Secretly Married
Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ALLISON LEIGH

started early by writing a Halloween play that her grade-school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.

She has been a finalist for a RITA® Award and a Holt Medallion. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that they laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.

Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several different cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighborhood church. She currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at P.O. Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, or visit her Web site at www.allisonleigh.com.

For my family.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Prologue

The Moonlight Chapel of Love.

Delaney Townsend slid off her blazer and folded it over her arm. Even at two in the morning, the air in Vegas was hot. But it wasn’t the heat that disturbed her, particularly. It was the entire situation in which she found herself.

“Something wrong?” The man standing with her grazed her bare arm with a long finger.

Despite herself, despite the heat, despite…everything…she shivered from the contact. She glanced up at Samson Vega if for no other reason than the sight of him was far more reassuring than the sight of the Moonlight Chapel of Love.

If she repeated the chapel’s name often enough in her head, would some of the shock recede?

“It’s…blinking,” she finally said.

The corner of Sam’s mouth kicked up, and her stomach clutched in the odd little way it had done since the very first time she’d seen that half smile of his.

If only she’d been stronger against that disarming appeal, they wouldn’t be standing in front of a merrily blinking wedding chapel at two in the morning.

“It is pretty bright,” he allowed blandly.

Understatement. She felt a bubble of laughter rising inside her. Or maybe it was hysteria. “There’s a line of people waiting.”

He nodded, though his gaze was on her rather than the couples waiting outside the shiny white-and-gold double doors. She’d long ago given up the idea that his manner of focusing on a person was because of his profession. It wasn’t cop. It was simply him. Undiluted.

And it was lethal to a woman’s common sense.

“Well.” Delaney’s voice was faint. It had a tendency to get that way when he looked at her like that. As if he couldn’t wait to feast.

On her.

His lips curved slowly. Sam tucked his hand around her arm, his thumb dragging in a slow circle over the inside of her elbow. “Line isn’t going to get any shorter.”

The truth of which was proved by an impossibly young boy and girl who climbed from the rear of an ungodly long limousine that stopped at the curb. They ran—arms entangled, laughter spilling—across the brief grassy area to take a place at the end of the line.

She barely had a chance to realize that she, at the grand old age of thirty-four, felt old at the sight of their youthful enthusiasm when the shining double doors opened wide and a couple stepped from inside the chapel. Silly smiles lit their faces, and even from this distance she could see the gold bands on their fingers.

“They look like they belong on the top of a wedding cake.” She hadn’t realized people would dress in full wedding regalia to visit a place like…this.

“Is that what you wanted? The whole wedding getup?”

She realized she was watching the emerging couple with the sort of morbid fascination usually reserved for vehicular accidents. “No.”

Sam chuckled softly, his head angling toward her. “Don’t sound so horrified. We could still do this back home, you know. You wouldn’t even have to dress up like a Barbie-gone-berserk in ruffles and lace. If you want your mother or your dad—”

“No.” She was acting like a ninny. There was no other word for it. She’d agreed to marry him, and they both wanted to do it now, so it was ridiculous to act as if she was rethinking the decision. “The last thing we need is to have my mother and my father cooped together even for the ten-minute duration of a ceremony. We’d all live to regret it.”

“Do you regret this?”

Delaney’s breath caught a little. “You do believe in being direct, don’t you.”

His right eyebrow rose a fraction. “You ought to know.” His tone was low. Intimate. “Usually makes things easier in the long run.”

And she usually agreed. But logic wasn’t ruling her these days; it had been shoved aside in favor of the madness created by letting him into her life during a weak moment.

She watched the departing cake-topper couple for a moment. He wanted to marry her. In all the time she’d known Sam, she’d never known him to prevaricate.

The direct approach.

Her stomach swam.

“Hey.” He turned her to face him, nudging a thumb under her chin. “I know how to warm up cold feet.”

“That’s what got us here.” Her voice was tart, but Delaney still found herself leaning into him.

“Don’t hear me complaining.” His mouth covered hers in a slow brush, and she felt the curve of that kicked-up corner. “So, are you ready?” She felt his words on her lips, too. Then his hand slid behind her neck. Something so simple. The touch of a man’s warm palm, the gentle press of long, blunt-tipped fingers, the soft heat of masculine lips.

Only it wasn’t simple at all. Because she’d shared kisses before with perfectly attractive, interesting men. None of them had made her knees weak. Until this man, who’d been complicating her life from the moment they’d met two years ago. First professionally. Then personally.

Her better sense knew that marrying him was akin to jumping from the frying pan into the fire. But then he lifted his head, his deep brown eyes focused only on her…her…and her heartbeat skittered. She stopped listening to common sense and followed her heart.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “I’m ready.”

Sam’s smile was slow and all the more sweet because of it. He slid his hand down her arm, finding her hand. Slipped his fingers between hers, palm meeting palm.

They walked over and joined the end of the line.

One hour later, after a service that lasted all of seven minutes, Delaney Townsend and Samson Vega emerged from the shining white double doors, silly smiles on their faces and gold wedding bands on their ring fingers.

Chapter 1

Two years.

The first time since she’d seen Sam in two years, and he was in the arms of another woman.

Not just some witness he was questioning after a crime. Not some elderly woman he was helping to cross the street. It was clichéd, but she’d watched him do that, more than once, as if he were “good guy” personified.

No, this woman with whom he danced was definitely not elderly, and if she were witnessing anything, it was what it felt like to press her temple against Sam’s strong jaw while they swayed together beneath a starlit sky.

Well, wasn’t this just dandy?

Delaney exhaled and paused at the fringe of the crowd spilling from the clearing that was being used as a dance floor. Despite the outdoor setting, she felt hemmed in by too-warm bodies, too-loud music.

And Sam.

She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about how she’d feel seeing him again after all this time. Silly, considering that she was a psychiatrist. Now, like a tongue gingerly approaching a suspect tooth, she probed not only at what she felt seeing Sam, but what she felt seeing him dance closely with another woman.

Tiny red, blue and green lights were strung from the tops of young trees, circling bushes, sprouting from the swaying fronds of palm trees, even though the holiday season was half a year away. They blinked and twinkled, casting the revelers in a surrealistic light.

That’s what it felt like, Delaney decided.

Surreal.

How had their lives come to this?

The question was moot. She knew good and well how.

She glanced over at the main building that loomed against the studded sky. Fortunately, young Alonso was taken care of and was now settled in at the halfway house, Castillo House. She’d said her goodbye, difficult as it had been. Which meant that all Delaney had left to accomplish was this one last…task.

Maybe it was foolish. But to leave without at least speaking with him smacked of cowardice. It might appear that she was still affected by what had happened. And she didn’t want him thinking that way. Even if it were true.

She exhaled again, smoothed first the front of her regrettably wrinkled suit, then the strands of hair that kept slipping free of the pins, and headed into the fray of dancers.

She turned this way and that, moving between and around couples, murmuring an apology when she bumped right into one couple while avoiding another. But her voice was absorbed by the music blaring from the sound system just as surely as the high heels of her pumps sank into the earth, and she was fairly certain that nobody paid any heed at all to her progress through the melee.

That was okay. Having the element of surprise on her side could only be a good thing where Sam was concerned. She was prepared, while he was not. He couldn’t possibly be. A cowardly approach, perhaps, but there you have it.

She sidestepped, avoiding a couple intent on an enthusiastically bad tango, and finally came face-to-face with Sam.

Well, face to back.

She willed away a foolish surge of nervousness. For heaven’s sake, surely she was past the stage of butterflies where he was concerned.

She cleared her throat a little. “Excuse me.” Her voice was swallowed whole by the swell of the female singer and a symphony orchestra. She sighed a little and tried again, shifting when Sam and his partner slowly revolved and Delaney found herself standing behind the other woman. “Excuse me.” She tapped the dark-haired woman’s arm.

Immediately the woman looked around, her eyebrows lifting as she looked over her shoulder.

Sam noticed her then, too. His gaze narrowed on her face, his eyebrows jerking for a moment before drawing together over his hawkish nose. All around their odd little trio, the dancers continued to sway.

Well. She had managed to surprise him. Who knew? “Sorry to interrupt,” she said smoothly. “I just wanted a moment of your time.”

The woman’s head swiveled from Delaney to Sam and back again, and Delaney stuck out her hand, feeling some sympathy for the bemused-looking woman who shook it. “Delaney…Townsend.” She hesitated over the name. She’d have to work on that. She’d only been using it since she’d been in contact with Castillo House—two months, now, when she should have begun using it two years ago.

“Sara Drake,” the other woman murmured.

“Drake?” Delaney looked over at the enormous mission-style house that provided a backdrop along with the trees and lights. “Are you related to Logan Drake?”

“He’s my brother,” Sara confirmed. “But I’m afraid I don’t—”

“What the hell are you doing here, Delaney?” Sam interrupted the exchange.

Meeting his gaze was more difficult than she’d expected. So she looked at the total picture of him. The shining black hair springing back from his forehead, as thick as ever. Why couldn’t the man at least have a receding hairline? Or a paunch instead of a body that looked—as impossible as it ought to be—even harder and stronger than before.

Before.

Which reminded her of the task currently at hand.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her briefcase. She had to raise her voice more than she was comfortable with to be heard above the music. “I’d just like to speak with you. It’ll only take a minute, and you can get back to your dance partner.” She managed a smile at Sara and felt relatively certain that it was harmlessly noncommittal. Butterflies or not, after having spent most of the day traveling—with the final hour spent sitting on a cold, wet seat in a boat that stank of gas and oil fumes—she suddenly felt rather more like baring her teeth at Sam.

Which would have shocked all of them, no doubt. Particularly Sam, since he’d considered her singularly unemotional when it came to certain matters.

She pushed a little more cheer into her smile. “Just a few minutes or less of your time, Sam. That’s all I want.”

“Townsend,” Sam said abruptly.

She gave up trying to smile altogether. She’d come to the island of Turnabout for reasons that had nothing to do with him. But her reason for wanting to speak privately was solely due to his stubbornness. That didn’t mean she wanted to create a scene right there in front of God and country and the dancers celebrating the anniversary of Castillo House’s opening. “This is hardly the place to—”

“Why not? You’re the one who’s here.”

The other woman, Sara, was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” Delaney told her. She was. She really had no desire to cause anyone discomfort. If she did, she could just hand over the box right now. Maybe Sam would turn around and present it to Sara.

The idea was nauseating.

“Perhaps somewhere more private is a good idea,” Sara said softly, and the look Sam gave the woman—as if he were actually weighing her suggestion—gave Delaney a pang that she shouldn’t have felt.

There was no need for Delaney to gingerly probe her feelings now. Not with the way her stomach suddenly churned. She quickly slid a bulging manila envelope from her briefcase. “Two minutes, Sam. That’s all I’m asking.”

“Is it?” He looked down at the envelope, lips thinning. “Don’t think so.”

She had a ridiculous urge to stomp her foot. And since she’d never been the foot-stomping sort she squelched it. “It’s been two y—”

“Twenty-one months.”

Delaney’s words dried. She looked down at the envelope and pressed her palm against the buttons of her suit jacket, cursing the way her stomach rocked. Right. Twenty-one months. She could have even more accurately calculated the last time they’d seen each other down to days but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

The night temperature seemed to have risen. Which was ridiculous. It had to be her. Becoming hot under the collar. Literally. If only she’d thought to wear a blouse, a camisole, something more substantial than a bra beneath her jacket. She could have removed the jacket, then, in deference to the heat. She’d checked the weather before making the trip to California and thought she’d been prepared for the warmer climate. So much for that notion.

“Why don’t I get you some punch,” Sara suggested suddenly. Too perceptively. “You and Sam can find a quiet place to talk.” She smiled, doing a better job of it than Delaney had. “Take care of your business.”

They were all adults. It didn’t bother Delaney at all that it apparently took urging from Sara before Sam would be cooperative.

Right.

She exhaled and surreptitiously tugged at the front of her jacket in hopes of getting some air. “Punch would be nice,” she lied. If she tried to swallow anything but water, she wasn’t sure she could be responsible for the consequences.

Sam lifted a sardonic brow when Delaney hesitated as Sara moved away. “Well?”

She followed.

The woman—taller than Delaney by several inches—seemed to have far less difficulty making her way through the crowd. Or maybe people just naturally got out of Sara’s way in the same manner they did for Sam.

Delaney watched the pair of them from the corner of her eyes. Sam and Sara. A striking couple. Both tall and raven-haired. They could have been brother and sister, only, Delaney knew Sam had no sister named Sara. Janie, yes. But not Sara.

Not that she’d ever met Janie, or his brother, Leo.

Not that she ever would.

The envelope crinkled as her fingers tightened. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Sam closed his hand around her elbow.

“Little jumpy, Delaney?”

He used to call her Laney. She carefully moved her arm away from his touch. “It’s been a long day,” she said smoothly. It was the gospel truth. An incredibly long day. But it was worth it to have Alonso taken care of. She’d worked long and hard to make sure of it.

“Delaney.” Sam watched her much too closely. “You all right?”

He’d recovered from his surprise. Now she couldn’t read his expression to save her soul. A regrettably familiar position.

She lifted an eyebrow and brushed a strand of hair away from her face again. “Right as rain, Sam.” But her voice was clipped despite herself and she deliberately looked around. Sara had made it to the row of tables near the house, laden with food and refreshments. But Sam and Delaney were still amidst the dancers and had finally begun to draw attention. “Is it serious between you two?” She cringed at that. Don’t ask the question if you’re not prepared to listen to the answer.

“Does it bother you to think it might be?”

“Is it still impossible for you to give a straight answer?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re as annoying now as you ever were,” she said evenly. She turned on her heel, grateful to keep her balance with her sinking heels. She should have just given him the ring, whether it embarrassed him or not, and gone on her way. Or, better yet, she should have left it with Annie and Logan Drake. They could have delivered it. He would hardly have refused that type of personal delivery.

There were just too many “should haves” where Sam was concerned.

She realized Sam hadn’t moved, and turned around to look, only to find him looking right back at her, his head cocked to one side. Studying? Judging?

Then he suddenly turned his head and Delaney followed suit, looking over to the house.

Alonso slouched against the wall near the high, double-wide door, his hands shoved in the pockets of the new baggy jeans she’d given him. His stance was casual, but Delaney knew it was feigned.

Even though Delaney had prepared herself for this, too, she still felt herself bracing. Still felt defiance coursing through her, joining the rock ’n’ roll beat inside her stomach.

Sam looked back at her.

Oh, yes. Definitely judging.

Her grip tightened on the envelope as Sam headed toward her, his steps unhurried. He stopped just in front of her. “Should have known this would have something to do with him,” he said, angling his head so she could hear his low voice. “Some things never change.”

Her throat went tight. “Some people never change, either.” He wasn’t expressionless, she realized. An angry muscle flexed in his tight jaw.

“When are you going to learn your lesson where he’s concerned? Hasn’t he cost you enough?”

You mean when he cost me you? She wanted to voice the question. Better sense prevented her. “He has a name, Sam. Alonso. And he’s cost me nothing of value.” Her voice was flat. Hopefully it disguised the pain.

He tilted his head again, considering. “Been practicing your target shooting, I see.”

“Alonso has been accepted as a resident at Castillo House. You might as well get used to seeing him on the island.”

“In my jail cell, maybe.”

Every nerve inside her tightened. The work Logan Drake and his wife, Annie, had accomplished in the past year at Castillo House with homeless and troubled youth had drawn attention from Delaney and her colleagues—enough attention that she’d swallowed the fact the program was located on Sam’s turf and approached them about Alonso.

And Castillo House was Alonso’s last chance to avoid jail time. The judge was out of patience where the boy’s probation was concerned.

“Not without cause, Samson. Even you don’t stoop that low, do you?”

Despite the music, the chatter, the revelry all around them, the silence between the two of them lengthened, thickened. “Crediting me with some integrity?” he finally asked. “There’s a change.”

She exhaled slowly, reining in a wealth of frustration and other emotions she didn’t even want to put a name to. “Here.” She pushed the envelope that contained the delicate wedding ring at him. “I don’t know why you marked the envelope ‘return to sender’ in the first place. What kind of game you’re—”

“It was never a game with you. A game would have been fun. Enjoyable.”

The sentiment was nothing she hadn’t already known.

It still hurt.

“Then I’d think you’d be heartily glad to have this back.” She wriggled the envelope, wishing he’d just take the thing.

“What’s got you so anxious all of a sudden?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Sudden? I’ve tried sending this to you more than once!” She’d even tried a courier, to no avail.

“Maybe you should’ve taken the hint.”

“What hint? That you want no reminders of our time together? I’m sure you don’t. But the ring is—”

“Yours,” he said flatly. “Even if you are doing something official now.”

She blinked at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His head lowered another inch toward her and she steeled herself not to shift away. “Why now, Delaney?”

There was a burning deep behind her eyes. Her foot slid back. She shifted and glanced past him. Sara approached, bearing two plastic cups, filled to the brim, no doubt, with punch. “You’re not the only one who’s moving on, Sam.” Some were just better at it than others.

His lips twisted. “Anyone I know?”

“Is it any of your business?”

“I think so.” The envelope crinkled in his grip. “But let me guess. Your esteemed associate, Chadly Do-Wright.”

Sam had never liked Chad Wright. Of course the reverse could be said, too. Chad had never particularly cared for Sam. If she’d known how things would end, she’d have paid more heed to Chad’s sensible arguments from the start. Instead, she’d followed her heart.

Sam suddenly reached out, drawing the lock of hair away from her face. She stiffened her knees.

Not even her heart, she mentally corrected. She’d followed something far more base where Sam was concerned.

And people thought only men were ruled by lust. Now that was a serious joke.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he slipped his fingers along the strand of hair again. His knuckles brushed her temple. Her cheek.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Afraid Do-Wright wouldn’t approve?” His fingertips slowly grazed the circle of her ear, taking extraordinary care in tucking the hair behind it.

“It’s Chad.” Her voice stalled altogether when his fingers glided along her jaw, and his thumb tucked beneath her chin, inexorably forcing it upward. She closed her eyes, then dragged her lids upward again, afraid of betraying any additional weakness.

She heard his tsk, even though it was half under his breath. “Look at you. As trussed-up as ever. At least, you’re trying to be. Double-breasted suit. Hair in a knot. Only, you want to unbutton the suit, don’t you. And your hair’s falling down. Has Chad seen this side of you?”

“The crossing was windy.”

His thumb slid over her lips, pressing them closed. “Ninety minutes on the open water. It usually is windy.”

“Sam,” her lips moved against the callused pad of his thumb. “The ring—”

“Screw the ring,” he said flatly. Then his thumb moved and his head lowered. His mouth covered hers, inhaling the gasp of shock she couldn’t prevent. His hand went behind her neck, preventing her from jumping back.

There was no love in the kiss. She knew it. He knew it.

He was angry. Twenty-one months hadn’t seemed to change that fact one bit.

And he still tasted like the darkest, sweetest sin to ever exist as the kiss went on and on. Her body burned as she helplessly kissed him back.

She swayed when he finally let her free. Delaney was barely aware of the shock on Sara’s face, or the stares of everyone else around them. She wanted to slap him. Kick him.

“That was uncalled for,” she said hoarsely. “Absolutely.”

“You’re kidding, right?” His lips stretched in a humorless smile, and he suddenly turned around, facing the gaping onlookers.

His voice rose, so everyone could hear. “My wife, Delaney, finally comes to Turnabout, the least I can do is greet her with a kiss. Wouldn’t you all agree?”

Chapter 2

My wife.

Some deep instinct made Delaney lock her knees as Sam’s comment rang in the sudden silence. If she’d had any doubt that Sam ever told anyone from Turnabout, his hometown, about their excruciatingly brief fiasco of a marriage, the shocked faces all around them removed it.

He’d turned back to her and was looking at her mouth. Despite the audience and her desire to tear out her hair and scream at him for this game he was playing, her lips tingled all over again.

And it was irritation at that, that got her moving again. She slapped the envelope against his chest. “You know we’re no longer married,” she snapped softly.

He exhaled sharply, turned and strode away.

The envelope fell.

She very nearly followed after him. He hadn’t wanted to talk with her when they were married, why on earth would he want to when they weren’t? If he wanted to walk away from what should have been a simple matter, she wasn’t going to stop him.

He’d walked away from her before, after all.

She snatched up the envelope and headed blindly away from the curious eyes that seemed to be burning into her from all sides. But escape was blocked by the dancers one way and the whitewashed stucco building on the other. She trembled, never feeling more like screaming in her entire life.

Wouldn’t that be a tidy item to add to her record? “After installing patient in residential program, subject became hysterical when former spouse referred to her as his wife….”

“Yo, Doc V. You didn’t tell me Mr. Cop-man was gonna be here.”

She marshaled her scrambled thoughts. Smoothed back her hair again and looked up at Alonso, who’d come down from his slouch to stand in front of her. He’d grown a foot in the past year. At only fifteen, he easily topped six feet, a good six inches taller than she. He was more gangly than broad, but she knew time would eventually fill in the spare gaps and he’d cut an impressive figure. “You being at Castillo House has nothing to do with Sam.”

Alonso’s lip curled. “Right.”

Her day really had been too long. “Think about it.” Her tone was short enough that Alonso kept his next smart-aleck remark from emerging.

“Is he a cop here, too?” He focused on shoving up the long sleeves of his oversize T-shirt.

“He’s the sheriff.”

“Yeah, well he better not be hauling me off to jail, or—”

“Or?” Delaney looked sternly up into his young face. Alonso Petrofski was a combination of beauty from the mocha skin to the green eyes he’d inherited from his Jamaican mother and Russian father. In most respects, he was brilliant. And in most respects, troubled, neglected and full of anger and opinions. She’d started out as his court-appointed therapist. Now, a very rocky four years later, she’d like to think she was his friend.

Some days that was easier to believe than others.

“You’re not going to jail, Alonso. Not unless you do something illegal here. And if you do that in the next two months, your probation will be revoked and you’ll finish out your full sentence in jail back in New York. Then all the good work you’ve done the past year will be for nothing.”

“Not if you can’t find me,” he said.

“Turnabout is an island, Alonso. You won’t be going anywhere that we don’t know about.” Logan Drake, the man responsible for the running of Castillo House, smiled coolly, seeming to appear at their sides out of nowhere.

Alonso had already told Delaney he figured Logan was a hard-ass. Given what Delaney knew about Logan’s former profession, she figured the assessment was fairly accurate.

“He’s not exaggerating.” A very pregnant girl stood beside Logan, addressing Alonso. “It’s Drake’s way or the highway. But believe me. He’s easier than the sheriff. I’ve been here for three months, so I oughta know.” She shot a rueful glance up at Logan, who softened a little and tugged the end of her long red braid.

“This is Caitlin Reed,” Logan introduced. “She’ll show you what chores you’re assigned to tonight.”

“Man, I just got here.”

Delaney remained mum. This was Logan and Annie’s center. The sooner Alonso became acclimated to his new home, the better.

Logan merely lifted one broad shoulder, his blue gaze again impassive. “Everybody here works, Alonso. You want to stay, you’re welcome. But you’re gonna work the same as the rest.”

The boy stared Logan down for a long, taut minute. Alonso drew up every centimeter of height he possessed, as if it would give him some advantage against the man with whom he stood eye to eye. It had no effect on Logan. He merely waited. Solid. Strong. Sure. Then Alonso made an impatient sound, swore—under his breath, because swearing was against the rules of the house—and headed back up the shallow steps and inside the massive doorway. Delaney watched him go. Saw the way he curtailed his long-legged stride to accommodate Caitlin’s shorter, somewhat waddling one.

Along with relief was a sense of loss. Alonso had become a large part of her life. Right or wrong, he was more than a patient to her. But she couldn’t handle him alone, and something had to be done. He was too young to be left to his own devices. He needed a home.

Hopefully, Castillo House would provide what she couldn’t.

She glanced up at Logan. He hadn’t said a word about Sam’s outrageous announcement after kissing her, and she was grateful. “I know you don’t really have room for him, yet, with your renovations still underway. But I appreciate it. He really needed to get away from his usual crowd.”

“Long as your boy toes the line, we’ll get along fine,” Logan said. Then his hard face softened, making him look immeasurably younger, when a slender woman with a mass of blond curls stopped next to him, sliding her arm through his. Annie Drake.

“Alonso will be fine.” Annie smiled far more easily than did her husband. “And we do appreciate the—”

Delaney waved away the thanks before Annie could finish. She didn’t want to advertise the donation she’d arranged for Castillo House. “We can keep that between us.” What her mother had donated would go a little way toward the renovations the big old house still required. A little way toward making the physical space necessary for another person. Like Alonso. Which made having to approach her mother for funds worth it. Just because Delaney had loathed having to do so, her mother’s donation had been just one more in a long line of charitable causes she thoughtlessly supported, meaning nothing more nor less than if Delaney had been a stranger.

“Secrets have a way of coming out, Delaney. Sometimes it’s better all around to put everything out on the table.”

Delaney didn’t know if that was a reference to her and Sam’s history, or not. But there was nothing in Annie’s expression that Delaney could take exception to.

She was just feeling defensive.

Because of Sam.

“Um, you’re…Delaney. Right?”

A young woman had approached. Why not? For all the attention Sam had thrown her way, she might have been the circus come to town. “Yes.”

“I’m Janie Vega.”

Something indefinable curled through Delaney. So she’d meet some of Sam’s family after all. “You’re Sam’s sister.” Timid, she thought, as she looked for some resemblance between the girl and Sam. They had the same dark eyes, but that seemed to be all. “He told me about you.”

“I wish we could say the same about you.”

Maybe not so timid, after all, Delaney thought, eyeing Janie’s crossed arms. Logan and Annie murmured excuses and moved off with no small amount of haste. “I’m sorry,” she told Janie.

“Why? Sam’s the one who’s been keeping his mouth shut all this time.” Her voice was tart. “Ironic, considering how he feels about deception.”

Could this get any worse? Sam should have been the one to soothe his sister’s hurt feelings. “Well, really, Sam and I, we weren’t together very long. And it was a few years ago.”

“But,” Janie’s expression faltered a little, “he said you are his wife.”

“Was,” Delaney assured gently.

“You’re more forgiving than I am if you think that’s an adequate excuse for his behavior.”

There was nothing suitable or otherwise that Delaney could say. Janie seemed to realize it. “Where are you staying tonight?” she asked.

The trip to Turnabout had taken longer than Delaney expected. Their flight from New York had been late arriving in San Diego, which meant they’d missed the regular ferry that ran twice a day. She’d had to hire a charter. Which was definitely a glorified term for the rough-riding bucket that had carried her and Alonso from the mainland to the tiny island of Turnabout.

She’d strongly entertained the idea of waiting until morning before finishing the journey. But her desire to get it over with had overridden her common sense. It would’ve been smarter to wait. Then she’d have been assured of a way off the island.

Now, she had a hotel room all reserved in San Diego that was going begging. “I hadn’t planned to stay on Turnabout,” she admitted. She didn’t enjoy being caught unprepared. “Is there a hotel here?”

“Maisy Fielding has an inn. Called Maisy’s Place. She has several guest cottages, too. But she’s full up. I help out there when she’s particularly busy.” Janie lifted an arm, encompassing the crowd. “A lot of people came over to celebrate the first anniversary of Castillo House. But Sam has an extra room,” Janie continued. “Etta does, too, but my father is using it now that he’s home again.”

“Etta?”

“Our grandmother. Henrietta Vega.”

“Right.” Surreal, indeed. Delaney looked around at the partyers. She was aware of Janie watching her closely.

It felt as if everyone was watching her closely. Too closely. She much preferred to focus her attention on others than to have that focus turned the other way around.

Sam had an extra room. Delaney wasn’t so much interested in that as she was interested in what had possessed Sam to say the words he had.

My wife.

What purpose had that served? None. And she wanted to tell him so. She wanted him to understand—fully and completely—that she was no basket case. That she was moving on, just as she’d told him. Thoughtfully, intelligently, dispassionately. What she wanted now were common interests, common goals, a common purpose.

Things she and Sam had never had.

Except in bed.

She ignored the taunting whisper inside her head. The bedroom could break a relationship, but it was rare when it could make one. She and Sam were no exception to that.

“Perhaps you could tell me how to get to his house,” she suggested. She’d tell him what she thought of his little “act” and she’d leave the ring. Once and for all, end of story.

Janie looked clearly relieved. “It’s on the other end of the island, actually. I’ll get Leo’s cart and drive you over.”

“Cart?”

“His golf cart. I don’t have a car. Most of us don’t. But it’s a long walk from here to there.”

Delaney rubbed her forehead. She didn’t have a car, either. Because she lived in the city. The city. The big apple. Born and raised.

“Delaney? Ready?” Janie was eyeing her.

Oh, Delaney was too tired. She nodded. She’d have agreed to just about anything to get away from the curious stares she was still getting.

The golf cart sat outside the high iron fence that surrounded the Castillo House property. Delaney climbed onto the narrow front seat and grabbed on with a death grip when it lurched forward. Janie buzzed down the bumpy road, seemingly unconcerned by the absolute and utter darkness as they left behind the lights of the party.

No matter how dark, the rush of wind through the open cart still felt heavenly against Delaney’s heated skin.

When Janie finally slowed the cart to a halt, it was in front of a sprawling, darkened house. “It doesn’t look like your brother is here.” Probably avoiding her, if for no other reason than to annoy her. He’d always been exceptionally adept in that area.

“Doesn’t matter,” Janie assured as they headed up the stone walk. “It’s probably not locked. But even if it is, I have a key. I take care of his plants whenever he goes to the mainland.”

Sam had plants?

With no hesitation, Janie pushed open the door. “See? Come on in.” She waited in the darkened entrance.

Delaney stepped inside, vaguely aware of holding her breath. The memory of the tiny apartment Sam had lived in before they’d become involved flashed through her mind. It had possessed only the essentials. A bed. A fridge. A dim, cold bathroom. The place had practically been sterile, giving no hint whatsoever of the man who’d occupied it.

Janie flicked a switch, and light streamed downward from deceptively simple iron wall sconces.

She couldn’t help her inhalation of surprise at her first impression of the interior. “Oh. My.”

“Nice, isn’t it?” Janie seemed to be looking at her with some kind of expectation.

“Yes.” She smiled weakly. It was nice. Natural stone. A bronze wall that dripped with the soothing, unexpected sound of water. Plants. Leather furnishings. Nubby rugs over slate. It was full of thriving plants. Palms in the corners. A fern on a small table. It was modern. It was timeless.

It was…Sam?

She felt like rubbing her eyes. She refrained. Coming here had been a mistake. “I should wait for Sam somewhere else.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his wife.”

“Was. I was his wife. And as soon as I have a chance to speak with Sam, I’ll be going.”

Janie looked doubtful. “If you say so. Would have been nice to get to know the woman who stole my big brother’s heart, though.”

“When you meet her, give her my regards.” Silence met her response, and she sighed. Janie had done nothing to earn her sarcastic humor. “Sorry.”

“I think this situation is odd for everyone.” Given the circumstances, there was a surprising lack of judgment in Janie’s voice as she headed into the house, flipping on more light switches as she went. When she came to the kitchen, though, she stopped. “You can wait for Sam here. Make yourself at home. I doubt he will be gone for too long.”

If she were strictly honest with herself, Delaney wasn’t sure if that was a comforting thought, or not. “Thanks, Janie.”

The young woman gave a little sketch of a wave then disappeared up the hallway.

A moment later Delaney heard the soft, solid sound of the door closing.

She was alone in Sam’s house.

My wife.

She exhaled shakily, pushing the thought away, and dumped her briefcase on the counter, her gaze skipping around the well-appointed kitchen. The only sound she could hear was water. The soft trickle from the water wall in the living room underscored by a low, constant murmur. It was the same sound of the ocean she’d heard when she and Alonso had been left at the dock by the charter boat.

Sighing again, she stepped out of her high heels, leaving them sitting on the floor next to the granite counter, and unbuttoned her double-breasted jacket, waving it open a few times. Ah. Heaven.

She’d brought a change of clothes in her briefcase—slacks and a tunic—but it was so late there seemed little point in changing into them when they wouldn’t be any cooler than her suit.

Still, she felt better just from the small respite, and she buttoned up again, then moved around the island toward the bank of windows lining the wall. Now, with the light on inside, they were more like mirrors that reflected her bedraggled appearance.

She slowly walked along them until she came to one that was a door. Cleverly designed, it barely differed from the oversize windows. She reached for the handle.

“I wouldn’t go out there without the light. The cliff is closer than you think.”

She snatched back her hand, whirling around. Sam stood next to the counter where she’d left her briefcase. The tails of his dark gray shirt were pulled from the black jeans he wore, and he’d rolled the sleeves farther up his forearms. His jaw was shadowed as it always had been by this time of night. He’d been a two-shave-a-day man.

Definitely thoughts she needed to avoid.

“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, stating the obvious, and felt stupid because of it.

“Passed Janie on my way in. Should have known her soft little heart couldn’t withstand you.”

Meaning she had no soft heart at all? “Your sister’s the one who suggested I come here. Not me. But since you’re back, I’ll just leave this—” in two steps she’d snatched the envelope from the outer pocket of her briefcase and set it on the counter “—here and I’ll go.”

“How do you propose to do that? Whistle for a cab?” He flicked open another button at his neck. Energy seemed to vibrate from him, yet he was uncommonly still.

Even rattlesnakes possessed rattles as a warning device. Not Sam. His strike had always been unexpected. Never physical, but indelibly felt all the same. “Why does it matter to you how I leave? I just wanted to make sure you got the ring back.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.”

She lifted her gaze, meeting his despite her intention otherwise. “And?”

“And I’m curious what you think you’re doing.”

Count to ten, Laney. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “What I’m doing? You’re the one who told all those people that I was your wife.”

“You are.”

“Was, Sam. Was. You’ll surely remember the small matter of our divorce!”

His head cocked a little, his gaze measuring. “Have you taken to drink, Delaney?”

Her fingers curled. Uncurled. “Don’t be obtuse.” Her brother had been the drinker in her family. “And while it pains me no end to have to ask, would you give me a ride back to Castillo House?”

“Why?”

“Because I need a place to sleep! And I’d rather impose on Logan and Annie Drake for a corner on a floor somewhere than spend another minute with you.”

“Go for it. Those fancy shoes lying there are gonna get beat to hell walking all the way, but—”

Her hands curled. “You won’t even give me a ride?”

“Considering how nicely you’ve asked?” He snorted softly and reached out one long arm to hook open a drawer. “Here.” He tossed her the small flashlight he withdrew. “You might need that. No city lights here. Maybe you noticed.”

She caught the flashlight. “You’re impossible.”

“Makes you wonder why in hell we ever got married, doesn’t it?”

She went still, riding the pain of that.

He swore under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

A lifetime of practice helped her lift her chin, her shoulder. “You’re entitled to say anything you like, Sam. It’s been no concern of mine what you say since we got unmarried.”

The measuring look was back. And it was almost enough to make her uneasy. Almost. She clenched the flashlight and shoved her feet into her pumps, stifling a wince. That’s what she got for indulging her shoe sense rather than her common sense when she’d dressed so very long ago before the flight. Then she snatched up her briefcase and strode past him, right on out the front door. As soon as it closed behind her, the dark night swallowed her whole, and she fumbled with the flashlight. It gave out a weak stream.

She stiffened her shoulders. Trained the wobbling yellow beam in front of her. Headed up the stone walk. By the time she made it to the road that was only marginally smoother than the path, her feet were screaming inside her shoes. She wanted to scream. She was supposed to be an intelligent woman. Why hadn’t she followed her common sense that giving Sam back the ring in person was a foolish idea? It wasn’t as if he’d appreciate the sensitivity she’d been aiming for. She should have just taken the hint and kept the ring—tucked it away in some forgotten corner, in the same way she tucked away memories of him.

The only answer she got was a stone in the road that seemed to mock the notion of tucking Sam away anywhere as it caught her foot and sent her pitching forward.

She cried out. The flashlight flew out of her hand, her briefcase slid off her shoulder and her hands took the worst of the impact when she fell.

“You are the most stubborn woman God ever put on this earth.”

Perfect. Her day was complete.

Her hands burned. Her bare heels burned. Her eyes burned, the contents of her briefcase were scattered about, and the flashlight had gone dead. It was, unfortunately, nowhere within hand’s reach—she earned only another piece of gravel against her raw palms when she swept around feeling for it—or she could have used it to brain him.

She bowed her head. Violence never solved anything. “You were following me. I hope you got a good laugh.” The way she felt, it could well be his last.

She heard him sigh. “There’s usually more moonlight.” He moved around in front of her, and she gasped when he crouched down and lifted her head. “You’d have been able to see better, even with that cheap flashlight.”

“Obviously it’s enough light for you,” she said, jerking her chin away from his touch. “I hope you enjoyed the entertainment.”

“Delaney—”

“What?”

He sighed again. “Shut up.”

Her eyes burned anew when he caught her beneath her arms and helped her stand. She tested her footing. Frustration tightened her voice. “I think I broke my heel.”

“What?” He swore and swept her up in his arms, heading back toward his house before she could blink.

She went board stiff. “Wait. My briefcase.”

“Christ, Delaney, are you afraid you’ll misplace some precious bit of work? I’ll get it after I get you settled.”

“But I don’t—”

He kissed her again and shock swept through her, taking her words right along with it.

When he lifted his head, his breathing was rough. “At least there’s still one way to get you to shut up.”

She hastily closed her mouth, stemming her next words. Put me down screamed through her mind.

Sam grunted a little. “Better.”

She shifted as far from him as humanly possible. Which wasn’t far, given the fact that he had one arm around her back, his hand practically cupping the side of her breast. His other arm’s position wasn’t much better, tucked beneath her knees, causing her skirt to rumple up around her thighs. She surreptitiously tugged at the skirt. It didn’t help. The more she moved, the less space she could keep between them. She settled for trying not to breathe as his long stride ate up the distance back to his house.

He carried her straight through, back to the kitchen again, settling her on a bar stool. “Sit tight. I’ll get some ice.”

Delaney looked at her palms. They were red, raw, dirty. “I need to wash first.” She started to slide off the high bar stool.

“Dammit all, Delaney, would you just sit still?” He’d yanked open the freezer door.

“Don’t bark at me.” She focused on the bag of frozen peas he pulled from the freezer. “What…are you hungry now?”

“The bag’s easier to use than ice.”

It had always been hard to read his expressions, but just then Delaney thought he looked near the end of his patience.

Well, her patience was sorely limited, too. Particularly when he cupped her calf and lifted gently. He’d had his hands on her more in this one day than nearly the entire last month they’d been together.

“Which heel?”

She leaned over, pulling off her shoe, holding it up. “No amount of frozen peas is going to help it, I’m afraid.”

He studied the shoe for a long moment. “I thought you meant your heel.”

“I realize that. Now. You, um, you can let go of my leg.”

He did so. Quickly. She still felt the imprint of his gentle touch.

Distance. Distance was paramount.

She slid off the bar stool and scooted around him, awkwardly toeing off the other shoe at the same time. She hadn’t thought to bring a spare pair. She sidled past him and carefully stuck her hands under the faucet.

“I’ll get your briefcase.”

How could she have managed to forget about it so quickly? “Right—” he’d pulled a very sturdy-looking flashlight from the same drawer that had held the other one. She swallowed the thanks she’d been about to voice. The flashlight he’d chosen for his own use undoubtedly had strong batteries. “Make sure you get everything,” she said waspishly.

“Would you rather do it yourself?”

She shut off the water and snapped off a paper towel from the stone holder next to the sink. “It’s your fault I fell in the first place. You could have just driven me back to Castillo House, and none of this would—”

“I thought assigning blame was against your professional ethics.”

She looked at him, their past a sudden, deluging wave. “Janie mentioned that your father is here. Staying with…Etta…she said. How do you feel about that, Sam?”

His expression closed down, just as she’d known it would, just as it always had whenever she’d broached the subjects he’d deemed off-limits.

There’d been a time when she’d only wanted to understand the man who’d finessed her heart right out from under her. So she’d probed. Delicately. Hopefully.

It made her ill that she now used the same knowledge about Sam to retaliate. Wound for wound.

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

He never heard the words.

He’d already walked out of the room.

Chapter 3

Kissing her like that had been stupid.

Sam raked his hands through his hair. Pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. Twenty-one months. He’d had to say that, hadn’t he? As if he’d been counting.

He’d even picked up the contents of Delaney’s briefcase after walking out of his own damn house. Papers. Pens. Cell phone. Organizer. A thin bag holding her personal items. When he’d finished, he’d contemplated pitching the entire thing off the cliff behind his house. Instead, he’d left the briefcase sitting on his front porch, and he’d driven back into town.

The bar fight he’d broken up earlier at the Seaspray couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, as far as he was concerned. He’d almost tossed the two idiots in jail, just because it would’ve felt good to do so.

Instead, he’d sent them home and planted his own butt on the end stool—one of the few the Haggerty fools hadn’t broken before he and Leo contained the fight. The Seaspray had once been a motel until a storm leveled it. So far, the only thing to be rebuilt was the bar. Mostly because the long wooden bar itself was the only thing that had been left standing.

He hunched over that bar, his hands cradling his mug. But he wasn’t seeing the dark liquid. He was seeing Delaney’s face; her expression when he’d kissed her. When he’d called her his wife.

In the opposite corner of the bar, his brother Leo slopped a cleaning rag over the bar stools.

“Sam?”

He looked up. And swore silently again. “Kind of late for you to be out, isn’t it?”

It was a testament to Sara Drake’s good nature that she didn’t slap him when she slid onto the stool beside him. “Thought I’d check and see how you’re doing. Went by the sheriff’s office. Was heading home when I saw your SUV outside this place.”

“You shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Maybe it’s not a bother.” Her smile flashed briefly. She nodded at Leo when he abandoned his cleaning rag to fill a glass with soda that he placed in front of her before he moved over to the small television at the far end of the bar.

Sam thought maybe he owed Sara an apology. But the Vega and Drake families went way back. Sam had grown up with Sara’s brother, Logan. Long ago both he and Logan had left Turnabout Island.

They’d both returned.

And while he felt an apology was in order, he wasn’t entirely certain why. Things weren’t that way between him and Sara. They never had been. Never would be, even if he weren’t still married and his kid brother wasn’t hung up on her.

He picked up his mug and drained it before he spoke. “I should have told you.”

“Why? There are things I haven’t told you, either.” Her smile widened a little. “Nothing quite as major as a marriage, mind you.”

“You’re too nice, Sara.” He meant it. She was nice.

“Yeah,” she agreed lightly. “All that niceness going to waste with no man around to take advantage of it.”

Sam looked up to find her watching Leo as she spoke. “Don’t expect your grandmother to be quite as understanding,” she warned, sounding amused. Then she nudged his shoulder with hers, companionably, and sat forward, propping her elbow on the bar. “Funny that I never pictured you with the buttoned-down type,” Sara murmured. “How’d you two meet?”

Buttoned-down type. Laney would detest that description. He’d have to remember it. “Working a case.”

“And you don’t want to talk about it.”

“No.”

“Well, that’s fair enough.” She was silent for a moment. “Janie told me she took Delaney to your place. Presumably you know that, by now.”

He grunted noncommittally.

“Do we need to check your place for a body?”

His lips twitched. “Not yet.”

“So, what are you doing here?”

He nudged his mug. “What’s it look like?”

“Come on, Sam. You dropped the news that you’re secretly married and walked out of Annie and Logan’s party. And now, hours later, you’re at a bar you detest. Did you leave her alone at your place or what?”

“Delaney’s capable of fending for herself. Believe me.” More than capable. The woman preferred it to ever depending on someone else. She could dredge up a wealth of trust for her patients, but had she had enough in him?

Had he deserved it? No.

Sara eyed him a moment longer. “Samson and Delaney. Kind of funny, isn’t it? Almost like Samson and Delilah.”

His wife had once been his only weakness. “Funny.” Oh, yeah. Har-dee-har-har.

“Well.” Sara slid off the bar stool. “I’m a good listener if you want to talk.” Her tone was dry. They both knew Sam didn’t share his thoughts with much of anybody. “Don’t pour too much more of that stuff for the sheriff, here, Leo,” she said as she headed toward the door. “It’s lethal.”

Sam barely waited for the door to close behind Sara. “Leo.” He snagged his brother’s attention from the television and lifted his empty mug.

Leo grimaced, then headed back over to Sam. “She’s right, man, you’re gonna be sorry.”

“Pour.”

Leo shook his head, regretfully. But he poured, then ambled back over to watch the remainder of his black-and-white midnight screamer.

Sam lifted the mug of what was hands-down the vilest coffee he’d ever tasted.

“Y’oughta have a beer,” Leo said, not looking his way. “Or turpentine. Be easier on the stomach.”

Easier didn’t mean better. Given Sam’s current frame of mind, once he started drinking he wasn’t gonna want to stop until he couldn’t remember that Delaney was still back at his place.

“You going to Etta’s tomorrow?” Leo’s voice interrupted his grim thoughts.

Sam twisted the coffee mug back and forth, lining it up with the permanent rings on the bar. “No.”

“First time since you came back to the island that you’re going to miss her Sunday dinner.”

“She’ll live.” He wasn’t in the mood to discuss his reasons for avoiding his grandmother’s traditional Sunday meal. Leo knew the reasons well enough.

Leo shrugged. “Etta’s gonna use your tail for dog chow if you don’t show up tomorrow. With your wife in tow. Word travels fast around here. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already hunted you down about that particular bit.”

Truth was, Sam was a little surprised at that, too. “I can handle Etta.” And “towing” had never worked with Delaney.

Leo’s lips quirked. He looked back at the television. Then the clock. The bar would close at two. Not a minute before, not a minute later, whether there were patrons present or not.

“Heard she’s good-looking.”

“Etta? That’s where you get the looks, Leo,” Sam deadpanned.

His brother shot him the bird. Some described Henrietta Vega as a handsome woman. Sam considered her a tough old bird. In looks as well as personality. He loved her, but generally—aside from her fried chicken and mashed potatoes—she was a source of regular irritation.

“Did you leave her or was it the other way around?”

No respite. No need to clarify who Leo was speaking of. “Depends who you ask,” he said truthfully, and stood. “Don’t let the Haggerty boys back in here for a few days. Vern’s been aching for trouble since he got booted from the academy.”

“Their money’s good.”

“Their brains aren’t. Those two are spoiling for a fight about something and getting drunk isn’t helping. Next time they might do more damage than bust up a few bar stools.”

Leo nodded. “Yeah, whatever. Go home to your wife and stop lecturing me.” There was no heat in Leo’s voice.

Sam left.

Go home to your wife. Now there was a damned strange thing to consider.

Too strange to do just yet. Instead, he drove up and down Turnabout Road. Going slowly, looking over the sleeping town. Sara’s moonlit fields where she and Annie grew crops for their shop of lotions and herbal goops. Diego Montoya’s recently rebuilt dock where his ancient ferry rocked in the water, making soft thumps and gentle rattles. Then back up to the road to the far end of the isle where the gates of Castillo House were closed. A few windows in the big house glowed yellow in the night, but the Christmas lights from the party were all dark.

His tires crunched over gravel and crumbling black-top as he turned the vehicle around. Eight-point-seven miles straight down the only real road the island possessed and he was back at his own place.

No glowing windows welcomed him home.

He turned off the engine, leaving the key in the ignition. Nobody on the island would steal his truck. There would be no place to go with it.

He went inside, heading straight to his room. It wasn’t his imagination that caught Delaney’s scent as he walked through the dark house. It was the same custom perfume that she’d liked before.

He shook off the memory and moved to the glass door that opened onto the rear deck. But his hand paused as he glanced out.

She’d turned on the outdoor light and though it wasn’t very bright, he could plainly see Delaney sitting in one of the chairs on the narrow deck. That surprised him. Though she had pushed the chair as close to the house as it would go to put more distance between her and the rail overlooking the cliff. What didn’t surprise him was the file that she was reading, occasionally scrawling some note.

He stood there, silently, watching her for a long while, knowing she wouldn’t be able to see him standing there in the dark even if she did look his way. She was as slender as ever, her crossed legs as long and shapely as his dreams frequently reminded. Tailored, no frills and completely female with a love for shoes that made her ankles look even finer. He’d always been torn between male appreciation of her unabashedly sexy shoes and amusement that the things were hazardous. His gaze drifted down to her bare feet. Her toenails were painted red and that was new. Not at all the subtle pastel stuff she’d worn before. She’d also taken down her hair. The white-blond gleam of it drifted around her slender shoulders. From the day he’d met her, she’d confined her hair. In pins, or a ponytail. He still remembered the feel of the silky strands the first time he’d pulled the hair free. He closed his fingers against the itch in his palms.

Now, either she was playing some game that completely escaped him, or she really did believe they were divorced.

Both seemed implausible ideas when it came to Delaney.

He abruptly slid open the door and her head whipped around at the sound. “You can use the guest room,” he said before she could speak. “The bed’s not made. I’ll have to find you some sheets.”

She closed the file in her briefcase and pushed out of the padded chair to face him. The breeze lifted her hair. “I already did. Make the bed, that is.”

“Efficient of you.”

“Don’t look at me like that. It was something to do since I’ve been stuck here for the past few hours.”

He stepped closer to her, getting in her space. He’d learned a long time ago that it was one of the only ways to break through that mile-high reserve of hers. Most people would simply step away from someone invading their personal space, but not Delaney. Not when she had an even higher share of pride than reserve.

And underneath it all a boundless heart that occasionally snuck out and showed through her soft blue eyes. “I’m surprised you came out on the deck,” he murmured. “It’s pretty high up from the water.”

“Actually, it’s rather like being surrounded by the sky,” she said coolly.

Of course. Commenting on her fear of heights put that extra tone in her voice. “You have circles under your eyes.”

“Flattery always was your strong point, Sam.”

“You still don’t get enough sleep. Probably too busy reading case files in bed.”

She pressed her palm to her throat, her eyes going wide. “And here, all this time I thought you didn’t care.”

“Nice to know we still bring out the best in each other.”

She didn’t bat an eye. “Isn’t it? And I’ll take your kind offer of the guest room with my assurance that I’ll leave as soon as humanly possible. I’ll catch Mr. Montoya’s ferry first thing.”

“You can cut the act, Delaney. There’s nobody here but us.”

“Act.” Her brows drew together. “Were you always so…unpleasant?”

He almost laughed at that. “There were times you didn’t think so.” He touched the ends of her silky hair, a genuine smile tugging at his lips when her bravado disappeared in a puff. Something about her eyes. One moment they frothed like a whitecap and the next they were quiet pools that hid none of the depths inside her.

She shifted, adding a good foot of distance between them. “Really? I hardly remember.”

He had to give her credit for trying.

He turned back toward his room. “Come through here. Guest room’s across the hall, but you probably figured that out when you were hunting up sheets in my closets.”

She hurriedly snatched up the briefcase, following him. “I didn’t snoop.”

“Did I accuse you of it?”

“You implied it.”

He exhaled noisily. “Get some sleep, Delaney. And forget about catching Diego’s ferry tomorrow.”

“Why on earth would I want to do that?”

He knew if he looked at her, the whitecaps would be back. He knew if he looked at her, he’d want to touch her again, no matter how stupid it would be. “It doesn’t run on Sundays.”

She was silent a moment. “Dandy.”

Delaney was the only person he’d ever known who used the word dandy, much less for circumstances ranging from spectacular to abysmal. He sat on the end of his bed and then—because he was a man and she was his wife—he couldn’t help but look at her. “Not exactly like running to the corner and hailing a cab.”

“No.”

He pulled off one boot. Go away, Laney.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

“By taking off my boots?” He removed the other and it hit the floor with a thud to lie by the first. “I’m not that obvious.” Yes, he was. Go away, Laney.

“By making me uncomfortable, you can control the situation.”

He stood and started on his shirt buttons. “Like this?”

“You’re so obvious.”

“And you’re not moving.” He tossed the shirt aside. “Maybe because you want to stay. The bedroom really was where we did all our best work.”

“Bedroom?” The word burst from her lips. “Half the time you—”

“I…what?” He prompted when her voice strangled down to nothing. “Didn’t wait to get to the bedroom?” He took a step toward her. And another. For each step he took, she inched farther away, the briefcase held in front of her like a shield. The door was within reach.

“Remember that time we—”

The phone rang.

She jumped a little.

He considered ignoring it. But he couldn’t. He was the bloody sheriff; the only law in a town that had a council but no mayor, because nobody wanted to take on the job of heading up the antiquated place. He eyed Delaney as it rang again.

She looked pale.

He was surprised she didn’t use the phone as her last means of escape. But then there were lots of things he’d found surprising about Delaney.

He went over to the bed and snatched up the extension. “Vega.” The airy hum over the line meant the call wasn’t local. Not the Haggerty boys getting into it again, then. “Hello?”

“Detective Vega?”

It’d been a while since he’d been called that. “Not anymore. Who is this?” But he knew the answer before the other man answered.

“Chad Wright.”

“Yeah?” Sam’s voice was bland.

The line hummed for a moment. Then Chad cleared his throat. “Well, I was looking for my fiancée.”

Fiancée.

Well, well, well.

Sam shoved his hand in his pocket to keep from tearing the phone out of the wall and slid his gaze to Delaney. “Who would that be,” he asked genially, knowing full well that it was the woman standing in the doorway of his bedroom, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Delaney, of course.” Chad sounded impatient. “Look, I know it’s late. But she never checked into the hotel in San Diego, and I haven’t been able to reach her on her cell phone. She said she planned to speak with you after she’d taken care of some business there, and I’m just trying to locate her. I’ve already checked with Castillo House, and she left there hours ago. Do you know if she was delayed in Turnabout?”

On Turnabout. It’s an island. Idiot. But not such an idiot that his concern kept him from calling Sam—something the other man had to have hated doing. “Cell phones don’t work out here.”

“Yes, I figured that out. So? Have you seen her?”

He held the phone in Delaney’s direction. “Your fiancé’s on the phone for you.”

Her ivory skin went white. She pushed back her hair from her face. “Chad?”

“You engaged to more than one guy?”

She didn’t answer that. The fine line of her jaw tightened. She set her case down on the dresser by the door before quickly moving forward to snatch the phone. She turned her back on him, but she couldn’t go far. It was a corded phone, as good as a leash.

Her voice was low, but Sam could still hear her as she greeted Chad Wright. Chadly Do-Wright.

And his wife was engaged to him.

He moved to the foot of the bed and sat down. He’d be damned if he’d leave, but listening to the muted one-sided conversation took him perilously close to the end of his rope.

The divorce proceedings she’d once started had long ago been dismissed, incomplete. She could well have filed again. Technically, he had abandoned her. Moved out of their apartment. Her apartment, to be precise. Hell, he’d moved out of the state, to the opposite side of the country. Wasn’t surprising that Chad had made a move on her.

Was surprising that Delaney had accepted. She’d always claimed there was nothing romantic between them.

When she hung up, he still didn’t move. He looked at the palms of his hands, entertaining the vision of slamming them into Do-Wright’s perfectly tanned blondness. “So that’s what this is about. Return one ring. Exchange it for another.” He looked up at her, keeping his hands from fisting through sheer willpower. “Are you actually going to wear it this time?”

Her eyes shimmered. “Sam—”

“Come on, honey. Don’t be tongue-tied now.”

“Don’t call me honey.”

“I suppose the endearment’s reserved for the good Dr. Wright now.”

“I’m not discussing Chad with you.”

“Why not? I think a husband should be able to discuss his wife’s lover, don’t you?”

Whitecaps frothed, then iced over. She looked incensed. “Chad is not my lover. And even if he were, it’d be no business of yours, because I am not your wife anymore!” Her voice rose.

Maybe in a few years he’d look back and find some humor in this. Like when he was dead in the ground about a hundred years.

He pushed to his feet and closed his hands over her shoulders, feeling her jump, before backing her to the doorway of his bedroom until she stood in the hall. He took his hands away from her and handed her the briefcase.

His wife.

The only woman he’d ever loved, and the only woman whose lack of trust in him had nearly killed him.

“Yes,” he said almost gently. “You are.”

Then he closed the door in her face.

Chapter 4

Delaney stared at the door for only a moment before she dumped her briefcase on the floor and reached for the handle.

But something inside her paused.

Could it be?

Her fingers curled against her palm.

No. Couldn’t be, she assured herself firmly and reached for the handle and turned it. She pushed the door inward, but couldn’t make herself take a step into the bedroom to save her soul.

Sam was sitting again on the foot of the bed. Hunched forward, muscles clearly defined under a satin layer of bronze skin. His arms were braced on his thighs, hands loose, relaxed, between. She met his unreadable dark eyes.

“I don’t believe you,” she said baldly. As if the words could make it so.

He merely quirked an eyebrow. “There’s a surprise.”

“What do you hope to gain by this pretense? It’s so easily disproved.”

“Then go ahead and do that, Delaney. Disprove it. You’ll need to before you pledge your troth to Do-Wright.”

“Leave Chad out of this.”

“Why? Seems he’s officially part of the threesome now.” His voice was mocking. “Like it or not, Delaney, you are—” his jaw tightened “—my wife.”

“I’ve got the papers that say otherwise!”

“Really. Well, I’ve got the papers that say the action was dismissed because of incomplete paperwork.”

“I had an attorney, Sam. He wouldn’t have made a mistake like that.”

He rose and it was like watching something dangerous uncoil. “Hope you don’t depend on him too often, then.” He slid open a drawer in his bureau and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “Read it and weep, darlin’.” He held it out to her.

She didn’t believe him. He was playing some sort of game for reasons known only to him.

Yet she found herself walking into his bedroom—not a smart place to be in the best of circumstances—to take the envelope.

“Takes only one paper to get married, but takes a stack two inches thick to get unmarried.”

She ignored his black comment as she unfastened the metal tab holding the envelope closed and slid out the contents. The same contents that were in the same size envelope her attorney had mailed her a year ago.

Only, you were such a basket case, you put the envelope in the closet without ever looking at it.

She rested the papers on Sam’s bureau. Her chest ached from the hard beat of her heart and she had to stare hard, read twice, to make sense of the cover letter.

And when she did, the bottom of her stomach seemed to drop out.

The judge had dismissed the petition because the filing had not been properly completed.

“Dismissed on a technicality,” Sam murmured behind her. “Seen it happen time and again in criminal cases.”

Delaney thrust back her hair and read the letter again. But of course the contents hadn’t magically changed just because she was on the verge of losing it.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“When? During our weekly telephone chats?”

Her lips tightened. Until that evening she hadn’t spoken with Sam since the day he’d moved out of their apartment. “You could have called.”

“You’re the one who filed, Delaney,” he reminded, and his even, reasonable tone set her teeth on edge. “Not me. When the time period the judge gave to correct the omissions passed and nothing happened, I figured that was your decision, too. Hope you didn’t pay your lawyer too much, though. Not that you’d miss it, with the Townsend family bank account at your disposal, but—”

“Stop it.” She whirled around to face him, managing to scatter the papers across the smooth wood surface. If she had used the Townsend attorney, none of this would be happening now. But she’d been determined to keep the matter in her control, and look at the results.

“Suppose you want to call Do-Wright.”

She started. Chad. The furthest person from her mind. “We’re still married.”

“Yeah.”

“We’re still married.”

“Are you shooting for the say-it-three-times-and-click-your-heels thing? It’s not going to change things, and there’s no Good Witch on Turnabout who can wave a magic wand.”

“How nice you find this amusing, Sam. What if I’d—”

“Already walked the white carpet with Do-Wright?” The corner of his lip lifted. “Would have put an interesting title behind your name. Might have caused some curiosity with your colleagues. Bigamy—”

“Stop!” She launched herself at him, pushing at his chest. Some part of her sane self watched on in horror. “Can’t you take anything seriously for once?”

He’d barely swayed from her attack. “I take plenty of things seriously,” he assured. “Just not you marrying Chad Wright. What the hell were you thinking, Delaney? He gives bland new meaning. He’ll bore you to tears.”

“He’s not boring, he’s calm.”

“He’s a wimp and you’ll walk all over him.”

“We’re in perfect accord with our plans.”

“Which include what? Working side by side seventy hours of the week? Hell, baby, you already did that without being married to him.”

She mentally dragged herself back from being drawn further into a verbal battle. “There’s no point in rehashing the past.”

“Particularly when there was never any initial hashing.”

“We communicated,” she defended.

“We argued and we made love. Two things we did supremely well.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “Can you say the same about Do-Wright?”

She felt the flush rise in her cheeks and damned the fact that it had more to do with the way he looked at her than anything else. “I’ve already said that Chad and I aren’t lovers. I refuse to let you beat me over the head with that.”

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