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"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?"
