Chapter One

"At last." Caylee checked the time as the taxi pulled up to the Samson Resort. She had to blink to get her sore, exhausted eyes to focus on her watch. It was one o'clock in the morning. She'd been traveling for twenty-three long hours, when she'd calculated the journey would take just sixteen.

"Been a long trip?" asked the taxi driver sympathetically, taking the Australian dollars she held out to him.

"Like being dragged through an endless hell," she agreed.

He frowned. "I noticed you've no luggage?"

"The airline lost it."

"Well, I sure hope everything gets better for you from now on."

"Thank you."

As she slid out of the air-conditioned taxi, the heat slammed into Caylee's body, instantly tugging perspiration from every pore. She'd dressed so she'd be warm enough for the plane, and her arrival outfit was in the front compartment of her missing suitcase: a light dress neatly folded between sheets of tissue paper to stop it from creasing. She could picture it in her luggage, circling the conveyor belt at some other airport. Timbuktu, perhaps.

Caylee strode into the resort lobby, gasping with relief as another cold blast of air conditioning hit her. At this late hour, the only sound was water trickling over rocks from the water feature in the corner. As weary and fed up as she was, she took a moment to smooth down her shirt while she glanced around.

There were some small stores off the lobby selling souvenirs and tourist basics, and even a hair salon. Unfortunately none of them were open or she could have picked up some things she needed. Like toothpaste. Knowing she'd last cleaned her teeth three meals ago made her feel dirty, let alone when she ran her tongue across them and felt that horrible stale furriness.

At least she'd be able to finally get some sleep. Every aching muscle in her body was begging to lie down and stretch out, and being so exhausted made her thoughts fuzzy and far too emotional.

Tomorrow she'd get on the phone and make sure she got her suitcase back, especially the papers she was presenting at the conference. Those papers were all that really mattered, as her presentation had to be flawless. Her research funding was under review and the man in charge of deciding whether to continue her funding would be assessing her. If she didn't impress him, he could cut off her main source of income.

A single clerk was on duty behind the massive reception desk. "Welcome to Sunset Island."

She glanced at his name tag. "Hello, Ivan. I'm Caylee Reynolds, and I have a room booked for three nights."

He looked down at his screen, his fingers moving over the keyboard. Then his face dropped. "Oh, Miss Reynolds, I'm so sorry. We thought you weren't coming."

Caylee froze, her stomach clenching. She couldn't deal with any more bad news. Not now, after all she'd been through. "Please tell me you have a room waiting for me." Her voice was almost a whisper.

"You were supposed to arrive on this afternoon's ferry. We waited until midnight." He looked stricken. "We had to give your room away. This week we have a big wedding scheduled as well as your conference, and I've got a waiting list of people wanting accommodation."

"But my plane to Cairns was delayed and they lost my bag. I missed the connecting flight to Hamilton Island and then the ferry, so I had to arrange for another boat to bring me across, and then a taxi from the wharf..."

"I'm very sorry, miss. If only you'd called, we'd have held a room for you."

Caylee took a deep breath. Her cell phone was in her lost luggage. The strap of her handbag had broken at the airport and spilled its contents onto the floor, so she'd put most of the things she usually carried with her into her suitcase instead. Now the only things she had were her ereader and her passport. Her credit cards were in the suitcase with her phone. It was lucky she'd tucked the Australian dollars from the currency change booth into her one small pocket, or she wouldn't have gotten here at all.

She fought to keep her voice calm. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes, but she forced them away. Becoming emotional never helped. "I didn't call because I didn't have access to a telephone. Now, I'm very sorry to trouble you, but could you please look again to see if there's a room available? Any room, I don't care if it hasn't been cleaned, or if I have to move out of it in the morning."

Ivan looked down at his computer screen, tapping with his fingers for a long couple of minutes. She could already tell it was bad news before he spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

"But where am I going to sleep?"

He shook his head helplessly. "I'm afraid there's nowhere else on the island. But I could call a hotel on the mainland and arrange a room for you there. A water taxi could take you back."

"Another hour of traveling?" In spite of her resolve, her voice quivered. "It's been thirty hours since I last slept. I'm so exhausted I feel sick from it, and please, I just need a bed. Any bed." The tears forced themselves out against her will, hot and spurting, and she lost all remnants of control. "I don't even care if I have to share the bed. Please, I'll do anything. Just find me a place to lie down."

"Now that does sound tempting." A low male voice came from behind her. Caylee jerked around.

The man who'd spoken was rough-looking with messy, uncombed hair and old clothes. He stood with an arrogant confidence that made it seem like he took up more space than he had any right to. He had a deep tan and sun-lightened brown hair, and the edge of a tattoo peeked out from under the sleeve of his faded T-shirt.

He stared at her, studying her intently. His face was both strikingly handsome and carelessly unshaven. She looked away so as not to encourage his attention. Who did he think he was, examining her so boldly? Wasn't it bad enough she'd started weeping in public without him staring? She sniffed, wiping at the tears, struggling to get herself together.

"Caylee Reynolds?" the man asked in an amazed tone. "Is that you?"

What? Her gaze jerked back. She looked past the messy too-long hair and the stubble and felt a terrible jolt of recognition. Though his eyes were the soft blue of faded denim, they seemed to probe right into hers. A smile played around his full lips, and suddenly she knew exactly how mocking and teasing that smile could get. No, it couldn't be him. Caylee's gaze dropped to his legs. He was wearing shorts, and his long, muscular legs were so tanned that she almost couldn't see if he had a... There. Yes, that was it all right. A line across the front of his shin, a scar so faint she wouldn't have noticed it if she didn't know it was there. A scar she'd given him. A parting gift before he walked out of her life forever.

"Blake Samson." Caylee's voice came out sounding flat and cold as she straightened her back and wiped her eyes one last time. Great. She never lost control like that, and now she'd done it in front of Blake Samson—the boy who'd taken her virginity, then ransacked her room and stolen everything else that had mattered to her. Blake Samson was a cold-hearted thief. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

He motioned to the hotel name printed on the wall behind the reception desk. Samson Resort. "Welcome to my place, Caylee."

Blake owned the resort? He'd done better than she'd ever have expected. Although maybe she shouldn't be so surprised—he'd proven himself ruthless enough to take what he wanted, and that was probably an advantage when it came to getting ahead in business. But it was rotten luck that of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she had to walk into his. Seemed her traveling really had brought her right into the center of hell. Who'd have guessed the devil had blue eyes and a wide, white smile?

Chapter Two

Caylee Reynolds. Damn, he could hardly believe it was her. Blake had thought about her often after he'd left town to go and live with his uncle, and now here she was, standing in his lobby, looking at him like she'd stuck a fork in her salad and found a slug. Guess he couldn't blame her. But really, all he'd done was what any normal teenage boy did when he secretly had the hots for the girl next door—he'd made her life miserable. That was, until the one incredible night when they'd made love.

But that was a lifetime ago and he'd never have believed he'd bump into Caylee Reynolds in Australia, the other side of the world. She'd been pretty then and she was goddamn beautiful now. She was still small, with long black hair and dark eyes that could fire out bullets and didn't blink nearly often enough, but man, had she aged well or what? She still dressed like a total geek, though, like she'd stepped straight from the pages of Nerdy College Looks Magazine. From her tight braid—not a hair out of place—to her buttoned-up shirt and her sensible shoes below neat, plain trousers. Some things didn't change.

"Did I hear you say you need a room, Caylee? No problem. You can share mine."

"Share your room?"

She said it like he'd suggested they rip off their clothes and go at it in the lobby. Dammit, was that really what she thought he meant? He hadn't seen her in—what was it— twelve years? Yet here she was acting like he was the same messed-up kid who'd tried so hard to get her attention—albeit in all the wrong ways. Things had changed since then. He'd changed. He'd done well for himself, with four other beach resorts as well as this one. Women were usually all too eager to share his room, and they sure as hell didn't jump down his throat when he tried to help them.

"I have two bedrooms. You're welcome to one of them." A prickle of pride made him add, "Or you can have the whole suite. I've got friends on the island, so I can find somewhere else to go for the night."

She hesitated, giving him an up-and-down look that made his fingers itch to reach up and smooth his wind-tangled hair. Wasn't she sobbing a minute ago because she wanted a bed so badly? So what was her problem? That he looked a little ragged? Sure, he should have showered and changed after being out on the Jet Ski, but when he got back he'd been dragged straight into a Skype meeting to try to unravel the mess the site manager was making of his new development, and being covered with salt from his day on the water hadn't seemed a problem. Until now.

His jaw tightened. So this is how it was going to be? Instantly branded a thug? Hell, he'd had enough judgment to last him a lifetime, he didn't need any more from Miss Perfect. If she couldn't see he was a different man now, that was her problem. He didn't need to prove himself.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to put you out."

"Fine. Go back to the mainland, and good luck getting a water taxi this time of night. You'll be waiting a long time."

She glanced at Ivan for confirmation and he made a rueful face of agreement. As she turned back to Blake, her upright posture slumped. "All right."

Don't bust a gut with gratitude. He almost regretted having made the offer at all. "Come on, I'll show you where it is." He looked around but couldn't see any bags. "Where's your luggage?"

"Timbuktu, most likely."

"You don't have anything?"

She lifted the electronic tablet. "Just a couple of travel guides, I'm afraid. Although, for this trip, a survival guide might have been more useful."

Huh. He'd forgotten about her sense of humor. She could be pretty funny when she wasn't busy being so damn judgmental.

Blake turned to Ivan, who was watching them like he would a fascinating TV show. Ivan's mouth was even hanging open. His eyes were fixed on Caylee, and when Blake followed his gaze, he knew exactly what had the desk clerk so transfixed. At first glance that prissy white shirt with its firmly done-up buttons hid her body about as well as if she were wearing a burka. But she'd moved back and the light shining out from the water feature was illuminating her body, somehow making the fabric transparent so the outline of her white bra was clearly visible.

His eyes drank in the swell of her breasts, feasting on the beautiful shape, the perfect curves swelling out from her tiny ribcage. He could even make out her nipples through the sheer fabric of her bra, two soft points that he remembered too well from the night he'd teased them with his tongue. They'd gone so deliciously tight and hard when he'd run his—

Whoa! Where the hell did his mind go just then? He wasn't eighteen anymore, and there was no way he was still attracted to Caylee Reynolds, no matter how kissable her breasts might be. She wasn't his type—far from it. And she'd already made it clear how little she thought of him.

"Ivan," growled Blake.

The desk clerk's eyes snapped to Blake, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Yessir?"

"Miss Reynolds is going to use my suite. There'll be no charge for her. She gets whatever she wants."

"Yessir. Absolutely, sir."

"Blake, I'd prefer to pay my own—"

"This one's on me." Blake stepped forward, blocking the beam of light from the water feature with his own body, and put his hand on the curve of Caylee's back. It was a protective gesture, as though he was claiming her for his own in front of Ivan. He wasn't, of course, but he'd be damned if he'd let that pimply little upstart of a desk clerk ogle her. "Come on, Caylee."

He led her to the elevator, and they rode to the top. His suite was on the eighteenth floor, the penthouse. When he took her inside, she stared with open admiration, and for a moment it was as though he was also seeing it for the first time.

It was large, with bedrooms leading off a big living area and kitchen. His work desk was in a study off the living area, and there was a separate dining room with an ornate table. But the interior, nice as it was, barely seemed to matter in front of the double-height, floor-to-ceiling windows and glass skylights that made it seem as though there were no walls at all. It felt as if they were outside on top of a mountain, drinking in a clear night sky which stretched endlessly in front of them.

This was the seaward side of the building, so during the day the blue of sea and sky filled the room. At night, the stars filled it by the millions, bright enough to see by and almost close enough to touch. On the other side of the building the lights of the Queensland coast were a long twinkling line, but on this side there were no lights to dim the beauty of the night sky.

"Look at the moon," she gasped.

He dragged in his breath when he saw it. So full and heavy it seemed like it could fall out of the sky at any moment, he thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful. Then he looked at her face, lifted up to it, bathed in moonlight and filled with wonder, and the moon was suddenly a dim, second-best beauty. He wanted to tell her how stunning she was in the moonlight...only she'd already made it pretty clear she thought he was a jerk. He glanced away. Caylee obviously hated him. He should leave her be.

"This is incredible." She was turning slowly around, still staring up at the sky.

Blake crossed quickly to his bedroom to check it. Good, it had been serviced while he was out, so it was neat and tidy, even if he wasn't. "My stuff is in this room." Then he pointed to the far side of the living room. "The other room hasn't been touched. The linen is clean and the wardrobe is empty." He nodded at her nearly empty hands. "Not that you'll need the wardrobe yet."

"Thank you." For the first time she smiled, an incredible, wide smile that made her whole face glow as though lit from inside. Blake could spend hours staring at a smile like that. When it was gone, as quickly as it had come, the night seemed darker and colder.

Blake cleared his throat. "Right, I'll be going. Call down to reception if you need anything."

"Wait. You're not going to sleep here?"

"I said I'd give you the place to yourself."

"Don't be silly." She shook her head. "I won't throw you out, that doesn't make sense. Two rooms. Two people. It wouldn't be logical otherwise."

"Do you always do the logical thing?"

A pink flush stained her cheeks. "Obsessively," she admitted.

Now it was his turn to hesitate. So far, their reunion hadn't exactly gone well. Perhaps it would be better to wake up John and Jenna and crash on their sofa. They'd put a good face on, but Blake knew he'd be intruding. What a choice. He could either ruin the no-doubt romantic plans of his best friend and the woman he was about to marry, or share his own suite with a woman who'd made it clear she thought he was bad news.

He gazed at Caylee, trying to make up his mind. Though she'd turned into a gorgeous woman, he could still see the serious girl who'd captivated him. Her house had been a loud, chaotic mess, and Caylee had rebelled by making sure her room was immaculate, her grades were straight A's, and her emotions were always in tight control.

Blake's house had been much worse. His parents had hated each other, and his life had been an endless series of screaming arguments and slamming doors. He used to escape next door and distract himself by making a game of trying to ruffle Caylee's quiet composure. That was, until the night he'd called his uncle and begged him to let Blake come live with him.

His uncle had saved him, helped him turn his life around. And though she didn't know it, Caylee had been the main reason he hadn't imploded in the meantime.

"Don't tell me," said Blake. "You're here for the math conference? You're a mathematician?"

"That's right."

It made sense. She'd always seemed to like facts and figures more than people. She'd devour her homework with complete concentration, barely noticing him as he lay on her bed, smoking cigarettes, drinking stolen beer, and watching her study. He'd leave his empty beer cans on the floor of her room, draw dirty pictures inside her textbooks, and flick ash into her drawers. And the whole time, she'd be totally absorbed in her work, figuring out long equations full of Xs and Ys with a tiny frown imprinted between her eyebrows. That was probably why he'd tried so hard to get her attention. If she'd given it easily, he wouldn't have wanted it so badly.

"Fine," he said. "I'll stay."

"I'm going to assume you have enough honor that you won't try to sneak into my room."

The idea of spending the night in her room sent heat through his body. It was a delicious thought, even if it did stir memories that were better left buried.

And then she added, "Really, I'm so tired I think if you did try something I'd sleep right through it."

Blake let out an explosive laugh. He'd like to see her try! He had a sudden urge to sweep her up and into his bed, tearing loose those beautiful breasts he'd caught such a tantalizing glimpse of, and making sure she didn't sleep for hours. He cut off the thought quickly as warmth spread below his belt and the blood pulsed to a part of his anatomy best left sleeping. Shit, what was she doing to him?

Caylee reddened, a flustered expression on her face. "I don't know why I said that. I never say things like that."

"You're exhausted."

"It's been an awful day." She looked confused and tired, and suddenly so fragile that his protective instinct swelled. "There's a very real chance I'm going to lose my research funding. My only chance to keep it is to impress the chairman of the research foundation by giving a flawless presentation, but the flash drive with my presentation on it, my speech, and all my notes are in my missing suitcase. Not to mention that I've got no toiletries, and just the clothes I've got on—Oh!" She spread her hands out in a hopeless gesture. "I have no contact lens solution."

Her shoulders slumped and she looked utterly defeated. For an instant he thought she might cry again, but then she blinked and the moment was gone. Her back straightened and she gave a tiny shake of her head, shaking the defeat away, a determined look to her mouth.

Damn if Caylee wasn't tougher than she looked. She might be a tiny slip of a thing but she had a backbone, that was for sure.

"I'll see what I can find in the lobby stores for you to wear, so you won't die from the heat in the morning. There isn't much there, mainly sarongs and swim suits, but it'll be better than what you've got on."

"Thank you. That's very kind." She cocked her head to one side as she examined Blake and he could almost see the calculations going through her head. What did he add up to in her eyes? Could she see the man he'd become, or was she still multiplying in the screwed-up teenager who used to drive her crazy?

He turned away, shrugging off her examination by heading for the door. He hated reminders of his past and, anyway, if Caylee hadn't liked him back then, she wasn't about to start now. Their night together had been a glitch in the matrix. It had been all he could think about for months afterward, but he'd never figured it out. His best guess was that her sister Lana had put her up to it—it was far more her style than Caylee's—or maybe Caylee had been curious about slumming it with the troublemaker next door.

Whatever the reason, she'd obviously regretted it. And no matter how badly it hurt, he'd finally realized it was for the best that she'd decided not to contact him afterward. She was college-bound with a bright future. He was struggling to pull his way out of the gutter. Besides, with parents like his, he'd never be the commitment type.

One of the perks of owning a resort was that he could choose women to date who only wanted a short-term holiday fling. Whenever he was tempted to look for anything more permanent he just had to think of his parents' screaming matches to go cold on the whole idea. Not to mention the fact that he had more important things to think about right now, like the clusterfuck the site manager was making of the groundwork for his new resort in Indonesia.

Even if there'd been a chance in hell that Caylee was up for a repeat performance of their night together, he didn't need that kind of complication right before he was due to leave. No matter how much he might have dreamed about getting a second chance with her over the years, he'd make sure to keep his distance.

Oh yeah, Blake? Then why are you so determined to pick her out something pretty to wear from the store, even if you have to break the damn window to get in?

He clenched his fists as the elevator took him smoothly back down to the lobby. He'd help her out for old times' sake, but there was no way he was going to let a stuck-up mathematician do a number on him. No way in the world.

Copyright © 2014 by Talia Hunter. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.