Heroes Are My Weakness: A Novel

“But you want to. Admit it.”

“Oh, sure. Why not jump right back into the lion’s den?” Her irises shot gold-specked fireworks at him. “Look where it’s gotten me so far. Probably pregnant. How’s that for a bucket of ice water over those steaming private parts, Mr. Horn Dog?”

It wasn’t funny. It was horrifying. Except the way she said it, with all that bristly outrage . . . He wanted to kiss the hell out of her. Instead, he said, a lot more assuredly than he felt, “You’re not pregnant.” And then, because she’d refused to tell him the first time he’d asked, “When are you getting your period?”

“That’s my business.”

She was all badass. Her way of distracting them from what they both wanted to do. Or maybe he was the only one?

She looped a coil of hair behind her ear. “Did you know Jaycie killed her husband?”

The abrupt change of subject momentarily took him aback. He picked up the mug. He still couldn’t believe she’d made him hot chocolate. “Sure. The guy was a real bastard. Which was why I would never have fired her.”

“Stop looking so righteous,” she retorted. “We both know you set me up.” She rubbed her arm through her sweater. “Why didn’t Jaycie tell me?”

“I doubt she’s eager to talk about it.”

“Still, we’ve been working together for weeks now. Don’t you think she might have said something?”

“Apparently not.” He set the chocolate back down. “Grayson was a few years older than me. A surly kid. Wasn’t too popular even then, and it doesn’t seem as though anybody misses him much.”

“She should have told me.”

He didn’t like seeing her upset, this curly-haired woman who played with puppets and trusted unreliable people. He wanted to pull her into bed. He’d even promise not to touch her if that would wipe away those frown lines. But he didn’t get a chance. She flicked off the light switch and headed down the steps. He should have thanked her for taking care of him, but she wasn’t the only badass around.


ANNIE COULDN’T GET BACK TO sleep, so she grabbed her coat and the keys to the Range Rover and went outside. On their way back from the Lobster Boil, she hadn’t talked to Jaycie about what she’d learned. And Jaycie didn’t know Annie had gone to the turret to wait for Theo.

The night sky had cleared, and the starry blanket of the Milky Way stretched above her. She didn’t want to talk to either Jaycie or Theo in the morning, but instead of getting in the car, she walked to the edge of the drive and gazed down. It was too dark to see the cottage, but if someone had been there making trouble, they would have left by now. Weeks ago, she would have been afraid to go to the cottage in the middle of the night, but the island had toughened her. Now she almost hoped someone would be there. At least she’d know who her tormenter was.

The interior of the Range Rover smelled like Theo: leather and winter’s cold. Her defenses were coming down so fast she could hardly keep the barriers in place. And then there was Jaycie. She and Annie had been together for nearly a month, yet Jaycie hadn’t once mentioned the small fact that she’d killed her husband. Granted, it wasn’t the kind of detail easily worked into a conversation, but she should have found a way. Annie was used to exchanging confidences with her friends, yet her conversations with Jaycie never went below the surface. It was as if Jaycie had a NO ADMITTANCE sign hanging around her neck.

Annie pulled up to the dark cottage and got out of the car. The locksmith she couldn’t afford wasn’t due until next week. She could find anything inside. She eased the door open, stepped into the kitchen, and flicked on the light. Everything was exactly as she’d left it. She made her way through the cottage, turning on lights, peeking in the storage closet.

Scaredy-cat, Peter scoffed.

“Shut up, butthead,” she retorted. “I’m here, aren’t I?” Leo hadn’t tormented her lately, while Peter, her hero, was growing increasingly belligerent. One more thing out of balance in her life.


THE NEXT MORNING, HER HEAD ached and she needed coffee. She stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and padded across the cold floor toward the kitchen. Iced lemon sunlight spilled in through the front windows making the iridescent scales of the mermaid chair sparkle. How had Mariah ended up with that ugly thing? The mermaid reminded Annie of one of Jeff Koons’s kitschy, and incredibly expensive, sculptures. His statues of the Pink Panther, Michael Jackson, the stainless steel animals that looked as though they’d been blown from colorful Mylar balloons . . . They’d made him famous. The mermaid could have come right out of Koons’s imagination if—

She gasped and raced across the living room toward the boxes she’d left there. What if the mermaid were one of Koons’s pieces? Going down on her knees, she dropped her towel as she fumbled through the cartons, looking for the cottage’s guest book. Mariah could never have afforded one of Koons’s statues, so it would have to have been a gift. She located the guest book and frantically thumbed through the pages, looking for Koons’s name. When she couldn’t find it, she started all over again.

It wasn’t there. But just because he hadn’t visited the cottage didn’t mean the chair couldn’t be one of his creations. She’d researched the paintings, the small sculptural pieces, and most of the books, and she hadn’t found anything. Maybe—

“I like it here so much better than Harp House,” a silky voice said behind her.

She whirled toward the kitchen doorway. Theo stood there, fingertips in his front pockets, wearing the dark gray parka she’d napped under last night, while the towel she’d been wrapped in lay on the floor.

Despite their crazy sex in this very room, he hadn’t seen her naked, but she fought her natural urge to snatch up the towel and clutch it in front of her like a Victorian virgin. Instead she reached for it slowly, as if it were no big deal.

“You are one gorgeous creature,” he said. “Did any of those loser boyfriends ever tell you that?”

Not in so many words. Not in any words, really. And it was nice to hear, even if it came from Theo. She tucked in the towel, but—being herself—instead of rising gracefully to her feet, she lost her balance and sprawled back on her heels.

“Fortunately,” he said, “I’m practically a doctor, so none of what I’m seeing is unfamiliar.”

She maintained a firm grip on both the towel and herself. “You’re not practically a doctor, and I hope you enjoyed what you saw because you’re not seeing any more.”

“Highly doubtful.”

“Really? You’re really going to go there?”

“It’s hard to believe you’ve forgotten what I did last night.”

She cocked her head.

He shook his head sadly. “The heroic way I faced those menacing sharks and hundred-foot waves . . . The icebergs. And did I mention the pirates? But then, I suppose heroism should be its own reward. One shouldn’t expect more.”

“Nice try. Go make me coffee.”

He came toward her lazily, hand outstretched. “Let me help you to your feet first.”

“Back off.” She got up without another pratfall. “Why are you down here so early?”

“It’s not that early, and you shouldn’t have come here by yourself.”

“Sorry,” she said, with all kinds of sincerity.

He gazed from her bare legs to the mess she’d strewn on the floor. “Another break-in?”

She started to tell him about the mermaid chair, but his eyes were back on her legs again, and being the only person wearing a towel put her at a disadvantage. “I’ll have poached quail eggs and fresh mango juice. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Drop that towel, and I’ll throw in champagne.”

“Tempting.” She made her way toward her bedroom. “But since I might be pregnant, I shouldn’t drink.”

He gave a long sigh. “And with those chilling words, the raging fire in his loins vanished.”