The Seducer

“She said wives, not soul mates,” Truman had argued.

But for Rex, they were the same. Besides, to him marriage was just a piece of paper. Maybe because he was a lawman, he wanted something that transcended legalities. He wanted mystery. Romance. Poetry. Soul-searing sex. A lover whose warm body would twine with his, melting his heart. Each year, on his annual sojourn, he imagined he might find that woman. He envisioned meeting her while wandering in the dunes near a deserted beach and making love to her in the hot sand while sea foam washed over their bare bodies.

Not that it mattered. Sure, he’d love to see his mother’s face light up with the news that he’d found someone, but Augustus was missing, which meant Rex would be looking for him on Seduction Island—not love.

Rex said a silent goodbye to the month-long hiatus he got once a year. At least he’d already forwarded his mail to Casa Eldora, the two-bedroom cottage he’d rented on Seduction Island in the name Ned Nelson. According to the sexy-voiced Realtor whose laughter sounded like crystal bells and who had introduced herself as Pansy Hanley, the waterfront place was on stilts, its shingles weathered to silver. It was nestled where sand drifts gave way to otherworldly, deeply cratered dunes. Accessible by a private shell road, the house was off the main drag, Sand Road, but still in view of the ocean.

How many times had he spoken to Pansy? Rex couldn’t recall. But they’d established an easy rapport. When they met, Rex had been planning to do what he always did on vacation—drop the mask. Lose the disguises. Trade in his sidearm for a fishing rod. He’d ask Pansy Hanley to Casa Eldora for dinner…maybe more. Now he squeezed his mother’s hand. “If Pop’s out there, I’ll find him, Ma. Don’t worry.”

No doubt, he’d be busy on Seduction Island, just not seducing. So much for this year’s hopes that Pansy Hanley might turn out to be a dream lover.

“PANSY? LILY? Are you home yet? We’ve got to talk!”

Long before she saw her youngest sister, Violet, Pansy Hanley registered her high-pitched voice and instinctively double-checked the jacket to the all-white suit she’d slung around the back of a kitchen chair to make sure it was safe from Vi. Vi, when excited, was the world’s biggest klutz, and Pansy wanted to wear the jacket to meet her client, Ned Nelson. “I’m here,” Pansy called toward the screen door, waiting for Vi to appear in the dunes. “Lily just got home, too—”

“I know it was my turn, so thanks for making lunch,” said Lily, breezing into the kitchen and plopping down at the table. “I was running late.”

As Pansy washed down a bite of her specialty—almond butter on homemade rye—she studied her sister’s string bikini. “If you get bored on the beach, Lily,” Pansy offered dryly, “you can always take off your bathing suit and play cat’s cradle.”

Lily chuckled. “Or hog-tie the nearest beachcomber, rub him down with Coppertone and force him to have sex with me.”

Pansy tried to look scandalized. “Your mind’s in the gutter, Lily.”

Lily merely grinned. “Too bad every guy out there with a metal detector is pushing seventy and too old for us. What’s Vi so upset about?”

“Who knows?” Pansy shrugged as Vi pushed through the screen door, lifting a shoulder bag stuffed with mail onto the kitchen table. “You’re a mess,” gasped Pansy, taking in Vi’s mail carrier uniform—a striped shirt and gray shorts—splashed with syrupy pink liquid. Pansy’s eyes dropped to the soda can in Vi’s hand just as Vi crushed her stubby-nailed fingers around it.

“Don’t tell me,” quipped Pansy. “We’re fresh out of boards you can crack with your head.”

Ignoring the good-humored gibe, Vi set aside the crushed can and lifted the remaining sandwich. Between healthy, gulping bites, she said, “Thanks for lunch. I’ve got to change uniforms, so I’ve only got a minute.”

It was hard to say how the same gene pool turned out three such different females. All the Hanleys had light brown hair, just a shade down from honey blond, but Pansy’s flowed in sumptuous layers past her shoulders. The curviest of the three, she liked wearing a trace of makeup and comfortable skirts, practical but feminine, nothing she’d have to iron. Today’s white suit was an anomaly, chosen because the client she was to meet, Ned Nelson, had sparked her imagination during their phone conversations, though she wasn’t quite sure why.

By contrast to Pansy, the middle sister, Lily, owner of Lily’s Pad, a stationery shop, had cut the same almost-honey hair in a sharply wedged bob, and it had been years since anyone had seen her wearing anything besides a bikini or a linen shift. Vi, the youngest, was deeply tanned from surfing. She kept her hair short—less wind resistance, she claimed—trimming it above ears studded with tiny silver earrings.

Having quickly dispensed with her sandwich, Vi pushed aside the plate she hadn’t bothered to use and said, “Okay. Now for the news. You two aren’t going to believe this!”

“By the looks of the mailbag, you’re about to get fired,” Lily guessed in an awed voice, still gaping at the soda drips.

“Or get more demerits,” agreed Pansy worriedly. “Did any of that soda actually make it to your mouth, Vi?”

“Not much,” admitted Vi. “The second I opened the can, Garth Garrison’s dog—you know, that chocolate Lab he named Gargantua?—well, he came after me like a hound from hell. I ran, of course.”

“Very logical response,” said Lily.

“I didn’t want to use the Mace,” Vi defended. “Not even Gargantua deserves that. Anyway, I accidently dumped the soda in the bag. But all is not lost.” Grinning excitedly, Vi held up a cherry-stained envelope as her sisters looked on with dismayed expressions. The flap had come unglued, and in her effort to save the letter, Vi had slipped it from the envelope.

Pansy groaned. “You didn’t read somebody’s else’s mail, did you?”

“I had to!” Vi protested. “I had no choice!”

“Violet Hanley!” Lily exclaimed in censure.

“Somebody on this island won the lottery,” Vi blurted, untucking her uniform shirt and using it to dry the letter.

“The lottery?” echoed Pansy, thinking Seduction Island didn’t have a lottery. “What lottery?”

“The New York lottery,” Violet explained, her voice hitching. “Whoever it is won fifteen million dollars.”

Pansy stared in shock. “Fifteen million dollars?” she echoed as if replacing the emphasis might make the words make better sense.

Violet nodded, stunned. “Yeah. Somebody on Seduction Island!”

Lily whistled. “And I thought we’d already had enough excitement for one week.”

“You’d think,” said Pansy, glancing through the screen door toward where a sliver of ocean was visible through the dunes. New York and local police were diving from an outboard motorboat, searching through the wreckage of a yacht that had exploded. Pansy had been thoroughly questioned, since she’d witnessed the fireworks, and then, less than an hour ago, she’d gotten another shock. A wooden plank had been salvaged from the wreck, and on it was the vessel’s name, Destiny. It was the same name as the boat on which Jacques O’Lannaise had met Iris Hanley years ago. Pansy’s heart clutched as she worried over the strange coincidence.

“Who won?” Lily asked impatiently.

“That’s the thing,” returned Violet. “I don’t know. When I spilled the soda, the ink ran.”

For a second, even fifteen million dollars didn’t have the power to pull Pansy’s attention to her sisters. Her gaze had shifted from the police and the Destiny to Castle O’Lannaise, the romantic white adobe estate perched on a bluff of the north shore, which could be seen from most points of the island. The property had changed hands countless times and had even been owned by a past president, but it was never inhabited long, which, for Pansy, only served to substantiate rumors that it was haunted by the dark, swarthy ghost of Jacques, whose star-crossed lover’s past was so intimately tied to the Hanleys’.

Despite what finding a buyer for Castle O’Lannaise would mean for the realty business, Pansy loved the palatial estate, and for years she’d dreamed of finding a buyer who’d open it as a summer resort, just as Jacques O’Lannaise had planned. She’d felt that putting history to rest would restore Seduction Island’s flagging economy, and she hoped the lottery winner would be interested in the estate.

“Garth Garrison was my next stop,” Vi was saying. “Since the sorters put the letters in order, he’s probably the winner.” She groaned, thinking of the cranky horror novelist who lived in a tumbledown shack near the water. “I hate to think of him winning so much money,” confessed Vi. “He’s such a jerk.”

“A good-looking jerk,” reminded Lily.

“If you like the artistic type.” Vi rolled her eyes as if to say she’d never registered that Garth was male. “Anyway, you all have to look at the address. See if you can read it. If it gets out that I ruined the mail again, I’ll get fired.”

Pansy sidled next to Lily. All three women stared at the business envelope. “That’s definitely the lottery board’s return address,” Pansy murmured, shifting her gaze to forms the winner was supposed to fill out and sign. “And you can make out the word, ‘Mr.”’

Lily grinned. “The winner’s definitely male.”

“Then he’s married,” said Vi. “He couldn’t be single. We’re not that lucky.”

Summer storms aside, meeting so few eligible men was the one drawback to living on this otherwise idyllic island. Most men were salty retired sailors, and by the ripe old age of ten, the Hanleys had tired of having their hearts broken by seasonal tourists, whom they frequently vowed never to date, although they always did.

“Fifteen million,” Pansy whispered, wondering if a buyer for Castle O’Lannaise was about to materialize.

“This is our zip code,” offered Lily.

“What if Garth Garrison is the winner?” Vi said. “You know, Lily, you’re right. He is kind of cute.” Vi paused. “I mean, in a surly, self-absorbed, narcissistic sort of way.”

Pansy frowned. “Did you ask him if he won?”

Vi gasped. “Are you kidding? He’d tear my head off if he knew I dripped cola into the mailbag. He’s never forgiven me for that one manuscript of his I ruined. And it’s not like he didn’t have that book on disk. Besides which, who’d want to read something called Bloodsuckers?”

“You,” Pansy told her.

Vi would prefer not to admit she was a secret admirer of Garth’s lurid novels. “Well, anyway—” she huffed “—I didn’t ask him. I bet he’d complain to Mr. Vincent, and I’d get fired.”

“We’ll send the letter back to the lottery board,” decided Pansy reasonably. “They’ll know how to redirect it.”

Vi shook her head. “The letter’s dated. If the winner doesn’t get it in time, they’ll lose the money.”

Lily chewed her lower lip. “Could that really happen?”

“I don’t know, but it would be terrible,” Pansy agreed, knitting her brows. She’d hate for an accident such as this to cost a stranger the unbelievable sum of fifteen million dollars. “So much for ‘Who Wants to be a Millionaire.”’

The Hanleys were die-hard fans of the show. “Hang it up, Regis,” whispered Vi. “This guy’s getting fifteen big ones.”

“Maybe a tourist won,” Lily speculated.

Pansy considered. “Nope. It’s a local. Tourists never forward their mail. Usually someone at home picks it up while they’re on vacation.” She chuckled. “Besides, there’re only two tourists.” As a Realtor and part-time tour guide, she knew this was the worst rental season in history. And on Seduction Island, that was saying something.

“We have more than two,” chided Lily.

“Three?” guessed Vi.

“Nearly five hundred,” corrected Pansy. “But given our proximity to Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard…”

Vi raised a staying hand. “Please,” she warned, “don’t start talking about how this island’s cursed, Pansy. Right now, I’m in real, ordinary, everyday trouble. I don’t need to hear about your ghost pirate. C’mon. Does anybody have any bright ideas?”

“Lily,” Pansy said, “you’re on the town council and you’re holding the summer meeting for visiting families tomorrow night. Half the locals come anyway, so we could announce this. We’ll just say…that I found the letter.”

“If no one claims it, we’ll post it on one of the bulletin boards. At the grocery store or something,” said Vi in relief. “Perfect. Can you believe someone on our island won fifteen million?”

The Hanleys, of course, knew Seduction Island was public and didn’t really belong to them, but ever since Winston Hanley had arrived in the seventeen hundreds and built the house the women now shared, Hanleys had been taking responsibility for the island and its inhabitants. Besides, everybody knew the island hadn’t become a city dweller’s getaway, despite its proximity to New York City, because Jacques O’Lannaise cursed it when Iris Hanley hadn’t married him years ago. After that, every Hanley had felt doubly responsible for whatever went wrong.

Lily gasped. “What if Lou Fairchild won?”

“Your fellow town councilman?” scoffed Vi. “You have no sense of irony, Lily. It has to be Garth Garrison. Someone as nice as Lou Fairchild would never win so much money.”

“It’s a shame Lou’s not better looking,” sighed Lily.

That was an understatement. Lou Fairchild, despite his name, had a face only a mother could love. But Pansy barely heard. Once more, she was imagining buying Castle O’Lannaise and turning it into the romantic resort it was meant to be. Suddenly, she glanced at her watch. “Oh, no! I’ve got to run,” she said with a start, quickly rising and grabbing her jacket. “I’m meeting Ned Nelson.”

“The guy renting Casa Eldora?” Lily asked, using the name of one of the rental cottages on the water.

“That’s the one.” Pansy had started hoping Ned would be as sexy as he sounded on the phone. Not that a mere man could compare with the fantasies she’d had about her favorite ghost, of course. Pausing at the door, Pansy traced her fingers over the screen, a slow smile tilting the corners of her mouth when she saw Castle O’Lannaise in the distance. “Whoever won the lottery is going to buy that castle,” she announced, excited prickles of certainty washing over her skin.

“Well,” returned Vi pragmatically, “maybe you can marry him and buy it yourself. But not if you bore him with tales about your mystery lover who haunts the dunes.”

Lily mustered a fake French accent. “Jacques O’Lannaise,” she murmured, the name floating fluidly off her tongue.

“Don’t you think it’s odd the boat that exploded out there was called Destiny?” Pansy murmured.

“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 full and dimpled, and her bone structure seemed almost too delicate to carry off the female curves that were driving him wild. She was pursing her lips in a way he found oddly endearing.

“Lemonade too tart?” he guessed.

“Hanley Realty might find something sweeter,” she admitted with a proprietal frown.

“Your company need look no further than its owner.”

“Now that’s sweet.”

A five-year-old boy, not a grown man, could have paid the compliment, and every unseeing sweep of her gaze was starting to rankle. Yes, innocuous Ned Nelson, with his shaggy blond bangs that concealed a high, scholarly forehead and thick glasses that perched midway down his nose wasn’t commanding much attention. Rex was sure she’d been disappointed when she saw him. Had she, too, fantasized about their meeting based on the easy telephone conversations they’d shared? Would she feel differently if baggy khaki pants weren’t hiding Rex’s hard muscles and sculpted contours? Or if the fastened top button of Rex’s loose Hawaiian shirt wasn’t covering a pelt of swirling jet hair?

He cursed his father and Judith Hunt for putting him in this position. If his father hadn’t disappeared, Rex could have taken time off from policing, time he’d definitely like to spend getting to know Pansy. His gut instincts said Augustus had taken it upon himself to solve a crime. And if the Internal Affairs officer was more reasonable, she’d have shared information with Rex. He wouldn’t have been forced to lower himself to subterfuge. Sighing, he sidled closer to Pansy, drawn by the soft parting of her lips and a whispery catch of breath that accelerated his heartbeat.