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  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Bait

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers

  The young boy quieted mid-shriek, and his mother gasped loudly. Jenna registered their reactions even as she tossed her sandals and ran into the surf. Swiftly she plowed through the water to where Kenny had disappeared, diving under just as another fierce wave broke. Moments later she resurfaced, a listless Kenny tucked under one arm, and began the arduous task of pulling them both back to safety.

  Her years as a YMCA lifeguard had not prepared her for her current predicament. She was struggling to keep her momentum in the shifting undertow when she glimpsed a blur of movement on the shore. Blinking her stinging eyes, she saw the figure of a man splashing toward them, his stride long as his knees pumped him into the water. He dove in and propelled himself through the water with sure strokes.

  Still several yards from her, he slowed into a dog paddle. “Wave!” he called out and disappeared from sight.

  She rolled onto her back, pulled Kenny’s head and torso across her chest to ride the swell, and held her breath. Once the surf began to even out, she rolled back onto her side, adjusted Kenny’s still inert body, and continued her modified breaststroke toward shore.

  Seconds passed with the stranger nowhere in sight. When a head full of slick, black hair surfaced beside her, light-colored eyes glinting in a ruggedly masculine face, she had to hold back tears.

  Bait

  by

  Jael Allen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Bait

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Jael Allen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2018

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2339-8

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  To Daemion and Jaclyn

  She’d done it.

  A deep sigh parted Jenna Alexander’s mouth at the sound of the door closing behind the porter. Exhaustion brought on by months of emotional strain and overwork had etched tiny grooves around her eyes and full lips and loosened the fashionable lines of her couture blouse and slacks. But she’d made it through the chaos that had been her life for the past five months and here, here was her reward.

  Nine days and eight nights in Paradise!

  Her gaze skimming around her Bermuda vacation home, she walked to the magnificent view beyond the patio window. Pleased that the resort had surpassed her expectations in less than three minutes, she walked back to the bags and luggage waiting beside the front door. On the way in from the airport she’d had her driver stop at a local market, so she didn’t have to leave the property if she didn’t want.

  Jenna put away the perishables and then hauled her luggage to the master bedroom. Instead of unpacking, she stripped to her panties and replaced her travel-creased slacks and blouse with tan capris and a summer top. Slipping on a pair of sandals, she stepped outside.

  The afternoon sun floated brilliantly between the sapphire hues of the ocean and the cobalt blue of the sky. Walking across her small patio, she left the pastel-yellow cottage and followed the rocky path down. When she reached the private beach, she yanked off her sandals and sank her bare feet into the luxuriously warm, pink sand.

  “Oh, yeah!”

  Lifting her face to the sky, she drew in the balmy sea air with deep breaths. Her mouth curved with satisfaction, and she angled south to stroll along the expanse of sand that edged the water. Staying parallel with the shoreline, she watched as undulating waves crashed against the beach and sparkling water beckoned even as ominous clouds gathered on the horizon. Grateful the forecasted weather was slated to be a typical summer storm and not another hurricane like the one that had ravaged the island in October, she continued down the beach.

  “On the left.”

  The choppy words of someone running up behind Jenna broke her reverie. A hiker and jogger herself, she shifted to the right. Stylishly long hair, handsome profile, toned body, name-brand running gear, and a dazzling set of pearly-whites flashed by.

  “Nice view.”

  She returned his smile even as an unexpected niggle of annoyance pricked. The man reminded her of Scott. The jogger moved on, and her focus shifted to a small family just at the water’s edge. A very pregnant young woman was attempting to wrangle a young boy who, judging by the tone of their conversation, was due for a bathroom break but unwilling to leave the beach.

  The ensuing dialog confirmed that the two were mother and child as the toddler continued to voice his protests, clearly and loudly, causing those nearest to turn and look in his direction. All except the lad’s presumed father who appeared to be asleep in a low beach chaise, waves pooling around his outstretched ankles and feet. Scattered around the man were a small Styrofoam cooler, a stuffed toy sitting atop the cooler, and a large, oddly-shaped mound of sand.

  The mother was carrying her son by the time her path intersected with Jenna’s. Smiling, Jenna sprinted ahead of her to open the toilet door.

  “Bless you,” the young mother said as she hurried inside.

  Chuckling, Jenna continued to soak in the sights and sounds of a well-tended vacation resort designed to anticipate any amenity their guests could need. Reaching the short wooden pier that served as an informal boundary with the adjacent hotel, and aware of the ever-darkening sky and quickening wind, she turned around and headed back.

  A low rumble of thunder reverberated across the beach, and plumes of warm sand brushed against her legs. She skimmed her hair out of her eyes and quickened her pace. The craggy steps leading back to the cottage were again in view when a familiar voice intruded.

  “On the left.”

  A general exodus from the beach left plenty of room for him to pass, so Jenna did not adjust her pace, her direction, or her gaze on the horizon.

  The man slowed beside her and began jogging backward. “Hello again. I’m Kenny.”

  Kenny’s classic good looks and confident smile solidified her initial impression. Her body stiffened.

  “I’m not inter—” she began before an ear-piercing scream interrupted her words. Both Jenna and her Romeo-wannabe stopped and turned toward the sound.

  The day had gotten worse for the young family she had come across earlier. As she watched, the mother lowered to her knees and pulled the child close. The napping man was nowhere in sight. Jenna’s gaze followed to where the toddler pointed, his chest heaving. Quite a distance off shore, the cooler bobbed on the waves with the bright yellow toy precariously perched on top.

  Jenna began moving in their direction, but her admirer was quicker. With a grin on his face, Kenny took off, sprinting by her as he dashed toward the ocean. Within seconds instinct had her breaking into a run, her gaze tracking the surge of waves stirred by the impending storm.

  Surely the man wasn’t that stupid?

  She was halfway to the
boy and his mother when Kenny reached wet sand. Immediately he toed off his shoes to race into a receding wave. By the time Jenna reached Kenny’s sneakers, his long strokes had closed the distance to the toy now floating without the cooler. He scooped up the endangered toy, turned back toward the shore, and waved the doll in the air in triumph.

  “Kenny!” Jenna shouted, taking note of the breaker rapidly building behind him. But he continued waving until the wall of water came crashing down on him.

  The young boy quieted mid-shriek, and his mother gasped loudly. Jenna registered their reactions even as she tossed her sandals and ran into the surf. Swiftly she plowed through the water to where Kenny had disappeared, diving under just as another fierce wave broke. Moments later she resurfaced, a listless Kenny tucked under one arm, and began the arduous task of pulling them both back to safety.

  Her years as a YMCA lifeguard had not prepared her for her current predicament. She was struggling to keep her momentum in the shifting undertow when she glimpsed a blur of movement on the shore. Blinking her stinging eyes, she saw the figure of a man splashing toward them, his stride long as his knees pumped him into the water. He dove in and propelled himself through the water with sure strokes.

  Still several yards from her, he slowed into a dog paddle. “Wave!” he called out and disappeared from sight.

  She rolled onto her back, pulled Kenny’s head and torso across her chest to ride the swell, and held her breath. Once the surf began to even out, she rolled back onto her side, adjusted Kenny’s still inert body, and continued her modified breaststroke toward shore.

  Seconds passed with the stranger nowhere in sight. When a head full of slick, black hair surfaced beside her, light-colored eyes glinting in a ruggedly masculine face, she had to hold back tears.

  “Got him,” the stranger said, reaching for Kenny. “Head in.”

  Relieved of Kenny’s weight, Jenna fell in place behind and to their left. When the pair touched shore ahead of her, she breathed a sigh of relief and urged her trembling limbs on.

  She cleared the water and dropped down onto the damp sand, her eyes burning as she watched the stranger perform CPR. Silence fell over the small crowd that had gathered until, with one inelegant gag of warning, Kenny began to cough up water. A quick cheer went up from the throng. Several minutes passed before an obviously shaken Kenny sat up.

  Jenna couldn’t hear what their rescuer said, but he patted Kenny on the back, stood up, and headed toward her. Easily six feet one or two and weighing in around two hundred pounds, the dark-haired stranger’s magazine-worthy body moved with feline grace.

  She slowly got to her feet. As his gaze traveled over her body, she resisted the urge to pluck at the thin, wet material of her clothes. When their gazes connected again, sexual awareness coursed through her.

  “Thank you,” she said when he was close.

  “No thanks are necessary. You were doing fine.” The deep timber of his voice was as masculine as his body.

  “I was in over my head. Literally,” she corrected him. “I’m Jenna…Jenna Alexander.”

  “Then you’re welcome. Wyatt Stone,” he added and extended his hand.

  Heat bloomed across her hand and up her arm.

  “You feeling okay?” he asked.

  “Er, yes.” She pulled back her hand. Wyatt Stone was primo male, and even though feeling that hot pull again was likely a good sign, a vacation affair was not on her agenda. “Um…it seems foolish now, but I didn’t consider how different an ocean rescue would be.”

  “Lifeguard?”

  “Three summers for the Y.”

  “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  His gaze drifted back over her body. “Your form, it was—”

  “Miss! Mister!”

  Jenna tore her gaze away from Wyatt and toward the young mother picking her way toward them, a large resort towel in each outstretched hand. She handed Wyatt one of the towels before draping the other across Jenna’s shoulders and neck.

  “Is that young man going to be all right?” she asked.

  In unison the three of them looked over at Kenny who, with the aid of two Good Samaritans, was almost at the foot of the path leading up to the resort.

  “Looks like it.” Wyatt glanced back at Jenna before continuing. “If you’re heading in, I’ll get my things and walk with you.”

  She nodded. Wyatt moved off toward a small pile farther up the beach. He was barely out of earshot when the young mother put her hand over her heart and sighed.

  “Yum. Is he for real?”

  Jenna chuckled. “You interested?”

  “I wish, but baby bumps, even one as huge as mine, don’t stop a girl from looking. You all right?”

  “I am,” Jenna assured her.

  “It was sweet of that guy to try and save Neo’s dollie, but when I realized what he was doing, I almost went into labor. No, no!” she reassured Jenna when Jenna’s eye’s widened and darted to her protruding belly. “Baby girl’s fine, Miss…?”

  “Jenna,” she offered, her gaze shifting to the father and child holding hands a few feet away.

  “Jenna. What a lovely name. I’m Sheila, and that’s my husband Brian and our rather spoiled firstborn, Neo. Is there anything we can do for you?”

  “Thank you, Sheila, but no, I’m fine. I just need to get out of these wet clothes.” When Jenna started to remove the towel, Sheila stopped her with a shake of her head.

  “Keep it. You aren’t dressed for a swim, and the Dark Knight has already seen plenty. For now.” With a wink, Sheila glanced back at Wyatt before turning toward her family. “I hope to see you again. We’re here through Saturday.”

  “I’m here until Saturday myself, so I’m sure you will.” Jenna was still smiling when Wyatt returned with his belongings in his hands. Waving goodbye to the small family, she started toward the footpath.

  “You’re staying at this resort?” he asked, matching her stride.

  She nodded. “Number nine. You?”

  “Three.”

  That was the entirety of their conversation as they climbed the narrow passage in single file. Awareness of Wyatt following behind made her movements awkward. Finally she reached the top, the manicured grounds of the resort spreading out in lush splendor before her.

  “Again, thanks for the rescue,” she said, still clutching her towel around her. When she reached her bungalow, she stepped onto the tiny terrace and turned to face him. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

  He stood for several moments without moving or speaking. And then he nodded, turned away, and walked around the corner of her building.

  Jenna went inside, trekking seawater as she squelched her way down the hall and into her small bathroom. She turned the shower on extra hot. Peeling off her sodden clothes, she caught her reflection in the mirror. “Ugh.”

  Her dark hair was already drying into a tangle of salted, crusty curls, and her nose was red. Even so, color bloomed under her skin.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she advised her image. She was on the island to rest and regroup and not for romance. Besides, the hella hunk that was Wyatt Stone was probably already tucked away with some leggy bombshell.

  Jenna was dry and warm when Mother Nature eventually took center stage and let loose her fury. She burrowed farther under the bedcovers as thunder and lightning battled in the skies, and the day’s events began to take on a surreal quality. Even so, she drifted off to the memory of stormy eyes and rippling muscles cleaving through the water to save her.

  ****

  “So, Boss, what’s your take?”

  Supervising Deputy US Marshal Gregory Wyatt Stone stood looking out across the lawn with his back to the room’s two other occupants. Not much of a talker on the best of days, he had been even less so since he’d returned from the beach. Dressed in agency sweats, his still-damp hair springing back from his forehead in short black waves, Wyatt turned to face Deputy Livingston.

  Delicat
e features, a mass of chestnut curls, and sexy curves invaded his mind for the fifth time. For the fifth time he pushed them away.

  “She seemed…friendly enough,” he responded. His words belied the unwelcome clench in his gut.

  “Girl-next-door or Mata-Hari friendly?” Livingston questioned, turning to look at the man sitting across from her.

  Livingston’s queries were to be expected since Ms. Alexander was the reason his team was assigned to the island. As the supervising agent, Wyatt oversaw the two rookie agents and efforts to locate and detain Scott Lowell for extradition back to the US.

  Lowell, allegedly Ms. Alexander’s ex-fiancé, had agreed to testify against his bosses in the year’s highest-profile federal embezzlement and money-laundering case. Lowell had slipped protective custody a week before Ms. Alexander had left for her vacation. Wyatt considered Lowell’s and Alexander’s timing suspicious.

  His director agreed.

  Bermuda and the US enjoyed the benefits of a strong international relationship, so the local police service kept watch for any signs of Lowell while he and his team covered Ms. Alexander.

  Wyatt’s narrowed gaze moved to Livingston’s partner. “Walton?” he prompted.

  “Neither,” Deputy Walton responded, his mouth twisted into a pout. “Nor did she have bad girl tattooed across her chest. She,” he emphasized with a head-toss in Livingston’s direction, “watches too many damn crime dramas.”

  “I’m not the one who almost drowned trying to impress the woman,” Livingston retaliated.

  “I messed up. But I refuse to apologize again,” Walton griped, shifting his gaze back to their commander.

  “You have,” Wyatt concurred. “I’ve filed it under learning curve, so let’s all move on.”

  “Appreciate that, Boss, but where does it leave our assignment?” Walton questioned as he hunched farther into his seat.

  Livingston spoke up. “Looks like up a creek without a paddle.”

  “Our assignment hasn’t changed,” Wyatt answered.

  “His has, Boss,” Livingston contradicted. “He’s blown any shot at getting close to Ms. Alexander—unless drowning victims do it for her.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Of course we could go old school and just sit back, observe, and wait for something to happen. Or…”