Heather Graham Pozzessere - Eyes Of Fire

“Really, handsome?” Sukee drawled to Jim. “And here I had thought you might consider me to be the perfect partner.”

“Um, er…” Jim stuttered.

“It’s difficult when there’s so damned much perfection around, isn’t it?” another voice cut in.

Sam’s eyes were drawn upward, over Jim’s shoulder.

It was him. The man from the mail boat.

Adam O’Connor.

Smiling below his Ray-Bans, his voice husky, deep, resonant. Somehow mocking.

He lowered his glasses and locked eyes briefly with Sam—an antagonistic look, yet one that somehow warned her that he didn’t intend to acknowledge the fact that he knew her.

Nor did he want her to recognize him.

Jim turned, looking up at the newcomer. He seemed to acknowledge some kind of competition—he had to, the way Sukee was staring at the man—but he was quick to redon his charming manner. “The perfect guest, the perfect hostess.” He smiled at Sam, then at Sukee, then stared at the new addition to their number once again. “You’re right. So much…perfection.” He offered a hand to the man. “Jim Santino,” he said. “Welcome to—”

“Perfection Isle?” Adam drawled. He smiled, accepting the handshake in a friendly manner.

He’s a snake, Jim, Sam longed to say in warning. Yet, somehow, she managed to keep from doing so, despite the fact that each time Adam spoke, she could hear a slight, slight underlying tinge of mockery in his voice.

The others laughed. Sam wasn’t sure Adam had meant to be amusing, even though he kept smiling. A killer smile. He had a dimple. Just one, in his left cheek.

Adam looked at her then, smiling innocently. “You must be the perfect hostess, I imagine?” He stretched his hand out to her.

If only she could bite the damned thing.

“Welcome to Seafire Isle,” Sam said smoothly, offering her own hand. She took note of his when he gripped hers. Large, powerful. The nails were bluntly cut, clean. She had very long fingers. His engulfed hers.

She drew her hand back quickly.

“Thanks,” he told her.

“Have you come to stay, or are you with the dinner party coming in tonight from Freeport?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m staying.”

“Really?” She forced herself to sound interested. “Do you have a reservation?”

Why was she playing this game? she asked herself.

“No, but your agent back at Freeport—Miss Jensen, is that right?—said that it’s slow season and you’d surely have one room left, at the least.”

“Did Miss Jensen say that?” Sam murmured. She could imagine how happy Miss Irma Jensen would have been to say it. Sam had only recently hired her to book newcomers, dinner parties and day trips to Seafire Isle. She was a sixty-year-old spinster who was certain that Sam needed to marry soon—or become a hopeless old maid herself. Irma was always delighted to book single men onto the island. She was convinced she was eventually going to make a match.

Not this time, Irma, Sam thought.

“Are you a diver, Mister, er…” Lew Walker began.

The newcomer nodded his dark head. “O’Connor. Adam O’Connor. And yes, I dive.”

“You’ll love the trips. The reefs are magnificent. And the wrecks are fascinating.”

“Wrecks are always fascinating.”

“Yes, but these are special. Sam entertains us with the history of each wreck before we reach it,” Judy said.

“Sam is always entertaining—I imagine,” Adam said politely.

“Best dive vacation I’ve ever taken,” Sukee offered. She smiled. “Mr. O’Connor. The best,” she ended sibilantly. It had a nice sexy sound to it. She’d come to flirt with all the free males—and maybe a few who were not so free. She’d concentrated on Jim so far, but now it was evident that she’d discovered a new quarry to pursue. “I just know you’ll enjoy Sam.”

Adam stared at Sam, those damned Ray-Bans back in place. “I’ll do my best,” he said politely.

She wanted to slug him.

God, she’d last seen him so long ago….

And the way she felt hadn’t changed a whit. Yes, yes, it had, she assured herself. She still wanted to kill him, still wanted to…

That was it. She simply wanted to throttle him. She was no longer crushed. She wasn’t a young woman barely turned twenty-one who was still madly, hopelessly in love with a slightly older man. A man with whom other women had been in love with as well. She wasn’t broken, desperate, longing for his touch, wanting to be held in his arms….

She felt her cheeks reddening. She remembered the first moment she had seen him today, not knowing then who he was, wondering almost academically what he would look like minus most of his clothing. Well, she knew, and…

She was over the bastard, she assured herself. Had been for a very long time now. A dozen things had happened in the years since that had made her forget him. Okay, not forget him, exactly, but relegate him to the past. Where he belonged.

Still…

If she’d never seen him before, she would have thought he was the type of man a woman might turn to in times of trouble—even if she was a woman confident in her own abilities. He had a touch of machismo about him. In fact, as she knew all too well, he could be damned irritating.

But that didn’t alleviate a woman’s urge to get close to him. To touch him. Feel his warmth, his energy.

Like a moth to a flame, she ridiculed herself. And her wings had been badly scorched.

Just be cool, she warned herself now. Be mature.

Darlene would certainly recommend maturity.

“Well, Mr. O’Connor, I’m sure Yancy will see to all your needs at the reception desk.” She turned to the others. “I think I’ll shower for dinner if you’ll all pardon me.”

Adam was the only one looking at her; the only one who seemed to notice that she was excusing herself. Jim, Sukee and the Walkers continued to watch Adam with interest.

Jem, who had pulled out the hose to wash down their equipment, was staring at her curiously over Adam’s shoulder. In fact, he was grinning, damn his hide. The hell with them both. No, the hell with men in general. She’d only ever met one who was simply honest and sweet, and he…he was gone.

Hank.

Hank, with his open blue eyes, his continual search for knowledge. His determination, his enthusiasm, his honesty, his naiveté, his nose always on a map, in a book.

What the hell happened, Hank? she wondered, the question a silent scream within her mind. Why did you let it happen? Why didn’t you let us help you? What happened, what happened…?

What the hell had happened?

And where the hell had Adam O’Connor been when Hank had disappeared? Not to mention when her father had disappeared?

Was that part of what hurt so badly now? He’d gone, yes, and left her. But when she’d been desperate, she’d sent for him. She’d thought that enough feeling, enough history, had remained between them that he would come to help.

But he hadn’t. Her pleas had gone unanswered.

She bit her lower lip and turned swiftly, anxious to put some distance between herself and Adam as quickly as possible. Damn him. This wasn’t fair. It was the surprise of seeing him that was throwing her so badly now. Definitely not fair. But then again, when had he ever played fair? He surely had the advantage today. Coming here, he’d known that he would see her.

Sweet Jesus, she could have used some warning. It would have been nice if Irma Jensen had given her a call.

Why? she taunted herself. What did it matter? Come on, come on, she was an adult, a big girl, and he was history, ancient history.

She started walking quickly, heading toward her private beach house off the south side of the main lodge.

First her father…