ust as he'd done for the better part of his life, Drew took his problems fishing.

The noontime sun beat down upon him as he drifted in the rowboat some thirty yards offshore in the bay. He wished he'd grabbed his hat before shoving off; he'd be much cooler. Or maybe not. Grabbing his hat would have meant entering his cabin and facing Hannah. At that point the idea of hot took on a whole new meaning.

Drew reeled in his line, then cast it out again. He used a Maybug Bait for tackle this time, mainly because he never caught anything on that particular lure, an idea that suited his fancy. This fishing trip was for therapeutic purposes only. He had some heavy thinking ahead of him. Alone in a boat surrounded by water was the best place to do it.

If he wanted to win Hannah's love, especially after today's debacle, he would need a damn fine plan.

Of course, the obvious solution was to tell her the truth. He could march up to the cabin and explain how it had taken him some time to understand the motivation behind his actions. He could tell her about the Castaway Bait Company and list his patents like a pedigree. He could lay all his cards on the table and declare his love for her.

"But I don't want to do it that way," he grumbled, sending his line flying with the flick of a wrist. His pride balked at the idea.

Drew wanted to win Hannah as the man who had lost her. He needed to know that she loved him for himself, not for the financial success he'd achieved. Sure that made his task more difficult, but he considered the potential gain worth the risk. Besides, if he couldn't manage it this way, he could always resort to the truth later on. After all, the sailboat wasn't scheduled to return until sometime tomorrow.

Probably the first thing he should do was tell her she could have the declaration. He couldn't in good conscience keep it now that he knew his was the only known surviving copy. "You should have told her that up front," he muttered. Had he been honest then, he might not be in this current mess.

A little self-honesty from the beginning wouldn't have hurt anything, either. Too bad he'd been too busy trying to get even. "Idiot," he groused. Hindsight often made a man appear the fool, and this instance was no exception.

However, it did him no good to worry about what had gone before. He needed to devote his attention to figuring out how to proceed from here.

"So," he said, then scowled when the fishing pole bowed toward the water. He immediately stopped reeling in, allowing the line to go slack. Sure enough, the fish slipped off the hook. "How should I…?" his voice trailed off as motion on shore grabbed his attention. He did a double take. "Hannah?"

He grabbed for his ever-present knapsack and yanked out his great-grandfather's spyglass. Bringing it to his eye, he stared toward the splash of white in front of his fishing cabin. Then he damned near swallowed his tongue.

She'd donned one of his shirts again. He watched her hang her wet dress on the makeshift clothesline, next to her underclothes. His stare moved from her under-clothes to her bare legs, and he realized she must be naked beneath his shirt.

His mouth went dry. He lowered the spyglass with hands that shook. He tried to resist—tried hard—but a moment later he succumbed and brought the glass back up to his eye.

Hannah had disappeared. While he wasn't looking, she'd disappeared from the campsite. A sixth sense told Drew he'd best find out where she had gone.

Grumbling, he stowed his pole, picked up his oars, and headed ashore. Upon reaching Wild Horse Island, he dragged his boat away from the water, then checked the cabin. Nothing.

Outside again, he stood beside the laundry flapping in the gentle ocean breeze and gazed around the camp. The yeasty fragrance of baking bread drifted from the cabin as he debated what to do. Should he follow her or wait for her return? Surely with bread in the oven she didn't intend to disappear for long. Which did she want him to do?

Knowing Hannah, she probably wanted him to follow her. Knowing Hannah, he'd probably be better off staying right where he was. He studied the ground, discovered her trail, and set off tracking her across the island.

Fifteen minutes later, he figured out where she was headed. On the gulf side of the island, he wove in and around and over the dunes and eventually arrived at the beach. Footprints led across the sand toward the water, but it was the pile of white silk lying just beyond reach of the waves that grabbed his attention. "Oh, Hannah."

Almost against his will, he lifted his gaze toward the gulf. There she was, some thirty yards out, a mermaid cavorting in the surf. A naked mermaid, he knew. She dove, her bare legs rising above the surface of the waves and in seconds, Drew went hard as a harpoon.

It made him angry that she had that kind of power over him, so when she surfaced, he called out, "Hannah, come back in. It's not safe to swim alone."

"Go away, Coryell. It's not safe to swim with shades, either, and that's what I'd be doing if you were in the gulf. Now leave me alone, I'll be fine. I don't want you around." Firing that salvo, she abruptly sank beneath the waves and swam away.

Drew watched the surf, and as the seconds ticked by and she failed to reappear, his heart began to pound. "Damn it, Hannah," he said, stripping off his shirt and starting to tug off his heavy denim pants in preparation for going in after her. Then he spotted her farther out than where he'd been looking, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Get back here. You're too far out. The current gets dangerous out there." When she disappeared for a second time, he stripped off his pants while cursing, "Blasted woman."

Dressed only in his drawers, he ran into the water, then dove when it was deep enough and started swimming toward the spot where he'd last seen her. Was this her way of getting back at him? Getting swept out into the gulf and drowning? Or maybe serving up an arm or a leg to a goddamned shark? Furious and fearful, he cut fast, smooth strokes through the water.

Halting periodically, he searched the water for sight of her. Where did she go? Fear twisted his belly and threatened to steal his breath. When he got hold of her he'd…

"Help! Drew, please help me."

Fear stung like a jellyfish. Treading water now, he whipped his head around, trying to trace the sound. Left… somewhere left of him. He twisted around and heard a gurgled shout.

There. A hand. Her hand with something around it… a fishing net?

A chill slithered down his spine. Damn. Damn. Damn. Hannah was tangled in a fishing net. He swallowed a mouthful of saltwater and fear as he struck out swimming, pulling and kicking with all his strength, knowing she could drown before he reached her. Knowing he couldn't let her die. Knowing such an outcome would destroy him, too.

Be smart, honey. Don't fight it. Try to float. He lifted his head, trying to spot her, but saw only the rolling blue waves of the gulf. Panic welled inside him, but he grimly controlled it. He didn't have time for panic.!!!Where are you, honey? Show me. For God's sake show me.

As if she had heard him, she surfaced, just long enough for him to catch sight of her. Even as she sank once more, he reached her, his fingers first brushing her hair, then an arm. Careful to avoid tangling himself in the net, he grabbed her by the shoulders and propelled her head toward the surface.

He heard her sputter, cough, and draw a breath. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.

Supporting her head above the water, Drew kicked toward shore. With the net swirling around them, the going was difficult. He'd have given up every one of his lure patents for a knife right then. At least Hannah knew better than to fight him and compound one stupid act with another.

It felt like forever before he reached water shallow enough in which to stand. He shifted Hannah into his arms, then carried her out onto the beach. He strode to the spot where he'd left his clothes and gently set her down. From his pocket, he removed a knife. His hand trembled as he cut the offending net away. "Damned shrimpers throw everything overboard. You wouldn't believe some of the trash that washes ashore."

Finally free, Hannah rose onto her hands and knees, coughing hard. Then she rolled onto her back and collapsed onto the sand, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling as she continued to suck in deep breaths.

That was the first time the fact registered with Drew that she wasn't naked, as he had previously believed. She wore strips of cloth—torn pieces of one of his bedsheets, perhaps—tied to conceal her from her breasts to her thighs. She might as well have been naked; the cloth had ripped, and she had rope burns across her belly.

The sight sparked his temper all over again.

He ranted. "What the hell were you thinking, Hannah? Of all the stupid, idiotic, foolish things to do. Do you know how close you came to dying just then? And it wasn't only that hunk of fishing net. The current out there gets nasty due to the pass into the bay. And let's not forget the danger of shark attacks. It's tarpon season here, and their migration up and down the coast attracts sharks by the dozens. And a shark is the most accommodating fish in the gulf. One of 'em could easily accommodate a trio of you. It's rare they'll swim in where it's shallow, but out there where you were…" He shuddered, then finally shut up.

Hannah opened tired eyes. "You saved my life, Drew. Thank you."

His knees turned to water and he sank down onto the sand beside her. "I have never been so frightened in my entire life."

She reached out and touched him, placing her hand on his thigh. "I wasn't. I knew you'd save me. That's what kept me from panicking."

He got a lump the size of an oyster in his throat. "You trusted me that much?"

She smiled sadly and shut her eyes. "Yes. Amazing, isn't it, that I'd trust you to save my life on the very heels of your having told me you wanted to hurt me."

"Ah, Hannah, don't. I never…" His voice trailed off. He didn't know what to say. He'd acted petty and foolish and mean and he had wanted to hurt her. God, what a fool he'd been. Failing to find words with which to heal the pain his blindness had caused her, he tried to tell her another way.

Leaning over, he kissed the rope burns on her stomach.

At the touch of Drew's gentle lips against her skin, Hannah thought she was drowning all over again. This time, however, the tide sweeping over her was pure emotion. How could he be so mean and vicious one moment, and so sweet and tender the next?

"Please, don't hurt me any more."

He lifted his head. "It stings?"

"No, you hurt my heart." Then, blinking back tears, she added, "But I guess I hurt your heart, too, didn't I?"

Drew nodded solemnly. "Cleaved it right in two."

"And that's why you asked me to sell myself for the declaration."

He responded with a half-dozen invectives muttered under his breath. "Look, that was wrong. I'm sorry I ever brought that up. I was angry, Hannah. I've been angry for years because you walked out on my love."

"Yes, I did. And it was wrong of me and cruel of me and undoubtedly the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life." Sitting up, she met and held his gaze. "I loved you, too, Drew, and I shouldn't have listened to my father. I should have stayed with you. I should have at least suggested you leave the beach life behind. But I didn't and I've regretted it and I haven't been able to put you behind me."

Her lips lifted in a tremulous smile and her eyes pleaded for him to listen and to believe. "That's why I had to see you again, why I really made the trip to Wild Horse Island. I couldn't marry Jeremy without seeing you again."

Drew went still as beached driftwood. "Jeremy? Who the hell is Jeremy?"

"He's my beau."

"Your beau."

"Yes. He's asked me to marry him. I knew I needed to see you again before I could tell him yea or nay."

He glanced away, looking out toward sea. She watched his shoulders rise as he drew a deep breath, then softly asked, "And now that you've seen me?"

She shrugged. "I want a family, Drew. I want children."

He grabbed her arm, his grip fierce. "You will not marry him."

Hannah saw something in his face, some truth he wouldn't admit shining in his eyes. Her heart pounded as if she stood poised on the edge of a precipice, except Drew was the one who needed a good push. So she pushed by trying to tug her arm from his steely grip. "Let me go."

"Say it, Hannah. Say you won't marry this Jeremy person."

"Let. Me. Go."

Seconds passed. Long, pregnant flashes of time. Then Drew's eyes blazed. "Never, dammit. Never again."

And he kissed her. His mouth was hard on hers, driven and demanding as he forced her lips apart and plundered her mouth.

Hannah ravished right back. As he buried his fingers in her hair, her hands swept hungrily up and down his back. When his mouth finally released hers to trail down her neck, kissing and nipping along the way, she arched against him. And as he rose above her long enough to strip away the bands of cloth shielding her breasts, she lifted her head and licked him, tasting salt and sea and Drew. His deep-throated groan sent a shiver of excitement racing up her skin.

Hannah felt daring and desperate, her actions ruled by passions that had simmered inside her for so long. She gave herself up to the heat he roused within her. She wanted this. She wanted him. This was the real reason why she had come to Wild Horse Island. She knew that now.

She had never stopped loving Drew Coryell.

In that moment, the world surrounding Hannah faded away. The seagulls quit calling, the surf stopped rolling, the sea breeze ceased to blow. I love you, she silently vowed as his hands streaked across her skin. I love you thrummed in her heart as he dipped his head and suckled her breast.

Those three words played a litany through her mind over and over and over as he stroked, laved, kneaded, and teased her body to a fever pitch. And when—finally, thank God—he claimed her, joining his body with hers and sweeping her higher and higher with every long, luscious thrust until she convulsed beneath a tidal wave of pure sensation, Hannah said them aloud. "I love you."

Seconds later she felt his climax deep in her womb and she rejoiced. But it was the words he whispered next that sent her spirit soaring.

"I sure as hell hope you meant that, sweetheart, because I love you, too."

Long minutes later when they could breathe again, Drew rolled to his feet, then bent and lifted her into his arms. Cradling her against him, he walked out into the water and washed away the sand that now coated their skin. They frolicked in the surf like children, then loved like adults in waist-deep water. Wonderfully tired and temporarily sated, they exited the water and donned their clothes as protection against the late-afternoon sun. "We should go back to the cabin and get you a hat," Drew told her, scowling as he thumped the tip of her nose. "You're starting to resemble a lobster."

"Well, thank you so very much for the compliment," she dryly replied.

They walked hand in hand along the edge of the softly rolling surf, their conversation comfortable and limited to inconsequential matters. A couple of times Drew attempted to turn the talk to more serious subjects, but Hannah refused to cooperate. Time enough for that later; now she wished to simply enjoy the moment.

Then, suddenly, time ran out.

They returned to the fishing cabin to fetch Hannah a hat and found a sailboat pulling up to the end of the fishing pier.

"Oh, no," she fussed, tugging on the hem of her shirt in embarrassment. "He's early. Why? I specifically told him to pick me up in three days. In fact, he told me that suited him just fine because he wanted to make a run down to Corpus Christi to visit his sweetheart." After a moment's pause, she added, "Maybe they had a fight."

"Go on to the cabin, honey," Drew said, giving the small of her back a slight shove. "That's not the same boat."

"What? Were you expecting company, Drew?"

He shook his head. "No. Only a couple people know I'm here. I hope there's not trouble at the factory."

Trouble at the factory? What factory? Hannah wanted to ask, but taking the time now wasn't worth the risk of getting caught by a stranger half-naked and thoroughly ravished. Darting for the shelter of the fishing cabin, she spared the sailboat one last curious look… and froze. She blinked and looked again. "Jeremy? And my father!"

Drew whipped his head around. "Jeremy?"

Hannah's eyes closed. "Yes. Oh my. And Papa, too."

Seconds ticked by in silence before Drew cleared his throat and asked, "Shall I send them away?"

Yes, her heart cried, though her mind knew better. She had to face this sometime. Might as well get it over with. "No. I'll talk to them."

Drew took her by the arm and started tugging. "Better get in the house and get some clothes on in that case." Then, as he grabbed her dress and underwear off the line, he muttered just loud enough for her to hear, "I can't believe this is happening all over again."

Inside, he, too, quickly pulled on clean clothes. Then he walked to a large wooden box that sat in one corner of the room and carried it over to the table. Drew threw open the box lid and sat down.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked, aghast. She knew what was in that box. She'd snooped in it yesterday. She might have understood if he'd reached for a gun or something, but fishing lures? Really!

Drew lifted one of the two dozen or more small wooden boxes inked with the words Castaway Bait Company from inside the larger container. "What am I doing?" Drew repeated. "I'm doing what every man should do when his father-in-law comes to call." Then he flashed her a pirate's grin. "I'm fixing to go fishing."