Swept Away (8 page)

She narrowed her gaze on him, trying to puzzle her way through what he’d just said. He couldn’t be. Could he? She set down her fork, sat up straighter, and looked him in the eye.
“Let’s see a badge.”

“Let’s see a tiny bikini.”
She smirked. “I’m serious.”

He continued looking just as smug as usual. “No badge when you’re working undercover, kitten. No ID at all, except a fake one—and I had to leave that on the yacht anyway. So you
don’t have much choice but to take my word for it, do you?”

“I can go right on not believing you,” she argued.

“If it floats your boat, sure. You’re the one who wanted answers, so I gave ’em to you.”

“First of all, I no longer have a boat to float, thanks to you. And second, I need more.” She
propped her elbows on the table with a plunk. “If you want to convince me, tell me how the hell you got here.”

He cut into his steak and took a big bite, then a sip of the wine she was suddenly glad she’d brought—because she thought she was going to need it. “Okay, here’s the short version, which is all I can give you, and even that’s too much. The guys on the boat are smugglers.”

“What do they smuggle?”

“None of your business. I was trying to get to their superior when my cover was blown. They took my gun and tied me up.”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Boy, sounds like you’re a really top-notch FBI agent.”

To her surprise, he laughed, just softly. “I was having an off-day. Anyway, I managed to get
loose, slip off the yacht, and swim for the island. I didn’t think they saw me, but I guess they
did, and that’s why they showed up here looking for me.”

God, it sounded insane, but he spoke about it so easily that she was starting to think he was for
real. “And you pretended to be shot because...?”

“Because if they didn’t think I was dead, they’d come after me. And then you’d be in danger,
too.” His gaze settled warm on hers. “And I couldn’t have that.”

Her stomach fluttered, but she tried not to feel it. “Why not?”

His eyes glittered beneath the soft light emitted from the security lamp mounted outside the
bungalow, and for a long moment she thought he was going to say something gentle, or
endearing, until finally a slow, calm expression took over his handsome face. “It’s my job to
protect civilians.”

Oh. Well. That’s all she was to him. A civilian. Fine. Who cared, anyway? She was getting
married in a week.

He pushed another bite of steak into his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “So, do you believe me
now?”

She kind of did, but it was hard to reconcile the Brock she’d once known with the guy who sat
across from her. The guy who suddenly called other people civilians. “Why would you want to
be an FBI agent?”

“Because I didn’t want to waste my life. And that’s exactly what I’d been doing until I applied at the Bureau.”

To her surprise, he sounded honest. Frank. Real. Maybe like the guy she’d once hoped he
could be. “Okay then,” she said, even if it came out a bit hesitant, “I guess I believe you.” She
sat up a bit straighter and remembered how miffed she remained about various things that had
happened over the last few hours. “It shocks the hell out of me to think of you in law
enforcement of any kind, and this doesn’t mean I trust you—but I believe you.”

“Good,” he said shortly. “Now, you know what I’m doing here—what are you doing here?”

As if she owed him an explanation. Besides, the answer was a little too complicated and none
of his business. “Vacationing, sort of.” She looked down, cleared her throat, shoveled some
baked potato into her mouth.

“By yourself? Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

She let out a sigh, realizing that as much as she didn’t want to, it would probably just be easier
to explain the situation. After all, unless a miracle occurred, they had five agonizing days ahead
of them, and she doubted she could withhold it that long, never having been an especially
skilled liar or a particularly quiet person.

“I’m getting married,” she said, lifting her gaze to look for a reaction but then dropping it just
as quickly because she didn’t want him to think she cared if he cared. “And my bachelorette
party is in Las Vegas—right now, in fact. Only I’m not at it, because I’m here.” Which didn’t
make much sense, judging from the look he gave her. So she pressed on. “Because marriage is
a big step, and I just decided that I’d rather—you know—unwind, relax. By myself. Planning a
wedding is a lot of work. Very stressful. And going from single girl to wife is a big transition. So I decided that some time alone would be the exact thing I needed right now. You know?”
God, of course he didn’t know—why was she babbling so incoherently? Slowly, she found
the courage to raise her gaze from her plate to the man across from her. “Any questions?”

She couldn’t read his expression—his face was a blank slate. Okay, a gorgeous blank slate.
“Who are you marrying?”

“Ian Zeller. Do you remember him?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”

“I’m not sure if you knew my dad’s best friend back then—Walt Zeller? He’s also my dad’s
lawyer.”

The light of recognition shone in Brock’ s eyes. “Oh. Yeah, now that you mention it, I did meet
old Walt once. So, let me guess—this Ian guy is Walt’s son.”

“Right. He is.” She nodded. Twice. “So you see how well this all works out. My family. His
family. It’s really perfect. For everyone.” Shut up. You sound like you’re trying too hard to
convince him.

He squinted at her doubtfully, lowering his chin, then spoke slowly. “So let me get this straight
—you blew off your own bachelorette party to come sit here on an island by yourself?”

She nodded. “Yes, and don’t act like it’s weird.”

“It is weird.” She flashed a nasty look, to which he replied, “Sorry, but it is.” He took another
sip of wine. “When’s the wedding?”

“Saturday.”

His eyes flew open a little wider, and she liked having finally caught him off guard. “Next
Saturday? As in seven days from now?”

She nodded. Only once this time, thank goodness.

His gaze narrowed on her slightly. “So, kitten, why are you marrying this guy?”

Why? What the hell kind of question was that? Maybe the kind someone asks when you’ve
just sounded like you’re working too hard to persuade them everything’s wonderful. But it was
wonderful. “Well,” she said pointedly, “only for a million reasons. I mean, our families are
close, I’ve known him my whole life. And he’s a great guy—everyone thinks so. He’d do
anything for me, and he’s wild about me, of course—and not just the country club me, but even
the sick me or the drunk me, so I know he really loves me for me. And he’s an attorney, too—
did I mention that? And he’s great with money—he has a lot of lucrative investments. So”
She feared she’d been babbling again—very recklessly. “So that’s why.”

Across from her, Brock gave his handsome head a slight tilt. “You leave anything out?”
What was he getting at? “Not that I can think of. Why?”

“You love the guy?”

She rolled her eyes as her stomach pitched slightly. Somewhere nearby, palm fronds rustled in
the evening breeze, and she really did feel chilled now. “Of course I love him. That goes
without saying. Which is why I didn’t bother saying it.”

He lifted an elbow to the table and propped his chin on one fist. “I’m not buying, kitten.”

His words settled like a knot in her stomach, and she tried her best to cast a death glare. This is
your own fault, for trying too hard to make it all sound so fabulous. But she decided to take it
out on him, just the same. “As if I care what you think. I would hardly consider you an expert
on love anyway.”

He tilted his head to the other side, looking slightly mysterious. “Why not? For all you know, I
left Naples, fell in love, and settled down. For all you know, I have a houseful of kids and a
little missus waiting for me somewhere.”

All the blood drained from her face, leaving her light-headed. “Did you? Do you?” He grinned, sexy as ever. “No.”

Thank you, God.

“But I know one thing about love.”

“What’s that?”

The grin faded. “That you damn well oughta be in it before you marry somebody.”

Damn it, she was getting tired of defending herself. It was bad enough with Nina, but Brock
didn’t even know her anymore—if he ever had. She spoke slowly, firmly. “I told you, I love my fianc.”

“Cutting it awfully close, aren’t you?”

She narrowed her gaze. “Cutting what awfully close?”

“Staying here ’til Thursday, then getting married on Saturday? Seems like you’d want to be
doing all that bride stuff girls do—getting ready for your big day, trying on your dress twenty
times—rather than camping out on an island in the middle of nowhere.”

Her stomach fluttered with the fear that his observation might hold a hint of truth. But she said, “There’ll still be plenty of time for bride stuff when I get back. And given the change of
circumstances out here, I’d go back right now if I could.”

“So you think someone will come looking for you on Thursday, huh?”

She nodded. “When my parents figure out I’m not home when expected, they’ll call Nina, and
she’ll be forced to come clean and tell them where I am.” She drew in a deep breath, still feeling
the desperate need to convince him everything was fine between her and Ian. “Then I can get
back to the man I love.”

He stayed silent for a minute, never taking his eyes off her. In fact, they somehow felt even more on her—as if he were peering into her soul and knew every thought and feeling he
aroused in her. “Well, if you do love the guy, kitten,” he finally said, “that’s a real shame.”

She blinked. “Oh?”

“Otherwise, we could take care of some unfinished business.”

She swallowed nervously, unable to tear her gaze away. “Unfinished business?”

His eyes took on a wicked glimmer that melted all through her. “You remember. Me, you, a hot
night, and the sexiest panties I’d ever seen. We’ve got five nights here—and, the way I see it, a
lot of lost time to make up for.”

Chapter Three

Kat worked hard not to let her eyes go wide as she tried to absorb his words. Although her
breasts and the juncture of her thighs seemed to be absorbing them just fine, going
maddeningly hot and tingly without a moment’s delay. It was her heart and head that were
having a more difficult time believing he’d just tossed out a major sexual proposition like it was
typical dinner conversation.

“After all,” Brock went on, speaking in that slow, sure, and all-too-hot way of his, “the last
time I saw you, you wanted to give me your virginity.”