing else. Just spiders.”

“If you don’t stop talking and catch the damn thing it will run away and then I’ll have to move out because there isn’t room in this house for both of us.”

It wouldn’t make any difference if he looked away because the image of Brittany’s naked body was imprinted on his mind.

He wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed to end up in a small, steamy bathroom with his naked ex-wife but he was sure he deserved every moment of the punishment.

That brief glance had been enough to show him that she’d lost the angular lines of girlhood, the awkwardness of inhabiting a body that developed at its own time and pace. It had been right here in this house that he’d taught her what her body could do, used his skill and experience to extend her education into areas not covered by school.

As in everything, she’d proved a quick study.

She’d been an eager pupil, lying on the bed with her hair spilling over her naked body, doing everything he’d demanded of her and more.

If he’d been filling out her report card, he would have given her top grades.

Her reward had been a broken heart.

He dragged his eyes from sun-kissed skin and lean muscle and focused on the spider. To be fair it was too big to fit comfortably under a teacup, which he knew to be the favored way of dealing with anything born with more than four legs. “Probably thinks it’s a good place to raise a family.”

“You’re not funny. Please get rid of it.”

The fact that she hadn’t even reached for a towel told him how freaked out she was.

For his own sake, he grabbed the nearest towel, threw it to her and dealt with the spider.

When he returned to the bathroom, she was still in the same place, the towel clutched to her chest with her good hand.

Turned out it was a hand towel, and she didn’t seem to realize that clutching it across her breasts left most of the lower half of her bare. Or maybe her priorities were elsewhere.

Her teeth were chattering. “Is it dead?”

“No.” There were plenty of humans he would happily have flattened under his boot, but when it came to animals and insects he preferred a more sympathetic approach. “Didn’t see the point in killing it. I relocated it somewhere it might be more welcome and comfortable.”

“That means it’s going to find its way back into the house.” She took a step back, and he turned his head, desperately searching for a bigger towel.

“Last time I looked, spiders didn’t come equipped with GPS. They don’t have spiders in Greece?”

“Not ones that size. Or maybe I managed to avoid them.” Distracted, she pushed damp hair back from her face. “What are you doing here anyway?”

Finally, now the crisis was averted, she was registering exactly who had come to her rescue. He had a feeling that up until that point he could have been anyone. “You left your backpack. Thought you might need it.”

“But how did you get in? I locked the doors—” Her voice faded and her eyes widened. “You broke in? Why would you break in?”

“You screamed.”

And he was trying not to examine the reason he’d felt the fierce need to protect something that wasn’t even his to protect.

She stared at him, lips parted, breathing shallow. “Right.” Her mouth closed and she swallowed hard. “I guess I should be grateful breaking and entering is still one of your party tricks.”

It had been years since he’d used anything other than a key to open a door, but he knew there were many who would have shared her assumption. Usually it didn’t bother him. People could believe what they wanted to believe; the only difference was that in the past she’d been the first one to defend him.

He could hardly blame her for recalibrating her expectations.

And if part of him was unsettled by how quickly he’d been driven to gain access to a locked property once she’d screamed, he ignored it. He’d believed her to be in trouble. Any man would have done the same.

Silence, tense and awkward, spread between them.

Her body was lightly tanned, the bronze glow of her shoulders intersected by paler strap marks. The uneven marks told him she’d gained that color while doing the job she loved, not by lying on a beach, soaking up the sun.

Now that the spider had gone, there was nothing between them but the past and the electricity that shimmered and crackled in the air. The way she stayed flattened to the bathroom wall made him wonder if she saw him as a threat worse than the spider.

She lifted a shaky hand to her damp hair. “I’m grateful for the whole knight-in-shining-armor routine. You said you came to return my bag. Where is it?”

“Kitchen.” And he knew she wasn’t grateful. She was livid that she’d needed help and that he’d been the one to give it.

“Thanks. Do I need to count the money?”

It was a question she never would have asked before, and he stared at her for a long moment, watching the flush build in her cheeks.

Although that was one crime he wasn’t guilty of, he knew he was guilty of plenty of others so he didn’t bother defending himself.

Instead, he looked at the clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor of the bathroom where she’d obviously struggled to strip them off. He was no detective, but it seemed to him that she’d slept in the clothes she’d traveled in.

Dragging his eyes from the thong, he eyed her plaster cast. “You having trouble managing with that thing on your arm?”

“No. No trouble.”

It was her right hand. She was right-handed. It had to be a problem, but he guessed she would rather have faced another spider than admit to him that she was struggling.

He glanced from the mess on the floor to the cast on her wrist and told himself it wasn’t his business.

“You’ve got people you can call if you need help?”

“I don’t need help. Goodbye, Zach.”

His legs refused to move. “You need to think about getting a new bolt on your back door.” The cottage was isolated. Her nearest neighbor was a mile away. The thought sent his tension levels rocketing.

“My lock is fine. This is Puffin Island.”

“Last time I looked there was nothing stopping the criminal element stepping aboard the ferry.”

“I guess you’re proof of that.”

Zach’s eyes met hers. He’d always assumed that his less-than-clean-cut past had been part of the attraction for her, at least initially. At the time it had amused him that a few nasty secrets had the upside of making him more interesting to the opposite sex. He’d milked it for all it was worth. Why wouldn’t he? If the gutter had a silver lining, then he figured he might as well wrap himself in it.

Those days were long behind him, but clearly not forgotten. Not by him and not by the residents of Puffin Island. And, it seemed, not by his ex-wife.

With a brief nod, he turned and walked out of the house, this time leaving by the front door.

If she chose not to buy a better lock for the back door, that was her business. At any rate, he was willing to lay bets that there wasn’t a decent lock to be had in any of the stores since he’d landed back on the island.

“HOLY CRAP, he saw me naked. Could it be any more humiliating?” Brittany lay on her back on the bed, talking to Skylar on the phone.

“He heard you scream and broke in to save you. That’s so romantic.”

“It’s not romantic, it’s the sign of a misspent youth. Would you know how to break through a door without damaging the lock?”

“No, but we all have different skills and you’re missing the most important point. All these years you thought he didn’t care, but he obviously does.”

“I don’t know how you draw that conclusion.”

“He thought you were in trouble, Brit! You screamed and he came. A knight in shining armor.”

“He was wearing black jeans.” An old pair of Levi’s and a black T-shirt that had fitted him perfectly, molding to every contour of his muscular frame. “He looked like a ninja not a knight.”

“Yum.”

“Not yum! I don’t want him.”

Sky chuckled. “You mean you don’t want to want him.”

Remembering the sizzle of awareness when their eyes had met, Brittany bit her lip. “Why did this have to happen? Why did he have to pick this moment to come back here?”

“It’s fate.”

“I hate it when you say that.”

“Finish the story. You saw the spider, screamed and then he appeared. And you weren’t wearing anything at all. Not even a teeny tiny thong?”

“I was wearing a teeny tiny thong fifteen minutes before he arrived. It was on the floor.” She heard a sound and frowned. “Are you laughing?”

“I might be. Look, maybe he didn’t notice.”

“He noticed. He smacked his head into the door frame.”

“Oh, poor him. That must have hurt. I always said that door was too low. I can’t walk into that bathroom in heels.”

Brittany gave a murmur of exasperation. “Whose side are you on?”

“Yours, of course, but I do sympathize that he banged his head and I’m not going to be angry with him for looking out for you. So he saw you naked—then what?”

“He threw me a towel and got rid of the spider.” With those big, calloused hands that could break down a door or the defenses of a woman with equal ease.

“Well, there you go. The actions of a perfect gentleman.”

“It was a hand towel. And I can think of lots of different ways of describing Zachary Flynn, but ‘perfect gentleman’ isn’t one of them.”

“Did he, or did he not, get rid of the spider?”

“He did, but—”

“And he came back to check you were okay?”

“Yes, but—”

“It wasn’t his fault the closest thing was a hand towel. So then what? You stood there looking at each other and all you were wearing was a plaster cast. That must have been awkward.”

“It was a little more than awkward.” And hadn’t been made less so by the fact the incident had played out on the same stage as their intense affair. They’d had sex in that bathroom. They’d had sex in almost every room of the house.

“Just awkward? Not sexy? He didn’t push you up against the wall and press his heated body against yours?”

“No! And you need to rein in your imagination.” And she needed to rein in hers.

“Can’t do that, I need it for my job.”

“So keep it for your art and don’t get creative with my sex life, especially not where Zach is concerned.”

“I always thought he’d be the kind of guy to take what he wanted without asking permission.”

“I think we’ve already established he didn’t want me.” And it shouldn’t bother her. It really shouldn’t bother her.

“It must have been hard for him to commit to someone, given he’d been alone all his life.”

“You sound as if you’d like to adopt him.”

“Now you mention it, he’s like one of those stray dogs who have been badly treated and no one ever wants to give a home to because they’re afraid of being bitten.”

“Not every stray dog can be tamed.”

“Agreed. So what happened after he’d performed epic spider removal? He left?”

“Right after I virtually accused him of stealing from my purse.”

“You didn’t! Brit? Why would you do that?”

“Because—because—I don’t know.” She was upset with herself. “I was feeling vulnerable. And he had just broken into my house.”

“To save you! Do you want to know what I think?”

“No.”

“I think seeing him really messed with your head and you wanted to see the worst in him.”

“Of course it messed with my head. I was naked! And I have no idea what I’m going to say next time I see him.”

“You say ‘thank you for removing my spider.’ What are you doing this morning?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting Em for breakfast. She’s in love.”

“I know. Can you believe it? And Ryan is gorgeous. How come we never met him when we came to stay?”

“Bad timing, I guess. Up until four years ago, he was always traveling. How do I handle the fact that Zach is here?”

“How do you think you should handle it?”

She went through the options. “Anger would imply I still care, happy would be too hard to play, so I was going with indifference.”

“Indifference sounds perfect to me.”

“But he saw me naked.”

Sky laughed. “Honey, it’s not the first time.”