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Chapter One

“You’re not getting here until Saturday? What kind of best man rocks up the day before the groom’s wedding?”

Brody Nash grinned as Drew Buchanan’s incredulous words barked at him through his mobile phone and replied, “The kind who warned you he wasn’t suddenly going to turn into Mr. Reliable just because you’re whipped.”

“Whipped and loving it.” Brody could hear the happiness in his old friend’s voice as he referred to his fiancée. “You ought to try it. God knows no one needs to be pulled into line more than you.”

“She’d have to be seven foot tall and armed.”

“Nah—I reckon short and sassy would do it.”

There was an awkward silence into which they both inserted the obvious—like Sidney. About six months ago Brody had thought exactly along those lines, which had landed him in an ill-advised three way and at the wrong end of Drew’s fist. Brody’s infatuation with his best friend’s girl had almost destroyed his relationship with Drew, but as usual Buchanan hadn’t given up on him when he probably should have. Story of their lives.

“The weekend is the best I can do,” Brody said as he approached the back entrance of Drew’s restaurant, the Blue Fish Grill. He figured Drew would be in the process of closing up for the night, and the likelihood that he’d scream like a girl when Brody snuck up on him was pleasingly high. “I don’t control the northerly winds.”

“Northerly winds,” Drew scoffed. “More likely you got sidetracked. Which was it this time, blonde or brunette?”

“Redhead, actually.” Brody frowned, wondering why he lied. He hadn’t hooked up with a woman in the past week, or in the past six months in fact, an anomaly in terms of his usual pattern. The drought wasn’t due to a lack of opportunity, but more to a sense of restlessness that he didn’t think could be cured by mindless sex. The idea of losing himself in the temporary heat of a woman he barely knew and would soon forget had actually bored him.

“You’re a piece of work, Nash. You’d better be here on time. Rufus is my second choice for best man and he isn’t even house trained. I’m not sure he’s up to wearing a tux.”

Rufus was a big, hairy mixed-breed puppy Brody had read about via email. From what he’d heard, Sidney treated that mutt like a newborn baby, which Brody figured was next on her list of must-haves. Buchanan really was going all out at this commitment thing. “It’s nice to know my backup is a mongrel. Is this a comment on my skills as a best man or my sparkling personality?”

“Take it as you like. Just be here before the wedding or Sidney’s going to have my ass.”

“Doesn’t sound like hard labor to me.”

“Watch yourself, Nash. That’s my future wife you’re talking about.”

Brody winced at the icy edge in his friend’s voice. “Sorry, man. Too soon?”
Relief seeped through him at Drew’s chuckle. “Nah, it’s all right. I can afford to be generous. Winners are grinners.”

Brody laughed at Drew’s smug tone. There had never been any real competition when it came to winning Sidney’s affections, and Brody had stopped wasting time on “perhaps if I’d met her first” conjectures. For one, he was glad Drew was happy. Secondly, if he’d met Sidney first, he would have screwed up her life. So all things considered everything turned out as it should have.

Pushing open the unlocked back door, Brody stealthily crossed the kitchen and peered into the restaurant’s dining area. He saw a woman gyrating to a raunchy number blaring from the stereo system—something about getting dirty that he vaguely recognized—while simultaneously running a broom over the polished wood floorboards. Her ponytail shone a deep russet in the sparse restaurant lighting as she spun it around to the melody, her narrow hips swinging in time to the pounding beat. A redhead. And a hot one at that.

“Nash, is that Christina Aguilera?”

“Who?” The woman had just started dancing around the broomstick and using it as a microphone. Amused and more than a little intrigued, Brody watched the sinuous silhouette of her body move against the backdrop of the marina and the few lights of Graceville’s main street beyond.

“Either your musical tastes have changed markedly or that’s Sid’s CD playing in the background. You’re at the restaurant, aren’t you?”

Brody made some noise of assent and listened with half an ear while Drew read him the riot act for pulling his leg about not being able to make it back for days yet. Drew’s new waitress had an absolutely phenomenal pair of long, slender legs and she knew how to use them. Brody let his gaze trail over her until it came to rest on her stocking feet where they slid across the floor.

The song ended and the silence that came after throbbed. The girl heaved a sigh and bowed toward the empty restaurant. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

“You’re welcome.”

She spun around and shrieked. She dropped the broom and her feet got tangled in the handle. There was a loud thud as she tripped and landed on the hardwood floor. “Ooouch!”

“What the hell was that?”

Into the phone Brody explained, “I think I just scared the crap out of the new waitress. I thought it was you locking up.”

Another song came blaring out of the stereo, a ballad this time. Brody had trouble hearing Drew’s words so he turned the volume down before striding toward the woman on the floor and offering his hand.

She eyed his outstretched arm as though it were a venomous snake. Brody’s attention was arrested by the fascinating hues fanning out from the dark spots of her pupils—multifacets of gold, treacle and honey contained within almond-shaped eyes that turned up just a little at the outer edges. A spark of recognition flared.

But the girl she reminded Brody of wore glasses and wasn’t a redhead. Neither did Lana Green wear her skirts so satisfactorily short. This couldn’t be her.

“Courtney’s the only new waitress I’ve hired in the past six months, and she’s not on tonight,” Drew said as, finally, the girl on the floor slipped her hand into Brody’s. She had slim fingers, strong yet ladylike. The short, practical nails were tipped with a pearlescent pink polish. Brody drew her to her feet easily. For a tall woman she weighed next to nothing. When he tugged on her hand her slender body came barreling into his.

They stood there, chest to chest. Brody’s nose rested close to that jaunty ponytail and the scent of apples and cinnamon teased his nostrils. He heard Drew’s words—it must be Lana—as though from far away, and he had to question if he’d misunderstood. Lana Green had worked at the Grill for three years. Brody would have noticed if she’d had such ogle-worthy legs.

But those eyes…

Wanting to see them again, Brody pulled back a little. He looked into an oval-shaped face with wide, lightly glossed lips and a nose that was perhaps a little too long to be classically pretty. His mind’s eye took away the subtle flattery of makeup and added a pair of wire-framed glasses. “Lana?”

She opened her mouth as if to say something. All that came out was a soft puff of breath that tickled through the hair on his chin, reminding him of the beard he’d grown purely out of neglect. Maybe she still hadn’t recognized him. Wearing the ratty clothes he’d sailed his yacht, the Sunset, back to Graceville in, he probably looked like a homeless guy who’d broken in to rob the till.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He would never have crept up on her if he’d known she was locking up alone. “It’s Brody.”

“I know who you are.” Lana gave him an incredulous look. “Didn’t you know who I was?”

Well, now she’d made him feel like a real dope about it. “You look different.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to tell her she looks nice, Nash.” Brody frowned at Drew’s remonstrance. How had he forgotten he was still holding the mobile phone to his ear? “Try and keep the staff happy. You’ll have to be a little more personable when you take over.”

“Yeah, yeah.” More personable his butt. He’d have to get a full-blown personality transplant if he wanted to keep everyone as happy as Drew seemed to do with minimal effort. Brody had agreed to fill in as the Grill’s manager while Drew was on his honeymoon, but he hoped his friend didn’t expect flawless results. The food was his thing—people were not.

Belatedly, Brody became aware he was still resting a hand against the soft indent of Lana’s waist. Probably why there was a hint of uneasiness in her eyes. Releasing her, he took a step back. He must have moved too abruptly because the sudden loss of his support seemed to unbalance her. She stumbled backward, her feet coming in contact with the fallen broom handle again. For the second time in as many minutes, she tripped and landed on the floor with a resounding thump.

“Ooouch!”

“Jesus, what are you doing to that girl?”

Brody scowled, feeing as disorientated as Lana appeared. “Nothing,” he told Drew a little defensively. It wasn’t his fault Lana was a klutz. She always seemed to be tripping over something. “Listen, why don’t I come by in the morning? You can measure me up for a penguin suit.”

“Alright, see you then. Hey, can I talk to Lana for a sec?”

“Hang on.” She was still sitting on the floor, resting her head on her bent knees. Brody crouched beside her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded without lifting her head. Brody wondered if she was in serious pain and if she might be about to cry. Anxiety sliced through him. He hated it when women cried. Made him feel helpless and ineffectual every time. “You sure?”

At last she raised her gaze to his, her expression more embarrassed than distressed. “Nothing that an ice pack to the butt wouldn’t fix.”

Brody’s lips twitched. He barely managed to refrain from offering to help her with that as he handed the phone over. “Drew wants to talk to you.”

Taking the device, she pressed it to her ear. “Hey, Drew.”

A smile curved her lips as she started giving Drew a rundown of how the end of the night had gone. The wariness that had been in her expression when she’d faced Brody cleared as she spoke to Drew, shared a laugh with him. The obvious change in her demeanor irritated Brody for some reason.

Lana tried to push herself to her feet. Brody noticed she gave a little wince when she rested her weight on her ankle and instinct came out of nowhere. He slipped an arm beneath her bent knees, another around her shoulders and stood, hoisting her against him.

She let out a gasp and grew utterly still in his arms, every muscle in her body tense as he carried her into the kitchen. That hint of spicy apple hit him again, made him think of hot pie fresh from the oven and the girl next door a troublemaker like him would never be allowed to touch.

Not that he wanted to touch her. He carried her out of pure necessity.

He set her carefully on the stainless-steel counter, aware of what she’d said about her butt needing an ice pack. For the purposes of first aid—definitely not because the idea of touching her appealed in any way—Brody lifted her foot and examined it. He pressed his fingers into the flesh around the point of her ankle, trying to figure out if there was any swelling.

There didn’t appear to be. The only swelling in the room seemed to be in the region of his jockey shorts.

Lana’s eyes shot to his and Brody abruptly dropped her foot. Could she tell he was getting aroused from doing nothing more than touching her leg? Christ. Six months was obviously too long to go without.

“He’s still here,” Lana said to Drew. Then her brow furrowed, deep lines creasing the smooth skin. “That’s not necessary, but if you insist, I’ll tell him.”

At last she clicked the disconnect button and handed back the phone. The second she faced him her expression seemed guarded, as though her defenses were once again engaged. It dawned on Brody what had been nagging him. She treated him differently than everyone else—always had. While she laughed and joked with Drew and the other guys who worked here, she’d never appeared that at ease in his presence. It was almost as if she was afraid of him. At the very least it seemed she disliked him.

So what? Brody asked himself. A lot of people didn’t like him and he’d never wasted a minute thinking about it before.

Turning away, he stalked to the cool room. Inside he found some ice and bagged it, allowing the frigid air to quell his burgeoning erection. His annoyance over Lana’s attitude mystified him. She was a nice girl, and he wasn’t a very nice guy. It shouldn’t have irked that she didn’t like him. He could just imagine her reaction if he got her in bed and started doing some of the stuff he liked to do…

He wasn’t going to get her into bed. It was bizarre that he would even have the thought.

Brody carried the makeshift cold pack out to where she sat. “What are you supposed to tell me?” His question came out sounding brusque. Was it any wonder she was wary of him?

“I’m in strife.” She watched, her eyes doing that anxious thing again, as he lifted her foot and pressed the bag to her ankle. “I’m not supposed to lock up on my own but Mick wanted to catch a soccer match at O’Ryan’s Pub and I told him to go ahead. Drew said you should stay until I finish, but you don’t have to. You don’t have to do that either.” She gestured to where he was holding her foot. “I said I was fine.”

“Preventative medicine.” Brody supposed she was hinting that she didn’t want him to stay. Apparently she’d feel safer taking her chances against potential vandals and thieves than with him. “And I’ll stay. Drew’s right, Mick shouldn’t have taken off.” Mick Jensen was a pretty good chef and a likeable enough guy but he did have a tendency toward forgetfulness and other lackadaisical behavior.

Her shoulders squared. “I told him I could handle things. Graceville’s not exactly crime-spree city.”

“The night’s takings are in the safe, aren’t they? A woman alone is asking for trouble.”

She issued a delicate snort and muttered, sounding almost annoyed about it, “I’ve never asked for trouble in my life.”

Brody caught her gaze and smiled. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Be personable, Drew had said. Try not to scare the crap out of this poor girl. Maybe, with a bit of effort, he could even make her like him a little. Just to grease the wheels at work, he told himself, as she was Drew’s most experienced waitress. Not because he suddenly couldn’t recall why celibacy had seemed like a realistic option for the past six months.

He wasn’t going to break his drought with Lana Green, anyway. Playing where he worked was not something he did routinely. Or ever, if you didn’t count Sidney and that whole fiasco.

Lana wriggled her toes, highlighting their proximity to his groin, and he had to stifle a groan. No way. Brody tamped down the surprising surge of desire with effort. Even he wasn’t that stupid.