in near isolation in the university biogenetics laboratory, but she hadn’t been completely cut off from real life. She read books and magazines; she socialized somewhat, if you could call it socializing when her current mentor-who was also her closest friend-invited her over once a month to have dinner with her big, boisterous family. Grace was grateful for those invitations since she was rarely invited to spend time with her own odd family.
The point was, Grace was savvy enough to know that where a man like Logan Sutherland was concerned, she was in way over her head.
From now on, she would keep her distance from her fine-looking boss. She would be polite and do what she had to do to impress him in the cocktail bar. But, outside of work, she would avoid him, evade him, do anything she had to do to stay away from him. She couldn’t forget that he wanted her gone, off the island and away from the spores that were critical to her life’s work.
And yet, dealing with Logan Sutherland would be a piece of cake compared to the hell she’d lived through the past six months. All she had to do was remember the bottom line: she wasn’t leaving this island until she was damn good and ready to.
Three
The cocktail lounge was packed with happy people drinking, laughing and dancing. The music was mellow jazz, just loud enough to enjoy but not so overbearing that people had to shout to be heard. The lighting was subtle enough to make everyone look good and was embellished this evening by the glow of a full moon reflecting off the dark blue waters of the bay.
Logan had a dozen other things he could’ve been doing tonight. He usually made a point of stopping by the bar most evenings to say hello to guests and lend his presence in the rare instance that someone was causing trouble. But he didn’t usually linger for long. He and his brother had hired the best, most trustworthy and well-trained employees, who knew the service business inside and out. They didn’t need Logan hanging around, standing sentinel like an overanxious mother hen, driving his bartenders and staff crazy. Or worse yet, making them think Logan had no confidence in them.
But he was here anyway-and he wasn’t leaving. He attempted to look casual as he leaned his elbow on the bar and sipped his thirty-year-old single-malt scotch. He let the smooth liquid heat its way down his throat and tried like hell to pretend he wasn’t here to keep an eagle eye on his newest employee.
“Order up, Grace,” Joey, one of the bartenders, called.
“Thanks, Joey,” Grace said, rewarding him with a generous smile as she placed one of the wide trays on the bar and began to load it with drinks.
Logan noted that, as promised, she hadn’t spilled a drink tonight. But that was only because her customers and the other waiters had been so willing to step in and help her carry her trays. One guest had even bussed a few tables for her. It was the strangest thing Logan had ever seen.
Usually, his waitstaff were territorial about their customers and tips. But with Grace, they all chipped in and helped her. Logan grudgingly admitted it was to her credit that she was quick to split her generous tips with all of them.
She loaded the drinks onto a large tray in that spiral pattern she’d insisted was cosmologically sound. Logan had to shake his head at that cockamamy theory, but sobered as he watched her shoulders tense up. She licked her lips and tested the tray’s weight. Was she really going to try to carry it? There had to be at least ten drinks on the tray. What was Joey thinking?
Logan pushed off from the bar and moved toward her. But before he could get close enough to grab the tray, Clive, a witty Englishman and one of his top waiters, slipped smoothly behind Grace and rested his hands on her hips.
“Brace your knees, love,” Clive said, “and put all your strength right here.” With that, he skimmed the edges of her slender thighs all the way down to her knees. Then he moved around to face her and patted his own stomach. “Breathe from here. Muscles nice and tight.”
Logan froze in place, his teeth clenched, determined not to step in and save her again. Instead, he would allow Clive to instruct her, unless it started to look like she would need more skilled intervention from Logan himself.
He watched Grace’s breasts move in rhythm with the deep, anticipatory breaths she took. Then she was flying solo, following Clive’s instructions, steadying her legs and lifting the tray onto her shoulder.
Clive and several other waiters watched with apprehension as Grace moved slowly across the room to a table of guests sitting near the window. Bending her knees, she set the tray down on the table. Half the staff applauded and Logan’s tight jaw relaxed.
Grace’s face lit up as she glanced around at her odd group of supporters. When her gaze met Logan’s, her happy smile faltered.
Hell. He hated to be the cause of her bright eyes dimming, so he quickly grinned at her and flashed a thumbs- up sign. Her eyes widened and, as her smile grew, the entire room seemed to light up, as well.
Satisfied that she was happy and would survive the night, Logan turned back to the bar and took a last sip of his drink. But before he could even swallow, reality smacked him upside the head and he noted with disgust that she’d manipulated him again. Who cared if she smiled, for God’s sake? She wasn’t here to be happy. She was here to earn her paycheck or go home, damn it.
Waving down the head bartender, he snarled out his order, “Pour me another scotch, Sam.”
Taking advantage of the early-morning quiet, Logan hauled his windsurfing board down to the deserted beach just as the sun was cresting over Alleria Peak. He slipped the board into the water, adjusted the mast and sail and then slid on top and started paddling.
It might’ve sounded strange to someone who didn’t know him, but from the first time he swam in these waters, Logan had recognized Alleria as home. It was warm all year round so he never had to wear a wet suit. And it was clean. Even at twenty feet, he could see the sandy bottom of the sea. That was a minor miracle after years of surfing and sailing the rough and churning waves off the coast of Northern California-where he and his brother had grown up and where, when they were seven years old, their father had taught them how to surf.
Logan paddled a few more yards out. Then in one quick move, he rose to a standing position on the board and yanked the uphaul rope, pulling until the sail was upright. Grabbing hold of the mast and boom, he angled the sail until it caught the barest hint of wind. Balancing his weight on the board, he turned and headed for open water beyond the tip of the peninsula that formed the bay.
Alleria Bay itself was a tranquil inlet with few waves and the mildest of winds. But out beyond the break, the eastern trade winds provided plenty of excitement for any resort guests interested in windsurfing or sailing.
In a few hours, Logan would have contracts to study and phone calls to make. But right now, surrounded by wind, water and speed, he tried to blow off all thoughts of business and enjoy the moment. It wasn’t easy; he was hardwired for success and had had a difficult time relaxing lately.
An unexpected swell crested and broke into a wave inches from his board. Logan took instant advantage, raking the sail back, then throwing the mast hard into the wind while jumping and lifting the board into the air and twirling it over the wave.
“Hot damn,” he shouted with good humor. He’d managed a one-hundred-eighty-degree flaka, a hotdog maneuver he hadn’t pulled off in years. He laughed as the wind picked up. The move reminded him of the days when he and Aidan had lived to surf. Back then, Logan had considered surfing the closest he would ever get to spirituality. It was all wrapped up in the notion of man and nature coming together through the elemental forces of the universe, the movement of water against earth, the changing of the tide, the passing of time.
He could still recall that exact moment in his youth when he’d stared into the eye of a twelve-foot wave and realized that if he could stand up on a flimsy piece of fiberglass and ride over the spuming water like Poseidon on a dolphin-teamed chariot, he could damn well conquer anything.
That understanding had kept both brothers at the top of their game as they traveled the world and competed in-and won-numerous international competitions. Because they were identical twins competing at the highest echelon of surfing circles, they were often treated like celebrities with all the perks that came with the territory. Especially women. They were everywhere and temptation was strong.
