But there had been no mess of real life, she reminded herself. Linda could hate your mother. Linda could hate living in one place. Linda could, upon reacquaintance, decide the everyday Marissa wasn’t nearly as interesting as the shipwrecked one. That last thought seemed so likely too. It probably explained why Linda stayed away. She only made love to you when the lights were out. She only let the fireworks happen when she didn’t have to look at you.

That last thought cut like a knife and the first time she’d considered it she’d been able to shrug it off. But with so many weeks of silence it was harder to ignore. Linda had wanted some sex and Marissa was the only woman in the area who was willing. So very willing and grateful for the attention.

Stomach churning, she made herself read the first of the articles supplied by the search engine. From Boston, there was local financial news. The estate of John Lindsey Price had finally been settled substantially in favor of his granddaughter, Lindsey Vanessa Bartok Price, over the objections of her mother, Lindsey Candace Price, CEO of Price Investments. This settlement, the article explained, came on the heels of rumors about a tell-all memoir penned by the new heiress, who was currently seeking a publisher for the manuscript.

Heiress.

Marissa sat, lost in the memories, long enough for her screen saver to trigger. The slow-moving tropical fish only added to her confusion.

So, Marissa thought with a shaky sigh, Lindsey Price, heiress, was also Linda Bartok, survivalist wonder woman. All of Linda’s evasions about her appearance, the reference to having things that doctors needed to “fix”—were those the topics of her “tell-all” manuscript? Marissa could only imagine what kind of surgeries and enhancements money could buy.

There was obviously a lot she didn’t know about Linda—well, that was a big surprise. Duh.

The inner voices of presumed rejection and prudent reality combined in asking the million-dollar question. What could an heiress possibly see in her? Had the phone remained silent and the mailbox empty because Linda had moved on with her life?

Why would a wealthy woman, as it seemed Linda was, not have a cell phone? A mailing address? Oh, you’re a fool, Marissa, she abruptly thought. A big, fat fool. You believed her when she said you couldn’t get in touch with her.

You believed the oldest line in the world after a one-night stand: I’ll call you.

She was surprised to feel the keyboard wet under her fingertips. Was she crying? She felt too numb for that to be possible.

Yet, later that night, she tucked her hand under her pillow and felt the soft fabric of the T-shirt. As a moment in time, Linda was the most important thing that had ever happened to her. Knowing Linda had changed everything. It ought to have been enough comfort for her aching heart.

She hurt. She hurt in places that had long been healed over and there seemed nothing to do but cry.