Penthouse Suite by Sandra Chastain

put-up-or-shut-up time, and she didn’t know what to do. He was right. Her clothing was in the way. But take it off?
    Kate panicked. She started swimming toward shore, her anxiety transforming itself into untapped energy. She didn’t try to analyze her wild flight from the man in the penthouse suite. She just needed to get away. By the time her knees bumped the sandy bottom at the island edge, Kate heard the sound of the boat’s motor close behind her. She’d reached the shore, but she hadn’t escaped.
    “I should have known,” she muttered, and flung herself on the beach.
“Fantasy Island.”

Five
    “Kate! Kate! Are you all right?”
    Kate lay face down on the sand, eyes closed, heart pounding as she tried to pull air into lungs heaving from exertion. She heard the boat’s motor die, followed by a thud as the bow of the boat was beached on the sand.
    While she lay very still, Kate tried desperately to marshal some line of defense against the man splashing toward her through the shallow water. Once they’d left the hotel, she had known he would make love to her. And she’d thought she was ready. But he’d let down some of his barriers, and she’d learned that he was more than just a powerful, handsome man. Now she was afraid. How could she stop him from getting to close to her? How could she stop herself from wanting him too much?
    “Kate, what happened?” Max dropped down beside her and turned her over. She was breathing.He could see the rise and fall of her chest. But she wasn’t answering. “Open your eyes, Kate, darling.”
    Nothing.
    “Well, Max, drastic measures seem to be needed,” he said aloud. “This woman may be the most beautiful castaway on the Gulf Coast, but she’s in trouble. CPR. You’ve never performed it, but you know the procedure. First make certain that the throat passageway isn’t obstructed.” He leaned forward.
    Kate’s eyes flew open. “No. I mean, that isn’t necessary. I’m all right.”
    “As the captain, I’m responsible for the members of my crew. I’d better be sure. Let me check your pulse.” He made an elaborate pretense of finding the pulse point in her neck.
    His technique felt more like a caress than a medical procedure, and Kate held her breath.
    “Ah, a bit rapid, I think. Better check the heartbeat.” Solemnly Max laid his head across her breast and listened.
    If her pulse had been erratic before, it was playing pinball inside her now. “Get off of me, Max. What are you trying to do, smother me to death?”
    The concern on his face changed into a smile as he raised up and began to laugh. “I thought I was about to perform artificial respiration on a dying woman. I guess I was wrong. Too bad I didn’t get to the part where I massaged her chest.”
    “From where I am, I think you did—massage my chest, that is.” Kate rubbed her cheek, dislodging a layer of white powder from her face. She took a deep breath, came to her knees, and looked down at her gritty clothes.
    “Yuck! This isn’t sand, this is a new kind of glue I’ve fallen into. If your Aunt Dorothea could see me now, she’d say I was a writer for the
Sewer Workers Daily
and that you’re addlebrained for asking me to come along.”
    Max made a move to reach down and lift her up. “Here, let me help.”
    “No thanks. I can manage.” She stood and moved stiffly back into the water toward the boat.
    “What are you doing now?”
    “What I should have done in the beginning. Getting out of these clothes.”
    “At last a sensible idea. Do you need any help?”
    “Not on your life, bossman. You just pull up a turtle shell and wait.”
    Neither of the swimsuits on board offered much more covering that the suit Max was wearing. But turnabout was fair play. And play was the name of the game on Fantasy Island.
    Kate jerked her wet clothes off and tied the scanty triangles of knit fabric about her hips and around her neck. She’d never sailed to a tropical paradise before, and she might