2

      CHRIS WEATHERED the rocks and dips in the narrow road as he sped toward The Caribe Plantation. The other drivers were the biggest hazard. His clothes flapped in the wind, the tips of his shirt snapping against his skin. The Caribe was just down the road from the park, a mere fifteen life-threatening minutes away. The plantation wasn’t in the touristy area of the island, something Chris was grateful for.

      The plantation’s driveway was crushed shell, pristine white for those times when the Eastor family vacationed at their Colonial mansion on the ocean. Luckily they weren’t there, and even luckier, they had offered their grounds and lagoon to his cause. He wasn’t impressed by the flowering gardens and trees; what mattered was the private slice of azure water where Liberty would learn to be a dolphin again. He barely glanced at the mansion as he headed to the hut perched over the water that doubled as a boat dock—and constituted his accommodations.

      Through the traffic and roar of wind in his ears, it was Lucy Donovan’s face he had seen and tried to exorcise. Lucy with her brown hair plastered to her cheeks and framing her dramatic features. He caught himself smiling at the terror in her face when she’d fallen into the pool. He shook his head as he parked the bike and made his way over the boardwalk that led out to the boathouse. Lucy with her brown eyes that shadowed when he’d accused her of her father’s neglect. He knew she had nothing to do with Liberty’s plight, because he’d investigated the park and found no Lucy anywhere. He’d only wanted to rattle her—and get rid of her.

      The last thing he needed was a woman hanging around. Women didn’t take being ignored for long, especially a woman like Lucy Donovan. He could tell she was a lady who required care and attention. In her fancy suit and nice jewelry, she reeked of class. He hadn’t seen a ring on her finger, and he wasn’t going to bother exploring why he’d even looked. She wasn’t going to go for a quick fling with the likes of him. Besides, she wasn’t the type of woman he’d think about having a quick fling with.

      But he was.

      His body stirred as he walked around to the back of the boathouse and stripped out of his shorts and swimsuit. The freshwater shower faced the open ocean, which was free of anything but clouds piling up in the distance like whipped cream on a sundae. He rubbed the shampoo through his hair and focused his thoughts on the weeks ahead.

      And again his thoughts settled back on Lucy. What was the point? He’d snubbed her but good, and tomorrow she’d return the favor. That’s how women were. Besides, she was no great beauty. Pretty, definitely, with a heart-shaped face and thick eyebrows. Full breasts molded by the wet shirt, the peaks of her nipples evident even through her lacy bra. A mouth that could have a man fantasizing in no time. And that derriere of hers, soft and shapely and fitting perfectly in his hands. He’d been going for the economy of the move; the rest was a bonus.

      Forget about that derriere and the woman it belongs to. He directed that to his male member that obviously thought he was on vacation—and forgot that he was thirty-six. He thought of those few hello-goodbye affairs with women who lived by the ebb and flow of the islands. Lucy was a city girl. City and island didn’t jibe.

      A seagull shrieked as it hovered nearby. Creatures of nature were his only friends. He found them easier to understand than people. Easier to live with. His passions didn’t leave room for a woman in his life. He knew he’d never find a woman who would share his dedication to saving dolphins, who would sacrifice a secure, stable life for the cause. A woman who would be okay with coming second to it.

      It was easier to be alone.

      He had grown up in a world that lacked compassion. His mother died when he was too young to remember, leaving his father bitter and cold. He’d lived only for his fishing charter business. He catered to his guests and criticized them later. All he cared about was having enough money to continue living on the boat and buying the beer he subsisted on…the beer that would later claim his liver, and his life. Chris had been a means to that end, a hardworking employee who found his only joy in the sea life around him.

      After his shower, he stretched out on his lounge chair. He’d flown in that morning, found the Caribe, then went to the park to work on phase one: gaining Liberty’s trust. He should be exhausted, and lying down doing nothing sounded wonderful.

      Exactly two minutes later, he was up again.

      Restlessness ran through him. He walked to the beach, measured out where Liberty’s pen would go, and stretched out nets and floaters along the beach like some sea monster washed up on shore. When it was too dark to work, he took a ten-minute ride farther south down the winding road that followed the coastline to Barney’s Happy Place for a Red Stripe beer. Maybe that would purge Lucy and her incredible derriere from his mind.

      LUCY HAD finally wrenched herself away from watching Liberty, changed into dry clothes, and found Bailey hosing down the cement walkways.

      “You didn’t chase the wicked man away?” he asked.

      “No, and honestly, I don’t want to.”

      He shook his head. “I see the way you look at him. What a crosses! Our only hope, and she fall for the wicked man!”

      “What are you talking about?” She’d only looked at his eyes maybe once or twice. Only been slightly bewitched by them.

      He shook his head. “Everyt’ing