Chapter One

      Sarah McInnes bounced the grumbling baby on her hip. “Not much longer now, little one.” She nudged her suitcase forward with her foot, frowning at the slow-moving line ahead of her. The Carramer people might be “the world’s most delightful hosts” according to the brochures, but their customs officials had scant regard for a baby’s needs. Christophe was tired after the long flight and she could see him getting ready to give his small lungs a workout.

      She was being ungrateful, she knew. She was about to visit one of the most beautiful countries in the world, thanks to a radio station’s computer that had dialed her phone number at random in a competition. Given the odds against winning such a wonderful prize, how could she feel unhappy about anything? She put her mood down to exhaustion. Although the flight attendants had been wonderful, taking turns to distract him, Christophe had fretted most of the way from America. As a result Sarah had slept little herself.

      Suddenly her attention was captured by a flurry of activity at the station ahead of her. A handsome man strode up to the officials and spoke quietly to them. Their response, instant and unmistakably deferential, made her wonder who the man was and why everyone jumped to attention when he appeared on the scene.

      She had sworn off men, even ones with hair the color of midnight and the build of an athlete straining his designer suit. He would never be able to buy clothes off the rack, she thought, not with those wide shoulders and narrow waist. From where she stood she couldn’t see his legs, but as he had crossed the customs hall, the men with him had struggled to keep up.

      The man’s intense gaze swung to the people in her line. Was it her imagination, or did his gaze rest longer on her than on the people around her? There was no reason for her to be singled out. She was only an ordinary tourist visiting the country. A different line catered for people traveling on business visas, so none of the people around her could be tycoons planning to pour millions of dollars into the island kingdom’s economy, especially not Sarah herself.

      For someone who had no interest in men other than the adorable one-year-old in her arms, Sarah found herself paying a foolish amount of heed to the way everyone danced attendance on this one man. He stabbed a finger at the computer screen alongside him and began to talk in a lowered voice.

      Only another customs official, she concluded. Maybe he was simply one of those men who commanded attention no matter what their position in life.

      Since she wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry, she amused herself by continuing to study him covertly. She put his age at about thirty, although it was hard to pin down when he moved with such athletic grace. When he finally strode away, she felt something very like disappointment.

      She was startled when a uniformed man approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Kindly come this way, madame.”

      His tone carried a hint of command, and her stomach lurched. Had she made a mistake when she completed the entry formalities for herself and Christophe? Sarah had never been in trouble of any kind, and had never been to Carramer before. While studying the brochures, she’d felt drawn to the place, but put the feeling down to her lifelong fascination with the South Pacific. So what could be the matter?

      She decided she wasn’t giving up her place in line without some explanation. “I’m sure you mean to help,” she said firmly. “But I’m almost at the head of the line and if I lose my place now, it will be hard on my baby. He’s already tired and fractious.”

      As if to confirm her assertion, Christophe gave vent to a series of escalating wails that had the soldier wincing in sympathy.

      “The child is the reason we wish to expedite your entry,” he said over Christophe’s cries. “Please come with me.”

      Since she was the only person in line carrying a baby, the officials must have felt sorry for her. Who was she to argue with anything that speeded this up? Aware of the curious glances of the people remaining in line, she allowed the soldier to pick up her suitcase, and followed him across the customs hall to a pair of wood-paneled doors. He swung one of them open, put her case down inside, and held the door wide so she could enter.

      The activity had diverted Christophe, she was relieved to see. His tears had dried to distressed hiccups, and he was looking around curiously. The peace wouldn’t last but she was grateful for the respite.

      Before the door closed, she saw the soldier take up a post outside—to keep her in, or others out? Then the heavy door swung completely shut and the sounds of the reception hall melted into silence. All she could hear was the sound of her own fast breathing. Plush carpeting masked the tentative steps she took into the room.

      “Please come in and take a seat.”

      She hadn’t been imagining things, the intriguing man from the customs hall had paid her special attention. He was doing it now, she saw as she approached the massive antique desk he was seated behind. A leather folder lay open in front of him and she was alarmed to see that her photo lay on top of a thick sheaf of papers. Not her passport photo, either. This one showed her with Christophe in the park opposite their apartment. What was it doing here, and how did this intriguing stranger come to have it in his possession?

      She perched on the edge of a leather sofa in front of the desk, settling Christophe on her knee where he began to play with the amber beads around her neck. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about?”

      “First I need to confirm a few details. May I see your passport, please? The baby’s, too.”

      She handed them to him. “Is something wrong?”

      “Nothing’s wrong, I assure you. This will only take a moment.”

      In spite of his assurance, her apprehension grew as he studied the documents. She told herself that his manner was pleasant enough. Surely if there was a problem, he wouldn’t keep glancing from the passports to her, as if she intrigued him for some reason.

      Her peace of mind wasn’t eased by the awareness that he was more startlingly good looking up close than he had seemed from a distance. His eyes were the gold-flecked blue of a stormy sea, and his skin was lightly tanned, emphasizing her first impression of him as the athletic type. It wasn’t hard to imagine him on the bridge of a yacht, fighting the helm for mastery of the waves. His commanding presence suggested he would win.

      Since