"You need to get laid," Derek said, settling back in his white wicker chair. The old furnishings had been in Jack's family since the forties, and they creaked a bit under the man's weight.

"Really." Jack tossed his pen and linked his hands behind his head as he studied his campaign manager. Aside from politics, the guy thought of nothing but s.e.x. Kind of inconvenient for a married man who liked variety.

"Really," Derek replied, his dark eyes unwavering. "You haven't been laid since you and Monique broke up." Derek raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile in place. "Why don't you call her? She's not stupid, she'd come crawling back in a second if you told her you wanted her. She's just grandstanding. Waiting for an apology and truthfully, Jack, I don't blame her. h.e.l.l, who would? Donovan f.u.c.king James? Your memory that screwed up?"

"Derek," Jack warned. Donovan James was off limits. He wasn't discussing her with anyone.

"I'm just saying," Derek tossed back at him.

He'd known Derek McKenzie since fourth grade, and for most of his life, he'd considered Derek to be his best friend. They'd shared a lot of firsts together, including the bottle of lemon gin Jack's father kept at the back of his liquor cabinet. They'd smoked their first joint together, lost their virginity within days of each other (to the same girl). They'd attended Harvard, did a tour of Europe and just for the h.e.l.l of it, took a year off- one that they dubbed danger-to climb a mountain in Peru, ski the Swiss alps, explore the jungles of India and surf the coast of Australia.

h.e.l.l, for a while there, he'd been like an honorary Simon, always around the family. But something had changed over the past few years, and the two men weren't as close as they once were. Jack wasn't exactly sure when it had started, but he knew that sometimes people grew up and they grew apart.

Still, Derek McKenzie had a nose for politics like no other, and he was heading up Jack's bid to become a senator.

Derek raked his hands through his thick crop of dark hair and shrugged. "I'm just telling it like it is. She wasn't good for you five years ago, and she sure as h.e.l.l would throw a wrench into our campaign now. Jesus Christ, you saw what happened with those pictures a few months back. The press would have a field day if you guys got together, and I'm not gonna let that happen."

Again. The word was unspoken and Jack's eyes flattened as he watched the play of emotion on Derek's face. He'd never liked Donovan. Jack wasn't exactly sure why, but the two had never gotten along.

"Derek," he repeated, but his campaign manager plunged forward as if he never heard Jack.

"She might be a G.o.dd.a.m.n win in the sack, but she'd be a loss at the polls. We both know she's nothing but an uneducated, backwoods hick who has no talent other than her t.i.ts and a.s.s-"

"Enough," Jack growled and this time Derek got it.

Jack got to his feet and faced the ocean, shoulders tight as h.e.l.l and anger barely kept in check. "You and I are not having this discussion. My personal life is hands off and who I choose to spend time with is none of your business. You don't want to push this Derek."

"Am I interrupting?"

Both men glanced over at the young woman who stepped onto the porch and tossed a bright pink tote onto the low slung settee near the door. Jack's eyes narrowed as he perused his younger sister from head to toe. Her skirt was on the short side, her top a little too low and- "What the h.e.l.l did you do to your hair?" Derek asked.

His sister Grace practically jumped up and down. "Do you like it?" She twirled around, that d.a.m.n skirt lifting, and Jack swore when he caught sight of black underwear covering not nearly enough of her b.u.t.t. The left side of her head was shaved, the top spiky and the rest hung nearly to her waist, the blond ends now a vibrant pink.

He sighed and hid a smile. Only Grace.

"Betty Jo's stylist suggested it, and I love it." She giggled. "I don't think Mom is gonna be a fan but whatever."

"Mom is going to have something to say for sure," Jack replied.

Betty Jo was their brother Beau's fiance. A former fashion model and now a bona fide movie star in her own right, she was a little bit crazy and a whole lot fierce.

"She's lucky." Grace giggled. "The alternative was to go bald."

"Bald?" Jack asked. Wow.

"Yep. Bald. It's like, back in you know? And I have the right shape for it."

"What the h.e.l.l does the shape of your body have to do with shaving your hair off?" Was it just him? 'Cause he sure as h.e.l.l wasn't following his sister's logic.

"The shape of my head, Jack." Grace studied him intently. "You could pull it off, you know."

Derek groaned.

"You've got the Simon genes, so your face is pretty hot and your head is round so..."

"He's not shaving his d.a.m.n head," Derek interjected. "Christ, we'd lose ten points overnight. Don't underestimate the power of that head of hair."

Grace made a face at Derek. "So what are you two arguing about anyway?" she asked, falling onto the nearest chair and kicking off her flip-flops.

"Nothing," Jack answered, shooting a warning glance at Derek.

"Didn't sound like nothing to me," Grace answered, chewing her gum and smacking it loudly. "Actually, it sounded like a lovers spat. Is there something you two aren't telling me?" she teased.

Derek rolled his eyes and scooped up his laptop along with his briefcase. "Why don't you make yourself useful and convince your brother to get away for a few days and clear his head. He needs to get back in the game. Just because he's a Simon doesn't mean this senator gig is all wrapped up."

Derek looked at Jack pointedly. "It's been ages since you've had a vacation. Go and get some R&R. I'll hold down the fort."

Jack didn't answer him.

"Wow. What the h.e.l.l is up his a.s.s?" Grace said, jumping to her feet after Derek left.

"Nothing," he said. His mood was s.h.i.t, and he still had a bone to pick with his sister, but it could wait. Aside from the fact that he didn't have the energy to argue with someone who made arguing look like an art form, he was done discussing Donovan James.

"I think you should," Grace said making her way over to him until she too was looking out over the ocean.

"Should what?"

"Go away for a few days. I could stay here and look after Coco, and you could clear your head and maybe do what Derek suggested."

He glanced down at his sister, noting the grin. He was almost afraid to ask.

"And what's that exactly?"

"Get laid."

He shouldn't have asked. "Jesus, Gracie. I'm not having this conversation with you."

She shrugged. "You do seem more uptight than usual is all, and like I said, I can stay and look after the little monster."

"You're just afraid to go home and let mom have a look at your new head."

"There is that," his sister said with a grin, linking her arms through his as she rested her head on his shoulder. "At twenty-three, it shouldn't be an issue, but man, she's got a way of making me feel like I'm a teenager again."

G.o.d, he loved the kid. She was thirteen years younger than him and for most of his life, she'd been the biggest pain in the b.u.t.t. She was still a pain in the b.u.t.t, but she was also so much more than that. She was a complicated, vivacious, petulant, loving, intelligent young woman...who had the worst taste in men.

"You should go to Belize," Grace said, swatting at a fly.

That was from left field. "Belize," he repeated.

"Well actually, there's this little island off the coast of Belize that Liam and I were supposed to be staying at for ten days. It's super private and only one guest house but um..." She sighed and blew out a long breath. "We broke up."

"Ah, kid. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Turns out Liam has a problem keeping his d.i.c.k in his pants when I'm not around."

Jack heard the hurt behind her words and gave her a hug. "a.s.shole move," he said quietly.

"Yes," she replied.

Jack held his sister for a few moments, staring out over the water. "Belize," he murmured.

"Belize." She nodded. "Go. It's already paid for. d.i.c.khead and I were supposed to fly out the night of the fundraiser but..."

Jack was silent for a moment. "I don't know, Grace. I've got reports to go over, and I've got a board meeting in a few weeks. It's not a good time for me to slip away."

"Whatever. The campaign isn't going to fall apart because you're not here. Even Derek thinks it's the perfect time for you to recharge your batteries and," she grinned slowly. "Consider it a gift from me to you."

She kissed Coco, who, traitor dog that he was, licked her back as if she was his long lost friend.

"Besides, I need some time alone, and your beach house is perfect."

"Really," he said dryly.

"Really," she repeated.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mood still off and a frown on his face. He was restless, irritable, and a whole lot of other stuff he didn't want to think about. Christ, he didn't know what the h.e.l.l was wrong with him. He only knew that ever since he'd run into Donovan, he felt as if his skin was pulled too tight, like b.u.t.ter spread thin over toast. It was unsettling, and he didn't like it.

Jack Simon was used to being in control, and right now he felt as he was drifting...as if he was waiting for something to happen, and he didn't like the feeling.

At all.

For a few moments, he said nothing because he was waiting for something to happen and maybe that something was as simple as getting away and forgetting about everything for a little while.

He glanced at his sister. Suddenly Belize sounded just about right.

Chapter Four.

Four days in and Donovan had to ask herself why she'd never visited this part of the world before. She'd been pretty much everywhere else, every continent and major city you would want to visit, but Belize, or rather this tiny island just off the coast, was a paradise she'd not expected.

She had no cell phone. No iPod or iPad for that matter and no computer either. Heck, there wasn't even a television inside the house. All she had was a suitcase full of clothes, a copy of Aldus Huxley's The Doors of Perception (she'd been trying to read it for two years, but whatever) a notebook and pencil, and the first guitar she'd ever bought, a beat up Epiphone with a hole in the pick guard.

She could walk the entire island in about an hour and had done so each morning. The beach was amazing, the weather idyllic and she'd just finished snorkeling for the first time. Roger, the elderly gentleman who lived with his wife, Mary in a bungalow on the other side of the island, had set her up with some gear before he'd taken the boat and gone to the neighboring island of Ambergris Caye for supplies.

The couple were caretakers for the owner of the private island (who exactly that was Donovan had never learned), and it had been Roger who'd met her at the airport on the mainland.

All in all, the place was to die for, and as Donovan braided her long hair, eyes moving across the beach, she couldn't help but feel as if she'd found a little piece of heaven.

Didn't matter that she was alone. It didn't even matter that the ache she'd learned to live with would always be there. After hours of travel and the first few days of feeling sorry for herself, she'd had a moment...an epiphany so to speak.

Donovan knew that she would never be happy, at least not in the true sense. All of the things she wanted, a husband and lately a child, well, they'd pa.s.sed her by when the Jack Simon fright train had derailed. And sure, fantasies about a life with Jack had carried her for the last few months, ever since Miami, but after Cooper's ultimatum, she knew it would never happen.

That love story was dead.

If only she could find that sweet spot. That balance between want and need. She had to get to that place where she was one hundred percent okay with not being one hundred percent happy.

People did that right? Not everyone lived a happily ever after.

Not even the girl who America thought had it all.

She'd brought a bag down to the beach, filled with a soda, water and some snacks (her trainer would have a heart attack if he could see the chocolate bars and chips but hey, she was on vacation). She had the Huxley book she was determined to read, but it was several feet away underneath a palm tree.

The snorkeling, the sand and the sun made her lazy, and she dropped to her beach towel instead of retrieving her bag. Rolling over onto her stomach Donovan made a pillow with the end of her towel, closed her eyes and relaxed.

The gentle waves lapping onto sh.o.r.e coupled with the heat from the sun calmed her spirit, and eventually she drifted off.

Donovan wasn't sure how long she slept but when she woke up, billowing gray clouds blocked out the blue sky and sun, and the wind had picked up. Stiff, she pushed up onto her knees and glanced around, yawning as she stretched.

Looked like a storm was brewing.

She scooped up her towel and was heading to where she'd left her bag when she heard voices on the wind. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but they were definitely male voices. Curiosity piqued, she folded her towel and turned toward the dock located several hundred yards down the beach.

She spotted Roger and his wife chatting with a man whose back was to her. The guy was tall and wore faded cargos, while an un-tucked white T-shirt flapped in the breeze. He sported a ball cap so she couldn't see his hair, though his skin was tanned a dark golden, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

A large bag was slung over his shoulder, and he held another smaller bag in his hand. There was something about the way he stood...

Roger and his wife waved to him as they climbed into their boat and-wait-were they leaving? Uneasy, Donovan grabbed her own bag and began heading up the beach. There was no point in yelling because A) she was pretty sure they'd be back sooner than later and B) the noise of the motor would drown her out anyway.

Roger's boat reversed away from the dock, and before Donovan had a chance to run the last bit of the way, the boat was headed to open water and the man they'd been talking to turned toward the house.

He took three steps before he stopped, but it was two steps more than she needed to know exactly who it was. Even with the ball cap and aviators covering his eyes, there was no mistaking that chin and mouth or the broad chest and wide shoulders.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing on my island?" she snapped, picking up the pace and swearing a blue streak when her foot landed on a piece of sharp coral.

He tore off his sungla.s.ses, staring at her in-wait-was that surprise? Shock?

His mouth tightened as a shadow from the clouds crossed overhead.

Her gut tightened because she could clearly see what was reflected in his eyes, and it sure as h.e.l.l wasn't delight. It wasn't even close. Jack Simon looked dangerous and more than a little p.i.s.sed off.

"Son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h," he swore, eyes moving up her body until he nailed her with a look that had her hackles instantly up. "Grace," he practically growled.