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Chapter One

"Jump!"

"Go ahead, jump!" chorused the contingent of college students leaning over the railing on the upper deck.

Did they think she was crazy? Johanna looked down at the widening gap between the ferry bow and the dock.

"Jump! I'll catch you," yelled a confident male voice.

It was jump or miss the ferry. "Oh, my God!" she yelped, and jumped. Strong arms closed around her and she looked up into the face of the man she thought she'd put in jail. "You!" She planted both hands on his hard chest and pushed.

He hung on his smoke-gray eyes filled with laughter. "Yep. Me. Call it kismet. Call it fate. Call it the hand of God."

Johanna snorted. "Hardly the hand of God. Coincidence maybe."

The ferry shuddered under her feet, its propellers digging into the gray-green waters of Elliott Bay to churning up a pungent mix of mud, saltwater and seaweed. With a deep-throated whistle, the elderly car ferry announced its scheduled departure.

"Don't do something like that again," a deckhand growled.

"She ended up in good hands," her rescuer said.

She wasn't so sure about that. For all that she had both palms pressed firmly against his chest, he held her in a full body press and gave no indication he intended to let go. For an instant, she allowed the tantalizing press of thigh to thigh, belly to belly and chest to chest. He was devilishly good looking and had a killer smile and, she sternly reminded herself, she'd left him shoveling forkfuls of stolen breakfast into his mouth while she hurried off to notify the maitre d'.

She'd just wound up a week's worth of negotiations with Harper Manufacturing, and stood at the bay window overlooking the street, indulging in a final cup of coffee and a few minutes of peace and quiet before heading for the office. Partially concealed by the drapery, she'd not been visible from the door when he poked his head in, sniffing the air like a bird dog.

He grinned and headed straight for the steam table where, with the aplomb of an invited guest, he loaded a plate with the remains of the catered breakfast and carried it to the nearest table, two pieces of ham balanced on top of a mound of scrambled eggs and home fries. Returning to the buffet, he got several muffins, a pot of jam and a glass of juice. Carrying his stolen treasures, he went back to the table and sat down. She almost laughed out loud when he shook out a white linen napkin and spread it neatly over his worn denim jeans.

His brazenness astonished her. Surely he knew that a restaurant employee could walk in at any moment, sound the alarm and have him carted off to jail. For reasons she hadn't fully examined, she waited until he'd consumed well over half the food in front of him before she stepped out of the alcove. He paused, loaded fork halfway to his mouth, looking more amused than alarmed.

"You going to scream?" he asked, his words muffled by the food he'd taken the time to shovel into his mouth.

"I should."

"Absolutely." He bit down on a large wedge of ham. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. Hard on the ears."

She had no idea why she wasn't screaming. Maybe the boyish humor gleaming in his gray eyes and his so obvious enjoyment of the food she knew would end up in the garbage if he wasn't stealing it, silenced her.

"Thanks." He buttered a muffin. "Actually, they know I'm up here."

"Oh, really?" The boldness of his lie amused her. "Do you routinely get permission to clean up banquet tables?"

"Now and then." He bit down on the muffin, his expression sublime. "Heavenly. Best baker in the city." He gestured at her suit and heels with the remnant of muffin in his hand. "You on your way to work?"

"No, I'm at work. Have been for over two hours. You ought to try it."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Working," she clarified.

"Oh, that." He dismissed work with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, that. If you were working you wouldn't have to steal breakfasts. You could buy them."

He stuffed half a muffin into his mouth. "I've got a job. Kind of."

"I can tell." Her glance took in his wash-faded sweatshirt and threadbare jeans.

"Clothes do not make the man. Could be you work too hard and dress too fancy. Ever think of that?"

"I dress for the occasion."

He waved a long-fingered hand in her direction. "That what they call a power suit?" Another wedge of ham went into his mouth.

"Not exactly." This morning she had selected a pale gray linen sheath with a tuxedo jacket trimmed in dark rose embroidery.

"I hope you didn't want something to eat," he said, looking concerned. "I've kind of cleaned things up."

"You certainly did." Nothing remained but a few crumbs. "Fortunately, I ate earlier." And last night and the day before, and every evening this week as she escorted Harper's representatives in and out of some of Seattle's finest restaurants. She'd eaten and over eaten and intended to spend the weekend nibbling on salad greens and sipping herbal tea. While this man ate what? Probably nothing.

She'd first thought him one of the homeless street people who occasionally sneaked in through a side door hoping to find just the sort of repast this fellow had found. But he didn't have the look of a street person. His gaze was too direct and his posture too erect. He lacked the hunched shoulders and furtive manner so typical of the homeless, most of whom found just being alive a heavy burden. He had the confident air of someone in full control of his destiny. Interesting demeanor for a man stealing food from a four star restaurant.

"Do you eat here often?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do."

She laughed out loud. "You are such a liar."

None of the downtown restaurant owners tolerated the street people. They too vividly reminded paying diners of the disparity between those who had and those who didn't, and few of them had access to soap and water and the musty stench of poverty clung to them like a second skin. Although this man didn’t smell as much like a long-term disassociation with bathing as he did of sweat and fish, he still wasn't anyone she wanted sitting across the dinner table from her.

She gathered up her coat and briefcase. "Have a nice day."

"You too," he said, waving his fork in salute.

She stopped on her way out of the building and told the maître d' he had an unwelcome guest in Banquet Room C. The maître d' would take care of the intruder, or so she thought, and she continued on her way. She retrieved her car from the car park and headed for the office, the uninvited guest in Banquet Room C already forgotten.

"You ought to be in jail."

His eyes crinkled with laughter. "I told you they wouldn't bother arresting me. Too much paperwork." He cocked an eyebrow. "But I didn't think you'd actually rat me out to management."

"How could I not? If you'd made off with the silverware, I'd have been responsible." She pushed back and this time he let her go.

"I wasn't going to steal the silverware. Like I told you, I had permission."

"Right." She made no attempt to disguise her skepticism. Settling her backpack more comfortably on her shoulder, she headed toward the bow of the ferry at a brisk pace, hoping he'd take the hint and stay behind. He fell right into step beside her. So much for that grand idea.

The old wooden ferry creaked and moaned under their feet as its huge diesel engines thrust it through the water. She loved the pre World War II ferries. They were to the Puget Sound what street cars were to San Francisco: tradition and history.

Johanna quickened her steps.

He stayed right with her. "I can run too."

He looked so pleased with himself she couldn't help laughing even though her sensible self told her to stand her ground and dismiss him. But the part of her that had brought her on this impulsive flight from the city refused to listen. Tall and entirely too good looking in spite of his untrimmed hair, several days growth of beard and shabby clothes, he'd captured her attention the moment he'd sidled into the conference room this morning.

"So, where are you going?" she asked when they reached the bow.

He rested his elbows on the paint-layered railing. "Friday Harbor. I have friends there. And you?"

"Friday Harbor," the words out of her mouth before she could stop them. Damn. It was none of his business where she was going.

"Well, isn't that nice?" He grinned at her.

No, as a matter of fact, it wasn't. Where were her brains? She shouldn't even be standing here talking to him. She should dismiss him with a cutting remark and walk away. He was a complete stranger, someone she knew nothing about. He could be a rapist or demented drug addict or even one of the mentally ill who made up a good half of every city's homeless population.

"I'm Luke." He offered her his hand.

She hesitated a moment before putting her hand in his. His long warm fingers wrapped around hers, a scuff of callous abrading her palm. "Johanna."

"What takes you to Friday Harbor?"

"A really lousy day," she replied, a little surprised by her own frankness. She rarely discussed her employment with anyone. The risk was too great that her words might find their way back to executive ears, and her position would be even more tenuous than it already was. Not a likely circumstance with this man, however. The chances of him knowing anyone she knew were, as the saying went, zero to none.

"I'd be willing to bet the lousy part started with the weasel I saw hot footing it down the hall a few minutes before your guests departed."

She nodded. "Evan Barstow, corporate attorney, on his way back to the office to wave the contract I negotiated under the CEO's nose while conveniently forgetting to mention that he'd had precious little to do with it."

"Ouch. That had to hurt."

She shrugged. "Yes and no. Everyone in the company knows he does it so it's not like everyone doesn't realize that the rest of us are mainly responsible."

"But..." he prompted.

"I'm not sure the CEO, Wendell Hasson, knows. He and Barstow are old college buddies."

"Of?"

"The Larkspur Corporation. We have high end home decorating shops in the better malls up and down the West Coast."

"Snotty eh?"

"Expensive."

"Ah. Not somewhere I'm likely to go. So, somebody stole your glory. Surely that wasn't enough to ruin your whole day?"

"No, it wasn't," she replied, shivering as the wind bit through her lightweight jacket. She'd forgotten how cool the wind on the water could be even on the warmest of sunny days. "Actually, a couple of things got added to the mix."

"The first one being...?"

"My weekly cruise through the clerical staff bullpen."

She'd stepped off the elevator and headed for the rabbit warren of cubicles, bestowing smiles, making small talk, noting new photos and commenting on fresh flowers, handing out the personal attention that was supposed to make employees feel valued.

"Generally people can mutter and mumble and nobody hears them," she said. "But today this particular clerk spoke in a moment of silence that made it impossible for me to ignore her."

"And she said?"

"Not said. Sneered. Largess for the serfs." Johanna sighed. "She made my tour sound totally self serving."

"Wasn't it?"

"Well, yes, but..." She stopped and eyed him. Rather an intuitive comment for a thief to make.

"It seems reasonable that you'd say something to her."

"A man can, but it's harder for a woman." Johanna turned her back to the railing and rested her elbows on it. "Particularly difficult for me."

"Why is that?"

"I'm beautiful, intelligent and ambitious." She spoke without conceit, her physical appearance not anything she could take credit for. She'd inherited her looks and her brains from her parents, whoever they might have been.

"You're definitely beautiful," he agreed.

"Beauty is like a glossy book cover. It gets me looked at. But once the cover is opened I have to prove that I'm at least as capable as everyone else, if not better."

"Why better?"

"Because few people expect to find beauty and brains in the same package. Beauty and ambition are definitely suspect. If you're beautiful and struggling to succeed instead of sitting back fluttering your lashes you must be a real bitch. People don't stop to consider that beauty isn't something a person creates. It's an accident of nature."

"A lovely accident in your case."

"Thank you."

He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "So, stuck with not being able to pretend you didn't hear this girl, what did you do?"

Johanna smiled. "I did what every self-respecting executive does. I handed the problem to my second-in-command and ran like hell."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Excellent."

"I learned early in my career to hide my true feelings behind a smile. Anything else is instant career death. Men can stand nose to nose in hallways, bellowing at each other like rampaging bulls and people just shake their heads and talk about how boys will be boys. A woman who raises her voice in anger is an unstable hysteric caught in the throes of PMS."

"And how has your system worked?"

"Rather well actually." She felt a measure of satisfaction. "At thirty-four, I'm the youngest executive Larkspur has and one of only two female executives. Well, I was one of two. Now I'm one of one."

She'd not been surprised when Mr. Hasson announced that Doris had been asked to leave the company. Leave being a polite way of saying fired. After all, extra marital affairs were frowned on although they seldom received any attention if the parties involved were discreet. Tony's wife roaming the corporate hallways waving a gun and threatening to shoot her philandering husband threw discreet right out the window.

What had shocked Johanna was Hasson going on to say that Tony had been referred to a psychologist for counseling.

"As you all know," Mr. Hasson had added, well pleased with himself, "the recent changes in our insurance coverage means that Anthony won't have any out-of-pocket expenses."

Johanna still couldn't believe what she'd done next. "I popped up like the proverbial jack-in-the-box and stated how unfair that was."

"Ouch."

"I'll say ouch. You could have heard a pin drop. Mr. H took off his half-lens glasses and polished them on his napkin, cleared his throat, and looked at me as if I was something odious that had just crawled out from under the rug."

"And he said?"

"That all the appropriate executives had been consulted and this was a group decision."

"In other words, he wasn't taking personal responsibility for it."

"For sure. Which is a laugh. I'm sure he sat at the head of the table, laid out the terms, and everybody nodded and sang Hail to the Chief."

"I detect a note of bitterness."

"Oh, yeah," Johanna admitted. "Up until then I had thought I'd been promoted because I deserved it. What I really am is Mr. H's token female executive who is definitely not a member of the male inner circle of VIPs."

"What's Hasson like?"

"Sixty, handsome, full head of silver hair and a courtly but commanding manner. He's an intelligent and capable businessman and has kept Larkspur on a successful path. Domestic and foreign sales are up, the demand for products high, and profits significant." For these things Johanna truly admired the man. "Unfortunately, in addition to being a savvy businessman, he's a dictatorial, militantly moral, raging chauvinist."

"Oh, boy."

"For sure. On the way out, Morris, the CFO, chief financial officer, whispers in my ear that Hasson is a chauvinist pig, everyone knows it, and I shouldn't take what happened personally."

"Be kind of hard not to."

"That's what I thought. Besides which, they're dead wrong. Tony was as much at fault as Doris. Even more so, in my opinion. If he'd kept his fly zipped, none of this would have happened. Morris didn't appreciate my point of view. He claimed Doris was well over the age of innocence, and who's to say Tony wasn't really in love with her?"

"But you don't think so?"

"Anything's possible I suppose, but I find it hard to believe love had anything to do with Tony's pursuit of Doris. He's been chasing skirts up and down the halls for years. Hasson has to know the man does half his thinking with the head between his legs." She gave a short humorless laugh. "That set Morris's ear on edge. He said I sounded more like a dockhand than a woman of education and refinement."

"A situation like that brings out the dockhand in a person," Luke said.

"Afraid so," she admitted. "As the saying goes, you can take the kid out of the south side but you can't take the south side out of the kid."

"I'd say you've come a long ways from the south side."

"Thank you. I like to think so."

"Was that the end of your badness for the day?"

She grimaced. "Almost, but not quite. I still had my department's annual luncheon to go to."

"Ah, yes." He gave a mocking bow. "Peanuts for the paupers. Did you descend gracefully, my dear?"

"I got so thoroughly snubbed there was no descending. I was standing at rock bottom." She rubbed her hands up and down her forearms trying to ward off the growing chill in the wind. "I've always considered myself on good terms with my staff. Open but not cozy friendly. In charge without being an ogre. Boy was I wrong.

"I left the office a few minutes late so everyone else was already seated. I could hear the buzz of conversation and laughter clear down the hall. The moment I set foot in that room there was dead silence. They tried to recover with a spirited discussion of the décor which hasn't changed appreciably in over a decade. A lively commentary regarding the table decorations, which are just as old and twice as dull, followed. The waiter's appearance instigated a debate as to whether broiled chicken breasts excelled over roast beef, closely followed by a comparison of the nutritional values of string beans and green peas. These people weren't comfortable. They were squirming in their seats, searching for safe topics of conversation, and, at the rate they were going, would return to their desks with indigestion. I left."

He didn't need to know that she'd sat in a tea room tucked into a corner of the Pike Street Market, drinking tea and swallowing tears for the next half hour. Normally, the market, with its press of people and tables heaped with fresh cut flowers and haphazard displays of fruits, vegetables and seafood, was a pleasant distraction. Today she'd stood in the midst of the people and the noise wallowing in a pit of self-pity.

"So," she said with a wave of her hand, "here I am, seeking a cure for executive burnout."

"I'm glad."

The sincerity in his voice and the way his eyes roamed over her brought her up short. How could she have poured out every detail of her whole miserable day to a total stranger? Easy, the voice in the back of her head said. He was willing to listen.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked. He hesitated. "My treat. Really, it's okay. I don't mind. And we could eat. Aren't you hungry? I'm starved." Surprisingly, she actually was. "I haven’t had any supper, and I bet you haven't eaten since breakfast and that was hours ago." She dug out her credit card and held it up. "Until the bank says no, we live high."

She led the way inside.

Chapter Two

The hamburgers came wrapped in grease soaked wax paper and the fries came stuffed into paper cups. They found an empty table and sat down opposite each other. Johanna bit into her hamburger. It tasted better than her last five star restaurant meal.

Luke took a large bite that left a piece of onion sticking out of the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Johanna reached across the table and tucked it between his lips. His lips closed around the tip of her finger. She pulled her hand back, but not soon enough to still the sensual awareness that shimmied through her. It hung in the air between them, echoed in his silver-gray eyes.

"I'm a sloppy eater," he murmured.

"It was just a little piece of onion."

"I know."

She braced for him to continue with the mundane comments that had, somehow, taken on a whole other meaning, but, to her surprise, he changed the subject.

"Is this your first trip to the islands?" he asked.

If the man had seduction in mind, he'd just missed a golden opportunity.

"No," she answered. "I first came here as a student on a field trip. I've been back several times since then." But not recently. Recently she'd been so single mindedly pursuing her career goals that there had been no time for self indulgent trips. No time to return to the small community that had seemed to welcome her the moment she set foot on its streets.

Raised in the King County foster care system, she'd never felt truly at home anywhere. She'd never stayed long enough in any one spot to put down roots. Not that she would have. Like those who took her in, she'd learned that stays were temporary, moves frequent and often for no apparent reason. As a consequence, she didn't become too attached, and the people she stayed with didn't either.

"Why Friday Harbor?"

"I just like it." She dipped a fry in catsup and popped it into her mouth.

He kept looking at her lips as she chewed. Who would have thought a mere look could be erotic? She pulled her wandering mind up short. This was total insanity, but, then again, what harm could there be in a little flirting? When they got to Friday Harbor he would go his way, she would go hers, and that would be the end of it.

"I've got a good job promised me come the first of the month," he said leaping into a new subject.

"Hang onto it. Winters in Seattle can be pretty cold if you don't have a roof over your head."

"I'm sure going to try. I've got to get settled somewhere soon. Find a job where I can make something of myself." He spoke with earnest enthusiasm. "I'm going to be successful, you know. Get a really nice house and buy a good car."

He obviously had no idea that his opportunities had already come and gone. That he was starting much too late in life to acquire anything of consequence. She considered telling him, and then decided not to. Why dash his enthusiasm with cold reality?

He chattered away, telling her about all the things he planned to do, and all the things he would buy: good clothes, fine furniture, maybe a motorcycle.

"Always wanted a big black Harley."

"A decent used car would be a better investment."

"Too stogy." He went on to describe the motorcycle he wanted in great detail.

She sat back, paying less attention to his words than to the cadence of his deep voice and the eloquent gestures he made with his long-fingered hands. How did a man with his looks and obvious education, judging from his speech, get reduced to stealing food? Drugs? Alcohol? Either valid reasons for not becoming too friendly with him, reasons she found herself ignoring. For the moment, at least.

He veered from the subject of motorcycles to lottery tickets. No surprise that he bought them, confident that it was just a matter of time before he won the grand prize. Sadly, life didn't work out that way, but she left his dreams untouched.

They cleared away their crumpled napkins and empty cups.

"Shall we go back outside?" he asked.

"Sure."

The sun was down and the wind's chilling edge cut through her jacket. She wrapped her arms around her waist for warmth. He pulled her up against his chest. She resisted for an instant, and then relaxed into the heat radiating from his body. Tonight he smelled of soap and maleness. She inhaled a deep breath.

"Look," he said, pointing. "A full moon." Sheer ribbons of cloud streamed across the moon's full face. "My grandmother called clouds like that the spider webs of Heaven."

"What a lovely description."

"She was a lovely lady. I miss her."

She'd not had a family to miss.

He rested his chin lightly against her cheek, his beard scuffing her skin. "Look." A pod of Orca swam off the bow, arching through the water, misty air rising from their blowholes. "You rarely see them in this part of the Strait. Probably a gang of bachelor males off on a hunting trip." His warm breath puffed across her face.

"Beautiful, but deadly," she said unsure whether she meant the Orca or the man.

"Have you been to the museum in Friday Harbor?"

"Several times. What about you?"

"I’m a regular. Always seems to be something new to see."

"It must help to have friends here."

"Friends are always handy."

"I wouldn't know." The words were out of her mouth before she could call them back.

"No friends?"

"Tons of acquaintances, but no friends. I don't have the time."

The budding friendships of her childhood had been destroyed so often that she'd stopped trying.

"That's too bad. Friends are important."

"For some people. Not everybody."

He looked skeptical, but dropped the subject. "Where do you stay when you come over?"

"At one of the bed-and-breakfasts," she replied. "Usually the Owl’s Nest."

"That's a student hangout."

"I was a student. I haven't been here since graduating."

"Then you have definitely stayed away too long."

"Yes," she agreed.

They lapsed into silence, she pressed against his chest with nothing between them but thin layers of clothing. The pitch and toss of the ferry shifted them against each other and all the darting nicks of awareness she'd felt solidified into desire. Her heart beat faster, her breathing grew shorter, and her skin tingled. The ferry lurched, sandwiching her between him and the railing, thrusting her bottom against his erection.

Sanity came in a rush. What on earth was she doing? He was a total stranger and a thief. Freshly scrubbed since this morning she'd admit, but still a stranger and here she stood, giving him a hard on. And, worst of all, enjoying it.

What if he was some sort of sexual predator? What if he made this ferry ride regularly just to pick up stupid women? This wasn't living dangerously; this was living stupidly.

She pulled away. "I'm going inside." She headed for the door fully expecting him to try and stop her, but he didn't. He stood where she'd left him with an unreadable expression on his face. She turned back and he was the one who took a step backward.

"Are you coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

She led the way, intending to say goodbye when they got inside. Instead, she found herself steering him toward an empty banquette table by the windows. He sat down across from her, placing the width of the table between. It was almost as if he, more than she, needed distance. She fished a couple of crumpled dollar bills out of her backpack.

"I'm ready for some coffee. How about you?"

"Sounds good." He jumped up. "I'll go get it."

She handed him the money.

He stuffed it into his pocket. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Everything. Their coffee usually needs all the help it can get."

She watched him leave and wondered why she hadn't left him outside. What was it about him that held her? The easiest explanation would be lust. From first glance she'd found him appealing in spite of his shabbiness, which was unusual for her. She'd never been one to look across a crowded room and feel tremors of lust at the sight of a manly profile. Granted, she'd seen men she thought attractive, men she thought might be good in bed, but casual sex had never appealed to her, making her sexual encounters few and far between.

What sort of pheromones was this man exuding that he had her wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair? Across the width of his muscular chest? Potent and dangerous pheromones, that's what.

"So?" whispered the wicked demon skating around inside her brain.

Hadn't she raced out her front door on the wildest of impulses? Hadn't she decided to enjoy life to the fullest for an entire weekend without worrying about work or goals or a briefcase of reports that needed reading? Spontaneity. That was to be the key. Well, here was her chance. He was the perfect candidate. Someone so far removed from the people she worked with there couldn't possibly be any repercussions. No chance of an embarrassing encounter on the street six months from now. No misquotes passed on to her associates.

He'd showered, trimmed his beard and changed into clean, if worn, clothes. He was well spoken and very polite. And, she sternly reminded herself, he was a thief who stole breakfasts from upscale restaurants without a hint of remorse and lied with dismaying ease. He could be the worst sort of person, but watching him approach, carrying the two cups of coffee and smiling, it was hard to believe he was anything but charming and upright.

"Coffee with everything." He handed her one of the large Styrofoam cups, and dropped her change onto the table. "I'm a very honest lad."

"When you aren't stealing breakfasts?"

"I keep telling you, I had permission."

"And I'm the queen of England."

"And a lovely queen you are." He made a sweeping bow. "I am your humble servant. Your will is my command."

She laughed. "Sit down before somebody comes after you with a net."

Something in his face shifted. "You have no idea how likely that is."

Surely he joked. She laughed again, liking the feel of it in her mouth. This was exactly what she needed. Laughter. Frivolity.

He dropped onto the bench, picked up his coffee, took a sip, and shuddered. "Ugh. It could be used to wash car parts." He fished a handful of sugar packets from his pocket, added three, and handed her the rest. "Better," he said, after taking a sip. "Much better, but not as good as the coffee I had this morning." He looked at her over the rim of his cup. "I really did have permission to eat what was left of your breakfast. The food gets thrown away, you know. Leon just asks that I wait until the paying customers leave. That's where I goofed. I didn't see you standing there in the alcove."

"Leon?"

"Leon Strabinski. He owns the place."

"I know Mr. Strabinski owns the restaurant. I'm just surprised you're on a first name basis with him."

He gave her a searching look. "Just because a person has fallen on hard times doesn't mean they don't know people who own restaurants."

"You're quite right. I'm being judgmental. My apologies."

"Apology accepted."

His smile made her tingle.

He dug a finger-worn deck of cards held together with a rubber band from his back pocket. "How good are you at gin rummy?"

"Fair to middling."

He dealt the cards, and they occupied the rest of the trip playing gin rummy and making small talk. Luke's laughter came quick and easy. He didn't seem to take anything seriously.

"Our destination." He swept up the cards and returned them to his pocket. The ferry had slowed as it slipped into the v-shaped path created by clumps of pilings held together with rope the thickness of a man's arm. Below them, on the car deck, cars were starting, preparing to debark. They headed down and lined up to one side, staying out of the way of the departing cars.

The students led the way, pushing their bikes up the incline toward town, carrying backpacks, tightly rolled sleeping bags lashed to their bikes. Johanna and Luke trailed them, Luke holding her hand in his warm firm grip. His tall, bearded presence and engaging manner made his worn clothing unimportant. More than one pair of female eyes turned in his direction. Johanna felt uncommonly pleased that it was her hand he held.

He stopped and looked up at the night sky. "Get a load of those stars. It's going to be a beautiful night."

He turned toward her. "Hey, I've got an idea. It's not going to rain, it's not very cold, and the only decent place for any Friday Harbor pilgrim is the campground at the lake. You wait right here. I'll go get us a sleeping bag."

A sleeping bag? "No! Wait!" But she was too late. He was loping down the street, his long legs carrying him well beyond the reach of her voice before she gathered up her protest. "I don't think that's such a good idea," she concluded, talking to herself. In fact, it was a terrible idea.

Spending time with him on the ferry, or here on a public street was one thing, but sleeping with him at a campground was quite another. The man had scooped her up like a fallen sparrow and now planned to have her spend the night with him in a borrowed sleeping bag. Pure insanity. She turned and started down the street going in the opposite direction. There was a bed-and-breakfast just around the corner, one with good solid locks on the doors.

"You're leaving."

She turned back. He stood by the tree at the top of the ferry slip, sweaty and breathless; two tightly rolled sleeping bags under his arms.

"Yes," she said. "I’m leaving."

"Please don't," he pleaded.

Slowly, she walked back to him. He looked so wounded. "Luke, you're really sweet, and you've been grand fun, but this is insane. I don't know you. You don't know me. I can't just go hiking off into the woods with you. Why, anything could happen."

Laughter sparkled in his gray eyes. "I'm counting on it."

"For heavens sake, be serious," she scolded, but not very forcefully.

"You think I'm a rapist or something, don't you? Well, I'm not. Truly." He reached out and laid his hand on her arm. "I'm really a decent sort, just a little down on my luck. I've got the sleeping bags, and Benny said we could use his bikes if we bring them back Sunday. If you're on a bicycle you can pedal off and leave if I do something you don't like. Please come. Benny gave me money for the campground." He held out a handful of badly crushed dollar bills. "There's lots of people at the lake. I promise I won't get fresh." Then he grinned. "Unless you ask me to."

Say no, you idiot. Make it plain this is entirely out of the question. Her lips didn't move.

He took her silence for consent. "Great! Here, you watch the sleeping bags. I'll go get the bikes."

Had she lost her mind? Totally. But he did have a point. The campground would be well populated. The students would all be there seeing as the local residents took a dim view of them sleeping in their cow pastures. He'd have a hard time attacking her with so many people around. The large meadow bordering the lake would be littered with sleeping bags. If she screamed for help a dozen people would answer her call.

This was a perfectly harmless, friendly man. So what if they exchanged a couple of kisses in front of a campfire later on? She was quite capable of defending herself if he made unwanted advances. She'd taken classes in self-defense. And he had brought two sleeping bags. If he'd only brought one, she'd be running like a deer, but he'd brought two bags and two bikes. She'd be perfectly safe, and he had such an appealing grin. Why not? Wasn't this what she'd started out to do? Kick up her heels and be free and unfettered by responsibility? What could be more unfettered than a flirtation with a handsome stranger?

"Okay," she said pushing common sense into a back corner. "I guess it's all right."

"Terrific!" His grin was pure delight. "Here, hold these." He thrust the sleeping bags into her arms and went loping off again. "I'll get the bikes," he tossed over his shoulder.

In a few minutes he returned with two well-used mountain bikes of a popular and expensive brand.

"This is some friend you've got," she remarked as she mounted up.

"The best. We roomed together for a while. We've been best friends forever."

"You went to college?"

"Sure, why not?"

"What was your major?"

"Nothing really. I just took a bunch of stuff." He gave a negligent shrug of his shoulders. "Then I quit."

No surprise there. "What does your friend do?"

"Benny? He's a lawyer. You know any good lawyer jokes? He hates them, so I collect them."

"Sorry. I'm one of those people who slaughter jokes. If I remember the joke, I forget the punch line."

"Too bad. Well, come on. Let's get caught up." He took off down the street.

"With who?" She wobbled a bit. She hadn't ridden a bike since high school.

"We'll hook up with the kids. They usually make up a caravan. It'll be fun."

The students were just getting organized when they reached them, and after a bit more milling around got strung out single file along the edge of the blacktop road leading to the lake. It was dark, but most of the bikes had lights and reflective pedals. A few of the cyclists wore neon jackets or vests. She doubted people drove very fast on the winding blacktop road in any case.

Johanna quickly discovered that thirty minutes, three times a week on an exer-cycle was not sufficient preparation for grinding away on the pedals of a mountain bike, in the company of a bunch of physically fit college students. Wasting breath talking was out of the question. She needed all she had for pedaling. In spite of the coolness of the night, she was soon sweating. Luke pumped along with muscular legs and showed no signs of strain. She hated him.

"You doing okay?" he asked when they reached the top of a long, gradual incline that had reduced her lungs to burning inadequacy.

"I'm doing just fine, thank you," she lied.

"Just holler if you need a push."

"Drop dead, you cretin." She mopped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She'd crawl before she'd let him push her.

He laughed and pedaled off.

Grim determination carried her to the top of the next hill. She groaned aloud when she saw yet another beyond it. "This can't be the same road I've driven over in my car," she protested when Luke drew up beside her.

He chuckled. "There's only one road. Come on, give me your backpack and the sleeping bag."

"I can manage." If it killed her.

"We're two miles from the lake, and there's one more hill steeper than this one, plus a couple smaller ones."

That would kill her. She handed him the sleeping bag and her backpack.

The students circled around in the middle of the road, cheerfully heckling Luke who now looked like a two-wheeled packhorse.

"Sorry you offered?" she asked him as they crested the top of the final hill.

"I wouldn't want another twig," he admitted. He used the hem of his sweatshirt to dry the sweat off his face and neck. "Well, upward and onward. Mountains to climb, oceans to cross, and all that rot."

"We better not have any oceans to cross, you idiot. One small creek and we'll both need a tow rope."

"Oh, to be eighteen again."

He took off with a renewed burst of speed. She dug deep and found the strength to give chase. With a whoop, the entire group took up the race, and dodging, darting, and hollering, they wheeled down the blacktop road and through the front gate of the campground.

The centerpiece of the campground was a small lake with a large grassy field bordering one side and a frog-filled marsh on the opposite side. The field was already littered with sleeping bags when they arrived and a campfire blazed. The smell of charred hotdogs and burnt marshmallows filled the air. New arrivals were digging into their backpacks for their contribution to the potluck feast.

"We didn't bring anything," she said as they parked their bikes against a pair of pines.

"But we did." He pulled two over-sized chocolate bars from his backpack.

"Goodness, you're a regular Boy Scout," she teased.

"And I have my Eagle badge to prove it. Shall we?" Hand in hand they headed down the grassy slope toward the fire, Luke carrying a blanket for them to sit on. His fingertip caressed her palm. She rubbed her thumb lightly across the back of his hand, invitations that would no doubt resurface later in the evening if she wanted them to.

"We’re senior citizens," she whispered in Luke’s ear after they'd settled down on their blanket.

"Not in spirit," he countered with a grin. Someone handed him a stick with two marshmallows impaled on it.

"True."

He thrust the marshmallows into the fire. She watched them catch fire and laughed. What tasted better than a well burned marshmallow? This was exactly the break she needed. Luke offered her one of the burnt offerings. She cautiously wrapped her mouth around it and sucked it off the stick.

"Great technique," Luke said.

With the night at their backs, and the glowing warmth of the fire at their feet, they talked and laughed, polished off the marshmallows, ate burned hotdogs without buns and drank cheap wine straight from the bottle. Someone produced a guitar and began to play with more enthusiasm than skill. Everyone sang. Luke had a nice baritone and good pitch.

"You could sing professionally," Johanna said as she snuggled against his warmth.

"And put up with fame and fortune? No way."

"Gossip columns and paparazzi. Yuck!" someone else agreed.

"I don't know," a girl with long brown hair said. "For the right amount of money, I think I could put up with all that and more."

"Don't you believe it," Luke said firmly. "Just about the time your life's on an even keel somebody drags up old dirt, reopens old wounds, and down you go. It's better to be a nameless nobody. No past. No future. Just today. No headlines."

Johanna wondered which of his idols had been knocked off their pedestal by slander. Whoever it was, he remained their staunch supporter, defending them to the end.

"Last soldier, gang," a tall blond said as he twisted the cap off a bottle of something red.

When it reached them, Luke took a swallow and handed the bottle to Johanna. "I hate fruity wines." He kissed her. His mouth tasted sweet and sticky.

She licked his lips. "Isn't bad second hand."

"Are you drunk?"

"Um," she said thoughtfully, "maybe a wee bit."

"Me, too, a little."

His tongue glided between her teeth and into her mouth. She welcomed the intrusion and let the kiss deepen. When it ended, Johanna took a hasty swallow of wine before blindly holding the bottle out for the next interested person.

"Oh yeah," Luke said, paying no attention to the wine bottle as he kissed her again, his mouth soft and hot against hers.

The bottle left her hand, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He nibbled across her mouth and tongued her teeth. She welcomed his intimate invasion. When the kiss ended, he had her tucked between his legs flush against his arousal. His talented fingers were inside her shirt unhooking the front clasp of her bra. He palmed her breasts and she melted. His fingers sought, caressed, and invited. Desire spiked through her. He kissed the side of her neck and she turned into his lips, her tongue questing. His hand slid down her belly and inside her sweatpants. She tipped out her knees and let them rest against his legs. He took full advantage, his hand going lower, his finger probing. Her breath quickened and her heart hammered. The abrading heel of his thumb sent sensual shivers stabbing through her.

"Say goodnight, Elizabeth," Luke whispered in her ear.

"Goodnight," she responded obediently.

He pulled her to her feet and led her up the hill to where the bikes leaned against a pair of skinny pines. After they retrieved them, Luke led the way further up the slope, stopping when he found a bit of bare ground tucked inside a group of ragged shrubs. It was lean privacy, but who was watching? No one.

Johanna watched him spread out the bags. She centered her mind on the moment, not allowing doubt or uncertainty to creep into her thoughts. Tomorrow would take care of itself. Tonight was all about carefree spontaneity and primal lust.

Luke zipped the two bags together, turning two sleeping bags into one. He toed off his tennis shoes and tossed them aside, stepped in the center of the down-filled bags and beckoned to her. Neither spoke. The moment seemed magical. She removed her sneakers and joined him, her heart thudding wildly.

His eyes were heavy-lidded, his expression intent.

This is all about sex, nothing else, she reminded herself as he pulled her sweatshirt off, his fingers trailing over her skin.

She tugged his sweatshirt off him, pausing to kiss his bare shoulder, then his neck, tasting the salty sweat at the base of his throat and the texture of the skin on his chest. Clothes landed in a haphazard pile on the ground. Before they slipped into the sleeping bags, Johanna handed him the condom she'd dug out of her backpack.

They slipped down in the sleeping bags until even their heads were covered. She felt as if they were the last two people on earth. He opened the foil packet and sheathed himself. She guided his hands, inviting his caresses. She dampened his fingers with her musk and he trembled. Her hands descended to cup him and he released a moaning breath. Eyes tightly closed, and with his head thrown back, he entered her in a single powerful thrust. Embedded at the mouth of her womb, he ejaculated with such force she felt his throbbing leaps inside of her. Unbelievably, her own climax came full and hard. Sated and still a little drunk, she melted into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and she slept.

Pale streaks of daylight threaded along the eastern horizon when Johanna woke up. She desperately needed to go to the bathroom. Sitting up, she disturbed the warmth captured inside the sleeping bag and that woke Luke.

He sniffled, snorted, and scowled. "You're letting all the cold in."

"Where are we from the bathrooms?"

"Miles away." He stood and reached for her hand. "Damn, it's cold. Come on. We'll find a tree."

"We're naked!"

"So?"

She grabbed the sleeping bag's flannel liner and wrapped it up around her.

"Don't you dare pee on that," Luke said, leading the way through the darkness.

"Don't pee on me," muttered a sleepy voice from a nearby sleeping bag.

Johanna stifled a giggle.

Luke stopped beside a hedgerow of bushes. Frantic, Johanna ducked down between them. She could hear Luke close by washing down a tree. Laughter feathered through her chest. If the gang at work could see her now! Perish the thought.

"Rats," she muttered out loud.

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot to bring a tissue."

"You'll drip dry."

"Clothes drip dry, you jerk, not women." She fumbled in the dark until she found a handful of leaves. Crude, but effective.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Right behind you."

He trotted ahead of her, his bare bottom shining in the thinning darkness. She choked on laughter as she saw another pale-bottomed figure slipping through the bushes. They were not alone in their urgent mission.

"Oh, my God!" a voice yelped. "You bastard!"

"Sorry," came a muffled apology.

She hurried after Luke, a bare foot coming down hard on a protruding stone. "Damit!"

"What's wrong?"

"I stepped on a rock." She followed him, limping. "I'm going to have one hell of a stone bruise."

"I'll kiss it and make it all better."

"Just what I need. A man with a foot fetish. Will you get in? I'm freezing."

They brushed the leaves and pine needles off their feet and slipped back inside the sleeping bag.

Johanna pulled the flannel liner in after her, clinging to its warmth.

"Ahhh," Luke sighed as he tucked up against her, falling damp and cold against her leg.

She giggled. "You're cold."

"You would be too if you were hanging out in the open, all exposed."

"I'm glad I'm not."

"So am I." He nibbled her neck. "You could warm me up."

"Not possible. You're too far gone."

"Maybe not." He rubbed against her and came erect. "Unbelievable," he murmured as she dragged his head down and kissed him. His tongue found hers. She nipped his lower lip.

It shouldn't have happened, but it did. Somewhere between nip and kiss they burst into flames and Johanna's mind ceased to function. She rolled under him, her legs spread, her hand guiding. He drove so deep it hurt.

"Oh, yes," she hissed between clenched teeth. He withdrew and thrust again. Her mind turned to ash.

Together they raced toward completion, tugging, clawing, hanging on and demanding. Luke climaxed with a guttural shout, filling her with his powerful ejaculation. She clutched him fiercely as her own climax shattered through her. She milked him with her muscular inner walls.

Sanity returned in a crushing wave. "Oh! My! God!" They'd gone at each other like minks in heat without a bit of protection! She twisted out of his arms and leaped to her feet, swearing like a stevedore.

"What in blazes is wrong with you?" Luke demanded, still struggling to catch his breath. He clawed for the sleeping bag she'd ruthlessly tossed aside.

"Do you know what you've done?" She found her sweatpants and hopped first on one foot, then the other, as she put them on, oblivious to the painful bruise on her foot. "You've had me crawling around in the bushes having unprotected sex. Unprotected sex!"

"Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole camp to hear you?"

She yanked on her sweatshirt. "Do you think I care? I don't. I don't care who I wake up, you loathsome bastard!"

"Me!" He was on his feet too now, reaching for his own clothing. "Nobody twisted your arm. You were having just as much fun as I was."

"Fun? Oh, I'm sure I'll look back on this night as great fun when I test positive for HIV."

His gray eyes turned to steel. "That's a two-way street. I test negative. How do you test?"

"I don't know," she spat. "Until now, there's never been a reason for me to be tested."

"Oh? You hopped into this sleeping bag a virgin? Give me a break, lady. Where in the devil are my shorts?"

She flung them at him, hitting him in the face. "Try wearing them on your ears, you horny creep."

"Me horny? What about you? You damn near raped me!"

She slapped him. Hard.

He grabbed her wrist and held it. "I think this discussion has gone far enough." His voice was hard and cold.

Johanna took an involuntary step back, suddenly afraid. This was not the man she'd met yesterday on the ferry. Not the man she'd spent the night with. The man holding her wrist in his crushing grip was dangerously angry. Even his voice had changed. She inched another step backward.

He dropped her wrist and dismissed her with a shrug. "I'm going up to the store to call you a cab," he said when he'd finished dressing. "It's time for you to go home. It's time for both of us to go home."

"What about the bicycles?"

The side of his face, next to his eye, was bright red. Her loss of control and the violence of her slap stunned her. She'd never struck someone before. She wasn't a physical person. Now her hand throbbed painfully from the impact.

"I'll see to them," Luke said curtly. He turned on his heel and disappeared among the trees.

She finished dressing. Daylight was fast approaching, and the rest of the campground beginning to stir by the time he returned.

"The road is right beyond those trees. Veer to the left. He'll pick you up at the gate."

She zipped her backpack shut and slung it over her shoulder.

"You'll be in plenty of time to catch the early ferry."

She headed for the trees without a backward glance.

Chapter Three

Willie greeted her arrival with loud cries of punishment for having left him alone all night. "Poor Willie, poor Willie," he chanted as he paced back and forth on his perch, bobbing his head to express his displeasure.

"Be quiet, I have a headache," she told him.

"Poor birdie, poor birdie," he hollered.

"You're heartless." She went into the kitchen and got him a handful of grapes and a fresh supply of peanuts. Anything to shut him up. Her head ached and she itched like crazy.

Upstairs, in the master bedroom that was her pride and joy with its lush shades of rose, navy and butter yellow, she undressed and headed for the shower. No amount of scrubbing could erase the fact that she'd indulged in unprotected sex. If only she'd stayed home and explored the benefits of basket weaving. Or sword swallowing. Anything but a wild, fun-filled weekend.

"Fun, ha!" she muttered as she went from the shower to the tub where she soaked until the water got cold. Nothing quelled the growing itch between her legs. A bright red blistering rash covered her labia, inner legs and buttocks and the itch was beyond description in its compelling intensity.

According to her medical encyclopedia the most common cause of a rash confined to a single area was contact dermatitis. In other words, she'd come in contact with something that had given her a rash. How true. Contact with the wrong man.

The rash spread, the itch became more intense, and she considered going to the Emergency Room, but they probably had rules requiring them to report sexually transmitted diseases. People would find out. That kind of thing never stayed private. That ruled out the Emergency Room.

By Monday morning she was an emotional basket case and had scratched herself raw. She managed to call the office and leave word that she was bedridden with the flu and would be out for the week. Her hands and fingers were so swollen she could barely move them and the rash now extended to her elbows. The rash between her legs had grown with equal enthusiasm. She followed Dr. Quentin's nurse to an examining room walking straddle-legged.

"Look at me! Just look at me!" She held out her hands. "And my bottom. You won't believe my bottom. I lost my head. I don't know what came over me. I just wanted this nice weekend, you know, and it's like I went crazy. I was there, and he was there and, and..." She broke off when Dr. Quentin entered the room.

"Johanna, you're babbling," he said, his firm tone softened by a warm smile. "This isn't like you."

"What I've done isn't like me," she admitted, considerably calmed by his presence. He'd know what to do.

He examined her hands and lower arms. "On your bottom too, is it?"

"Everywhere." She accepted his help getting positioned on the examining table. As always, he draped a sheet over her knees so she couldn't watch him while he examined her. There was no logic to it, but knowing that he couldn't see both her face and her crotch at the same time made such examinations a bit more palatable.

"Yes," he agreed in a slightly strangled tone of voice. He cleared his throat. "It's everywhere."

"Goodness," she heard Claire, his nurse, murmur.

Her heart sank. He sat between her outspread knees, Claire peering over his shoulder, a curious expression on her face. Johanna broke out in a cold sweat. "Just tell me straight out. I can take it."

He started to speak, coughed, cleared his throat and coughed again. Johanna peered down the length of her supine body. Claire’s face was a network of twitching muscles. Dr. Quentin averted his face, but she could see his shaking shoulders. Slowly it dawned on her that her erstwhile physician and his idiot nurse were laughing! She sat up, dragging the sheet with her. "I do not find this one bit humorous!"

"I shouldn't have laughed." He cleared his throat and presented a reasonably somber expression.

"I take it it's nothing serious," she said stiffly, tears crowding in behind the numbing fear that had held her captive for two full days and nights.

"Not in the way you're thinking, no. You've gotten into some poison ivy. Did you go camping this weekend?"

Had she ever. "In a manner of speaking."

"Well, whatever manner it was, you couldn't be more involved than if you'd rubbed yourself with double handfuls of crushed leaves."

She collapsed back onto the table and pulled the sheet over her face. "A single handful."

After an injection of steroids and armed with a prescription for pills to take and an ointment to apply externally, Johanna headed home. Dr. Quentin had assured her that she'd be back to normal in a week to ten days. She crept home and into bed where she fell into an exhausted sleep not even Willie managed to disturb. It was the first real sleep she'd gotten since leaving the island.

By the following Monday all that remained of her ill-advised cure for executive burnout was the fading bruise on the bottom of her foot.

"It's nice to have you back," Pat said pleasantly.

"Thank you," Johanna replied.

"Would you like coffee?"

"Please."

She went into her office, her refuge and her haven, and happily attacked her voice mail, email, and conventional mail delivered by the trustworthy United States Post Office, bless them. Pat arrived with her coffee.

"Pat, would you research ways of avoiding executive burnout for me?" There had to be any number of things better than what she'd tried.

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