Dan Crenshaw noticed her as soon as she stepped inside the smoke-filled bar. He wasn’t the only one. Provocatively dressed in a bright, tropical print strapless dress with her black hair tumbling around her shoulders and down her back, the woman stuck out like an exotic flower in a patch of weeds.

      Although small, there was nothing childlike about her. The dress molded her softly rounded body in a seductive manner that would have any red-blooded male baying at the moon.

      Her appearance in the small bar screamed trouble waiting to happen, the last thing Dan wanted.

      The seedy bar had passed its prime a good forty years ago. Situated in an old building overlooking the bay, its weathered exterior and faded sign didn’t lure many first-time visitors to the island to pass through its portals. He had a hunch that whoever she was, she wasn’t one of the locals.

      Loud music from a local radio station spewed out songs long past their prime, effectively muffling all but the loudest of the conversation at the bar. The place was crowded for a weeknight. Barstools filled with regulars swapping tales of the day crowded around the bar at one end of the room. After everyone looked her over, conversation resumed.

      Dan had claimed the back table at the other end of the room for his own since he’d arrived on South Padre Island. He liked coming here because everybody left him alone. Just the way he wanted it.

      One morning a few weeks ago, he’d suddenly walked away from his ranch in the Hill Country and his computer business in Austin, as well as his belief in himself, and had headed south. The island was as far south as he could go and stay in Texas and the United States.

      Now he sat hunched over his drink, wondering why a woman who looked like that would visit this place. He kept expecting her to discover her mistake and leave. Instead, she leisurely looked around before sauntering toward the group of tables arranged at his end of the room.

      The bar area glowed with colored neon lights advertising different brands of beer, leaving the rest of the room in shadows. Hurricane lamps with small candles inside them sat on each of the eight tables, forming small islands of light.

      She sat down two tables away from him and placed her purse on the chair beside her. Dan had an excellent view of her profile—a high forehead, patrician nose, pouting mouth, softly rounded chin and long, slender neck.

      Laramie, the bartender, tripped all over himself in an effort to get to her and take her order. Dan couldn’t hear her voice because of the loud music and conversation, but he expected to see poor ol’ Laramie start salivating as he leaned closer to hear her drink preference.

      Dan finished his Scotch and lifted his glass to Laramie, signaling the bartender to bring him another one. He studied the ice cubes, wondering if a person could read his fortune in ice as well as tea leaves. It would probably be a lot tougher. He’d have to be quick or all the esoteric signs would melt.

      When he glanced up again he discovered the woman’s gaze fixed on him. In the smoky, dimly lit room her eyes shone like black jet, the light from the candle reflected in their ebony depths. He lifted his empty glass and sketched a toast in the air.

      She eyed him for a moment without changing expression, then looked toward the bar, where Laramie could be seen rushing back to them with a full glass clutched in each hand.

      Dan picked up his fresh drink and took a careful sip. He wasn’t in the least surprised to be snubbed by the young woman. He probably looked like some pirate who’d recently been found washed up on the beach.

      He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, unable to remember the last time he’d shaved, or run a comb through his shaggy, dark hair. None of his employees would recognize him, now. Hell, probably his own sister wouldn’t recognize him.

      Mandy. Damn. He’d been working hard to put her out of his mind. She’d really ticked him off earlier in the evening, giving him hell over the phone for refusing to return home.

      She didn’t understand how seductive life on the island could be. He slept when he wanted, ate when he wanted, drank when he wanted. This was the first time in years he’d stayed at the condo. He’d picked it up for a song several years ago when the Mexican market had taken a nosedive, causing the economy along the border between south Texas and Mexico to suffer.

      His condo was in the tallest building on the island with a commanding view of both the Gulf of Mexico and the bay that separated the island from Port Isabel.

      No, he had absolutely no desire to leave the island. As far as he was concerned, he’d found his new home. He mentally toasted the thought and took a long drink from his new order.

      * * *

       Well, I found him. Now what?

      Shannon Doyle took a careful sip of her house wine and controlled her reaction. She had a hunch that this particular bar had few requests for wine.

      Just a hunch.

      Okay. She’d been rehearsing for this meeting for the past three days. Lights! Camera! Action!

      Only she couldn’t seem to remember her lines.

      Shannon fought the urge to tug on the bodice of her dress. When she’d found it that afternoon in one of the island boutiques, she’d whimsically thought it would be just the thing for getting Dan’s attention. She hadn’t really given enough thought to the amount of attention she was drawing from everyone else in the place.

      All right. Let’s face it. I’m not the femme fatale type. Quite the opposite. Shannon had spent most of her life with her head buried in a book, or glued to a computer screen. She’d never been interested in dressing to attract the attention of the opposite sex.

      Good thing, because none of them had ever noticed her, unless they’d needed help with homework when she was in school. Or later—she didn’t want to think about later. She had to chalk up her recent experience with Rick Taylor to her lack of knowledge and understanding of the male animal. Any male animal.

      Except for her two brothers, she hadn’t been around all that many. Even her cat was female.

      When she’d first planned this, she figured that she’d have to do something startling to get Dan to even notice her. Hence, the new dress.

      Well, he’d looked at her, all right. His gaze had caused her pulse to accelerate at least twenty points. But he hadn’t recognized her.

      Not that she would expect him to, of course. That was the point of this exercise, after all. Like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, Shannon had decided to create a whole new identity for herself.

      Maybe she hadn’t made a great first choice in men by diving into the dating game with Rick those few months, but after talking to Mandy McClain last week, Shannon had decided that she wouldn’t let her disappointment send her running back to her solitary life-style. She intended to follow her heart. Instead of fantasies, she had decided to turn her adolescent dreams into reality.

      Dan Crenshaw had been the lover in her dreams since she was thirteen. He’d been a senior in high school then. A football star. Popular and smart and good-looking.

      She’d still been struggling with what her mother kindly referred to as baby fat. Baby fat? At thirteen? Well, whatever it was, she’d looked like an aspiring hippo, lumbering along with her friends. The glasses hadn’t helped—their thick lenses giving her an owl-like appearance.

      Of course she hadn’t looked like that in years.