* * *
THEJEEPbounced along the uneven terrain, and Kyra grabbed on to the roll bar to steady herself. After anhour-long shower to get rid of the sand, she’d changed into a sundress, and now her skirt billowed with the vehicle’s motion. She’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, but the wind had loosed a few tendrils. Now she pushed the renegade locks out of her eyes and mouth, making a mental note to buy barrettes in the gift shop.
In the driver’s seat, her coconut-scented, college-aged chauffeur kept a nonchalant hand draped over the steering wheel. “It’s just this one patch that’s rough,” Stuart said, his sun-bleached hair and deep tan making him look like he should be riding a wave instead of driving a 4x4.
He nodded toward a cluster of palm trees standing like sentries guarding the entrance of the little cove. “The road’s just past those trees, and then the restaurant’s less than a mile away.”
“I’m fine,” Kyra said, meaning it. The heady island atmosphere had worked its way into her blood, just like the sand from the beach had worked its way into every crevice of her body. Despite still feeling a little itchy, she felt vibrant and excited, and a bumpy ride wasn’t about to change that.
“They haven’t cut the road through to the outlying cabins.” He glanced at her, the zinc oxide on his nose reflecting onto the lenses of his fluorescent orange sunglasses. “But it’s safe, so don’t worry.”
“Worry?”
He turned toward her for just a second, then lookedquickly away, clamping both hands onto the steering wheel. “Nothing. Really. Just that a few folks have gotten lost out there untilhefound them. But so long as you’re careful and stick to the path, you’ll be fine. So forget I said anything, okay? It really is safe.”
Kyra had no idea whohewas, but if the awe in Stuart’s voice was any indication,hewas pretty impressive. “He who?”
His neck flushed crimson, a remarkable feat considering the depth of his tan, but he kept his mouth firmly shut.
Well, that did it. Now her curiosity was really piqued. “Come on, Stuart,” she nagged in her best big-sister voice. “Tell me. You might as well. You already started.”
He shook his head.
“Stuart…”
“Aw, man,” he said. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
She just stared at him, one eyebrow lifted in question.
“Okay, okay,” he said, and Kyra stifled a triumphant smile.Piece o’ cake.
He turned onto the main road, then shifted in his seat to face her. “The Avenger,” he said, his voice low and serious.
O-kayyyy. That made no sense whatsoever. “What Avenger?”
He turned back, focusing on the road. “Well, that’snot actually his name, but I like to call him the Avenger ’cause he’s, like, so totally cool. Here, I’ll show you.” He reached into the back seat, swerving a bit, and hauled a battered duffel bag into his lap. With one hand on the wheel and very little attention to the road, he rummaged in the bag, finally tossing a tattered sketch onto her lap.
Though obviously dashed off quickly, the sketch was quite well done. Through the use of bold strokes and subtle shading, the artist had managed to convey not just the image of a man standing in the shadows, but an aura of mystery as well.
Kyra’s focus was drawn immediately to the man’s face, mostly hidden by a low-slung cap and a thick evening beard. A pirate-style patch covered one eye, but despite the odd accoutrement, he had the face of a steady, serious man, with a firm jaw. From beyond the charcoal lines and smudges, the man’s gaze seemed to burn into her, following like the eyes on the Mona Lisa. The kind of eyes that could see a woman’s secrets. The kind of man who could fulfill her fantasies…
Her pulse beat an irregular rhythm in her throat, and she licked her lips. With a sigh, she tried to get her breathing back under control. It was dangerous to let her thoughts wander down that path—dangerous and intriguing. Never in her life had she experienced such a visceral reaction to a man. And not just a man, but simply the idea of a man. She shivered, her mind toyingwith the possibility that this mysterious, masked stranger was, in fact, her fantasy.
Stuart took a sharp corner, the abrupt movement pulling Kyra fully back to the present. Unnerved by the decidedly erotic direction of her thoughts, she tried to concentrate on the drawing itself, not the actual image. Certainly, the intensity of her reaction was a credit to the artist’s skill, and Kyra looked up at Stuart with a new perspective. “Did you do this?”
He shrugged. “A hobby.”
“You’re good.”
“Thanks. It turned out okay. I keep meaning to go back in with some color. Michael’s got the most amazing green eyes.”
“Michael?”
Stuart’s smile was broad and proud. “Yeah. I was sketching the dock. He, uh, didn’t see me until later, and when I asked him his name, that’s what he told me.” He shrugged. “Ms. Weston says I’m being silly, but I still like to call him the Masked Avenger.”
She stifled a giggle, wondering how many comic books Stuart had stowed in his staff locker.
“He’s totally cool. That’s Maria’s little nephew. Michael had just rescued him.” He nodded toward the sketch.
