An Innocent In Paradise

“Wait a minute.” He cocked his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Your name is Grace?”

She nodded gravely. “That’s right.”

“You’re kidding.” He chuckled, then leaned his hip against his desk and began to laugh, a deep rich sound that caused tingles to stir in her stomach.

What the heck was so funny about her name?

“Oh,” she said, finally getting the joke. The very lame joke, she might add. “Yes, well, I suppose I wasn’t very graceful out there.”

“You think?” He snorted.

She blinked and sat up straighter in her chair. “You don’t have to be rude.”

“Sweetheart, you’re the one who lied on your job application.”

“I didn’t- How did you know I lied?” She groaned inwardly. She couldn’t even lie about lying. That was just sad.

“Easy.” He folded his arms across his impressive chest in a move Grace knew was meant to daunt her. And it was working, sort of. She was more than a bit overwhelmed by him, if her inability to breathe was any indication.

“I don’t hire inexperienced waitresses,” he continued. “Since we did hire you, your application must’ve stated that you knew what you were doing. And you obviously don’t, which means you lied. And since you no longer work for me, I can be as rude as I want.”

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” she said, sniffing with annoyance at the logic of his argument. “I had a very good reason for lying-er, fudging the truth.”

“Fudging?” He leaned one hip against the edge of his desk. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

She frowned at him. “Are you willing to listen to reason?”

“I’m a reasonable man,” he said, waving his hand at her as if granting her permission to speak. “Just make it fast. I was on my way to making a very important phone call when I was interrupted by your little scene out there.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, me, too. So?”

“Right. Well, it’s simple, really.” She took a quick moment to wish she was dressed in something more professional than a bikini top that revealed most of her breasts and a thin wisp of cloth that was knotted well below her belly button. But since she couldn’t exactly run back to her room and change clothes, she took another deep breath and blurted, “You have spores.”

He stared at her for a length of time, then shook his head. “No, I don’t. I bathe daily.”

She blinked, gasped, then laughed. “Oh, no, not you personally. Your island. There are rare spores growing here on Alleria that will save lives someday. I’m a research scientist and I’ve come here to collect and study them.”

He continued to stare her down as he seemed to consider the situation. She thought she saw something akin to a hint of reasoning in his eyes. But then he checked his watch and said, “Okay, nice try. I’ll expect you off the island within the hour.”

“What? No!” She jumped up from her chair. “Mr. Sutherland, you don’t understand. I refuse to leave this island. I need to stay here and work.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re the one who doesn’t understand, Ms. Farrell.”

“You’re wrong. I do understand,” she insisted, shaking her finger at him. “I know I lied and maybe you think you have every right to fire me, but I am not leaving this island until I get what I came for.”

Logan couldn’t help but admire the fire of righteous vehemence in Grace Farrell’s eyes. It seemed to light up her entire body and made him wonder if she would show that same level of passion in bed. When he thrust himself into her, would she scream with pleasure?

His eyes narrowed at the mental picture and he shook himself back to reality. What the hell was he doing, thinking of her in terms of a sex partner? She’d lied on her resume, broken his glassware and wasted his time. She had no business staying on his island a minute longer than necessary.

But the vivid sexual image took a few knots of wind out of his sails and he took a moment to reconsider the idea of throwing her off the island. Yes, she was a liar, but she was a gorgeous one. Why not enjoy a few rounds of mutually enjoyable sex before tossing her off the island?

Hell, that idea was growing more appealing by the minute. Maybe he’d been working too hard lately, because he realized he wasn’t quite as ready to get rid of her as he was a few minutes ago. Didn’t mean he trusted the woman for a second, but frankly, he hadn’t been this amused or intrigued-or aroused-in months. That was worth a few minutes of his time. It wouldn’t hurt to let her talk.

“So tell me about these spores you’re so anxious to find,” he said, as he sat and made himself comfortable on the overstuffed couch. Might as well enjoy the show for as long as it lasted, he thought.

She was pacing now and pounding her fist into her palm, clearly committed to her cause. “Allerian spores flawlessly mimic human reproductive genes and are essential to my continued experimentation in gene replication. I’ve been working on this project every day for almost ten years and have been using the same batch of spores for the past two years. It’s imperative that I acquire a fresh consignment in order to obtain new funding and continue my studies.”

“Gene replication?”

She stopped midpace. “You know what that is?”

“Well, sure.” He frowned. “Generally. Yeah.”

“Oh, that’s good. That’s wonderful!” She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her breastbone. “Then you understand how important my work is and how vital it is that I find new spores. My dissertation detailing their meiotic patterns and the ability to exploit the resulting haploid cells has already gained international interest. I’m positive that further study will ultimately lead to unlocking the secrets to curing some of the worst diseases known to modern man.”

“Oh, yeah?” He’d lost her at “meiotic patterns” but wasn’t about to mention it.

“Absolutely.” She held up her thumb and forefinger and squeezed them together. “I’m this close to finishing the preliminary studies and I’ve applied for further grant money in order to move to the next level. It’s urgent and important work. But I need fresh, large batches of spores and I need them soon.”

“I see,” he said, stretching his arm out across the back of the sofa.

Clearly frustrated by his blase tone, she stopped her pacing and said quietly, “Look, Mr. Sutherland, I am a scientist, a very good one. And I…I need this job here in order to conduct my studies. Your resort is the main source of employment on the island.”

“It’s the only source of employment, Ms. Farrell, but let’s not nitpick.” Staring out the sliding glass doors, he carefully avoided making eye contact as he returned to his original argument. “So the reason you lied on your resume was so that I would hire you so that you could live here at my resort for free and study our spores.”

“Well, yes, and-”

“And you thought you’d coast right into the mindless job of waitress in our cocktail bar to cover your costs.”

“I suppose that’s right, but-”

“And yet, you’ve never been a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, no, but-”

“Well, then.” He lifted his shoulders in a move meant to indicate only one conclusion. “At the risk of repeating myself, you’re fired.”

“Wait!” She rushed over and sat on the couch mere inches from him, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid, anxious breathing. Her scent, some exotic blend of spice and…was it orange blossoms?…enveloped him. Up close, he could see a pale smattering of freckles on her shoulders. He had the most bizarre urge to touch them.

“Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” she said. “I’m not leaving.”

“You don’t have to leave,” he said genially. “Feel free to book a room at the resort and study spores as much as