Kara tightened her hold on him, falling into the kiss with a kind of abandon she’d never experienced before him. But he had battered his way through her defenses with his easy charm and cutting wit, wiping all thoughts of what’s-his-name and what he’d done to her from her heart and mind.

“Whoa,” Dan said when they came up for air many minutes later. “You’re making me forget I’m injured.”

As her lips tingled, she leaned her forehead against his. “If you try to do anything more than that, you’ll remember.”

“Can we do some more of that later?”

“Only if you get all your work done.”

“Let’s get busy!”

Big Mac took a walk down the main pier of the marina, checking to make sure the boats were secured, the power cords were on the docks and not in the water where they didn’t belong, the hoses had been turned off and everyone was tucked in for the night.

At the far end of the dock, a forty-two-foot powerboat full of young people enjoyed a Race Week party. Why was it that every year Race “Week” lasted longer and longer? The sailboat races attracted all sorts of people and boats, even powerboats like this one that came to the island for the parties rather than the races.

“Evening,” Big Mac said to one of the men on the boat’s aft deck. “Is the captain around?” He’d seen the guy earlier in the day but didn’t see him among the crowd.

“Hey, Tony! The marina guy is looking for you.”

“Marina guy” was damned proud of the business he’d built over the last forty years from a collection of rickety buildings and falling-down docks.

The captain emerged from the cabin, wearing a dopey smile to match his glassy eyes. “Hi there, Mr. McCarthy. What’s going on?”

His regulars called him Big Mac, but he appreciated the show of respect from the young man, even if the words were slurred. “I want to remind you we have an eleven p.m. quiet time here. Have your fun, but wrap it up by eleven.”

“Oh, we will, don’t worry.”

“My good friend the police chief makes sure to send someone by every night to make sure no one is disturbing the peace.”

“I hear ya. We’ll behave.”

“Thanks very much. Have a nice evening.”

“You, too, sir.”

The “sir” was a bit much, Big Mac thought with a chuckle as he wandered to the end of the pier and looked out at the pond, where deck lights on hundreds of boats sparkled like stars in the darkness. He’d been standing right here talking to his son Mac when Steve Jacobson had approached them about recruiting some guys to fill in for a crew that had been stricken with the stomach bug.