I smile, but it feels tight and fake on my face. “He’s on his way.”
“I wouldn’t leave you alone long either. Some opportunistic gentleman might come and try to charm you away.” Vander’s tone is flirtatious and sets me on edge.
Where the hell is his girlfriend or wife or whatever?
“He has no reason to be worried.” I turn the conversation back on him, hoping to kill the borderline inappropriate vibe I’m getting. “Are you here on your honeymoon?”
He laughs. “No. No. Nothing like that.”
Thankfully, before I have to think of something else to say, a giggle announces the arrival of Vander’s companion. My gaze cuts to the entrance, and the rush of relief I feel swiftly changes when I see the brunette clinging like a limpet to Dane’s arm.
“Thank you so much. I’m so clumsy. I guess these heels aren’t meant to be worn here.”
You could say that again. She’s wearing five-inch stilettos you’re more likely to see at the Victoria’s Secret fashion show—or a stripper pole—and not on an island with no solid, flat surfaces. In fact, given her perfect figure, towering height, and hair to die for, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has walked a runway. Or worked a pole.
“Might want to trade those in for flip-flops,” Dane comments.
“Anya, did you have some kind of mishap?” Vander releases his hold on Dane’s chair.
Anya. What is it with exotic-sounding A names lately?
“She almost broke an ankle coming inside,” Dane says, his gaze zeroing in on Vander.
And of course he rescued her. Because that’s what Dane does.
Where is this jealousy coming from? I shove it down and lock it away.
“Thank you for your assistance, Dane. I appreciate it.”
Her familiar use of his name and overly friendly smile would have caused another flare of jealousy, but Dane is frowning at Vander. Is he feeling the same thing?
Vander adjusts his watch on his wrist, moving away from the table and holding out his hand to Dane.
“Thank you for your assistance, sir. I’m sure you understand what it’s like to try to reason with a woman who packs an entire suitcase full of shoes, even for a weekend away.”
Anya rolls her eyes playfully. “Says the man with the foot fetish who loves that I bring all the shoes. Don’t let him fool you. Vander might grouse, but I wouldn’t have so many shoes had he not bought them for me.”
What the hell? Foot fetish? Did he look at my feet?
Wow, Kat. Calm down.
Dane shakes his hand.
“Vander Iman. Thank you so much for looking after Anya. I’ve been keeping your beautiful wife company.”
“Dane Cross.” His voice is gruffer than normal.
Maybe he is jealous.
The men take each other’s measure. Dane’s dark hair is a contrast to Vander’s dirty blond. Dane’s tattoos make him appear more dangerous than the Brit with the boat shoes and fancy watch.
They release each other’s hands, and Vander steps back. “Enjoy your breakfast with your wife.”
Dane nods. “Likewise.”
This is definitely making the list as one of the most awkward moments on this trip.
Eduardo breaks the tension, taking drink orders. Vander and Anya settle at their own table as Dane takes the seat across from me.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his gaze darting over my shoulder, no doubt to the other couple.
“Fine.”
Anya’s obnoxious laugh fills the room again, grating on my nerves, even though I try to ignore it.
“So you’re catching lobsters and rescuing strange women this morning?”
“She tripped out front, stepping off the boardwalk onto the cement.” He keeps his voice low when he adds, “I’m glad you didn’t pack shit like that. There’s a time and a place, but it’s not here or now.”
I know we’re both thinking about the comment she made. Foot fetish.
With a cough, I cover my own amusement and reach for my napkin. “I’m glad you’re not . . . into feet.”
A small smile stretches Dane’s lips, and he chuckles. “I’m not saying I don’t like your feet, but there are other parts of you I like a hell of a lot better.” His gaze dips meaningfully to the V in the neckline of my sundress, and a warm flush prickles over my skin. All thoughts of Vander and Victoria’s Secret Barbie disappear.
I’m deciding how to reply when Eduardo returns with our drinks. “We’re supposed to impress you with catching breakfast, Mr. Cross, instead of the other way around.”
Dane reaches for his Bloody Mary. “Sometimes a man has to fend for himself just to prove he can.”
“I suppose you’re right. Would you like to do some more fishing today? We’re happy to cook your fresh catch.”
Dane glances out the window and points to the catamaran moored about thirty feet from the beach. “Do you take people out for day trips on that?”
Eduardo nods. “We certainly do. If you like, we can arrange for you to go today.”
Dane looks to me.
“That would be great,” I reply.
“Excellent. I’ll check with the captain to make certain, and will have a confirmation for you before you finish breakfast.”
“Thank you, Eduardo.” As soon as the man leaves, Dane gives me a measured look. “You’re one hundred percent sure you’re good with sailing?”
My eyes roll so hard, they’re in danger of plopping out of my head. “First, I already said yes. And second, you swore you would never bring that up again. Besides, I still contend it was all your fault.”
The deep rumble of Dane’s laughter fills the restaurant, and I can’t help but smile.
*
Two years ago
I didn’t see the catamaran’s boom swinging toward me, but I felt it as soon as it connected with my skull. A flash of pain burst through the haze created by Coco Loco.
“Fuck, Kat. Watch out!”
Dane’s warning came too late because my drink was already flying through the air. The frozen coconut concoction splashed me in the face as I went airborne and over the side.