8

A MAN IN PARADISE should not be this miserable.

Ian stood at the railing of the sun deck, watching through his sunglasses as Dex and Sierra along with Hayes and Vanessa pushed off from the back deck into the sun-kissed water, dressed in snorkeling gear.

The Montana Rose was anchored off the very long and shallow coast of a tiny two-mile island near Mexico under a sky so blue it looked like a postcard. Now and again, fluffy thick clouds floated by, cottony and soft, shadowing the crystalline water. He’d never seen water so clear. Through the turquoise depths, he made out the coral shoals along the rippled sand.

He didn’t have to go snorkeling to see the array of clown fish, the blue and yellow angelfish, the occasional eel. And just this morning, as he drank his coffee, he’d watched a sea turtle meander around the yacht.

He should be relaxing. Breathing in the warm, salty air, getting a tan.

Instead, he seemed hyperaware of everything Dex said to Sierra, and her sweet, intoxicating laughter at his jokes. The way, last night, Dex had pulled out her chair for her at dinner, inviting her into the group—something Ian had done with no success.

But it gave him opportunity to watch her as she listened to Dex’s retelling of their mighty tuna catch—tuna they’d had for dinner in the form of fresh sushi and steaks. A sweet smile played on her expressive lips, and her nose was kissed red by the sun, her face tanned. She wore her hair back in a stubby ponytail, most of it falling out and tucked behind her ears, and a white sundress that only accentuated the tan on her shoulders.

He could hardly believe it when he walked up onto the sun deck yesterday afternoon and spotted her on a lounger in a bikini top.

The woman had curves, and of course he knew that, but most of the time she wore a PEAK T-shirt, baggy cargo pants, and a sweatshirt. Last time he’d seen her in anything that accentuated her figure was the dress he’d purchased for her over a year ago when they attended the bachelor auction in New York City. But he remembered that well, the way the dress slid over her, silky smooth. And now . . .

He reached for a lemonade that Erica offered and downed it nearly in one gulp.

At least Sierra had turned down Dex’s offer to put suntan oil on her back. Hello, Ian might have stepped in then.

Then what—flexed his muscles, acted like she belonged to him? Which she most assuredly didn’t—never had. But especially not now.

A fact Ian had begun to really hate over the past twenty-four hours. Because he didn’t know what game Dex was playing.

Girlfriend or Girl Friday? Either way, Dex seemed to be closing in fast, and Ian’s gut had started to clench. “There’s only one guy for Sierra, right?”

Apparently, neither Dex nor Sierra had gotten that memo. And now Dex had taken her on an excursion to see the ocean depths while Ian glued his feet to the ship like a landlubber. No, a full-out coward.

He drew in a long breath and exhaled fast when he felt a hand on his back. He turned, and Noelly stood behind him. “C’mon. It’s a gorgeous day, and I want to try out those Jet Skis.”

Jet Skis. The pair that came with the purchase of the yacht. He’d never ridden a Jet Ski and had sort of hoped to skip that part.

Along with anything else that had to do with actual, well, swimming.

“I don’t think so, Noelly. I’m not much of—”

“Aw, c’mon. It’ll be fun.” Then she looped her arms around his neck, moving his sunglasses off his eyes. “Finally, a chance to get you all to myself.” She winked then, and her gaze moved down to his mouth. “You’ve been grumpy.”

Grumpy? He frowned.

“You hardly said anything at dinner last night. And then you went to bed early. Left me alone with Nessa and Hayes, and Dex and Sierra—I was a fifth wheel.” She ran a caressing finger down his cheek. “And it was such a beautiful sunset.”

He caught her hand. “Noelly, I don’t think now is the right time—”

“Of course it is. You’re about to move down to my neck of the woods, and . . .” She again looked at his lips, back to his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you don’t think we could be great together. Again.”

He blew out a breath. “That was a long time ago, and I was . . . I wasn’t in a good place. I was lonely and grieving and . . . I probably took advantage of you.”

“Hardly. I’m a big girl. And I knew you were a little broken. That’s why I let you walk away. But this time is different. You’re not that guy anymore. You’re past that, ready for something serious. Something permanent. Something you’ve been waiting for all your life, even if you won’t admit it.”

Before he could respond, she leaned up and kissed him. Soft, sweet, a kiss that tasted of coffee and sunshine and something that could be so easy. Noelly loved him—he’d always known that. It felt good to be loved, pursued. Embraced.

So, for a second—a long second—he let her kiss him, surrendered to her touch.

He put his arms around her, pulled her tight against him, feeling the lean, toned curves of her body against his.

But he felt nothing. No sparks, no zip in his spirit, no thundering race of his heart.

Noelly was beautiful, but she wasn’t . . . well . . .

Ian sighed, pulled away. She, however, clearly felt something else because her eyes widened. “So,” she said. “We could go jet-skiing, or . . . we do have the boat to ourselves . . .”

“Jet-skiing,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, because her smile fell. And he did care about her enough to fix it. “Jet-skiing,” he said again, this time with a smile. “Because you’re right. I’m not that guy anymore. But I promise, tonight I’ll stay up and watch the sunset with you, okay?”

She smiled at that, but a tinge of disappointment lingered in her expression. “Fine. Let’s go.”

She led him down the stairs, and now his heart began to twist at the fact that, a few years ago, he would have given her offer a long, desirous consideration.

So maybe she was right. He wasn’t as broken as he used to be.

“You’re past that, ready for something serious. Something permanent. Something you’ve been waiting for all your life, even if you won’t admit it.”

Maybe.

Kelley stood near the Jet Skis, probably directed by Sierra to make sure they were gassed up and ready for passengers.

“One or two skis for you today, sir?” he asked as Ian and Noelly approached. Kelley handed them life jackets.

“One,” Noelly said, just as Ian answered, “Two.”

The last thing he needed was Noelly snuggled up to him, her arms around his waist as he . . . well, he’d never driven a Jet Ski before, and he didn’t need any distractions. After all, he was still a guy, and Noelly wasn’t exactly taking no for an answer.

“Two,” Noelly said then, sighing.

Kelley dragged the first Jet Ski into the water, then handed Noelly the safety kill switch key fob, which she attached to her wrist by a bungee cord. She climbed aboard and, with what looked like familiarity, started up the motor.

Maybe he should be riding behind her.

But how hard could this be? He rode motocross, for Pete’s sake. This landing was a thousand times softer should the ski wipe out beneath him. Kelley handed him his key fob, and Ian velcroed the bracelet around his wrist.

He helped Kelley wrestle the ski off the deck and into the water.

“You got this, sir?”

“No problem, Kelley,” he said and inserted the key fob under the kill switch.

The motor started, spit out water. Not like a motorcycle, with the throttle in the hand grip; it ran more like a snowmobile with a lever he pulled back.

He tried it, and the ski shot forward, jerking him hard. He nearly fell off the back and glanced behind him to see Kelley poised at the end of the deck, as if ready to jump in after him. “You all right, sir?”

“She’s got a little kick, doesn’t she?”

Kelley nodded. “All these racing models do. That’s a 300-horsepower, 1630 ACE engine—the most powerful engine they make. You can go from zero to sixty in 3.8 seconds. It’s a sick machine you’ve got there.”

Nice to know. “Thanks.”

“You can hunker down and lock your legs in the foot wells. And it’s got stabilizers in the back. The only danger you’re in is running into someone else.”

“So, don’t do that, huh?” Ian said, adjusting onto the seat. It did have nice ergonomics. The machine’s engine hummed quietly as Ian steered it in a circle, giving it throttle, getting used to it. He’d have to allow for the fact that the water felt a little like skiing on a very pliable surface. But, “I got this, Kelley, no worries.”

He searched for Noelly and spotted her fifty yards away. He squeezed the throttle.

This time, he held on, his legs locked in, and he flew over the water, the wind screaming in his ears. Water arched up behind him, and as he bounced over the ocean, the strange heaviness that sat in his chest dissipated.

He could get used to this.

He slowed for the first few waves, getting the feel of the ski, then finally stood up for more maneuverability. When he hit the next set of waves, he adjusted, bent his knees, and landed easily.

Let out a little whoop.

Noelly had circled back around. She, too, stood on the ski, her blonde hair waving out behind her. She wore a bikini, of course, her body athletic and lean as she controlled the ski over the waves.

Yeah, any normal, red-blooded male would call him crazy for turning down her offer. Maybe there was something wrong with him, but losing Esme had made him realize he didn’t want any more relationships he walked away from.

And he just didn’t love Noelly like that. She deserved better.

He hit the next wave too hard, forgot to adjust, and landed with his body forward. The force of it nearly launched him out of the seat and over the handlebars.

He hung on, though, slowed, and sat back in the seat, breathing hard.

Okay, maybe eyes on the ocean, pal.

Noelly motored up to him. “Wanna race?”

Race? Oh boy. “Sure.”

But something lit inside him, awakened as Noelly leaned over her handlebars and gunned it.

He skimmed over the ocean, Hayes’s voices dogging him.

“You need to loosen up, have some fun, and stop trying to be in charge of everything.”

Noelly had circled back around, headed back toward the yacht. He stayed thirty feet behind her in her wake, jumping the waves, but when she looked over her shoulder, well, he couldn’t help it.

He gunned it, moved to her left flank, and sailed over the waves. He landed hard but gripped the throttle tight, churning the motor through the water.

When Noelly looked back again, he was close enough to see her expression of surprise.

“That’s right, honey. I’m on your tail!” he yelled.

He glanced up, at the yacht.

And for a second, jolted at the sight of Dex and Sierra standing at the railing, watching him.

He smiled, gunned the engine. Zero to sixty in 3.8 seconds.

Kelley’s words might have lit a dangerous fire inside him. He aimed toward the wake the yacht had churned up, intending to jump it.

Air, lots of it, and he bent low for the jump, the release.

The flying.

The wave came at him, a good five feet in height, and he gunned it hard, riding it up, adding a spring at the apex, just like he did while jumping Crawford Canyon.

What he didn’t expect was for Noelly to have the same idea. The same crazy timing. Or for her to appear right in his landing zone, zipping through it on the home stretch in their race.

“Noelly!” He saw the crash even before it happened and fought to get out of it. He twisted his body, taking the ski with him as he angled it away from her.

He landed first, the ski on top of him, with a blinding flash of pain and heat as it twisted his hip. He sank deep in the water, the machine pressing him down into the cool, crystalline, salty depths. The impact scoured away his breath, leaving him with nearly nothing. But he still would have been fine had not his knees and legs stayed locked into the foot wells of the machine. Had not the machine trapped him, bearing down.

Had not he run out of air.

And had he known how to swim.

If not for her hunger, Sierra might have stayed out all afternoon, floating on the waves, enthralled with the giant aquarium off the coast of Cancun. Never had she seen such an array of color—peach coral, white starfish, vibrant black-and-yellow-striped angelfish, blue tangs, fat rainbow parrot fish, and schools of blue-and-yellow-striped grunts.

All species she’d learned from Dex, who’d swum within arm’s length, tapping her, pointing out eels, crab, and clams tucked into rocks, or starfish sunning on coral.

It was so very quiet under the surface of the ocean.

The sensation of flying could become addictive.

She and Dex had even chased a sea turtle—not too close—but long enough to find themselves separated from Hayes and Vanessa.

They’d surfaced and floated away from everyone for a while, while Dex explained what they’d seen as the water dripped down his face and caught in his whiskers.

He really was a handsome man.

While he talked, she tried to ignore Ian in the distance, jetting with, of course, Noelly.

Dex had even gone underwater and retrieved a sea dollar for her, bringing it back for show-and-tell, holding onto her buoyancy belt as she examined it so she wouldn’t float away.

She’d never felt so taken care of. But certainly Dex was simply being, well, Dex. Charming and Texan.

Not hitting on her but helping her have fun.

Even if he was flirting—and certainly a girl could way too easily fall for his smile, those sea-blue eyes, the way his blond hair glistened in the sunshine—she didn’t actually like him, did she? Although, when they swam back to the boat for lunch and he helped haul her aboard, catching her ever so briefly in his arms, she’d planted her hands around his muscular shoulders and thought . . . maybe.

Clearly the sun was going to her head.

Which maybe accounted for why she dove into the cocktail shrimp like a hungry guest. Why she’d stood at the rail with Vanessa and Hayes, watching Ian race Noelly across the waves.

Why she noticed when Dex came up to stand beside her, his arm brushing hers.

She tried to ignore it for the spectacle Ian was putting on out in the sea, skimming over the ocean as if he might have wings.

Of course he was racing. Of course he was jumping waves. Of course he looked like a superhero doing it, the wind in his hair, his arms tanned and thick as he handled the machine.

His ski hit a wave, jumped—

“Ian, look out!” Dex shouted.

Sierra screamed, seeing Noelly’s Jet Ski fly into his path, bracing herself for the terrible moment when they’d crash midair.

They had, sort of, although it would have been worse—carnage in the water—without his quick thinking.

“Whoa—did you see that crash?” Hayes stepped to the rail, eating a cucumber sandwich.

Sierra couldn’t move while watching for Ian to surface. The Jet Ski bobbed like a cork, upside down, its white hull a breaching whale.

“Has he surfaced yet?” Dex asked, voicing her thoughts. Noelly had also been pitched off her ski and was now chasing it through the waves as the current dragged it away from her.

“I don’t see him,” Vanessa said.

He still hadn’t surfaced.

“I’m going in,” Dex said. He pushed past Vanessa, climbed up on the rail, and a second later sliced the water in a dive.

“Ian!” Hayes looked like he might follow him, and Sierra wanted him to.

The Jet Ski had floated away in the current, and in the distance, Noelly had just caught up to her watercraft.

But Sierra’s gaze fixed on Dex slicing through the water with solid, practiced strokes. He ducked under then, and the water was so clear, she could watch him nearly the entire way as he searched for Ian.

Then she lost him in the shadow of rock and coral.

Hayes climbed up on the rail.

He dove in just as Dex surfaced holding Ian. He lay limp in Dex’s grip.

Ian!

At just that moment, Noelly motored up on her Jet Ski.

Vanessa had started moaning, her hand over her mouth.

Sierra couldn’t move as she watched Dex push Ian’s body over the Jet Ski seat. By this time, Hayes had reached them. He climbed aboard and hauled Ian the rest of the way. Held him in place as Noelly gunned it.

“Make a hole!” Kelley yelled from behind her, and she turned to see him carrying a body board, Erica on his heels. “Bring him around back!”

Sierra moved aside as Kelley ran down the rail to the stern, where Noelly pulled up.

In moments, Hayes had Ian off the ski and onto the body board.

And then Kelley was on his knees, assessing Ian’s airway, his chest.

Sierra wasn’t sure how she’d gotten from the bow to the stern, how she ended up standing right behind Kelley as he administered CPR, but her hands clamped over her mouth.

“C’mon, man!” Hayes said as Kelley worked on him, leaning in to administer breaths.

How could this have happened? Such a beautiful, sun-soaked day. But maybe she should have expected it. After all, just when everything seemed like it would be okay, that life would work out—

Ian jerked and sputtered, and seawater sprayed out of his mouth as his body coughed it out of his lungs. Then he gulped in air, wheezing, and coughed again, his entire body convulsing.

Kelley rolled him over to his side. “Just breathe, sir. Just breathe.”

The deckhand himself seemed to be breathing hard, and Sierra found herself reaching for a chair. She missed and landed on the deck, on her hands and knees, her body spent with the sudden adrenaline drop.

And yeah, she was crying. Just trembling, trying to hold in her sobs. But so were Vanessa and Noelly, and even Hayes had turned away, leaning hard on the rail as if his legs might betray him too.

Dex appeared then, having swum to the boat, and pulled himself up on the swim deck. He ran over, breathing hard, braced his hands on his knees. “Is he alive?”

Ian finished coughing and now rolled back, his hand on his chest as if checking his heartbeat. “Yeah,” he said raggedly. “Barely.”

He looked at Dex, then Kelley, and finally Sierra, on her knees just beside him.

She cupped her hands over her face, afraid to let him see what was in her expression.

Because she might like Dex’s attention.

But she loved Ian.

Should he have died, she might have curled up beside him, refused to leave.

And that was her problem, wasn’t it? She simply refused to allow her heart to let him go. Although he’d made it clear they were just—and only—friends, she still lived for his random glances in her direction, the sound of his voice across the room.

In truth, Dex’s attention felt good, but she’d trade it all for a smile from Ian. Something that said he cared. For her.

Really cared.

Noelly pushed her way to him on his other side, fell to her knees, and grabbed his life jacket. “I’m so sorry, Ian! I’m so—oh, you could have died. And it was all my fault—I should have never taken that jump!”

He reached up and caught her wrist. “Shh. It’s fine. I’m okay.”

“But you nearly weren’t. And—” She wiped her hand across her eyes, glanced at Dex, then Kelley. “Thank you.”

Dex came up behind Noelly and put his arms around her. “Sis. It’s okay. Everybody’s okay.”

Hayes glanced at Kelley, gave him a nod. “Let’s get Ian to his room, let him rest.”

“I’m fine,” Ian said and pushed himself up. He tried to unsnap his life jacket, but his hands were trembling, so Sierra reached over and helped.

He touched her hand, and the tenderness in his grip made her look up, meet his eyes.

“I’m fine, Sierra.”

She nodded, swallowed, but didn’t stop.

He let her finish unsnapping the vest and shook it off. Then he accepted Hayes’s proffered hand of help. Belied his words by steadying himself on a chair.

“Let me help you to your room,” Noelly said, but Ian shook his head.

Instead, he turned to Sierra. Smiled. “So, we got the disaster out of the way, right? Now we can have some fun.”

She gave him a look. “Not funny, Ian.”

He grinned at her, though, something sweet in his eyes.

How could she ever see Dex when Ian so clearly filled up her vision?

She reached out despite his words to Noelly and curled her arm around his waist. “C’mon. I’ll have Erica get you fresh towels and some water. See if we can get some of that saltwater out of your system.”

He didn’t protest as she walked him down the deck.

He was shivering, however, by the time she opened the door to his stateroom. A beautiful room, with a huge king-sized bed and a view of the sea through a wall of windows. He walked over to a bench at the end of the bed and practically collapsed.

She grabbed the blanket off his bed and pulled it around him. “You okay?”

“That was close,” he said.

“Yeah, it was.”

He winced, hunched his shoulders, and blew out a breath. Water dripped down his face, catching in his cinnamon whiskers. “I should have . . . I . . .” He met her eyes. “I can’t swim.”

He said it so softly, in such a different tone than the one he’d used outside to assure everyone that he was fine, she thought she’d imagined his words. “What?”

His shirt was plastered to his chest, and water streaked the hairs on his legs as he shivered.

She tucked the blanket tighter around him and went to the bathroom to swipe a towel.

When she returned, she handed it to him. He wiped his face and repeated himself, his voice stronger. “I can’t swim.”

Yep, she heard him right, and as if to further clarify, he said, “I get sick just being near water.”

She sank down on the bed next to him. “What were you doing jet-skiing?”

“I dunno. I hate letting something beat me, and . . . I had a life jacket.”

“They don’t work when you’re trapped underneath a Jet Ski.”

He closed his eyes, and she guessed she hadn’t needed to say that.

She gave in to the urge to put her arm around him. “I understand, Ian. Noelly can be persuasive.”

His teeth chattered. “We’re just friends, Sierra. I’ve known her a long time.”

“I know.” She didn’t mean to sound so defensive. “I’m just saying, I know she likes you, and saying yes to jet-skiing with her is . . . well, I’m glad you were having fun.”

“I’m not having fun, thank you.” His words came out sharp.

He must have seen her recoil, because he shook his head. “No, of course—yes, I’m having fun but . . . okay, I just have to ask. Is . . .” He swallowed. “Is Dex coming on to you? Do I need to tell him to back off?”

What? She searched his face. He was being serious. “No. Of course not. He’s being . . . he’s being nice. Gallant.”

Ian closed his mouth, looked away, nodded. “Fine.”

The air-conditioning connected with the moisture still on her skin and raised gooseflesh. He wasn’t . . . “Are you jealous?”

He frowned. “No. Of course not.” But his answer came quick, almost harsh.

Okay. Maybe better to change topics. “That’s why you were sick when Dex stole Vanessa’s boat, wasn’t it? Because you couldn’t swim.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“I can’t believe you don’t know how to swim,” she said softly.

He raised a shoulder. “I lived in Texas. My dad was a cowhand. The one time I went swimming . . .” He blew out a breath. “Dex has a river on his property that gets pretty full during the spring.”

“Crawford Creek.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. And there’s this cistern they dug out to make a sort of watering hole. It’s pretty deep in the spring, and Dex dared me to jump in it.”

She could see it. Ian, back when he wasn’t a billionaire industrial mogul but a cowhand’s son longing to prove himself to the boss’s kid. Tall, gangly legged, peering over the side of the cistern, smelling the dirt and cool water from the spring-fed stream. It probably started then, that spark inside Ian that made him the risk taker he was today, in life, in business.

“You were always so brave,” she said, almost under her breath.

“I was terrified,” Ian said. “I knew I was going to die, but Dex just stood there, and yeah, I could have walked away, but I’d already scoped it out, see. I saw a way I could climb out on the opposite side, and I figured if I jumped straight down and hit the bottom, I could spring up and get enough momentum to get to the other side. Then I’d just climb out. My logistics overcame my terror.”

Of course. Because that was exactly how Ian lived his life. The planning kept the grief, the fears, at bay. She’d seen it over and over again in his search for Esme.

If he could just keep moving forward, just keep working the plan . . .

“So you jumped.”

He nodded. “Except the bottom was a lot deeper than I thought, and I just kept going down, and it got colder and colder, and suddenly I was out of breath.”

He was staring at her now, his blue eyes holding hers, his body clearly having adjusted to the temperature in the room because he had stopped shaking.

She, however, had started to tremble.

“I just kept sinking, fear choking me, and then I felt the bottom. I might have been thirty feet under the surface by then, but it didn’t matter. I was in a full-out panic, and I sprang up with everything inside me, thrashing for the surface.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“I don’t know how, but I made it to the surface. But I was still sinking, too far from the edge.”

“What did you do?”

“Dex jumped in. He grabbed me by my shirt, and I was so scared, I fought him. I nearly drowned us both, but he wouldn’t let go. He hit me a couple times saving me, but eventually we got to the edge, and then I climbed out.”

She said nothing, could feel the residual fear radiating off him even as he swallowed, looked away.

“I learned two things that day. First, don’t underestimate your obstacles. I should have calculated better. If I’d known all the variables, maybe . . .” He scrubbed the towel over his face, then looked at his hands. “That’s why my risk taking isn’t risky, Sierra. Or as risky, maybe, because things can always go wrong, but if you plan for your contingencies . . . well, there’s a good chance you’ll live.”

“And the second thing?”

“Watch out for Dex’s right hook.”

She smiled at that.

“Is that why you’ve never taken the yacht out? Because you can’t swim?”

He got up and tossed the blanket back on his bed. “What do you think?”

“Actually . . .” And maybe it was his story, maybe the sense that he was still a little shaken, maybe even less guarded, but she let the question unravel from where she’d tucked it tight in her chest. “I’d like to know why you call her the Montana Rose.”

Silence, and then he turned and looked at her.

It reminded her a little of how he’d looked so many times when she’d seen him staring at her across the Gray Pony Saloon, especially that summer she’d dated Sam Brooks. Or even further back, when she’d look up and spot him across the office, his gaze on her. He always covered it with a tinge of a smile, one that curled forbidden warmth through her.

Now his face bore so much raw, unhidden emotion, she couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

“Why do you think, Sierra?”

Her heart thundered, banging hard against her ribs. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

He blinked then and gave a sort of nod. “Wow. Really. Hmm.”

A knock at the door made her jump, and he blew out a breath, looked away. “Can you get that?”

Uh, sure.

She opened it, and Erica stood there holding a tray of bottled water and towels tucked under her arm. “Kelley asked me to bring Mr. Shaw—”

“Thank you,” Sierra said and took the supplies.

But when she turned, Ian had already slipped into the bathroom and locked the door.