“Explosions,” Lily returned darkly. “A bad omen.”
“I bet it was just a mechanical failure,” said Vi, glancing toward the ocean.
Pansy’s mind had filled with images of her ancestor, Iris Hanley, pacing the deck of a sailing ship, twirling a parasol on her shoulder, her long skirts swishing. According to family legend, she’d been sailing to distant cousins in New Orleans in hopes of meeting handsome suitors when pirates boarded the Destiny. Iris had trembled when one—a strapping man in tight breeches and a blousy white shirt with lace cuffs—stopped before her, his dark, unruly hair blowing wildly in the wind. But he didn’t rob her. Instead the man sheathed his sword, wrapped his arms around Iris’s waist and savaged her mouth, capturing her lips in a kiss like fire. A kiss that ruined Iris Hanley for marriage, since no other man’s kiss ever surpassed it.
Twelve years later, in 1822, when a mysterious Frenchman arrived on the island to build Castle O’Lannaise, it was said he was that same pirate, that he’d arrived under an assumed name, made rich by the spoils of his plunder, to claim a woman he’d seen only once but whom he’d already branded with his fire.
“Pansy?”
Vi’s voice startled her. “Huh?”
“Ned Nelson,” Vi reminded.
“Right,” Pansy whispered distractedly. Feeling whimsical as she pushed through the screen door, she fancied she wasn’t going to Casa Eldora but into the dunes beside the cottage to meet her dark dream lover, Jacques O’Lannaise, and as her sandaled feet touched the sandy porch, she felt the coiled power in the hard body that held her, the brush of bristling black chest hair that erupted between the laces of his blouse and then the rush of blessed, fiery heat as Jacques’s firm, wet mouth covered hers.
A second later, she found herself hoping—much more practically—that Ned Nelson would turn out to be cute.
2
“WELL, THAT’S the grand tour.” Pansy turned a circle in Casa Eldora’s living room, the low-slung heels of her white sandals tapping on the wide-planked wooden floor, her gaze taking in the serviceable plaid-upholstered furniture, then the ocean view through a picture window. “I’m sorry I forgot to turn on the AC when I dropped by earlier with the fruit basket,” she apologized.
Rex shrugged. He’d already decided he liked Pansy Hanley just as she looked now, her damp skin glowing. She was even sexier than her husky voice had promised. Trouble was, Rex had gotten stuck in his Mr. Nice Guy tourist disguise, so Pansy wasn’t impressed. In fact, when she’d first sized him up, he’d caught a look of downright disappointment. “Not to worry,” Rex said. “The place’ll cool off in a few minutes. And thanks for the tour.” Pausing at the kitchen island, he opened a carton of lemonade, compliments of Hanley Realty. After pouring it over ice, he handed her a glass.
She took a grateful sip. “My pleasure, Mr. Nelson.”
“Please—” Rex lifted his glass, glad for the feel of something cool. “Call me Ned.”
“Ned,” she repeated.
For a moment, they fell silent, two near strangers appreciating a view of the noontime sun, a brilliant white starburst perched high in a cerulean sky. Rex could almost see how it would look hours from now, dropping through vibrant strips of pink and lavender before ducking under the horizon, swallowed by the night. Cresting swells of green waves, the exact color of Pansy Hanley’s eyes, were tumbling onto brown sand, the white, salty sea foam bubbling like boiling water before it was raked back, drawn to the sea with primal force, leaving broken shells, polished pebbles and scuttling hermit crabs. To his left, through a side window, Rex could see surreal dunes he was itching to explore.
She caught his gaze. “Those dunes are something, huh?”
He nodded. On much of the island, the sand swept into drifts near the shore, but the dunes near Casa Eldora rose to fifteen feet or more. “Looks like a moonscape,” he commented.
“The area’s restricted, since we want to preserve the dunes, but since most tourists are on the island’s south side and locals rarely hang out here, you can walk in them if you’re careful.”
Rex chuckled. “You’re suggesting I shouldn’t wave at the cops before I venture in?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t. There’s a hefty fine. But take it from a local. The area’s not really patrolled. All we ask is that you not litter or disturb the sand. The restrictions are to keep kids out.”
He smiled. “I shouldn’t throw any wild parties, huh?”
“Not unless you invite me,” Pansy quipped, thirstily taking another sip of lemonade. “Truly,” she added. “You won’t run into a soul.”
“Then I’ll definitely take a walk there.”
“So, are you really satisfied with Casa Eldora?”
“It’s perfect.” Or it would have been if Rex was here on vacation. Or if he hadn’t locked horns with Internal Affairs officer Judith Hunt as soon as he’d reached the island. He’d gone straight to the crime scene, hoping to hear news of his father, but Judith made it clear that Rex, the son of a suspect, was unwelcome, even threatening to prosecute if Rex involved himself in the investigation.
Rex had left the scene, changed into clothes he usually used for undercover work in New York, so he’d look like a tourist, then returned to shore where people were watching police dive into the wreckage. Introducing himself as Ned Nelson—a dopey, concerned tourist—Rex had questioned Judith. She’d never known it was Rex. He discovered Pansy Hanley witnessed the explosion, which meant he’d be spending more time with her, not that he wouldn’t, anyway. He just wished he wasn’t stuck in this ridiculous outfit for the duration of his stay. With any luck, he could risk taking it off every once in awhile, at least long enough to relieve his scalp, which was itching from the wig.
He sighed. During their tour, he’d asked what Pansy had seen, but hadn’t gotten any more information than the police. Pansy had been awakened by a loud boom, but by the time she’d rushed to a window, only flames were visible. The sea extinguished them as the boat tilted and upended, jackknifing under water. The boat had only partially burned, so whoever was aboard had time to jump and had probably survived, but Pansy hadn’t seen anyone make it ashore. As with most eye witnesses, however, she’d probably seen more than she realized. It was Rex’s job to probe her mind.
Probing her body would prove equally interesting. She’d removed her suit jacket, and the classy tank beneath—white against skin that was tanned nut brown—hugged high, firm breasts, exposing swells that quickened his pulse and tightened his groin.
He knew Pansy was feeling guilty since she’d forgotten to turn on the AC. She had bravely endured the heat, leaving Rex to appreciate how perspiration made the white silk of an otherwise unrevealing tank top cling, offering tantalizing glimpses of a lace bra and relaxed nipples beneath the fabric. Following her as she’d shown the house, Rex had found himself studying the nip of her waist, the flare of her hips and the swell of her backside. Seduction Island, indeed.
She was smiling. “I’m glad you like the place.”
What he didn’t like was being forced to meet Pansy Hanley while wearing an outfit specially devised by the NYPD to make him look like the perfect victim. He could easily see that the shaggy blond hair, puffed-out cheeks and black-framed glasses weren’t impressing Pansy. But with Judith Hunt around, what choice did he have?
On the phone, Pansy’s words had traveled on a sexy, throaty trill that should have prepared him for the overpowering physical response he was experiencing now. She had an open, direct manner, an easy smile and ironic humor, not to mention something of a whimsical air. Maybe that was due to her hair. Airy almost-honey layers swirled around her shoulders and face, framing sea-green eyes. Her face was round, her cheeks