The distant storm had moved a bit closer, and though it still wasn’t near enough to be a threat, the view of the flashing sky was breathtaking. She wanted to kick herself for not bringing her camera. She’d had so little time for her photography since she’d gone on this seminar tour with Daniel she was beginning to worry she’d forgotten how to do it. Hopefully, when they returned to Dallas after this last stop, she could dedicate some time to her neglected studio.

With a sigh, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and dipped her hair into the water. Maybe that’s why she was in such a funk. She’d spent the last few months supporting Daniel’s passion and ignoring hers. She’d signed up for it, and the venture had turned out to be lucrative for them both, but it definitely didn’t feed the part of her soul that slipping behind a camera did. That part was downright starved.

Thunder rumbled closer this time. Reluctantly, she drifted back a few feet. It was probably time to get out. The alcohol-induced fog in her head was clearing, and based on the sudden uptick in wind, the storm would be on top of her in the next few minutes. But before she could take another step, pain—sharp and sudden—shot up her thigh.

She yelped and jolted backward, her arms flailing before she crashed into the water and went under. Saltwater filled her mouth, silencing her shout, and a burning sensation wrapped around her thigh and radiated outward.

Disoriented, she scrambled for solid footing, trying to get back to the surface. She knew she couldn’t have fallen into deep water, but the writhing pain and the knowledge that she was out there alone had panic edging in. She spread her arms in an attempt to tread water and finally felt sand against her toes. But just as she tried to push off, twin bands of heat wrapped around her upper arms and her entire body was propelled upward.

When her face broke the surface of the water, she sucked in a large gulp of air, half-coughing, half-choking. She kicked frantically, trying to make sure she didn’t get dragged back under.

“Stop fighting or you’re going to drown us both.” The rumbling male voice came from behind her, and the grip on her arms tightened. “We’ve got to get out of the undertow.”

Her heart jumped into her throat, but she forced herself to stop struggling so the stranger could help. His breath was warm on her neck as he pulled them both backward, but he didn’t say another word. The water seemed to be fighting their progress, and the man adjusted his hold until he had his arms hooked beneath her armpits. She wanted to tell him to let her go, that she knew how to swim, but her thigh was burning like a swarm of wasps had attacked it and her head was spinning again.

A few hard-fought minutes later, packed sand scraped against her heels, and she sucked in a deep sigh of relief. The man dragged her another few feet until they reached dry land, then set her down and kneeled next to her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his broad chest heaving beneath his soaked T-shirt.

She lifted her gaze to the concerned eyes staring down at her, an odd sense of déjà vu washing over her. “I, uh . . .”

“I heard you scream. Are you hurt?” He touched the side of her head, evaluating her.

She wet her lips. “My leg . . . Something stung me . . . I lost my balance.”

He glanced down the length of her—the mostly naked length of her. Shit. She shot up into a sitting position and scooted backward, but his hand locked over her knee as he stared down at her upper thigh, which was still burning like she’d roasted it over an open fire.

“Damn, it got you good.”

“What are you talking about?” She tried to jerk her leg from beneath his grip, but he held her firm as he examined her.

“Jellyfish,” he said, frowning at her. “Your whole thigh is striped. That must hurt like a sonofabitch.”

She stared down at the red tentacle-shaped lines around her thigh. “Well, it doesn’t feel awesome.”

He chuckled, the rich sound seeming to vibrate from deep within his chest, and something stirred in the back of her brain. He climbed to his feet. “Here, let me help.”

“Don’t you dare pee on me,” she said, the words slipping out before she could rethink them.

He tilted his head back in a full laugh this time, the sound echoing down the beach.

She cringed. “I’m sorry, I—”

He raised a hand, his eyes still lit with humor. “Don’t worry. The urine thing is just an urban myth. And I’m definitely not going to ruin my ‘just saved pretty girl from drowning’ hero status by taking a leak on you. I’m not that stupid.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, a hero, huh? So this is all a big pick-up routine? Find drowning girls and ride in on your white horse?”

“Absolutely.” He grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it off, revealing miles of taut skin, sinewy muscle, and tribal-style ink running across his shoulder and down one arm, rendering her momentarily speechless. Water dripped off his soaked hair—which looked to be blond, though it was hard to tell in the moonlight—and slipped down his now bare chest. Her gaze locked on the tiny droplets, tracking their path down to the band of his shorts until they disappeared. Oh, blessed Lord.

He cleared his throat, no doubt catching her in her perusal, and squatted next to her. His hand slipped under her knee. “Here, seawater actually helps the sting. Let me wrap this around your leg, and then we can go to my room. We’ll get you feeling better.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh, really. Might want to tap the brakes there, Rico Suave. Despite my state of undress, I don’t just go to strangers’ hotel rooms. I’m not quite that easy.”

Dimples appeared as he fought a smile. “Oh, not quite that easy, but easy. Duly noted.”

She shot him a withering look.

“For the record, that’s not why I was inviting you to my room. Although, I promise that certainly would distract you from the pain. But all I mean is my roommate is Mr. Prepared. He keeps a first-aid kit for the beach and always has a bottle of vinegar in it. It will help deactivate the venom.”

She frowned. Two grown men on a beach vacation together? Great, not another good-looking guy who preferred other good-looking guys. Not that she was looking for anything to happen anyway. He was a stranger. An extremely pinup-worthy stranger. But still. In her sexually deprived state, a little flirting could be almost as satisfying as an orgasm. Almost.

With gentle hands, he bent her leg and wrapped his wet T-shirt around her thigh. His focus was on the task at hand, but she didn’t miss the sneaky sidelong glance toward her open thighs, where her wet panties were probably revealing every detail of what lay beneath.

She cleared her throat, and his gaze darted back to her leg, but the corner of his mouth tugged up a bit.

Well, well, maybe not so gay.

Her body heated at the thought, even though her brain knew that, straight or gay, she wasn’t going to do anything with her rescuer. “So how long were you out here? I thought I was alone.”

He glanced up as he draped the shirt around her leg a second time. “I was here the whole time.” He crooked a thumb behind him. “Was sitting in one of the lounge chairs on the far end. I thought you saw me when you looked down the beach, but I guess not.”

“You could’ve said something, you know.”

He gave her an unrepentant grin. “If a beautiful woman wants to go for a naked swim, who am I to intervene?”

“Very gentlemanly of you.”

“Hey, never said I was a gentleman. Just a hero.”

“Right,” she said, her tone dry.

He tucked the end of the shirt underneath the first layer, securing it. “Is that too tight?”

“No, it’s actually helping the burning a little.”

“Hold on.” He climbed to his feet and jogged a little ways down the beach, grabbed something from one of the lounge chairs, then walked over to where she had left her clothes and picked up those as well. When he returned he held out her T-shirt. “Go ahead and put this on. You’re not going to be able to put on the jeans, but you can wrap my beach towel around your waist.”

“Thanks.” She took her shirt and towel from him, pulled the first over her head, then got to her feet and knotted the beach towel around her hips. She tilted her head up to smile at him. “So, Mr. Humble Hero, you have a name?”

He stuck out his hand. “It’s Jace.”

Her body froze, the world seeming to tip off balance for a moment. Had she heard right? She stared at him for a moment, taking in every nuance of his face, the earlier whispers of déjà vu now becoming shouts.

Was it really him? His hair was longer, his body harder and more mature, the green in his eyes more wary, but the resemblance was there. It’d been years—twelve actually. The nineteen-year-old boy she’d known had become a man. “Jace Austin?”

* * *

Oh, shit. The recognition that flashed in the woman’s blue eyes had Jace dropping his hand. This chick knew him? He frantically flipped through his mental Rolodex, starting with the girls-I’ve-slept-with file.

When they’d locked gazes earlier, he’d felt a nudge of familiarity but had dismissed it. Surely, he’d remember this dark-haired beauty, especially if he had gotten the privilege of touching that lush little body. But something about her was poking at the recesses of his mind.

He rubbed the back of his neck and offered an apologetic smile. “Uh, yeah. Jace Austin. I’m sorry, have we met?”

She flinched a bit—the move subtle, but not lost on him. Damn, well now he felt like a jackass. Had they slept together?

She recovered quickly, the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I look a little different than I did at sixteen. Especially without that god-awful bottle red hair and eyebrow piercing.”

Sixteen? Red hair? The flashing list of names in his head suddenly flipped back over a decade and landed on one he hadn’t thought about in years. One he’d purposely tried to block out. No, couldn’t be. “Evangeline?”

She shrugged and looked out at the water, the wind whipping her hair around and disguising her expression. “It’s Evan now. I stopped using my full name a long time ago.”

“Wow, I don’t even know what to say,” he said, shaking his head. “You look great. I’m so glad to see that you’re . . .” Okay. Alive. “Here.”

She turned back toward him and smiled, though it didn’t light her face the way the earlier smiles had. “It’s good to see you, too. But, if you don’t mind, before we go down memory lane, how ’bout that vinegar?”

“Oh, right,” he said, his mind still whirling. “Follow me.”

And she needn’t worry. The last thing he was going to do was initiate any reminiscing. No, some things were better left buried. And how he’d destroyed the girl he’d sworn to look out for was A-number-one on that list.

TWO

Evan leaned against the back of the couch in Jace’s hotel suite and clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from shaking. She’d thought about Jace so often over the years, despite her best efforts not to. She had wondered how he was doing, but she’d never allowed herself to look him up and check. She’d been a coward—afraid of how she’d react seeing him all grown up, possibly with a wife and kids or something.

When she was a teenager, Jace had been the perfect boy in her eyes. The only guy who’d been able to make her smile during those dark years. She’d stupidly assumed his attention had meant more than simple friendship, more than pity for a screwed-up foster kid. But God, how wrong she’d been. Of all the disastrous mistakes she’d made in her life, falling for Jace had been her biggest. She’d paid dearly for that error—still paid for it—but he would never know that.