lowered slightly, and his voice took on a seductive quality. Or maybe she had merely imagined it. “Since this is my last day on St. Michael’s, I’m having a party on my yacht and everyone is invited,” he announced.
A cheer went up from the assembly.
He tossed the microphone to the governor and stalked offstage with a jaunty spring to his step, his entourage of sycophants trailing after him. The crowd gathered around, patting him on the back, trying to shake his hand, but he seemed a man on a mission.
It took Haley a few seconds to realize he was headed toward her. Oh, hell, no.
She spun on her heel. Should be easy enough to disappear in this throng. She rushed forward. Her toe caught on a power cord snaking across the ground and she tripped. Way to watch where you’re going, French. She put out her palms to catch herself and ended up sprawled on the ground. Oh, she hated being vulnerable.
From behind her came a familiar chuckle. He was already upon her. Before she could scramble up, Jeb’s hand went around her waist, his citrusy scent enveloping her as he helped her gently to her feet.
“Easy there, baby,” he crooned, bending down to dust the dirt from the knees of her scrubs.
She wrenched away from him, stepped back, breathless and despising herself for it. Hands off the goods, buster. Worst of all, she couldn’t help meeting his eyes.
There he was standing so close to her in his white shirt, pressed khaki shorts, yachting cap and boat shoes, looking every inch the wealthy windblown yachtsman. Everyone else faded away and it was just the two of them.
His light blue eyes regarded her with a lively sense of humor. It was that sense of humor that had been her undoing. She wasn’t going to fall for it. Not twice. No way. No how. He was finally leaving the island. Yay! She’d never have to see him again.
“You’re coming to my party, right?” His fingers lightly stroked her upper arm.
No way.
“It wouldn’t be a party without you,” he went on.
“I’ve got to wash my hair,” she lied. On second thought, why lie? Maybe she would wash her hair. Wash that man right out of it.
“All you need is to lose a few of these pins.” His fingers went from her shoulder to her hair, which was pulled up into a tight bun. It was far too intimate of a gesture. He plucked bobby pins from her hair, one by one, and the locks fell loosely to her shoulders. “There, much better.”
Haley jerked back, pulse thumping hard. Oh, no. Do not like this. You are not allowed to like this.
The expression in his eyes was one of total amusement. He knew he’d made her uncomfortable and he was enjoying himself.
“I’m a stickler for clean hair. I make it a policy to wash it every day.” She stuck her chin in the air.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice warm and cozy. “You do love your rules.”
Who was he to act as if he knew her? Just because they’d almost—Well, never mind what they’d almost done—she was determined to forget it. What really chafed was that he’d been the one to pull the plug on their encounter.
“Gotta go.” She pointed her feet away from him, but for some unfathomable reason, she did not move.
“I should have known you wouldn’t come to my party,” he said. “Little Miss Straitlaced.”
“Just because I don’t want to attend your bacchanal doesn’t mean I’m straitlaced.”
“Bacchanal?” He sounded amused.
“It’s a word. Look it up.”
“You’re chicken.”
She straightened. “I’m not afraid of a thing.” Watch out. Noses grow when lies are told.
“I disagree. You’re terrified of having a good time.”
She sniffed. “My idea of a good time and your idea of a good time are two very different things.”
“I know. Beating myself up is not my favorite pastime.”
She curled her upper lip, determined not to smile back at him. “Well, have a nice party and a safe trip.” He’d nailed her, but good. Well, not nailed her in the sexual regard. Pegged her—that was better terminology. He’d pegged her. Must hate him for that if nothing else.
“Are you going to miss me when I’m gone?” He leaned down, his grin widening.
All night long. “Not in the least.”
“I suppose I asked for that.”
“You did.”
He batted his eyes at her. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Whatever for?”
“You’re the only one on this island who keeps me on my toes.”
No, sir. She would not let this man turn her into mush. She was better than that. “You want to be on your toes? Wear high heels.”
He threw back his head and laughed heartily. “I also love your sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” She folded her arms over her chest.
“You’re also the only one who doesn’t like me, and I can’t figure out why.”
Haley scoffed. “Not everyone has to like you. Why do you care whether I like you or not?”
“Because I like you.”
“You like everyone.”
“True,” he said, taking a step closer. “But not as much as I like you.”
She put up her hand like a stop sign. “You don’t like me. You like a challenge.”
His crystal-blue eyes glittered. “I have to admit, I do enjoy a challenge. The more you resist, the more I want you…” There was a long pause that set her heart to rocking, before he added, “At my party.”
“You can want in one hand and spit in the other and see which fills up first.”
Jeb laughed long and loud, showing off a row of straight white teeth. That was the problem with the man. He was too perfect and every woman wanted him. Just like the blonde who was sidling up to his elbow and fluttering her false eyelashes at him.
“Your adoring public awaits.”
“What?”
She nodded at the woman.
Jeb barely cast the platinum blonde a glance and quickly swung his gaze back to Haley. “Come to my party.”
“I don’t think so. It takes my hair a really long time to dry,” she quipped.
She could not let him know how much he got under her skin. If he knew that he was a major star in her sexual fantasies, she would never hear the end of it. She refused to be like all the other women simpering at his feet.
Yes, he was good-looking. Yes, he was rich. Yes, he had personality and charisma oozing from his pores. Those were exactly the reasons she was not interested. Jeb Whitcomb was a very superficial man.
“It’s the last time you’ll ever see me.” A hangdog expression crawled over his face. “Don’t you want to say goodbye?”
“Goodbye.” She wriggled her fingers at him.
“The party won’t be the same without you.”
“You won’t miss me.”
He canted his head, his eyes drilling into her like lasers. “Ah, see, but that’s where you’re wrong.”
“It’s not going to happen, Whitcomb.”