And then she’d fallen in love with Zachary Flynn.
Zachary Flynn.
With a groan, Brittany rolled over and opened her eyes, remembering the events of the night before. It hadn’t been a dream. He was really here, invading her home.
Outside dawn had barely broken and a quick check of her phone told her it was only 6:00 a.m.
Thanks to the time change, her body thought it was already after midday and as a result she was awake. Exhausted, but definitely awake.
After Emily had left the night before, she’d stumbled up the stairs and collapsed onto the bed, too tired to undress let alone wrap her mind around the problem of Zach. She hadn’t even bothered sliding into the bed her friend had made up with clean sheets. Instead she’d covered herself with the pretty patchwork quilt lovingly stitched by her grandmother as another layer of protection against the cold months and taken refuge in sleep.
Now, with sleep evading her and the gradual dawn lighting the gunmetal gray of the sea, she had no choice but to think about the events of the day before.
Her head still heavy from the journey and the time change, she sat up and scooped her hair away from her face.
The quilt lay on the floor by the bed where she’d kicked it during the night. Probably a result of dreaming about Zach.
Crap.
When she’d made her decision to return home to heal, she hadn’t planned on finding him here. If she’d known, she would have stayed in Greece. In a moment of wild panic she contemplated flying back to Europe but dismissed the idea instantly. If she left now he’d know she was running away. And she didn’t run from anything. Her grandmother had taught her that.
You stood and faced things. You dealt with them.
So how should she deal with this?
Indifference. That was the way to go.
Whenever she saw him, which hopefully would be infrequently, she’d pretend indifference. She’d deal with this situation with quiet dignity.
How hard could it be?
Through the open windows she could hear the rhythmic crash of the surf on the rocks, and the pretty muslin curtains billowed in the breeze. Not for the first time she was grateful that Castaway Cottage was away from the main hub of the island. It meant that he would have no reason to come here.
She flopped onto her back and stared up at the same ceiling she’d stared at growing up.
No matter how conflicted her emotions about Zach, it felt good to be home.
And Castaway Cottage wasn’t just home, it was a haven. Despite the fact she was alone in the house, the feeling of security wrapped itself around her.
How many times had she lain here, listening to her grandmother clattering beneath her in the kitchen? She’d sung as she’d cooked, humming to herself as she’d whipped up pancakes to go with blueberries freshly harvested from the bushes outside the cottage door.
Pushing aside the pang of sadness, Brittany gave herself a little longer in bed, and then sat up.
Self-pity wasn’t going to help and as her grandmother wasn’t there to kick her butt, she’d kick her own.
But first she had to find a way of managing everyday tasks with a broken wrist, starting with a shower.
After that, she’d walk across the fields to the Ocean Club and meet Emily and Ryan for breakfast. The sea air would wake her up.
Turned out that undressing with her wrist in a plaster cast wasn’t easy.
Inside the bathroom she pulled her T-shirt over her head and lost her balance. Steadying herself against the wall, she dropped it on the floor, followed by her shorts and underwear. Who would have thought that stripping one-handed could be so hard? Or that taking a shower while trying to keep her cast dry required something close to gymnastics. Making a mental note to buy more shampoo on her trip to the harbor, she was congratulating herself on how well she’d managed and was about to reach for a towel when she noticed something on the floor of the bathroom.
And screamed.
ZACH HAD KNOCKED on the door, prowled around the house and had reached the conclusion Brittany wasn’t home when he heard the scream. It was like something from the most gruesome horror movie and it froze his blood.
Cursing under his breath, he vaulted over the fence and used skills he wasn’t supposed to have to open her back door.
It took him a matter of seconds, and he wondered not for the first time why islanders were so lax about their security. She might as well have left the door open with a notice saying All Welcome.
His heart was pumping, his hands clammy as he anticipated what he might find.
Fire?
A masked intruder?
For Brittany to be scared it must be something truly threatening.
He strode through the kitchen, noticing with a frown that it looked as if an intruder had been having a party. A couple of unwashed dishes were stacked on the counter and the table was covered in bags. Following the direction of the scream, he took the stairs two at a time and reached her in under a minute.
She was flattened against the wall of the shower, naked and shivering. Her body was gleaming wet, droplets of water clinging to the rosy tip of her breasts.
“Christ.” Distracted by the lean lines of her glorious body, Zach banged his head on the low door frame and saw stars. He remembered too late that he’d done the same thing the last time he’d set foot in Castaway Cottage.
She’d been naked then, too. At the time he’d taken the blow to the head as punishment for his sins, which had been considerable.
This time the sin was all in his head, but the pain was real enough.
Her gaze connected with his as she finally registered the identity of her rescuer.
“Zach! What the hell are you doing here?”
“You screamed.” It took effort, but he hauled his gaze up to her eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Shivering, she pointed to the corner of the bathroom.
“That.”
He turned his head from smooth, golden limbs and raw temptation and saw the thong on the floor. He’d seen more substantial dental floss. Heat uncurled inside him. “You dropped your underwear?” And then something moved and he saw the problem. An intruder, but the not the sort he’d been expecting. “It’s a spider.”
“I know what it is.” She spoke through her teeth. “Get rid of it. Please.”
If he hadn’t been trying to will his libido into sudden death, he would have laughed. He’d never met a woman more capable of looking after herself than Brittany. If a man had broken into her house, she probably would have knocked him unconscious with the nearest heavy object, but a large insect left her quivering and helpless.
Forgetting his intention not to look at her again, he shifted his gaze back to her. “So it’s still spiders.” He noticed that her hair was longer. Or maybe it just seemed that way because it was wet. It lay over one shoulder in a dark heavy mass, leaving the other bare. “You always were scared of them. Nothing else. Just spiders.”
“If you don’t stop talking and catch the damn thing it will run away and then I’ll have to move out because there isn’t room in this house for both of us.”
It wouldn’t make any difference if he looked away because