conspiring against her.
Craning her neck around his bulky shoulder, she saw the diner up ahead, looming closer…and then farther away as they veered past it, down the hill toward the ferry terminal.
“Hey,” she shouted in his ear. “You said we’d have our little talk at the diner.”
“ You said that, sweetheart.” He tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder and passed the tollbooth.
The last straggling cars were pulling onto the ferry. A female attendant wearing a bright orange smock was about to cordon off the loading platform.
Dan thumbed the horn. It emitted a chirpy beep. Theattendant grinned and waved him through. He drove up the ramp and parked. Immediately, a horn blew. Too late to get off.
As the ferry eased away from the terminal, he turned around to face her. “Damn, Isabel,” he said, “you’re one hard woman to find.”
The second he killed the engine, Isabel struggled off the bike. “You’re crazy,” she said, “but I suppose you know that.”
“Maybe.” He favored her with a look she remembered well, the one of sleepy arousal that used to make her happy to dive back into bed with him for long, languid weekend mornings.
“This is ridiculous,” she said in exasperation—both at him and at her wayward memory. She braced her hand on the iron wall to steady herself as the ferry headed for downtown Seattle.
When Dan didn’t reply, she turned and stomped up the stairs to the lounge. The spacious waiting room, flooded with April sunshine, was crowded with islanders heading to the city for shopping or an evening on the town. She spotted a familiar face here and there and managed to nod a greeting.
Great, she thought. All she needed was for the bank clerk or the hardware store owner to see her going to Seattle with a sinfully good-looking man.
She went out on deck, where the wind caught at her skirt and hair. Gulls wheeled and sailed along beside the ferry. In the distance, a sea lion splashed in Puget Sound.
It didn’t take Dan long to find her. Within minutes,he joined her on the open-air deck. “Here.” He pushed a paper cup of café latte into her hand. “Skim milk, one sugar packet, right?”
She took the cup and sank to a bolted-down bench. “I hope you know you’ve ruined the afternoon for me.”
He sat beside her, resting his lanky wrists on his knees. A dark fire smoldered in his eyes, and she sensed a tension about him, a coiled heat that disturbed and fascinated her. “Couldn’t be helped. Besides, it’s better than ruining the rest of your life.”
She almost choked on a mouthful of hot coffee. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He reached forward and caught a drop of latte with a napkin before it stained her India-print skirt. “You can’t marry him, Isabel.” His voice, with the unforgettable low rumble of masculine passion that had filled the airwaves for two years, was harsh. “You can’t marry Anthony Cossa.”
“Since when do I need your permission?” she retorted. The breeze plucked at her hair. Her permed curls were now a deep chestnut color, thanks to an expensive salon job. She pushed a thick lock behind her ear and glared at him. “How did you find me, anyway?”
He sent her a hard-edged grin. “Through Anthony.”
“Oh, God.” She set down her cup and folded her arms across her middle. “What did you do to Anthony?”
Dan stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He leaned his head back against the wall. The movement and pose were graceful, vaguely feline, subtly dangerous. “I don’t remember you being this suspicious.”
“I’m generally suspicious of men who kidnap me from my own wedding shower.”
“Fair enough. I had business with Anthony. And what do I see when I get to his office? Your smiling face in a silver frame on his desk.”
She tried to picture it. Dan, all in rebel black, with his long hair and earring, facing Anthony, immaculate and trying hard to look laid-back in his Banana
Craning her neck around his bulky shoulder, she saw the diner up ahead, looming closer…and then farther away as they veered past it, down the hill toward the ferry terminal.
“Hey,” she shouted in his ear. “You said we’d have our little talk at the diner.”
“ You said that, sweetheart.” He tossed the words carelessly over his shoulder and passed the tollbooth.
The last straggling cars were pulling onto the ferry. A female attendant wearing a bright orange smock was about to cordon off the loading platform.
Dan thumbed the horn. It emitted a chirpy beep. Theattendant grinned and waved him through. He drove up the ramp and parked. Immediately, a horn blew. Too late to get off.
As the ferry eased away from the terminal, he turned around to face her. “Damn, Isabel,” he said, “you’re one hard woman to find.”
The second he killed the engine, Isabel struggled off the bike. “You’re crazy,” she said, “but I suppose you know that.”
“Maybe.” He favored her with a look she remembered well, the one of sleepy arousal that used to make her happy to dive back into bed with him for long, languid weekend mornings.
“This is ridiculous,” she said in exasperation—both at him and at her wayward memory. She braced her hand on the iron wall to steady herself as the ferry headed for downtown Seattle.
When Dan didn’t reply, she turned and stomped up the stairs to the lounge. The spacious waiting room, flooded with April sunshine, was crowded with islanders heading to the city for shopping or an evening on the town. She spotted a familiar face here and there and managed to nod a greeting.
Great, she thought. All she needed was for the bank clerk or the hardware store owner to see her going to Seattle with a sinfully good-looking man.
She went out on deck, where the wind caught at her skirt and hair. Gulls wheeled and sailed along beside the ferry. In the distance, a sea lion splashed in Puget Sound.
It didn’t take Dan long to find her. Within minutes,he joined her on the open-air deck. “Here.” He pushed a paper cup of café latte into her hand. “Skim milk, one sugar packet, right?”
She took the cup and sank to a bolted-down bench. “I hope you know you’ve ruined the afternoon for me.”
He sat beside her, resting his lanky wrists on his knees. A dark fire smoldered in his eyes, and she sensed a tension about him, a coiled heat that disturbed and fascinated her. “Couldn’t be helped. Besides, it’s better than ruining the rest of your life.”
She almost choked on a mouthful of hot coffee. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He reached forward and caught a drop of latte with a napkin before it stained her India-print skirt. “You can’t marry him, Isabel.” His voice, with the unforgettable low rumble of masculine passion that had filled the airwaves for two years, was harsh. “You can’t marry Anthony Cossa.”
“Since when do I need your permission?” she retorted. The breeze plucked at her hair. Her permed curls were now a deep chestnut color, thanks to an expensive salon job. She pushed a thick lock behind her ear and glared at him. “How did you find me, anyway?”
He sent her a hard-edged grin. “Through Anthony.”
“Oh, God.” She set down her cup and folded her arms across her middle. “What did you do to Anthony?”
Dan stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He leaned his head back against the wall. The movement and pose were graceful, vaguely feline, subtly dangerous. “I don’t remember you being this suspicious.”
“I’m generally suspicious of men who kidnap me from my own wedding shower.”
“Fair enough. I had business with Anthony. And what do I see when I get to his office? Your smiling face in a silver frame on his desk.”
She tried to picture it. Dan, all in rebel black, with his long hair and earring, facing Anthony, immaculate and trying hard to look laid-back in his Banana
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