Stranded With Her Ex. Jill Sorenson

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      Later that afternoon, another surfer had been bitten by a great white and bled to death on that very beach.

      From that moment on, Sean knew what he wanted to do. Studying sharks in general, and the white shark in particular, was his greatest ambition, his ultimate goal, his life’s dream. Just being near them made him happy.

      Or, it used to.

      Now he loathed this island. If he hadn’t been trapped here, fulfilling his last professional obligation before he took family leave, he’d have been with Daniela. He’d have been driving instead of her.

      “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He wouldn’t have agreed to come to the Farallones again if he hadn’t owed Dr. Fitzwilliam a favor. Fitz had covered for him during the family emergency.

      “Do you think she should stay here?” Jason asked.

      “No,” he said, his voice grim. The sun had gone below the horizon, taking every hint of warmth with it. “But she says she can handle it.”

      “What happened to her?”

      Sean pulled his gaze from the water. “You don’t know?”

      “I haven’t spent much time in the States for the past couple of years. To be honest, I never connected her name to yours.”

      He hesitated, reluctant to tell the tragic story. In the weeks following the accident, Sean had been responsible for notifying dozens of friends and family members about Daniela’s condition. Although he had the words memorized and could speak them without inflection, they were no easier to say the hundredth time than the first.

      “She was in a car accident during the third trimester of her pregnancy,” he began, his voice flat. “A drunk driver blindsided her SUV, leaving her trapped inside for several hours. She lost the baby.”

      Jason stared at him for a moment, trying to process the information. He swallowed hard and put his hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Jesus, man. I’m sorry. Really sorry. That’s terrible.”

      Sean clenched his jaw, hating this part of the process. But then, he hated all the parts. He knew Jason meant well, but Sean felt like a bear with a thorn in his paw. Watching another man comfort his wife, when he couldn’t, had put him in a very dark mood.

      It was all he could do not to shrug off Jason’s touch. He was more interested in a rousing fistfight than this clumsy display of kindness.

      “I had no idea,” Jason continued, a pained expression on his face. “No wonder she’s having a hard time.”

      “Yeah, well, maybe you should have done a basic background check before you signed her on.” He cast Jason a cutting glance. “Although, judging by the look of the crew this season, I can guess the criteria you used to make your selections.”

      Jason dropped his hand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

      Knowing he was being an asshole, and not giving a damn, Sean tilted his chin toward the house. “All of the ladies inside are very easy on the eyes. I don’t think you could find a prettier group of female scientists if you tried.”

      The jibe was beneath them both. And Sean couldn’t have cared less.

      To his credit, Jason refused to take him seriously. “I chose them based on expertise and project diversity, not physical appearance, but what can I say? I got lucky. Next time you visit, I’ll make sure the girls are uglier.”

      Sean shook his head and sighed, his anger fading as quickly as it came. Jason was impossible to stay mad at. And Sean couldn’t begrudge his appreciation for the opposite sex; he’d always liked the ladies, himself. Although his parents’ divorce had been bitter, and his own more devastating still, he continued to enjoy the company of women.

      Just not with the same…vigor.

      Daniela used to tease him about his female friends, calling them his “followers,” but she’d never acted jealous. Not even when he was working in the field for weeks at a time. Of course, he’d always jumped on her the instant he walked through the door. It was one of the aspects of their relationship he missed most. He’d loved coming home to her after spending time apart. They’d never been able to get enough of each other.

      “Let’s keep a close eye on her for the next few days,” Jason said, returning to the topic of most importance. “She can always go back to the mainland if she needs to. The last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt here.”

      Feeling his throat tighten, Sean moved his gaze to the uneven shoreline, watching midnight-blue water slosh and slap against gray, perforated rocks. In the distance, the Skull was shrouded in darkness now, wearing an impenetrable mask.

      Chapter 4

      As Daniela came down the stairs, the aroma of sautéed vegetables and the sizzle of oil assailed her senses, along with the faint, sweet fragrance of sticky rice.

      She was hungry, she realized with surprise. Really hungry.

      Jason was in the kitchen, doing his magic. The top half of his black hair, which was even longer than Sean’s, was caught up in a Samurai ponytail. Despite the chill, his upper body was clad in a thin white T-shirt. The muscles in his arms flexed as he moved the sauté pan, and the edge of a tattoo flashed from beneath one short sleeve.

      He was very nice to look at, but her eyes slipped by him almost immediately, resting instead on Sean. Her ex-husband stood in the back of the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a beer bottle in his hand.

      Men. Hot water wasn’t a necessity, but they always had beer.

      Under the harsh fluorescent light, he appeared older than the last time she’d seen him, a little wearier and a lot more weathered. His hair was still the same thick golden-brown, his eyes the same shade of dark honey and his skin as tanned as ever, but his demeanor had changed. When his gaze met hers, it was shuttered. He was hiding something from her, and he’d never done that before.

      Daniela became aware that a hush had fallen over the room. On the other side of a wall partition, but in full view of the kitchen, Taryn and Elizabeth were seated at the dinner table, laptops open. After a brief pause, they resumed tapping at the keys.

      Brent Masterson stood by the front window, hands in his pants pockets, as still and quiet as a shadow. He gave her a wry smile, acknowledging the awkward moment rather than pretending it wasn’t there.

      She drew in a deep, calming breath. “What can I do to help?”

      “You can set the table,” Jason said. He pointed with the spatula, indicating the cabinet behind Sean. “Plates are up there.”

      The kitchen was small, and she had to get very close to Sean in order to take the plates down. He flattened his back against the side of the refrigerator, but her elbow still almost touched his chest as she opened the cabinet door. The dark green sweater he was wearing looked familiar—she’d given it to him for Christmas, at least five years ago. Like him, it appeared a little worse for the wear. Used hard and work-roughened.

      Not that it mattered, on his body. Even threadbare, wash-faded fabric suited his rangy, well-muscled frame.

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