A woman convinced she must choose between the sensual and the sensible, between romance and reality. A man who settled for nothing less than having it all. A powerful novel of second chances, last chances, and a relationship that almost wasn't--by New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann...

It was the chance Molly Cassidy was waiting for and she wasn't letting it slip away. She'd unexpectedly inherited the Kirk Estate and was determined to restore the historic house as one of Sunrise Key's finest bed-and-breakfasts. Of all the obstacles she faced, the biggest challenge was the man determined to buy the roof from over her head. Sexy billionaire Preston Seaholm owned the biggest resort in the little Florida community. But Molly knew well that the best things in life couldn't be bought or sold. She had come to Sunrise Key with a dream, her ten-year-old son, and no intention of falling for a thrill-seeking adventurer. But from the moment they met, when he risked his own neck to save hers, Pres Seaholm proved he wasn't the man Molly thought he was. Now, with something even more precious on the line, was she too late to recognize that he was the man she'd given up ever finding?

From the Paperback edition.

 

It was going to rain.

Molly Cassidy knew without a doubt that it was going to pour buckets from the huge dark clouds that were looming over the Gulf of Mexico and moving steadily closer.

Last night it had rained just a little and the roof of this enormous, white stucco Spanish eclectic-style house that she and Zander had inherited had done a fine imitation of a sieve.

Molly had bought tarps first thing that morning, but in this wind, tying the last of them over the low-pitched, rambling red-tiled roof was proving to be a two-person job.

Lightning cracked in the distance, and the boom of thunder was quick to follow. Instinctively, she flattened herself on the roof, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Was she nuts? On the roof during an electrical storm?

But this decaying, moldy, wonderful old architectural monster was their future. It was their chance at a new beginning, a fresh, clean start.

And it would be much more fresh and clean if there weren't two inches of water standing in the living room by nightfall.

As another rumble of thunder rolled, Molly lifted her head and peered over the crest of the roof down toward the ground. She could see her ten-year-old son looking up at her, his thin face pinched with concern, his eyes huge behind his glasses. Zander hated thunder and lightning. He always had, even as a baby.

"Get down from there," he signed up at her, his hands moving swiftly, sharply. "Now."

"Go inside," Molly signed back. "I'm almost done."

"Hurry!"

"Go inside," Molly signed again. "Make sure all the windows are closed. Quickly!"

Zander turned and dashed inside, and Molly looked down at the tarp, wondering the best way to untangle it in this wind with only two hands. Maybe she should just tie it down the way it was. It would be better than nothing... .

But then the wind rose and the tarp whipped up and over her, covering her and nearly knocking her off the roof. She slid, cursing and scrambling for a finger- or toehold on the slippery mission tile.

Her foot hit a loose tile and caught just as strong hands grabbed her around the waist and hauled her against a hard body. Who the heck... ?

Molly pushed the tarp off her head and found herself nose-to-nose with the Beach Boy.

She'd seen him out on the beach every morning since they'd first arrived on Sunrise Key three days before. He had an artist's easel and watercolor paints and he always sat quietly in the early-morning light, painting the changing colors of the ocean.

A surprising number of people were on the beach early in the morning, but there was something about this man that had caught her eye.

It was more than his gleaming, golden-tanned, beach-boy good looks. Even though everything about him seemed to glisten--his sun-bleached, reddish-gold hair, his trim, muscular, tan body--Molly refused to allow herself to be impressed by a handsome face. But this man had a certain air about him. And it was that, she told herself, his calm authority, that had drawn her attention to him. Of course, once her attention had been caught, she couldn't help but notice that movie-star face and extremely well-maintained body.

Molly had never gotten close enough to see if his paintings were any good.

Or if his eyes were as brilliantly blue as she'd imagined.

They weren't. They were hazel. How refreshing.

"You all right?" he asked, his voice a raspy baritone flavored with a hint of the South. He was a smoker--the lingering scent of cigarette smoke clung to him.

Molly nodded, wide-eyed, aware that his arms were still around her, aware of his leg thrown across hers in his...

 

Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, Suzanne Brockmann has written more than forty books, and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the USA Today and New York Times bestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America's #1 Favorite Book of the Year (three years running), two RITA Awards, and many Romantic Times Reviewers' Choice Awards. Suzanne Brockmann lives west of Boston with her husband, author Ed Gaffney.

From the Paperback...