thing , some benevolent presence—had hovered nearby, keeping him alive when he should have perished. Whether it was the design of a higher power or the provenance of pure luck, somehow he’d survived. And while he wouldn’t go so far as to label the underwater presence an angel, he couldn’t shake the deeply rooted notion he’d been visited by a being of purity and beauty.
Digging deeper into the murk surrounding that day, Kenneth’s stomach tightened at the fleeting, half-conscious impressions crowding into his brain. Female . Yes, he was absolutely sure the presence was a feminine one.
A flush prickled his skin as his heart sped up, filling his veins with hot adrenaline. Since that time the same faceless siren had visited his dreams, ushering in a sensually erotic delight. He was absolutely convinced he’d experienced the feel of her hands caressing his skin with a sensitive, compassionate touch. The breath seeping from his lungs had been restored by her kiss . . .
Kenneth choked down a lump of frustration before taking a few quick breaths to calm his fluttering stomach. “I definitely need to get my head on straight,” he muttered under his breath.
The idea his sea nymph was nothing more than the apparition of a mind gone awry had occurred to him on more than one occasion. The siren had to be the figment of a desperate imagination. He’d spent months in therapy working through that day. His therapist had even identified the notion to be part of post-traumatic stress disorder.
Survivor’s guilt in the wake of two painful events had obviously put a lot of pressure on his subconscious mind. His body was relieving the stress in the only way it knew how, through sleep. Coming from the mouth of a professional, it all made perfect sense.
Forcing his gaze away from the water, Kenneth settled his attention on the island ahead. As the transport motored closer, he could see a traditional Cape Cod- style home—right down to the whitewashed exterior and gray-shingled roof—that stood several hundred feet behind a high concrete wall designed to break the worst of the waves.
The lighthouse was perched staunchly nearby, a guardian warning ships away from the dangers of land ahead. According to what he’d been told, he’d washed up, battered by the rocks and unconscious, on the island’s rocky shore during the storm. The island’s owner had reportedly pulled him to safety, alerting shore patrol to the emergency.
Kenneth hoped by returning to the island he could talk to the woman who’d rescued him. Surely she could help him put the final pieces of that day together.
“You guys never last.” A raspy voice shattered Kenneth’s internal monologue, reminding him he wasn’t alone on this voyage into the unknown.
Kenneth glanced over his shoulder. Outfitted in clothing that had seen better days, the owner of the boat manned the rudder. Loaded with supplies destined for the island, the motor-powered vessel wasn’t the prettiest or fastest on the bay. Rather, she was seaworthy and worked hard, a necessity for people who made their living in the coastal waters off Maine’s shores. Dubbed Lucky’s Lady , the small craft was as sun-weathered as the grizzled old man piloting her.
Feeling a twinge of tension in his shoulders, Kenneth loosened his grip on the edge of the boat. “I didn’t catch what you said,” he admitted, shouting his words over the whine of the motor.
Pushing back a cap that barely covered a fall of shoulder-length silvery hair, the old man spat a wad of phlegm over the edge of the boat. His expression was one of amusement. “Tessa,” he yelled back, nodding toward the island. “She eats up the help and spits them out. Can’t keep a handyman to save her life.”
Ah, right. Now he understood why the old man had been so willing to ferry him across the bay. Clad in a pair of jeans coupled with a short-sleeved knit shirt and heavy boots, he most likely looked like he needed a job. Failing to