Ria Hastings was in the mood for trouble. It was a warm tropical night on Isla de los Sueños, a small island off the coast of Costa Rica, known for its white sandy beaches, water sports, deep sea fishing, and rum drinks. On one side of the island, several large estates sat on the rugged hillsides with spectacular views of the ocean. The rest of the town lived near the beach, where three hotels and a dozen restaurants competed for tourist dollars.

Ria wiped a strand of blonde hair off her sweaty forehead. The temperature hovered around eighty degrees at just after midnight, and the beachside bar was packed with tourists. Ria had been tending the bar since seven, and she was ready to call it a night. She'd been hit on four times already, and while she was used to handling men who were a little too drunk or too interested in her, she was tired of wearing a polite smile, but she would do exactly that for another hour. She couldn't risk getting fired, nor could she afford to draw any attention to herself. She'd been blending into the local scene for months. Now was not the night to stand out.

As she wiped down the counter, her gaze caught on a man sitting at the far end of the bar. He'd arrived two hours earlier with a friend—a loud, charming, and now hammered, sunburned blond by the name of Tim. Tim had been doing tequila shots since ten and was now hosting a trio of beautiful girls at a nearby table. The man at the bar seemed to have no interest in joining his friend's party and had been nursing a vodka tonic for the better part of an hour. He also hadn't responded to any of the women who'd slid into the seat next to him, although his gaze had swung in her direction on more than one occasion.

He was an attractive man, athletically built, dressed in khaki shorts and a navy blue knit shirt. His dark brown hair was on the short side, and he had an air of discipline about him. Military, she thought. Just out or on leave, but close enough to his service that his body was still toned and on full alert.

She hadn't missed the fact that his gaze darted to the door almost as often as hers did, as if he were waiting for someone or didn't want to be taken by surprise. Maybe he was military intelligence.

That idea made her frown. The last thing she needed was military intelligence to show up on the island.

She told herself not to let her imagination run wild. A lot of ex-military guys came to the island to decompress and let off steam. Since the location had become a popular destination for bachelor and bachelorette parties, there was usually a good deal of action available for anyone who wanted to find it.

But this man didn't seem interested in escaping reality with alcohol or with women, so what was his story?

Glancing down at her watch, she told herself she had better things to worry about than a random stranger, no matter how sexy he was.

In a few hours, the plan she'd put into motion six months earlier would finally be launched. She'd gone over the details a thousand times in her head, and while she wanted nothing more than to go off by herself somewhere and review everything again, it was more important for her to maintain her usual routine.

The man at the end of the bar caught her eye again. There was something in his dark gaze that beckoned to her, a pull of attraction, desire, feelings that she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a very long time. She couldn't afford to answer his call. She was too close to the end to get sidetracked by a man, especially a man who set her nerves tingling with just one look.

On the other hand…

As two men approached the bar, she moved down the counter toward her fellow bartender, Martin, a twenty-two-year-old ex-Harvard-dropout, who had come to the island to find himself. So far, the only thing he'd found was a love for tequila and bikini-clad girls.

"Switch with me," she said.

Martin's gaze moved past her to the men sliding into stools at the other end of the long bar. "Trouble?"

"I'd just prefer not to wait on them."

"Got it," he said.

She walked toward the handsome stranger. At this moment, he seemed the less dangerous choice, or at least, the less
obvious
dangerous choice. It had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to trust anyone.

"Can I get you another drink?" she asked.

His eyes were a deep, dark brown, and there were shadows in his gaze, things he'd seen, things he didn't want to see again, she suspected. But there was also courage and strength in his eyes, a resilient defiance. He might have been knocked down, but she doubted that he'd stayed down.

"Sure, why not?" he replied, with a lightness that was in contrast to his tense posture.

"I can't think of a reason. Same? Or do you want to change it up a bit? We have an island special you might like."

"What's that?"

"Beso de la sirena, otherwise known as mermaid's kiss."

"Do you see mermaids after you drink it?" he asked, a lighter gleam entering his eyes.

"Some men do."

"It sounds dangerous."

"You look like a man who could handle a little danger."

"And you sound like a woman who knows how to sell a high-priced drink to a tourist." A hint of a smile played around his lips.

So he was smart as well as attractive. "Guilty. So what will it be? Beso de la sirena or another vodka tonic?"

"Vodka, hold the tonic." He pushed his empty glass across the bar.

She made him another drink, then tipped her head towards his friend, who was making out with a busty blonde. "Your friend seems to be ignoring you."

He shrugged. "I can't blame him. They're all very pretty."

"Yet, here you sit by yourself. No one here has caught your interest?" She wiped down the bar with a damp towel. As she spoke, she cast a sideways glance at the two men at the other end of the bar.

They worked as bodyguards for Enrique Valdez, one of the very wealthy men who made his home in the island hills. As much as she didn't want them at her bar, it was good that they'd come in; they would see her doing what she always did. She wouldn't raise any suspicion.

"I didn't say that," the man in front of her said.

"What?"

"You said there was no one here I was interested in, but that’s not true."

Her heart skipped a beat at his direct gaze, and her pulse started beating way too fast. She'd made a point of not getting involved with tourists, or anyone for that matter, but this man was more than a little tempting. She'd been lonely on the island, living a life of pretense. But that pretense was crucial to staying alive. She couldn't let desire get in the way.

"Nice line," she said casually. "I've heard it before—about three dozen times."

He smiled. "I'll bet you have. But I'm the only one who meant it."

"Sure you are."

"What's your name?"

Her body tensed. "You first."

"Drew Callaway."

"Do you want to add a title before your name? Maybe Lieutenant or Captain," she suggested. He had the air of leadership about him.

He tipped his head, a gleam in his eyes. "Lieutenant."

"With the…"

"I'm in between services at the moment. Former Navy pilot, soon to be flying helicopters for the Coast Guard."

Navy pilot certainly explained why he exuded both discipline and recklessness at the same time. It also probably explained where the shadows in his eyes came from.

"What tipped you off?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged. "I'm good at reading people. It comes with the job. Why did you leave the Navy?"

He didn't answer right away, a contemplative expression in his eyes, then said, "My time was up. I needed a change of pace."

"Where were you deployed?"

"All over."

"So you saw action?"

"Too much."

She gave him a thoughtful look. "It doesn't sound like you're making a huge change, moving from one kind of service to another."

"I still get to fly, which is all I ever wanted to do, but hopefully not with as many people shooting at me."

"I can't imagine that."

"No, you can't." He sipped his drink, then set the glass down. "Your turn."

She cleared her throat. She'd been living on the island for six months, and in that time no one had balked at the name that was on her fake passport, a version of her real name. "Ria," she said.

"Pretty. Last name?"

"Not important."

"A woman of mystery."

"A woman who likes her privacy."

"How long have you lived here on the island, Ria?"

"Long enough to know better than to get involved with tourists," she said with a brief smile.

"No exceptions?"

"Not so far. People come, they go. I'm still here." She paused. "What brought you to the island of dreams?"

A smile curved his lips, giving him an entirely different look, one that was even more attractive. She felt a knot grow in her throat.

"I dreamt about a beautiful blonde with big brown eyes," he said. "A full mouth, with soft kissable lips and a killer body." His gaze drifted down to her breasts. "I think I found her."

Her nerves tingled under his scrutiny and she had to fight the urge to cover her breasts, not that much was showing in her bar uniform, a coral-colored red tank top over white shorts. Most of the women in the bar were showing more skin than she was.

"You're quite the flirt," she said lightly.

"Actually, I'm a little out of practice."

"Just getting out of a relationship?" she queried, unable to believe this man would have any trouble getting a date.

"I've been focused on other things. Staying alive for one."

"I can see how that might be a priority."

"What about you?" he asked. "Are you involved with anyone?"

"No."

"Good."

"Why is that good?" she challenged.

He smiled. "Because I like you, Ria. What time do you get off?"

Her heart jumped at the hungry look in his eyes. "You're very direct."

"I'm leaving tomorrow. I don't have a lot of time."

"Where are you going?"

"San Francisco."

A wistful yearning filled her body. San Francisco was one of her favorite cities. And she'd been away for too long.

"I love San Francisco," she said. "I lived there when I was a child. My grandfather was a fisherman. He'd take me out on the bay every chance he got." She drew in a quick breath, realizing she was talking way too much. "What part of the city do you live in?"

"I grew up in St. Francis Wood, but I'll be living South of Market starting next week. It's the hot area to live in now, right near the new ballpark." He paused. "You didn't answer my question, Ria. What time do you get off?"

She gave him a long look, feeling incredibly tempted. His eyes were so dark and intriguing, his features pure masculine gorgeousness. He had a mouth that looked really kissable, too, and a purposeful attitude that made her think he probably knew what to do with a woman. It had been a long time since she'd lost herself in a man's arms for a few hours. And despite the fact that he was a stranger, she had the strangest feeling that she could trust him not to hurt her. That was a dangerous thought, because she couldn't afford to be wrong.

"Ria?" he pressed.

"Do you think I'm that easy?" she countered.

"Not easy, but I think maybe you're important."

The serious note in his voice shot a shiver down her spine. She told herself not to get carried away. He was just trying to get her into bed. He'd say anything. She couldn't believe a word.

"Why on earth would you say that?"

"I don't know. Ever since I saw you I've wanted to talk to you."

"You didn't ask me what time I got off so you could talk to me."

"Well, that was one of the reasons," he said. "I'm not trying to insult you. If I had more time, I'd ask you out on a date. I'd bring you flowers and take you to an expensive restaurant and buy you a really expensive cut of steak."

"Is that your usual style?"

He gave her a smile. "I don't have a style. And while I would never profess to understand or know what a woman wants, I do have sisters, and they talk and complain a lot, especially when it comes to men and dating."

"How many sisters?"

"Three sisters and four brothers."

"Big family. Where are you in the line-up?"

"Fourth from the top."

"Otherwise known as the middle."

He tipped his head. "Yes. What about you? Big family?"