 
# Key West Dreams

# Cozumel Nights

## Book One

# Ophelia Sikes

Copyright © 2015 by Ophelia Sikes /

Minerva Webworks LLC

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Ophelia Sikes.

Book design by Ophelia Sikes

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and events are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

First Printing: April 2015

\- v5 –

Half of all author's proceeds from this book benefits battered women's shelters.

Today is the Day. Start Anew.

Key West Dreams

# Chapter 1

" _Appearances are deceiving."_

\-- Mexican proverb

I was surrounded by pirates. Some with Mardi Gras beads draped around their necks, sparkling emerald, gold, and violet. Some with bright pink leggings and glittered skull-and-crossbones t-shirts. Some went the more traditional route with floor-length black wool coats and the classic sharply-cornered hat.

A crimson sedan drove past us stuffed to the gills with pirates. One woman stretched out the window, her breasts nearly falling out of her lacy top. "Happy Gasperilla!"

My mother shook her head, her seamed face falling into a disapproving frown. Her short, purple-red hair shone in the hot Tampa sun. "Ay-yay-yay. It's not even February yet. Who knew that our cruise departure date would have this silliness going on."

My father, his black shirt and neatly-pressed pants matching my mother's dark dress perfectly, nodded solemnly in agreement. "Meshuggina."

I held in my sigh, following the departing car with my eyes as it streamed down the busy street which fronted the Tampa cruise ship docks. I wished, for a shimmering moment, that I could be in that group of laughing women. I dreamed that I could be dressed in whatever wild pirate outfit came to mind, yelling out windows to strangers about the blissful joys of Gasparilla.

The elderly couple waiting next to us in the small, dirt parking lot smiled reassuringly at my mother. The woman's pale, white hair shone in the hot sun, and she was in more temperature-appropriate white shorts and pastel-pink short-sleeved blouse. "Gasparilla's a harmless tradition," she informed us. Her eyes twinkled. "A replica pirate ship steams into Tampa Bay – and every boat within miles goes out to meet her. It's a sight to see. Then, of course, they all join together into a massive flotilla and 'invade' the city. They do it every year."

My mother put her perfectly-manicured hands on top of her neatly arranged black luggage. "What we want is a quiet cruise so I can play my mahjong and Edwin here can re-read _War and Peace_. He likes to do that once a year."

The white-haired woman turned to me. "And is this your daughter?"

My mother nodded. "She still lives in St. Louis, and she's single. I'm hoping she finds a nice Jewish boy on this cruise and, once they marry, they settle down to live near us here in Florida. So Edwin and I can spend our few remaining days spoiling all the grandchildren."

My face burst into burning flame. I'd flown in just the night before. Somehow my mother had been pushing all my buttons – repeatedly - from the moment she picked me up at the airport.

This was going to be a long cruise.

The elderly woman beamed. "Grandchildren! How lovely! We have eight grandchildren. They are pure delights."

My mother elbowed me in the ribs. "You hear that? They have _eight_. And I don't even have _one_ yet."

I was tempted to say _that you know of_ , but getting into yet another argument with them in the parking lot before a cruise didn't seem like a wise idea. My older brother's love of flirting with every woman he met didn't sit well with their traditional Polish values. He was the _golden child_ , of course, so he could do no wrong – but once he had escaped to California, my parents' full attention had descended on me. They had made it clear it was my responsibility to provide the proper family output.

And so far I'd been an absolute failure.

A minivan pulled into the lot, merrily honking its horn, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd been saved – at least for now. That only left six more days to weather before we returned to this very spot.

I could do it.

The smiling Hispanic man piled all of our luggage into the back and slid open the door for us. My parents pushed their way on and I slid into the small amount of bench seat they left for me. The elderly couple took the spot behind us, and then a trio of giggling female pirates crammed into the remaining seats.

The van door slid shut.

My parents began grumbling about the level of air conditioning in the van, and I stared out the window. Pirates and party-goers were moving in a steady stream in both directions. This seemed the story of my life. I was trapped on the inside, caught up in the complaints, and all around me was joy and laughter.

The van set into motion.

I clenched my fingers.

This time, I'd do it right.

My desire to restart my life was the reason I'd accepted my parents' offer to come with them on this cruise, all expenses paid. It was my second attempt to change in less than a year.

The first had been back in August. It seemed like forever, but it had only been six months ago. My parents had finally sold our childhood home in St. Louis, packed everything up, and moved down to Sun City.

My brother, Andros, had barely noticed their departure. He was off in California, working high-tech or some such and living his dream. We maybe got a postcard or email from him once a year.

But for me, it had seemed my parents' departure for southern climes might finally set me free. No more constant calls to come help with this or that. No more family dinners with nagging reminders about everything I needed to fix in my world.

Life would change.

But it hadn't.

I found myself stuck in the same rut. Still working killer hours at the bakery and gaining weight with each passing month. My dreams of becoming a chef at my own pastry shop seemed further and further away. Even the family dinners, which I had once dreaded, had taken on a rosier aspect in hindsight. At least my mother had cooked delicious meals for me. Now I barely had the energy to mount the steps to my tiny apartment, toss a frozen meal into the microwave, and plunk down in front of the TV before I fell asleep.

And I felt so alone ...

So when my parents had invited to fly me down to see their new home and take a vacation, I agreed. I'd never left Missouri before, unless you called those trips over the Mississippi River into Illinois a vacation.

I looked out the window at the waves of pirates celebrating down the street and firmed my intentions. Yes, this would be my chance. I would finally begin the new me.

The van stopped at a traffic light and I looked at the lane next to me.

It was a convertible hot-pink Cadillac filled with six of the most handsome guys I'd ever seen. Buff, laughing, they were dressed in black-and-silver pirate gear with a variety of swords, knives, and cutlasses.

The guy closest to me in the back turned to smile at me. His thick, dark hair was curling in the heat and clearly the man had an active lifestyle. He was well-toned like a soccer player. His pirate outfit was open at the neck, revealing a stunning chest.

He winked at me, and my mouth went dry.

Then the two men in the front seat, one dark-haired in a bright red shirt, the other a muscular African-American in shimmering gold, drew each other into an embrace. Their mouths found each other and they passionately kissed.

The car exploded in delighted cat-calls and whoops.

The light turned green, the car behind them honked in celebration, and the flotilla moved on.

My mother shook her head disapprovingly. "I don't like to see that. Not in public. They should go do that stuff in some motel or something, where they belong."

I shrunk in my seat, my throat tightening in shame.

Maybe I could lose my parents on the cruise ship. Maybe I could change my name, change my identity, and never see my parents ever again.

I turned to watch the hot-pink Cadillac fade into the distance.

Why were all of the best guys always gay?

# Chapter 2

Check-in at the dock terminal was a breeze. Clearly Royal Caribbean had done this many times before and had the process down to a science. The line was short and swift, and in minutes we were standing at the counter. We handed over our credit cards and received our Sea Pass cards which would be our door key, credit card, and boarding pass all in one.

We were on our way!

My parents made a bee-line for the beverage-plan station and I dutifully followed behind. In life they took great pleasure in squeezing every last dollar out of an opportunity and this was no exception. They both signed up for the fifty-dollars-a-day unlimited drink option. With drinks running an average of eight each on the ship, that meant they had to each drink seven drinks a day to barely break even. I knew they would strive to do far, far more than that.

A few steps later and my mother stopped us at the photo-taking location. I knew this wasn't for her own pleasure. Oh, no. No, it would be so the large-size, gold-framed photo could sit featured on her mantle in her Sun Ray condominium. There it could be proudly boasted about to every person who visited.

My parents stood stiffly on either side of me, in their dark dress, shirt, and slacks. I felt as if I were in the center of American Gothic.

I looked down at myself and winced. My ample curves were jammed into outgrown dark blue jeans and a pushed-out dark blue shirt. My hair was shoulder length, fairly straight, and dark brown.

Apparently I had not escaped in the slightest.

Snap.

There was a loud burst of laughter, and I looked over. It was the bevy of handsome men from the pink Cadillac, glowing with life, making their way over to get their photos taken. The red-shirt and gold-shirt couple was hand in hand, beaming as if this was the best day of their life.

Red-shirt seemed of Spanish descent, with near-black hair and eyes. He gave gold-shirt a peck on the cheek. "One more day, my darling boy, and we will officially be husband-and-husband."

Gold-shirt's dark skin shone under the lights of the terminal. His eyes glowed with emotion. "I've been waiting four years for this day." He turned to the other men around him. "I'm just glad you were all able to come along, to be here with us."

The man who had winked at me clapped him warmly on the shoulder. "You know we wouldn't miss this for the world. We were there when you two first laid eyes on each other, at that beach on Long Island. We've been there through your squabbles, break-ups, and reunions. So of course we'll be here for the wedding!"

Red-shirt nudged his fiancé. "And the honeymoon!"

The cat-calls launched fresh, the men bursting into laughter.

My mother's claw-like hand was on my arm, pulling me hard. "Come on, girl. Let's get away from those nudniks before they do something obscene."

My face flared with heat. I ducked my head and followed my parents up the covered gangplank. A few turns and we were on the ship proper.

A swipe of a card, a stepping through doors, and we were in the ship's Grand Atrium. It was stunning. It reached a full ten stories high, with open balconies on each floor. A trio of women on the ground level was playing piano and violin. The music was soul-achingly beautiful.

My mother grumbled. "What is this fluff nonsense? Why don't they play real music?" She reset her large plastic tote bag on her arm. "Come on. Let's take the elevator up to the buffet. I'm starving."

I stared at the elevator. Claustrophobia swept over me. I balked, shaking my head.

My mother stared at me as if I'd grown a third head. "Well, come on, girl."

"I ... I ... I've decided I'm going to be taking the stairs on this cruise. To try to get in better shape."

She drew her eyes down and up my curved form, then nodded in agreement. "About time you started to exercise. Maybe then you'll finally catch yourself a husband."

The door slid shut on their matching overweight forms.

I burned in embarrassment, looking around me. It seemed none in the milling crowd had heard the exchange or cared if they had. They were too busy ogling the beautiful atrium, staring in confusion at the three-dimensional deck map, or spreading out like obsessed amoeba to take over the ship.

I headed toward the stairs, firming my resolve. Well, now that I'd said I'd be walking everywhere, I'd have to stand by it. Otherwise I'd never hear the end of it from my mother. One up-side to the choice was that it meant I could escape from my parents at any juncture that involved changing floors. There was no way they'd take the stairs even if it was just one flight up or down. And if I happened to get "lost" along the way, they'd simply chalk it up to my inability to do anything for myself.

Growing up in Saint Louis, I'd loved walking. Every spare chance I got, I went to Forest Park and explored. From the St. Louis Zoo to the Art Museum, from hanging out by the ponds to racing joyfully across the fields, I adored being free.

Then, after high school, my parents had pushed me to get a degree at the University of Missouri – St. Louis, even though my dream was to be a chef. Their only goal was for me to meet a college graduate, get married, and crank out kids. I'd compromised by going for a marketing degree, figuring that could help me when I had my own restaurant.

But I'd been out from college for two years and my dream seemed further from reach than ever. The time at the bakery wasn't building up my skills – it was destroying my will to live.

I was gasping for breath by the time I reached the buffet floor.

Apparently the bakery was destroying other parts of me as well.

I spotted my parents settling down at a table to the right with plates piled high with pasta, potatoes, and rolls. I knew this was only their first round of many.

My mother shook her head as she reached for the salt. "And I bet this isn't even good salt," she grumbled. "I've told you a thousand times –"

Tension snaked down my spine. I ducked left, behind the cover of a large sign promoting the ship's specialty restaurants.

They hadn't seen me.

A thrill of delight ran through me as the realization hit me. Somehow, I had done it. I was free! And this ship held a full three-thousand-plus passengers. Surely over the coming days I'd have ample opportunities to be on my own, if I was careful.

A fresh start.

I drew my eyes over the wealth of options laid out before me. Everything looked absolutely delicious. Maybe I could begin my new life right here, right now? Maybe they had items here that were healthy _and_ tasty?

I moved over to the salad bar and smiled. The cherry tomatoes shone bright red, making my mouth water. And those cucumbers! Soon I had a plate piled high with the most delicious veggies I had ever seen. Who knew, by the end of the cruise I might even be able to climb those steps without needing a respirator at the end.

I glanced around, my chest constricting. This plate was a good start, but I knew sitting with my parents could easily drive me to craving that third serving of ice cream. Even finding another table on this deck was far too risky. My parents could easily spot me during their trips to and from the buffet area as they sought to maximize every dollar they'd spent on this cruise.

It was far safer if I went up the stairs to the deck above.

I smiled. There was no way they would ever make that trek.

I carefully balanced my plate as I walked to the back open patio and then up the long stairs to the upper deck. A bit of finagling and I found a small table near the Sky Bar, overlooking the main pool. There was a series of boards set up beneath the large-screen TV taking bets for the upcoming Superbowl Game on Sunday. A number of people in bright team-based outfits were enthusiastically filling in squares.

The air was filled with laughter – joyful and happy. I looked over and blinked in surprise.

It was them.

The Sexy Six.

The men were as handsome as ever, shining beneath the Tampa Bay sun, and were standing by the bar toasting with Champagne flutes. "My" man, the winker, was raising his flute. He moved his glass toward each man as he spoke. "To Gregg and Tony. May their marriage be long and happy."

A chorus of voices answered, "Hear, hear!"

Gregg was apparently the Spaniard. He raised his own glass to my guy. "And to Dylan, who pulled this all together at the last minute. When that killer snowstorm caved in the back roof, I thought we were done for. Three feet of snow! In one day! But you came through for us."

Dylan smiled. "It was the least I could do for my star sommelier and his true love. And, besides, the restaurant will be closed for a month while they get that damage repaired. It's the perfect time for us all to get away."

They clinked again, drinking.

I looked down in dejection. The friends all looked so happy together. So full of life. If I could have but a tenth of that ...

A warm voice sounded from over my shoulder. "Hey, there, you look like you could use a drink."

I glanced up in surprise.

Dylan was gazing down at me, warmth in his eyes. "It's a party here, and somehow you're looking like the zombie apocalypse has arrived. We're pulling out of dock! It's a cruise! It's Key West and Cozumel and warm sunshine." He waved a hand back toward land. "Whatever your problems were on shore, they're gone now."

_They're right downstairs_ , I wearily thought, but I pushed that down with effort.

Dylan turned to the bartender. "Another Champagne. Put it on my tab." He handed his sky card over to the man.

I spoke up. "Oh, no, I couldn't –" but Dylan was already handing me the flute. I smiled and took it. "Thank you."

He clinked his glass against mine. "Remember, you're on a cruise ship now. Whatever troubled you before, you can change it. Whatever your past was, you're free of it."

I took a sip. The bubbly was cool, fresh, and somehow it lifted me up.

Dylan was right. I'd been on my own in St. Louis for six months now, but I'd stagnated. I'd stayed stuck. I'd allowed myself to remain trapped in the same old routines which crushed my soul.

This cruise – this voyage – would be a fresh start for me. A fresh, new opportunity.

I could be anything I wished to be.

Dylan's eyes were on mine, and his lips lifted. "There we go. That's better. A glass of Champagne always improves the world, I say."

Tony drained his glass, then let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "C'mon, my posse, down to Schooners!"

The rest of them drained their glasses, cheering, and the bar was quickly piled with the empties.

Dylan turned to me, giving me a wink. "See you around, Phoenix."

Phoenix.

I liked the sound of that.

# Chapter 3

I was just finishing the last of my salad when I heard an all-too-familiar biting tone from beneath me on the pool deck. "Can you believe what the women on this ship are wearing in public? That blonde looks like a _nafka_. Can that handkerchief of fabric even be called a bikini?"

My father's voice came in weary chorus. "Yes, dear. I mean, no, dear."

"If I were her mother, I would march right over there and –"

I stood, brought my empty plate to the bar, and then skittered around the corner. If I was lucky, my parents would plunk themselves in the Solarium. That seemed the perfect spot for them. It was a quiet, plant-filled, enclosed pool area immediately adjacent to the main pool. The two of them could sit there and read to their heart's content. That could keep them occupied until dinnertime at 8:30 – and give me the freedom to explore.

I moved back to the bank of stairs and began walking down. Somehow down was always easier than up. I took my time, stopping at the mid-flight landing to take a look at the artwork lining the walls.

They were photographs. Each one showed a featureless, jet-black woman's silhouette against a bright, beautiful background. In one her hair was drawn back in a bun at the nape of her neck, while an office building loomed behind her beneath a deep blue sky. In another there was a rose-red building with a white porch, with her hair loose down her back. A third showed a golden temple of some sort. Again, the woman was just a black shadow in the foreground, her head downcast.

The images were beautiful, certainly. Espen Tollefsen was clearly a talented photographer, and the works moved me. But I found myself staring at the woman's shape, a deep sadness coming over me.

She was there – but she wasn't being seen. Her individuality – her spark – was missing. She was only noticed as a hole being left on the landscape. One couldn't tell if she was young or old, white or black, crying or joyful.

She was a mere shadow.

It could be me. It could be my life. What was I really doing with myself? I could be a robot, for all the bakery recognized me. If they invented a robot which could roll out dough, cut it into shapes, and stick it into an oven, I'd be replaced.

Tension sank into my shoulders. Undoubtedly they already _had_ robots which did tasks like this. It was merely a matter of economics. It was cheaper to hire me to do the actions than to replace me with a machine.

The thought chilled me.

I put my head down and trudged down the remaining flights. I knew there was beautiful artwork at each level, but I didn't dare raise my eyes. It could sink me even lower into the gloom which seemed in the very air.

I reached deck six and stopped.

And raised my head.

Gorgeous guitar music. Stunning. Beautiful. It lifted my heart and brought fresh life into my body. It was an intricate classical piece, and the rippling sounds took my breath away.

I turned. The music was coming from deeper along the deck. It called to me like a pied piper. I found my feet moving in its direction, mesmerized.

The room was a nautically-themed lounge. To the left, a bank of windows streamed in golden light. Beyond the windows the blue waters stretched to a distant shore. At the far end of the lounge was a small man in a black fedora, shirt, and pants, strumming a classical guitar. Somehow he made the one instrument sound as if two or three musicians were playing in perfect harmony.

He segued easily into a heart-achingly beautiful piece by Los Lobos.

Time stood still.

If this was what the cruise had to offer, then I was all in.

A merry voice called out, "Phoenix!"

I turned in surprise. The Sexy Six had taken over a group of sea-blue-velvet couches by the windows, Champagne flutes peppering the tables like glittering diamonds. There was a spare chair between Gregg and Dylan. Dylan was waving a hand to me. "Come on over and join us! Mingle! That's what a cruise is all about, you know." He turned toward the bar. "Jaime, bring us another round of seven."

The men burst out in cheers, draining the last of their drinks.

I knew what my mother would say if she saw me nestled into the bevy of beautiful gay men. She would have an absolute conniption. She would clutch at her chest and moan about the pain. She would –

My resolve steeled, and I drew a warm smile on my lips.

Let her.

The men drew me in as if I were a long-lost sister of theirs. In no time at all we all had fresh glasses and were toasting our first day aboard. There was Gregg the Spaniard and Tony the black beauty, the soon-to-be newlyweds. Barry was blond and looked like a Californian surfer. Pedro originally hailed from Puerto Rico. Jack had a crew cut and rarely spoke.

And then there was Dylan.

Dylan motioned to Gregg and Tony with his glass. "These two love-birds met at Jack's party, out on Long Island. A Memorial Day bash that went on for a full week. One look at each other and they couldn't be separated."

Tony grinned. "They say it can't happen – but I'm here to tell you it's true. Sometimes, when you look at a person, you just know. You feel it deep in your core. I couldn't think of anything else but Gregg."

Gregg laughed. "Right up until a month later when you saw that luscious ballet dancer at the bar. I caught you kissing him in the coat closet!"

Tony blushed. "A mistake. A drunken mistake, and one I'll never make again. I thought you and I were going too fast. Falling too hard."

Gregg leaned over to nudge him. "And now?"

Tony beamed. "And now I'm happy beyond words. I know what we have will last. Heck, after living together for three years, we know each other pretty well. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

A chorus of "awwwws" filled the group, and I found myself falling into it. The couple really was just too happy together. They had found something I hadn't thought possible.

Dylan turned to me. "Gregg's my sommelier, at my restaurant in Hartford. Jack's our head chef. Pedro runs the front-of-house. Barry here –"

Barry laughed, tossing his blond hair. "I run Pedro."

The group burst out laughing again. Pedro reached out a hand to Barry and gave his fingers a squeeze. "That you do, mi amor."

Jack looked to me. "So where are you from, Phoenix?"

I thought of telling them my real name, Sonya, but I liked the sound of Phoenix on their lips. Besides, it was like my _nom de plume_. My secret name for my new life.

"I'm from Saint Louis."

Jack's eyes lit up. "Fried Ravioli! Man, those things are awesome. I got addicted to them when I worked out there for a year, down on Edwards Street. I make the best damned fried ravioli in Hartford now."

Dylan put his hand over his heart. "That's the honest truth, too. He's won awards for our restaurant with those things."

Dylan turned to me. "You'll have to come by sometime and see for yourself. Tell us if they're authentic enough."

"I'd like that," I teased, falling into the game. Here I was, Phoenix, the world traveler. Jet-setting over to a restaurant in Connecticut just to try out their fried raviolis. Maybe next I'd bop by Vegas to sample some linguini at the Venetian. Then fly out to Venice and see how they compared.

The guitarist began playing "Memory," from Cats. Gregg and Tony turned as one, melting into each other.

Gregg's eyes were distant. "Do you remember that first time we went to see this together, down on Broadway?"

Tony nodded, pressing a kiss on his forehead. "How could I forget?"

The tenderness in their gazes took my breath away.

Dylan turned to me. "Have you ever been to the City?"

He said it as if there were only one.

I shook my head, taking a sip of Champagne. "I've never been out of Missouri before now, really."

Six sets of eyes swiveled to stare at me in horrified shock.

Dylan found his voice first. "Well, then, we're going to have to make sure this cruise of yours is A-one-exceptional. Your first time out of the state, and your first time out of the country, too! This is a week of firsts for you."

He patted me on the leg. "Don't you worry, Phoenix. We'll take care of everything. We'll be like the big brothers you never had."

"I do actually have a big brother," I joked. "He's just off roaming around Los Angeles or somewhere. He left Saint Louis the moment he graduated from high school. While me? I went to UMSL and then never left."

"Well, then," grinned Dylan, "We'll be your better big brothers who you _wish_ you'd had instead of him. We'll keep you entertained. Just stick with us."

He glanced up and looked behind him. "And here we go! The Skyway Bridge!"

I turned and stared.

I'd seen it in pictures before, but here it was in person, and it seemed our massive cruise ship could barely fit beneath its nearly two-hundred-feet height. The bridge was stunning against the turquoise sky, its length stretching out into infinity.

Dylan rested his hand on my shoulder. "And there you have it, Phoenix. Our last step before we venture out into the vast ocean. The line we cross between land and freedom. Here we go ..."

The bridge swept overhead, and I could almost hear our flags scrape along its underside as we went.

He gave my shoulder a pat. "And you are now free! Don't you feel it?"

I could feel the warmth of his hand and the friendliness in his eyes. It soothed me in a way few other things ever had.

I fought away the angst that came in – the dejection that Dylan was gay. Did it really matter? Couldn't I just have fun with this group, enjoying their company?

I smiled.

I could – and I would.

Dylan lifted his head. "Oh, Jaime!"

Another round was brought.

Around me the men laughed, joked, and relaxed.

For the first time in my life, I felt at home.

# Chapter 4

"You _vilda cyaha_! Where in the world have you been?"

My mother's voice rung with accusation as I approached the entrance to the Mistral dining room. She was standing with my father and the elderly couple we'd met on the shuttle bus from the parking lot. My parents had changed into fresh outfits of black, while the other couple was in lighter colors – tans and soft blues.

My mother motioned to the two others. "Sonya, this is Mr. and Mrs. Goldwin. Turns out they like mahjong as much as I do. So we've invited them to join us for dinner."

The maître d' turned to my mother. "I see your full party has arrived. If you would follow this person here, he will take you to your table."

The Mistral was huge, with banks of tables in white linen. The chairs were peach and moss colored. A curved stairway led up to the second floor, which hung like a balcony over the lower level.

We were led to a large, round table near the center of the dining room. My mother's face delved into a frown as she took it in. "No, no, this isn't good. I want that table over there, by the window. That has the best view."

The bus boy looked at it in consternation. "But, madam, I'm afraid there's only enough room for four at that table."

Without hesitation my mother rounded on me. "Sonya, I'm afraid you're on your own for dinner." Her eyes lit up. "Go tell the maître d' to put you at one of those larger _group_ tables. One with a single man at it. That's what you need to do – go out and meet people. It's the only way you're going to land yourself a husband."

I'm sure I was bright beet red by the time she finished her dialogue. She simply nodded in satisfaction, then turned to push her way over to the ocean-view table, taking the seat facing the glass. "C'mon, everyone, I'm hungry."

Mrs. Goldwin turned to me in concern. "My dear, are you sure –"

I gave her a wave, a smile of relief coming to my lips. "I will be quite fine," I assured her. "You go on and enjoy your dinner. I'll figure something out."

"Well, if you're sure," she agreed, then moved to join my mother.

I turned and made my way out of the restaurant. I knew somehow that even being in the same room with my mother would make me feel like she was watching me with a disapproving frown. I'd feel waves of disappointment from her if I managed to seat myself next to anybody but the Ideal Male Person. And if he didn't seem absolutely obsessed by me ...

I gazed longingly at the elevator, then sighed and walked over to the stairs. I'd made the commitment. It was time to follow through.

I went up the first flight and stopped to look at the artwork there. This series of photographs was about reflections. One had a collection of shiny, metal balls – and the landscape around it was only seen as reflections in those surfaces. Another showed a white mannequin in a shop window, staring vacantly out. The glass of the window reflected a gorgeous park across the street.

It occurred to me that that was what my life was like. It was barely a reflection of a real life. A reflection of what my mother wanted me to be. A reflection of my concern with other people's views.

Resolution firmed within me.

It was time I lived my own life on my own terms. It was time I made my own choices – and did what I knew was right for me.

It took me a while, but finally I reached the buffet on deck eleven. It was like reaching Eden and seeing the wealth of the world laid out before me. My stomach rumbled, but I made sure to stop and use the sanitizer on the way in. I was grateful that the nearby attendants simply smiled at me, rather than lisping " _washie washie_ " like I'd heard they did on other cruise lines.

I moved forward to the stations. The options were mouthwateringly appetizing, and I realized that I could choose healthier options that were just as delicious as the ones my parents would have filled up with. A little of this, a smattering of that, and, oh my God, was that lobster?

Within minutes I had filled my plate and was even proud of my selections. I headed out to the back deck –

A chorus of male voices greeted me. "Phoenix!"

I blushed with pleasure. There were the Sexy Six, sitting around a large, wood-slat table. Sure enough, there was plenty of room for them to grab a chair for me and wriggle me in between Dylan and Tony.

Dylan pushed his Champagne flute in my direction. "I haven't even taken a sip of this one yet. I'll go get myself another one."

"You don't have to –"

Three other men instantly chimed in with their requests and it was clear Dylan was going to go, whether I took his or not. He winked at me and was back in mere seconds with a full tray of flutes.

I smiled as he sat down. "You balanced that tray like a pro, and the ship is moving!"

"I didn't always _own_ the restaurant," he pointed out. "I started as a simple busboy, back when I was thirteen, at an Italian restaurant down the street from me in Waterbury. I washed dishes, fetched water, whatever had to be done. The owner felt sorry for me, be being the youngest of four sons and our father dead and all. So he taught me all I needed to know. He worked me hard – but he also moved me up the ranks as I proved I could handle whatever he set me to do. So I did my years of being a waiter, being a line cook, sous chef, you name it."

He smiled. "By the time I was a senior in high school, I was like a second son to him. And he was the father I'd lost."

He took a sip of his drink. "Even when I went to college at UConn there in Waterbury, I still was over at his place every free moment. So when I graduated, he decided to open a second location in Hartford and to make me the owner of it, as a graduation gift. He still has a share, of course." His eyes shone. "He says it'll be the best investment he's ever made."

I was honestly impressed. Dylan had put in the time to earn what he had. "Wow, congratulations!"

He clinked his glass against mine. "This roof collapse is a bit of a setback, but actually the building we bought had some issues with the kitchen. This gives us the perfect opportunity to get that all renovated with the insurance money. So it's quite fortuitous. And Uncle Joe is handling it all. He's got the contacts and contractors. So he told me to go and have fun."

Gregg leant over, his dark eyes twinkling. "Which we absolutely will! And besides, you've been single far too long. All work and no play! We have to find just the right guy for you."

Dylan laughed merrily. He clinked his glass against Gregg's. "You just won't let it rest, will you?"

Gregg's smile stretched from ear to ear. "As happy as I am, I want all of you to be happy." He pressed a kiss to Tony's dark cheek. "Are you happy, my love?"

Tony's teeth shone white against his face. "As if you need to ask that."

Gregg turned to me. "How about you, Phoenix? Are you happy?"

I looked around at the joyful, laughing men, friends who had come together to celebrate the wedding of two individuals who were clearly deeply in love. I thought of how easily I'd escaped from the cold embrace of my parents.

An authentic smile came to my face. "Yes, in fact, I am extremely happy."

Dylan clinked his glass against mine, and I was caught by those deep blue eyes.

Why did he have to be gay?

Gregg's smile grew, and he looked to his fiancé. "My darling, what do you think about having another guest at our intimate soirée?"

Tony beamed. "I think that's a delightful idea."

I blushed to my roots. "Oh, no. I couldn't imagine –"

Tony reached out a hand to take mine. "Ah, Phoenix, but you must. You are our sign of new hope! Our beacon of joy." His brow drew together. "I don't suppose - do you have anything white to wear?"

I shook my head. My wardrobe was pretty much jeans, dark shirts, and ... well, to be honest, that was it.

Tony looked to Dylan with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, then, Dylan knows just the place to get that taken care of. When we land, Dylan, you go with Phoenix and get her settled into some new clothing. White, of course. And then come join us at the house."

I shook my head again. "I couldn't possibly interfere with –"

Dylan patted my hand. "You won't be interfering at all. I had to run by there to grab some things anyway."

His brow creased. "Or did you have something else planned for Key West?"

My parents had talked about taking an hour-and-a-half tour around the island on some sort of a tram. The thought of sitting behind them for nearly two hours, listening to them complain about every person and object they saw, drained my spirit.

I smiled at him. "Nothing that I wouldn't gladly miss."

His smile shone through me. "Then it's settled. I'll meet you at the gangway at ten a.m. tomorrow morning. Capiche?"

I was swept up by their enthusiasm. "Capiche!"

We toasted to it, the sky filled with stars, and the world was just as it should be.

# Chapter 5

The bar was rotating.

Somehow our group had talked the night away on the back patio, toasting and drinking, until long past ten o'clock. Then Tony and Gregg had decided that some dancing was in order and we all trooped up the stairs to deck thirteen, to the StarQuest Lounge.

The room was done in neon violet, shimmering silver, and sparkles. It was something out of Star Trek. In the middle of the room, the main bar was a circle shape with a ring of barstools encompassing it. While the bar center itself was stationary, and the bartenders stood on steady ground, that ring of seats and the bar counter before them was slowly rotating in a clockwise direction.

Pedro's eyes lit up in stunned delight. "Oh, this I have to try!" In a moment he was plunked down on a violet stool, calling out for a Bacardi and Coke.

The rest of us fell into line next to him, with me ending up between Dylan and Jack. Dylan looked to me with a smile. "What's your drink for dancing?"

The automatic reply that I didn't dance nearly came through my lips, but I stuffed it down. That was the old me. The new me loved to dance. And she loved to try new things.

"What are you having?" I asked him.

"Jack and Ginger."

"All right, I'll have one, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," I agreed.

He grinned, then turned to the bartender. "Two Jacks and Gingers."

The bartender, a bald, smiling man from Thailand, went to mix them up. When he was done, he had to turn in circles to figure out where we'd gone to. The thought vastly amused me.

He brought the drinks over with a smile.

I laughed. "Must be hard to keep track of who is drinking what!"

He nodded in agreement. "Especially when they are all as handsome as this group you have here! You are one lucky lady."

"Yes I am," I teased with a grin.

The first notes of the Jackson Five's "I Want You Back" sounded in the air, and Gregg leapt up out of his seat. "There we go!" He grabbed Tony's hand, and soon the two of them were dancing gleefully around the dance floor.

Inhibitions seemed a thing of the long-distant past.

I took a sip of my drink. It was strong but quite tasty. I tapped my toe to the music.

Dylan gave my purse a push toward the bartender. "You'll keep an eye on this for the lady?"

"Of course, sir," agreed the bartender. "My pleasure."

Dylan stood and put his hand out to me. "Shall we?"

If he'd been a straight man I would have turned him down. I'd have blushed and mumbled something about having two left feet. But I knew he was safe. He wasn't after me to score. He was simply a friend out for a fun evening. And besides, this was a cruise ship. Everyone around me was drunk and having fun. Nobody here would remember me in seven days.

Why not?

I put my hand in his and off we went. Soon Jack, Pedro, and Barry had joined us as well, and the crowd around us was cheering wildly at our antics. Gregg became John Travolta from _Saturday Night Fever_. Tony started up the cat-eye hand-motions from _Pulp Fiction_. The next thing I knew, we were all singing along to "Greased Lightning."

My face hurt from laughing so much. The DJ fed on our mood, rolling out classic after classic that kept us moving.

Then the DJs voice came on. "All right, then, it's time to catch our breath. Let's slow it down a bit."

A soft, sultry song eased into the rotating colors and sparkles.

Dylan put out a hand to draw me in, and without hesitation I went to him. He was like a tender big brother I'd never had. The romantic lover I'd always dreamed of. He was sturdy, warm, smelling of open sea and beautiful tropical paradise.

His voice murmured low in my ear, almost if it slipped out. "You are so beautiful."

I giggled despite myself. Maybe it was the too-numerous-to-count glasses of Champagne. But it was crazy that when I finally heard this, the thing I'd craved for so long, that it had to come from a gay guy.

He pulled his head back and looked down at me as we danced slow, lazy circles around the others. "I'm serious. When you're happy, you have this warmth to you. Like a classical painting of a princess. The one all the knights are jousting over."

I pinkened. Hadn't he seen my curves? I wasn't a stick-thin supermodel. I wasn't the type of girl guys said those things to.

"Nobody's ever said that about me before."

He ran a hand down my cheek. "Maybe you've never been this radiantly happy before."

That was certainly true. Just the touch of his hand on me sent shivers of warmth through me. If I looked into those eyes for long enough, and wished hard enough ...

If I imagined that this handsome, warm, caring, funny man before me was actually interested in me ...

What would Phoenix do?

She would lean in and give him a kiss.

I teetered on the edge ... I leaned ...

The music came to a drifting stop.

I chickened out.

I took a step back, mumbled something about needing to get some sleep, and grabbed my purse from the bar.

I fled down the long, lonely flights of stairs to my empty room.

# Chapter 6

Dylan's handsome face was before me, the music was playing a sultry slow song, and somehow we were the only ones in the darkened lounge. His breath was warm on my neck as he huskily said, "You are so beautiful."

He drew his head back to look at me. I could see the interplay of emotions in his blue eyes – the rich desire coupled with the caution. He didn't want to move too fast and scare me away.

But I was Phoenix.

I didn't scare easily.

I leaned forward into him, pressing my lips against his.

He hesitated for a moment in surprise, then his arms were pulling me in hard, drawing me to his firm chest. His mouth opened to mine. His velvet tongue teased against my lips, then along my tongue.

Deep craving delved into my core, heating me into molten liquid. No man had ever done this to me before. There was no way in Hell I would let this chance pass me by.

I slid my fingers into his thick hair, pressing myself even closer. I could feel the throb of his need against me. He slid a hand beneath my rear and easily lifted me up into the air. My legs latched around his waist, and still we kissed, kissed, our breath merging to become one.

He turned me to press me up against the side wall, pinning me in place with his body. Then his hand at my rear slid up beneath my shirt. With a deft move he unhooked my bra strap. My hard nipples raked against the bra as it slid, sending hot currents of energy through my body.

He grinned, biting at my lip. "Like that, do we?"

Oh, yes, yes.

He slid his hand around to move up the curve of my breast. His strong fingers encircled my nipple, rolling it between finger and thumb.

The sensation was staggering.

He brought his head down to where the other nipple poked fiercely through the thin fabric of my shirt. He drew the nipple into his mouth through the fabric, sucking, biting, while his hand tortured the other one.

I could feel my groin aching with need. The wetness of it soaked my panties.

He took both hands and slid up my shirt and bra, revealing my breasts in the spinning, dazzling lights. He gazed at them as if they were the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen.

His voice was hoarse. "God, Phoenix. You are breath-taking."

He delved his face to one, licking along the nipple until I could barely breathe. Then he moved his moist mouth to the other, nibbling and sucking.

I craved him like I'd never craved anything ever before in my life. He was my entire world. And I soared ...

He carried me over to the rotating bar, placing me on a neon-violet stool. He drew my bra and shirt up over my head and tossed them onto the floor. Then he put his hand to the button of my jeans.

His eyes came up to hold mine.

I knew I should be nervous. I should be telling him to stop. But Phoenix was alive within me now and I knew what I wanted.

I arched my hips into his hand.

His eyes went smoky, hot, and it was with visible effort that he held himself in. He slowly, carefully slid his finger along the button, easing it out of its circle.

His fingers moved to the zipper pull.

I could feel the zipper lower one notch at a time. It was agonizing. Thrilling. Every moment lasted a lifetime.

Then he shimmied off my pants, slowly, gently, and dropped them on the floor on top of my shirt.

I now sat against the bar in only my black panties. I swear they shimmered with moisture.

He slid his hands up along my legs, looking into my eyes.

His voice was rough. "Are you ready for me, Phoenix?"

My mouth went dry. I could only nod in agreement.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His brow creased. "Ummm, Phoenix, did you hear that noise?"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The scene shimmered, faded ...

Damn.

I blearily blinked myself awake. My travel alarm clock on the side table was beeping insistently, showing eight a.m. on its implacable face.

I groaned, hit the snooze button, then rolled over to bury my face into my pillow.

Are you kidding me? Did it have to go off right then?

My orange juice and eggs were waiting outside my room, just as ordered. I nibbled at the food between getting showered and dressed. The cabin was small, but given the narrow spaces of my apartment, it seemed almost home. I had a small porthole looking out at the ocean, a closet of a bathroom, and just enough room in the drawers for my week's worth of clothing.

My outfit for today was jeans and a dark green top. Hardly the requested white color, but it was the best I could do.

After my explicit dream about Dylan, I was rather nervous about seeing him again. But there was no way I was backing out from today's events. I had made a commitment to the Sexy Six. I was looking forward to witnessing Gregg and Tony pledging their love to each other. I could not imagine a couple more wonderfully suited to each other – or a group of friends better meant to be there at their sides.

The phone rang and I nervously grabbed it up. Had they changed their mind? Were they calling to say that they'd rather I not come along?

I took in a breath. "Hello?"

My mother's voice was sluggish, as if she hadn't had her third cup of coffee yet. "Your father, I, and the Goldwins are going to take that tram around the island. Out of Mallory Square. They give you free water and everything. So I expect to see you at the front gangway at nine a.m. sharp."

"I ... ummm ... well, that is ..."

"Speak up, girl. I have to get up to breakfast. They've got eggs benedict on the menu. I'll get them to make me two servings." She laughed in satisfaction.

Some crazed demon leapt to life within me, and the words were out of me before I could rein them back in. "Dylan and I will be spending time together on Key West today."

Her voice narrowed in suspicion. "Dylan? Who's this Dylan fellow? Where did you meet him?"

"I met him here, on the cruise."

That familiar sharpness came into her voice. "On the cruise? He's not some cabin-boy or towel-boy, is he?"

Pride crept into my voice. "No, Mom. Dylan owns a successful restaurant in Hartford."

Her voice turned dour. "Doesn't have a degree, eh? Worked as a waiter and took over the dive when the owner keeled over?"

"He's got a degree," I countered. "And the restaurant's a good one. It wins awards."

Her voice held a tone of grudging approval. "Well, then. Looks like all those instructions I've been giving to you finally paid off. Still, don't screw it up. I expect you to properly introduce us, assuming of course you don't scare him off today."

And with that, she hung up.

I blinked, staring at the receiver in my hand as if it were a live viper.

What had I just said?

What in the world had I done?

My wild fantasies were bad enough, but now I'd drawn my mother into the whole insane mix.

I squared my shoulders. The solution was easy enough. Never let my mother anywhere near Dylan or his friends. I could enjoy my time with the Sexy Six as Phoenix and I'd treasure this fabulous, fun-filled cruise.

When it was over, I'd fly back, alone, to St. Louis and tell my mother it just didn't work out with Dylan.

I only prayed it would be that easy.

# Chapter 7

I stared up the gangplank.

If it was even possible, Dylan looked better in white than he had in black. The white shirt set off the tan of his chest with just the right contrast. His white pants fit his muscular body perfectly. He was an angel come to life.

My guardian angel.

His eyes twinkled as he came down the gangplank toward me. "I was wondering if you were actually going to be there on the dock."

I brought a smile to my lips. I had been having those very thoughts during the ten minutes I'd been waiting for him. But I'd reminded myself that Phoenix would never bail on an opportunity for a good time.

I teased him, "And miss Gregg and Tony's wedding? Not on your life!"

"That's the spirit," he encouraged. "All right, then, let's climb on this tram to Mallory Square and get the party started!"

We joined the line of cruise ship passengers, and in no time at all we were boarding the little train-like tram. Apparently the Brilliance of the Seas was docked at a naval yard which didn't allow passengers to roam about free for security reasons. So this looping cycle of free trams took us the seven minutes into town. The ship's newsletter explained that they ran all day long until departure time.

As we pulled through the entryway to the naval station, I blinked in surprise. Over in a clearing was a trio of chickens placidly poking away at the grass.

I nudged Dylan. "Are those really wild chickens?"

"Well, they're mostly tame," he grinned. "A while back, cockfighting was quite popular on the island. Then some brilliant person in the local government decided to bring in extra money by taxing all those chickens. The chicken owners set their birds free that very night. Voilà, no more taxes to pay. And the island got the added benefit of having a lower mosquito population as a result. So a real win-win."

"I would say so," I agreed, spotting another pair of them as we went past the post office. "Those things are everywhere!"

"They're sort of the unofficial mascot of Key West," he teased. "Along with Hemingway's six-toed cats."

In short order we were disembarking in the tourist-shop-filled Mallory Square. The tall tower of the Shipwreck Museum was high above us. Numerous carts and open-fronted stores sold t-shirts, hats, sunscreen, and all manner of other knick-knacks.

Most of the cruise ship passengers went immediately from our trolley onto a second one, which I assumed did the full island tour. This would have been what my mother wanted ...

Dylan put a hand on my back, gently guiding me out toward the main street. His smile was warm. "And now, it's time to find you something suitable for this wedding."

I breathed in the fresh, warm air. It was hard to believe it was February first. Back in St. Louis the ground was hard-packed with snow. But here in Key West ...

It was like the movies I'd seen about the French Quarter of New Orleans and Beale Street, Memphis all rolled into one, with a dash of beach-front whimsy. There was bar after bar interspersed with gecko-décor shops, cigar shops, and, of course, Margaritaville. The theme everywhere was laid-back island. There were brightly colored parrots and grinning iguanas, comfortable beach sandals and neon-pink flamingos.

Dylan led me into a beautiful clothing store chock-full of white sundresses, shirts, blazers, and pants. The owner came over with a smile. He was portly with snow-white hair and beard. "Dylan!" he called out. "There you are, my lad. So good to see you again."

"Ah, Bill, it's been too long. Let me introduce you to Phoenix."

Bill put out a hand, taking mine in it. He lowered his head to feather a kiss. "Enchanté, mademoiselle. Welcome to my humble establishment."

Dylan waved a hand down my length. "We need a dress to complement her natural beauty. I immediately thought of you."

"As well you should," agreed Bill with a smile. "Shall we take a look?"

He walked us over to the dresses section. I drew in a breath as I walked down the length of offerings. Each outfit was more stunning than the last. Some had tapestry embroidery, others shimmering sequins, while yet others cascaded in draping layers.

I paged through the wealth of options, hardly able to decide.

Dylan turned with a flourish. "This one, I think."

My breath caught.

It was absolutely stunning. A handkerchief hem, a plunging neckline, and a slimming, embroidered waist. Delicate needlework along the edges gave it just the perfect touch.

I reached out for the price tag.

Dylan took it in his fingers and snapped it off the dress. "No you don't. You're our guest. Go into that room and try it on." He handed over a pair of white sandals. "And these, too."

I blushed. "How do you know my foot size?"

Bill winked at me. "The man is a master. Don't question him. Now, shoo!"

I took the dress and shoes and slipped into the dressing room. In a moment my jeans and shirt were in a pile on the floor, and I drew on the dress.

I turned around, staring at myself in the mirror.

It'd been a long time since I'd worn light clothing. My mother claimed that only young girls wore white, and that it wasn't appropriate for older women. But as I swirled around, watching the hem flare about my knees, I felt pretty.

No, more than that.

For the first time in a long, long time, I felt beautiful.

I slipped on the shoes. They fit perfectly.

For some reason my heart hammered against my ribs as I put my hand on the dove-stenciled stall door.

I had to remind myself in a mantra. It was only Dylan out there. He was a friend, nothing more, and gay at that.

I walked out.

Dylan stared at me for a long moment, as if he didn't believe I was the same woman who had walked into the stall only minutes before. Then he made a twirling motion with his hand.

I dutifully pirouetted in place, a feeling of pride coming over me. I had my very own gay fashion expert at my beck and call, and look at what he had done!

By the time I came back around to him he was nodding in warm approval. "That's it. That's just perfect. You look fresh. Bright." A wide smile came to his lips. "Beautiful."

I knew I should be blushing, but instead I found myself beaming. If he said it, then it might be true, right? I knew that's what Phoenix would have thought.

Dylan went to the desk and scribbled something on a pad of paper. "Bill, handle this, please. And then, if you could, please get the lady's other items back to the ship?"

"Of course, Dylan," agreed Bill with a bow. "It would be my pleasure. And be sure to give my warm wishes to the happy couple."

"I shall indeed," Dylan agreed.

Then Dylan jauntily put an elbow out to me. "Shall we?"

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I practically danced down Duvall Street with the most handsome man in the city at my side. It didn't matter that he was gay. All that mattered was that he was with me, arm in arm, and he was happy to be with me.

Woman after woman turned to gaze after us in envy. I soaked every moment in.

Dylan gave me that wink that I was coming to know so well. "You're enjoying this, I see."

"Every minute. Every second." I laughed. "I don't know that I've ever felt this happy."

Dylan chuckled. "Well then, this might suit you nicely. Our next stop is for flowers."

I grinned. "Let me guess. White?"

Dylan's sparkling eyes told me I'd guessed right.

His phone rang, and he brought it to his ear. "You've reached the tropical island of Key West. This is Dylan speaking."

His mouth widened into a grin. "Pastor! Mile marker eleven? That's Shark Key! You're making great time. We'll see you soon!"

He hung up, and I looked at him questioningly.

"We're on an island," he pointed out, sweeping his hand around him. "But, luckily, there's a long highway that connects us with the mainland. It hops from key to key along the way. There aren't _exits_ on the highway – everything is done by mile markers."

I nodded in growing understanding. "So the highway ends here in Key West?"

"Yup, we are mile marker zero. The sign for that gets stolen all the time, too. Pranksters abound. But his call means he's about eleven miles away from us now. He should be here shortly."

"Where does the highway begin?"

He pointed in a direction I took to be vaguely north. "Up there, in Florida City. Mile marker 127.5. And in between there's Key Largo, Islamorada, Long Key, and all sorts of other beautiful places."

His eyes shone. "Someday I should take you on the trip. Drive the length of it. It's wonderful."

I grinned. "I saw the highway in _True Lies_. They blew the bridge up."

He chuckled at that. "That was the old Seven Mile Bridge. They didn't blow up the actual bridge, of course. Just an eighty-foot model. But, yes, the entire length of the trip is stunning. And you can even see the dog-sized key deer."

I shook my head. "Now you're just teasing me. Dog-sized deer?"

He held a hand up in the air. "I swear it's true. The deer are tiny, the size of terriers. But tan, of course, and slender. There's this spot they like to hang out in, at a dead end just past the tourist center."

A glow came to me. I'd like to see that. I'd like to see it all.

In my new life of Phoenix, it seemed just possible.

I looked up as Dylan drew to a stop. He made a sweeping motion with his hand at the doorway of a florist shop. "And here we are! After you, M'Lady."

The shop was breezy and open, just like Key West itself, with shelves of flowers in every color of the rainbow. A pair of red-headed women in their forties sprang into action as we walked in. "Dylan!" they cried out in chorus, coming around to give him hugs. The taller one escorted him into the back room, and I followed along.

The back counter was laid out with a variety of white daisies, white roses, white lilies, white baby's breath, and other white flowers I couldn't put a name to. Each one shone with dew and looked more beautiful than the last.

Dylan motioned to me. "And we'll need a white rose with baby's breath for the lady as well."

Red-head number two scurried to a side counter and with a few snips of her sharp shears the arrangement was ready.

Dylan took it from her and came over to stand before me. "Mind if I pin you?"

I giggled. It was like going to a prom and a party and a wedding all rolled up into one. "But of course, my darling," I cooed, falling into the role with more ease than I would have thought possible. "But remember, I never kiss on the first date."

"Our first date was last night, when we went dancing at the StarQuest," he pointed out as he finished settling the rose in place. "Don't you remember our 'Summer Nights' duet? So, technically, this is now date two. That means anything is game."

I laughed out loud at that, and he tweaked my cheek before going back to the main set of flowers. "Your bouquets look wonderful, as always," he told the women. "Is everything set for delivery?"

"They'll be there in under ten minutes. We just have to lay them into boxes and drive them on over."

"Then we'll get out of your way," agreed Dylan.

A wave, a smile, and we were back on Duvall Street. The land of tourists and cameras, of sea-shell mobiles and shot-glasses celebrating the Conch Republic.

Dylan turned to me. "Should I call us a cab, or would you like to walk?"

I wanted this experience to drag out as long as possible. Every moment with Dylan made me feel like a new woman.

"Let's walk," I decided.

His smile shimmered through me. "I was hoping you'd say that."

The sun dazzled my eyes, and I turned, raising my hand to shield them.

And blinked.

"Andros?"

# Chapter 8

The man before me didn't look anything at all like my brother. My brother had been a driven student in school, top of his class. It was no surprise to the family when, right out of high school, he'd been grabbed up by some high-tech firm out on the California coast. He'd been clean cut, bright-eyed, with that look of a man who was going places. It was part of why he'd always been mobbed by women.

The man in front of me was bulked out, more fighter's arms than lean runner's build. His hair was shoulder-length and shaggy. His face was creased as if he'd been through quite a lot in his twenty-something years.

But Andros's core shone from his eyes. Those dark eyes with the golden flecks in them.

I'd know them anywhere.

He blinked at me in baffled surprise, looking down my beautiful white dress, then up into my wide smile. His eyes seemed to take in Dylan at my side, the people surrounding us on the street, and then even those entering and leaving the many shops around us.

He drew in a breath -

And then he was gone.

I blinked, stunned. One moment he had been there in front of me. The next he had simply faded from view.

I craned up on my toes, frantically searching the area. "Andros? Andros?"

Nowhere.

He had simply faded into mist.

Dylan's gaze held bright curiosity. "And who might that have been? Do I already have a competitor for your affections?"

I nudged him in the side as I continued peering all around us. "I could have sworn that was my brother, Andros. I haven't seen him in, what, eight years or more. Not since he graduated from high school and moved west."

"Not a man to keep in touch, I see," he offered dryly.

"If you'd met my parents, you'd understand why," I stated, finally coming down off my toes. "I must have been wrong. And I probably scared the poor guy half to death, shouting at him like that. He probably thought I was some drunken tourist and fled."

Dylan shook his head, looking at me. "Believe me, if any man thought you were calling to them, they'd be running _to_ you, not away. You are a goddess of sunlight."

I chuckled. "You are certainly the flatterer, Dylan."

He put out his arm to me. "Just in case, I'll keep you close at my side. You're mine for the day, and I'd like to see any man try to claim otherwise."

A glow of warmth swept over me. I tucked my hand in his, and he led me into the swarming mob which was Key West.

We walked, we talked, the sun shone down, tropical fragrances filled my nose, and it seemed as if we'd known each other forever. I had never talked with anyone as easily as I did with Dylan.

I told him stories about growing up in the formal-discipline of my Polish parents. About being teased in school for my accent and my shabby clothing. About how much I had missed my brother when he'd left after high school. How I had dreamed of being a pastry chef with a small shop of my own.

He regaled me with tales of his wild-and-tumble Irish household with three older brothers and one younger sister. His father had been a police officer tragically been shot in the line of duty. Somehow the rest of the family had come together and made it work.

It sounded like pure chaos – and pure heaven. What they lacked in discipline, they made up for in love.

I was laughing out loud as we turned onto yet another quiet street with pastel-colored homes and tropical flowers. "And so Aedan was dangling you upside-down on the beach? And that's the treasured family photo?"

He nodded with a smile. "That's how it was. I was always the smallest, at least until we hit our early twenties and pretty much evened out. So I had to hold my own through other means. They outmatched me in weight, wingspan, and strength. I had to outthink them. To use their own strength against them."

He looked up ahead of him. "And here we are!"

The house before us was gorgeous. White paint, white gingerbread trim, and a row of white seashell mobiles hung along the front porch. A gentle breeze sent them into tinkling melody. The front door sported a floral heart-shaped wreath made with fresh white roses.

Dylan walked me up the few steps of the porch and pushed open the door without knocking. "We're here! The party can begin!"

Laughter came from further through the house. Tony's deep voice boomed, "We're out on the back porch!"

The house was beautiful in a relaxed beach-retreat style. Gauzy white curtains fluttered in the breeze. A white oval rug stretched on the polished wood floor. A trio of white couches surrounded a rough wood table. The room smelled of lemon and sunshine.

Dylan guided me through the white granite kitchen to the pair of French doors which sat open. The Sexy Six – minus my guy of course – were sprawled in white Adirondack chairs on a massive porch overlooking the ocean. The waves gently rolled in on the rocks below. Each man had a glass of Champagne in his hand. The bottle and two empty glasses waited on a wooden table before them.

Gregg turned his gaze to us, then his eyes latched on me. He let out a low whistle. "You are a phoenix, indeed! Out of the ashes, and look at you shine!" He made the same twirling motion with his hand that Dylan had.

I felt like a princess. I spun in a circle for the men, and their applause filled the air. Tony's eyes were bright. "We should put you on the top of our cake! Wouldn't that be just perfect!"

Dylan handed me a flute of Champagne, and we lifted them in the air. The sky was Caribbean blue overhead, white clouds drifted serenely across, and a gentle breeze blew the scent of jasmine along the porch.

It was sheer bliss.

Dylan clinked his glass against mine. "To love."

My smile filled my heart and I waved the glass to all men present, ending with Tony and Gregg. "To love!"

The words echoed around me, and an immense sense of contentment filled me. If only every day could be like this. There wasn't much else I could want from a world.

Below us, a man in white walked barefoot along the rocks, coming to stop beneath the porch. He called up with a beaming smile, "Your pastor has arrived!"

Cheers went up all around me, and I joyfully joined in. Glasses were put down on the table and we trooped noisily down the long, wooden stairs, going to meet him.

I could see now that the lower area was a white-tile patio with a large, round table set for dinner for eight. A buffet of delicious-looking salads, fruits, and meats was along one side. The other side held a fully stocked bar in pale wood. The white flowers I'd seen at the florist shop were arranged artfully on all sides.

Tony came down to embrace the middle-aged pastor with a warm hug. Then Gregg took his turn. Each of the rest of us shook hands.

Gregg motioned to me. "Pastor John, this is our new friend, Phoenix."

Pastor John smiled warmly at me. "You look absolutely radiant, my dear. It is a pleasure to meet you."

I smiled and gave a curtsy.

Pastor John looked between Gregg and Tony. "Are you ready to begin?"

I could see the shiver of nervousness course through Gregg, and Tony tenderly brought his hand to Gregg's face.

My heart swelled. It was clear how much they adored each other. How this one, simple gesture reassured Gregg. Then the two men took hands and moved over to the rocks, standing to face the ocean. The pastor took his place before them, the rest of us surrounded them, and the ceremony began.

I had been to many weddings over the years – some formal, some playful. But this touched me in a way that no other one had. The soft rolling of the ocean, the gentle breezes, the warm sun – it gave a sense of timelessness to the words. The love that shone in these men's eyes could have been five hundred years ago or two thousand. The vows of love echoed into eternity.

I found myself turning to look at Dylan.

He was gazing down at me, his eyes rich with emotion, and I wondered if he, too, was swept away by the beauty of it all. If he dreamed of someday meeting someone who would fill his heart the way that Tony filled Gregg's.

The pastor's voice was rich. "You may kiss –"

The two men embraced, holding each other as if they'd never let the other go. My eyes filled with tears.

And then we were all crying, laughing, hugging, and the party had begun.

# Chapter 9

The afternoon rolled in laughter, ribald jokes, and sheer delight. The Sexy Six were my long-lost tribe and they welcomed me with open arms. Plates were refilled, glasses were refilled, and we sampled Champagne cocktails in every color of the rainbow, starting with pomegranate red and ending with cassis violet.

It seemed all too soon when we were helping each other up out of our chairs and to the waiting white limousine.

Todd gave Gregg a playful push. "We don't want to miss our own honeymoon! The snorkeling in Cozumel is simply divine."

"Don't I know it," agreed Gregg. "Remember the last time we were there? I swear, you had an entire flock of sergeant majors following you around."

Dylan's eyes twinkled. "I thought they were sergeants from the Mexican naval station on Cozumel."

The limo shimmered with laughter. I climbed in after Dylan, half-tumbling, and he draped his arm around me to steady me. It was warm and reassuring, and I snuggled merrily into the nook. He drew me in as if we'd been together for years.

The limo smoothly pulled away from our tropical resort in white, and I gave it a fond wave. Then I leaned back against Dylan. He gave me a friendly pat on the hip. "I would bet you'll be needing a nap before our night of dancing tonight. But somewhere in there we should get some food. Would you like to join us at the steakhouse for dinner?"

"Abso-blissful-lootely," I crooned.

The men cheered their approval, and the world scrolled by beyond our windows.

Tony pointed with a smile. "The Whistle bar! If only we had time!"

I looked up at the building. It was an ivory structure with wrought-iron porches.

Dylan nudged me with a grin. "The rooftop is the Garden of Eden. Clothing optional."

I blushed to my roots. I was certainly expanding my horizons as Phoenix, but I wasn't sure I was quite ready to go _that_ far yet.

Gregg leaned over "We should take her to Sloppy Joe's next time. It's where Hemingway used to drink."

Pedro shook his head. "No, no, Hemingway drank in the spot that is now Captain Tony's Saloon. I know. My dad served in the navy down here, back in his younger days. Said the guys would pile off the boat, head to the bar, and stay there until it was time to climb back on again."

Barry laughed, giving Pedro a fond kiss. "Your father would drink anything at any time. We're lucky he was able to hold his own against the wreckers."

I looked between them. "Who were the wreckers?"

Barry's eyes lit up. "You haven't heard about Key West's nefarious past? According to maritime law, if a ship wrecked, whoever got there first had rights to its loot. So the locals here would put out _false lights_ – pretend lighthouses. Ships would get lured into rocks by them and crash. The captains would all be hanging out at a bar, and when news of a wreck came in, they'd all go racing out. Whoever got there first got the treasure."

I shook my head. "Sounds wild!"

Barry nodded. "That was Key West for you. Pirates, wreckers, drinkers, and fun. There wasn't a highway back then. The only people out here, at the far tail-end of this long island chain, were sailors and miscreants. And they liked it that way."

The scenery changed from vibrant downtown to quiet shotgun cottages done in pastels and whites. Apparently the arrival of the highway had brought a taming influence to the chaos of those early days. Now there were Japanese orchid trees which would blossom into beautiful violet petals in the spring, as well as actual orchids in bloom, delicate and stunning, wrapped gently around Geiger trees. The cock-fighting viciousness of the 1800s had morphed into serenely waddling chickens trailed by the cutest little yellow fluff-balls I'd ever seen.

Dylan's arm around me was safe and secure. The look in Todd and Gregg's eyes as they gazed at each other, newlyweds, took my breath away.

The limo rolled over a speedbump and I giggled.

Dylan smiled fondly down at me. "I think someone's had a bit too much to drink."

"And whose fault is that?" I teased back.

"Well, then, I take full responsibility for you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from my face.

God, he was handsome.

And I didn't even care if he _was_ gay any more. As long as he was mine.

The limo slowed, staggered, and drew to a halt.

Jack sat forward, rummaging at his hip. "We're at the naval base checkpoint. Passports, everyone, and then it's just another minute or so to the ship itself."

The Naval security officer walked over to the limousine's door and pulled it open. He gave a warm grin to us all. "I hear congratulations are in order."

Gregg and Tony beamed. They spoke in unison. "Thank you!"

"I just need passports and ship cards from each of you, and we'll get you on your way to your tropical honeymoon. I hear you'll be having perfect weather for the week."

Tony handed his passport and ship card over first, and the officer scrutinized both before handing them back. Then he moved on to Gregg.

I turned to look out the open doorway at the expanse of clearing, lined by a chain-link fence. In the far distance the ship sat at the dock's edge. In between was a long meadow, a scattering of military vehicles, low buildings, contentedly-pecking chickens, and –

My brow creased. Was that Andros talking with someone in a military uniform?

Resolve firmed within me. I wasn't going to lose him again!

I dove out of the limousine, dodged around the other security guard, and ducked under the vehicle security gate.

I ran streaming, full force, straight toward my brother.

# Chapter 10

Angry shouting echoed behind me, but it merely put wings to my feet. I hadn't been much into sports in high school. Heck, those childhood days of running through Forest Park in St. Louis were a distant memory. But the joy of my flight soaked into my soul. It came back to me now, how much I'd always loved running. It had been a thrill. A release. A way to get away from my parents – from everything, really.

It was as if old, rusty machinery had been oiled and set into fresh life. The wind whistled through my hair, sunlight shone on my face, and I felt _good_.

I sprinted across the clearing, vaulted a ditch, and wheeled around a jeep bristling with every antennae shape I could imagine. My sole focus was the pair of men before me, now staring at me with tight attention. The military man's hand was dropping to his hip -

My brother knocked his hand away, snapping sharp words.

I launched myself at my brother, flinging my arms around him with unbridled joy.

He caught me easily, as he always had, spinning me around in a circle to ease my momentum. My dress and hair flared as I spun, and I laughed out loud with delight, breathing him in. He was sea salt and leather, musk and pine.

"Andros! Andros! It _is_ you!"

The military man looked at Andros in confusion. "Andros?"

I looked up at my brother -

I was grabbed hard from behind by two strong sets of hands. They roughly yanked me back.

My outraged yelp filled the skies. "Hey! You're hurting me!"

My brother's eyes flared with anger. "Get your God-damned hands off of her!"

The soldier at my right arm looked to the uniformed man. "Colonel Johnson?"

The colonel looked me over with interest, then nodded. "You can release her."

Dylan drew to a skidding halt next to us, his lungs drawing in from his race. His eyes snapped between me and Andros. I could see by the limo that soldiers were holding back the rest of the men. Somehow Dylan had escaped the net.

I turned back to my brother, soaking in the sight of him. It had been so long since I'd seen him. Before he'd been the epitome of a clean-cut bright-eyed kid, naïve but determined, out to develop the next Google.

Time had changed him. Now he had the rough look of a war-experienced soldier. His dark hair curled to his shoulders. There was a new scar on his left cheek.

But the eyes were the same. They were those eyes I had always turned to, as a child, to bring me comfort in a house which was often far too cold.

I blinked.

He still hadn't said a word to me.

Confusion swirled in my mind. "Andros, it _is_ you, isn't it?"

Andros's eyes went to Dylan and focused, as if Andros was evaluating him. Suddenly his gaze sharpened as if in recognition.

"Dylan? Dylan O'Connell?"

Dylan cautiously nodded. "That's me. Do I know you?"

Andros's gaze firmed, and he gave his head a sharp shake. "We've never met, although I've heard of you. I've never met this woman here, either." He nudged his head toward me. "She seems to have me confused with someone else. My actual name is Jack. Jack Miller."

Colonel Johnson was watching us all, his eyes creased in confusion. "Is there a problem here, Jack?"

Andros shook his head. "No problem, Sir." His eyes flickered to the cruise ship, then over to the limo. His voice became hoarse. "Are you two ... married?"

I blushed deep to my roots. "Andros! I would have told you if I was getting married! And no, no no! God, that's silly, because Dylan is –"

Dylan smoothly interrupted me. "We've just come from the wedding of two of my good friends, Gregg and Tony. They're back at the limo."

I turned. Indeed, Gregg, Tony, and the others were still standing there. The look in their eyes said if one thing happened to either of us that they'd storm to our side, soldiers be damned.

Andros's shoulders eased. "Well, then, you should get on your way." His eyes went to Dylan's and an emotion slid into them; one I found it hard to identify. "Get her back safely to the ship. Take good care of her."

There was something in the two men's eyes, an serious understanding - but it went far over my head. All I could feel was the hurt and confusion that my brother – my long-lost, long-loved brother – was deserting me yet again.

My voice rose in a wail. "But –"

Dylan gently took my arm. "Phoenix, we should get going."

Andros's eyes creased. "Phoenix?"

Dylan chuckled. "It's the name she's using. It suits her, don't you think?"

Andros's gaze came to me, and for a moment, a brief, shimmering moment, that old warmth eased into it.

Dylan's head turned, as if he'd seen something.

Andros looked up.

His eyes sharpened in focused attention.

He flung himself at me, hard.

We slammed toward the ground, Andros's body over mine.

The sharp zing of a bullet brushed my hair.

# Chapter 11

Chaos.

Andros was on top of me, shielding me with his body. Dylan was crouching at our side, his finger pointing in the direction the shot had come from. There was a shadowed clump of woods there, up against residential housing.

All around us was shouting and yelling.

Andros lifted up to look down at me, concern etched in his face. "Are you all right?"

I nodded in shock.

He rolled off of me into a crouch. His gaze met Dylan's and his tone was low. "Get her onto that ship. Keep her safe."

Dylan nodded. "I will. I promise."

Andros held his stare for a heartbeat, then he nodded.

And he was off at a run, delving into the woods.

He was gone.

Dylan ran his gaze down the length of my body, looking for signs of blood. "You're sure you're all right?"

I followed his gaze down my dress. There was not one indication of what I'd just gone through. Not a hint of evidence that I'd just been thrown to the ground by my own brother. That I'd been shot at. That –

I began shaking.

Dylan eased me up to my feet. He looked over to the Colonel. "I need to get her on board."

Colonel Johnson had a phone to his ear and was shouting orders. "The entire base. Lock it down. Immediately."

He looked around. "Where'd Jack go?"

Dylan nudged his head. "After the shooter."

Johnson rounded on the other two soldiers who had man-handled me earlier. "So, what are you two dolts waiting for? Go with him! Find the guy!"

The soldiers lit out in a run.

I sagged against Dylan.

Dylan's voice became more firm. "I'm taking her back to the ship. Neither of us saw anything. You can always have someone question us there if you want to, but she needs to sit down."

Colonel Johnson's gaze swept to me, to pin me against the grass. "Who did you think Jack was?"

Something in his gaze had me draw in a breath. I found myself shaking my head.

"We had a case of Champagne to drink, at the party," I mumbled. "I thought he was this actor I'd seen on TV. You know, the reality star guy? The one with all the tattoos?" I brought an eager grin to my face. "There was this time he ate a whole crate of sardines, and then Mindy said -"

Colonel Johnson's face soured in disgust, and he interrupted me. "Tourists. We shouldn't let you anywhere near the naval base. They should build a new cruise ship dock over at Mallory Square and have done with it."

I leaned forward. "But really, if his eyes were green, and he was about three inches taller –"

Colonel Johnson waved a hand. "Get her out of here. Get all of you out of here." He grabbed up his phone. "Johnson here. Did you lock the base down yet? And what in the Hell –"

He stormed off toward one of the low buildings.

Dylan swept his arm around me and began walking me back toward the limo. His voice was a low mutter. "You're sure that was your brother?"

I nodded against him, not trusting myself to words.

"All right. We'll figure this out. But first, we're getting on that ship."

Tony and Gregg stared at us wide-eyed as we reached the limo. Gregg spoke up first. "What the Hell was that all about? Was that a gunshot I heard?"

Dylan pulled out his passport and ship card and handed them to the soldier. He turned to me. "Phoenix?"

I felt like a robot. Like a machine which had converted from rolling dough and cutting out shapes to retrieving squares of information from a fabric bag.

The soldier looked up at me. "It says here your name is Sonya."

I nodded.

The soldier glanced at Dylan. "But this man here called you Phoenix."

I ran a hand through my hair. I was like Alice in Wonderland. Nothing was what it was seeming. "It was just a nickname," I explained. "I am rising from the ashes. Being reborn."

The soldier seemed unsure, but he handed back my documents.

Dylan tucked me into the limo and then looked around before climbing in after me.

Gregg leaned forward in concern as we rolled into motion. "What the hell was –"

Dylan shook his head. "Not now. Let's get onto the ship."

At some point the limo stopped by the gangplank. We must have walked up it. We must have checked in through the security gate and gone through the x-ray machine. I remembered balking at the elevator, so the whole group walked with me, step by step, up the long flights of steps and over toward an ornate, wooden door.

Gregg slid his card into the slot, and the door's light turned green.

He pressed it open.

Apparently, while I had been lodged in one of the smallest cabins in the ship, Gregg and Tony had sprung for the largest suite. It was magnificent. A polished black grand piano sat before a bank of windows. A lounge area held a curved couch and several chairs. The dining area was set with flowers and china.

I began shaking.

Dylan walked me over to the couch and sat me down. In moments Gregg was there with a glass of Champagne, and I gratefully drank it down.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

The moments eased by. A tray of cheese was put before me, and slowly the tension in my shoulders unwound. The men were softly talking around me, and then the deep boom of the ship's horn sounded, indicating that we were leaving port. I could see the land slip away outside the large stretch of windows.

Safe.

We were safe.

Dylan brushed my hair back from my face. "There you go. The color's starting to come back into your cheeks."

Tony's fingers flexed. "I served over in Afghanistan for two years, when I first got out of high school. That was a high-powered rifle. You're only lucky you saw it, Dylan, or someone would've gotten hit."

"I just saw the glint, probably off the scope. It's Andros who realized the danger."

Dylan turned to me. "You're absolutely sure that was your older brother?"

I nodded, the reality of it settling clearly in my mind. "It was him. I have no doubt about it. Why was he telling that Colonel that he was Jack Miller?"

Dylan shook his head. "And how did he know my name? I've never seen him before."

Tony's gaze grew serious. "It could be related to what went on in Vegas. Maybe someone is coming after you because of that? A loose end that wasn't tied up?"

Dylan shook his head. "I don't think they were after me. I think they were after Andros. But I think you're right in one regard. I think Andros might have known about me because of Vegas. Maybe he saw the files about what went on there. The question is, how was he involved?"

I looked between them in confusion. "What happened in Vegas?"

Dylan gave me a wry smile. "There isn't a short answer to that question."

I looked to Tony. "What time is our dinner reservation at the steakhouse?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Eight. We've got about two hours."

I turned to Dylan. "All right, then. Let's hear it."

He drew in a deep breath, held my eyes - and began.

The story floored me.

I had thought of his brothers – of Evan, Brandon, and Aedan – as a playful bunch. As rough-and-tumble brothers who would get into scrapes but find a way through.

As Dylan stepped me through the events of that tumultuous December, barely a month ago, I realized just how more than that they were.

They were heroes.

I shook my head as he wound up to the end. "No wonder you weren't thrown by the gunshot," I murmured. "It wasn't the first one you'd heard."

"I grew up the son of a cop," he pointed out. "We were all taken to the gun range, here and there. My dad made sure we were at least familiar with weapons, for safety reasons. And when he died ..." He gave a soft shrug. "His partner, and the others, stepped in to keep an eye on us."

Tony looked over. "But you're sure Vegas has nothing to do with what went on here, today?"

"I can't know for sure," admitted Dylan. "But it seems highly unlikely. If they really were after me, why wait until then? If all had gone smoothly, we would never have gotten out of the limousine there. We simply would have driven straight through to the gangplank and gotten on board. Someone who was interested in shooting me would have done so back at the beach house or at a thousand other locations."

He shook his head. "No, it seems more likely that it was Phoenix's brother they were after. He was the one meeting with Colonel Johnson under a false name. He ran after the shooter without hesitation. That doesn't seem the action of a computer programmer."

He turned to me. "And you're sure that's what your brother was recruited to do? Did you ever go see the company where he worked?"

I blinked. I had never questioned where he had gone or what he had done there. "My parents and I don't travel," I whispered. "We never went to see him – and he never came back home after he left. We'd just get the occasional phone call or postcard."

Dylan nodded. "So, really, he could have been anywhere. He could have been doing anything at all."

The thought shook me. My brother had been gone all those years, and I had no idea where? Here I'd thought he was relaxing on the California coastline, sipping cocktails, with women climbing all over him.

But I had seen him with my own eyes. He hadn't seemed like a laid-back computer geek. He'd seemed harder than that. More focused.

What had he gotten involved with?

My stomach rumbled loudly, and I blushed.

Dylan took my hand, a wry smile coming to his lips. "All right, now that the initial shock is over, clearly we have to get some food into you. Your body has probably burned through all its adrenaline."

He glanced over at Jack. "Find anything?"

I realized that Jack was hunched over a laptop of some sort, his brow drawn together. He shook his head. "Nothing. Anywhere. Not the news, not social media sites, nothing at all."

Tony's lips pressed together. "Sounds about right. Whatever Andros is involved in, I'd bet both parties want to keep it quiet. I imagine they're hoping we're just dumb, drunk tourists who barely knew what was happening. After all, we haven't posted anything on Facebook or told anyone on the ship what happened. My guess is, if we say nothing, life goes on as usual. If we start to poke into this, life gets messy."

I looked at them in concern. "But that was my brother! And he was shot at!"

Dylan turned to me. "Do you know how to contact him?"

I blushed. I knew I should. But when he had abandoned me after he graduated, I'd been hurt. And the longer the months had stretched, the more hurt I'd become. It got to be when my birthday came around each year that I'd cross my arms across my chest, staring at the phone, daring him to call me.

He never did.

I shook my head. "My parents had an email address, but it stopped working. I thought ..." I gave a soft shrug. "I thought he'd forgotten about us."

Dylan twined his fingers into mine. "I think he was trying to protect you. To keep you all safe from whatever he'd gotten embroiled in."

Soft warmth eased within me. Could that be true? Could all these long years have been his efforts to keep his world and ours safely distant?

I looked up to Dylan with hopeful eyes. "So how do we find him now? How do we make sure he's all right?"

Dylan glanced at Tony. "Do you think there's a safe way?"

Tony drew in a breath. "Not here. Not on the ship. It's bad enough we had Barry do his Googling, but I imagine they would have expected that. And now that we've found nothing, if we were to keep after it, to keep digging into it, they might become concerned. They might decide to pay us a visit and make us stop."

A chill ran through me.

Tony's gaze settled into resolution. "Let's wait until we reach Cozumel. Once we're on land, I can use public phones to make a few calls. See what I can turn up."

A ribbon of fear still traced through me. "What if Andros needs help?"

Dylan held my gaze. "If the man is in the line of work we think he is, he'll have a full support team. He's only safe if his identity is maintained. The more we all dig away at this, the more we try to contact him, the harder it becomes for him to claim he is not Andros. And that could compromise his safety."

I shivered. I remembered how he had vanished the first time I spotted him on the street in Key West. How he had insisted, on the military base, that he was Jack Miller.

My throat closed up. "I screwed up. He was trying to pose under a false name and I screwed everything up for him."

Dylan gave me a warm hug. "His team will get it straightened out. I promise. I'm sure they had plans in case something like this happened. It's only two more days until we reach Cozumel – and Tony will sort this out."

Dylan brushed the hair out of my eyes. "Until then, the best way we can help Andros is to make every impression to the world that we've forgotten the incident completely. That we did our searches, realized we were mistaken about what happened, and we're back on cruise time. That Jack Miller wasn't who we thought he was and he's all but forgotten now."

I knew the logic of what he was saying. My brother had clearly wanted to stay hidden. If anyone was watching us, reporting back to Colonel Johnson or the others, we had to do our part.

Dylan looked at me. "All right? Do you think you can do this?"

I nodded, bringing a smile to my lips. "Phoenix can do anything."

He chuckled. "That's the spirit. In two more days we'll figure out what's going on. Until then, we should be the carefree cruisers we're expected to be. Wine, food, and fun."

My stomach again rumbled loudly.

Tony grinned. "That sounds like a yes to me." He stood and put out a hand to me. "And besides, our cake-topper princess needs her chance to shine. There's still a whole ship out there which hasn't seen you in that beautiful dress."

I blushed. In all of the turmoil I'd completely forgotten how I was dressed. I was so used to being in nondescript jeans and shirts that it was a surprise to look down and see the white, embroidered dress tenderly fitting around my curves. It almost made me look pretty.

I took Tony's hand and rose to my feet.

I felt safe – protected – as we headed out the door and made our way down the stairs. The men were like a phalanx around me, and I had a sense that, even should Colonel Johnson send someone to question us, that person would be hard-pressed to cause me any trouble. But my sense was that Tony and the others were right. As long as we played our parts as drunken vacationers, we'd probably be quickly forgotten.

We reached the sixth deck and headed past the Champagne Bar into Schooner's. Jaime, the bartender, waved as we entered. "There you guys are! I was missing you. Are we ready for another round?"

Tony waved to him. "Not right now, Jaime. We've got dinner reservations at the steakhouse." A fresh shine came to his gaze as he glanced at Gregg. "But you keep those stools warm for us. We've got a lot to celebrate tonight!"

Tony held up Gregg's hand with his own, showing the matching wedding rings.

Cheers rang out all around us, and the two men blushed crimson, grinning at each other like little kids.

They were so much in love, it shook off the shadows and warmed my heart. The moment could not be more perfect –

A shocked voice rose up over the applause.

"Sonya!?"

# Chapter 12

It was my worst nightmare, come to life.

There was my mother and father, dressed in black, horrified looks on their faces. It appeared they were coming out of the card-playing room. Behind them were the Goldwins. The Goldwins seemed pleasantly amused by the situation, but I doubted my parents saw it that way.

I had to do something before my mother said what I knew she would say. Before she ruined everything.

Her mouth opened –

I grabbed Dylan's arm and stepped forward, a bright smile on my face. "Mom, Dad, I'd like you to meet Dylan. He's the restaurant owner I told you about, from Hartford."

My mother's mouth closed and opened again like a grouper's. She stared at Dylan, sizing up his sturdy build and handsome face. The crisp cut of his white shirt and pants.

And then her eyes came back to me, as if taking me in for the first time. Her gaze drew down my embroidered, white dress with a look I'd rarely seen before.

Of begrudging approval.

She began nodding. "You finally took my advice and dressed like a human being instead of a schlock." She looked over to Dylan. "So you're this Dylan fellow she's been going on about?"

Dylan blinked and responded without missing a beat. "Yes, yes I am. I am so pleased to meet the both of you. Sonya here has told me so much about you both."

I held my face as still as possible. This could not be happening.

What in the world had I done?

My mother's eyes narrowed. "And this restaurant you own? It's not some food truck, is it? It has actual tables and chairs?"

I was going to pass out. Right here in the middle of the lounge.

Dylan's smile grew. "Yes, indeed. Fine linen tablecloths. Real Riedel glassware. I would love to have you both over sometime, as my guest. We have award-winning toasted ravioli on the menu, but we cover the range. Filet mignon, king crab, butternut ravioli, lobster, you name it. And our wine list is one of the best in the state."

My mother's eyes lit up with interest. "And you say you own the joint?"

Dylan nodded. "I do indeed. We would love to have you visit any time you're in town."

Her brows narrowed in suspicion. "Wait. If you're the owner, how come you're on a cruise down in Florida? Who's minding the restaurant?"

He smiled. "I'm afraid we had the roof collapse, with this killer winter we've been having. Nearly three feet in one day did it in." He waved a hand to his friends. "So we decided to move the wedding south, while the repairs were completed."

My mother's eyes rose – and stopped.

Dylan continued talking as if nothing at all were wrong. "This is my sommelier, Gregg. One of the best in the industry. He's just gotten married, today, to Tony. Pedro here is our front of house, and that's his boyfriend, Barry. And here we have, Jack, our head chef. He's an absolute artist in the kitchen."

My mother was slowly nodding, her mind latching onto words which made sense to her. "Art, right? Restaurant cooking can be like artwork."

"Exactly right," agreed Dylan. "These men create beauty with food."

Her eyes narrowed, and she looked up at Dylan. "But not you, right? You're not ... artistic?"

I winced. If only I could fade into blackness, like that woman in those portraits, and vanish wholly from view.

Dylan wrapped his arm around me, drawing me close. "I run the business," he stated with a smile. "I leave the artistic work to my team."

My mother nodded in satisfaction. "Good. Well, we are going down to the main dining room. If we get started now I bet we can have two entrée courses before they close for the evening."

Dylan's smile stayed warm. "Best of luck to you both, then. Have a wonderful evening."

The group nodded, and then they were moving through Schooner's, merging into the crowds by the elevators.

I could barely breathe. "God, Dylan, I am so, so sorry –"

He chuckled, patting me on the back. "Don't worry about it, Phoenix. We can't choose our parents. And if our group had to worry every time we got odd looks or comments –"

Gregg grinned, pressing a warm kiss to Tony's cheek. "Life is far too short for any of that. We need to celebrate what we have and count our blessings."

I looked up to Dylan, my cheeks still burning with shame. "But what I said about you –"

His eyes twinkled. "I'm honored that you claimed me, my dearest Phoenix. And I will seek to do your parents proud." He put an elbow out to me. "And now, shall we adjourn to the dining room?"

I breathed again, my worries put at ease by his over-the-top chivalry. I tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. "Charmed, I'm sure."

Just like that, my shoulders eased. The tension in my neck released. Dylan had this way about him. This way of making everything all right.

And, just for tonight, he was mine.

# Chapter 13

The steakhouse dining room was spectacular. It shone with white linen tablecloths, leather chairs, and an ambiance of polished mahogany and glittering brass. The glassware was delicate crystal.

Gregg pinged his as we sat down. "Riedel," he smiled. "Glad to see we're being taken care of."

Dylan looked over at an approaching man and his brows lifted. "And it appears we have a special visitor. Captain?"

The Captain nodded, his eyes sweeping the table. "I hear you had some excitement today."

I paled. Was Tony wrong about us being left alone? Was the Captain going to ask us about the attack on Andros at the naval station? Right in the middle of dinner?

The Captain waved a hand to Gregg and Tony. "I hear you two were married. Congratulations! I wanted to come offer my fondest wishes to you two, for a long and happy future together."

Gregg and Tony beamed with delight.

The captain waved a hand, and a waiter came forward carrying a bottle. "A token of our support for you. It's a bottle of –"

Gregg's eyes went round. "Perrier Jouët Blanc de Blanc. My favorite."

"With our complements," agreed the Captain. "I hope your voyage with us, and the rest of your marriage, is one of joy and fun."

Gregg nodded, his eyes moving up to the Captain. "Thank you so much!"

The Champagne was opened, the glasses were poured, and the dinner began.

It was spectacular eating with men who knew their way around food. They negotiated with the waiters for specific versions of menu items, and the results were simply stunning. The moment the chef realized he had an appreciative audience in the room, the specials kept rolling out. Filet mignon served three different ways. Caviar. The most delicate snow peas I had ever eaten. And each course came paired with the absolute perfect wine.

I stared at Dylan in amusement. "Do you guys eat this way every night? How come you're not all as round as marbles?"

He grinned. "Ah, but we work it off. Tony and Gregg love swimming. Pedro and Barry are bikers. Jack there loves to run."

"How about you?"

He smiled. "A little of this, a little of that, but mostly I just like to get out and explore. Go see what the world has to offer. There are so many cultures and sights to see. It would take many lifetimes to get through even a fraction of it."

I was coming to realize that was true. Key West had been stunningly beautiful – and that was just one tiny portion of one state. To think of how much else was out there to be experienced.

He took my hand in his. "How about you? Why haven't you traveled before?"

I gave a soft shrug. "I guess I just got stuck in my routine. Work. Home. It seemed to take too much energy to think about anything else. And besides –"

I pressed my lips together, looking down.

He gave my hand a squeeze. "Besides, what?"

My shoulders lifted in another shrug. "I can't really go alone. But there was never anybody to go with."

His voice held a hint of surprise. "You don't have a boyfriend back home, waiting for you?"

I'd managed to avoid the topic all through our afternoon. Even though I'd known he was gay, and therefore safe, it was still a painful one to bring up.

"I've had one or two," I murmured, "but they always treated me like dirt. Like I should be grateful they lowered themselves to spend time with me. And I admit that sometimes I almost felt that they were right. Because when I was all alone, and they weren't there any more ..."

The tears welled in my eyes, and I angrily brushed them away. I laughed self-deprecatingly at myself. "See, this is why I don't talk about it."

He gently put a hand beneath my chin, lifting my eyes to his. "Don't ever feel that way. Don't ever feel as if you are less than wholly worthy of love and respect. Because you _are_ worthy. You are unique, you are talented, and you deserve all that life has to offer you."

I let out a scoffing breath. "Talented at what? I'm a hack at a bakery. They could train a monkey to do what I'm doing."

He ran a hand down my cheek. "What you do right now does not define you. It's simply a step in your journey. There will be other steps, and yet more, and if we plan them right, then your dream will be there, before you. And you'll know that everything was worth it."

The way he said it, I could almost believe it. I could almost see that pastry shop there before me.

He nodded in satisfaction. "There's the Phoenix I've come to be fond of. That shine in her eyes. Come on, let's have some dessert. Because I see a lot of dancing in our future."

My heart eased. Somehow he always knew the exact right thing to say.

The chefs were truly doing their best tonight, for the delicate apple crisp was better than any I'd tasted before. We all shared our desserts around, comparing them, and by the time we headed up the stairs, laughing, it was long past ten p.m. The StarQuest lounge was in full gear as we stepped in, and yet the entire room burst into applause as we entered.

The DJ waved, hit a button, and all the lights began flashing in spirals. Then the classic "The Time of My Life" from _Dirty Dancing_ came on.

Tony's eyes shone, he put a hand out to Gregg, and the floor cleared. All eyes were on the pair as they danced slowly – romantically –

And then the music kicked in.

I laughed in glee as the men spun, whirled, and let loose with all their joyful exuberance for life. The entire crowd was clapping, cheering, and singing along to the chorus.

It was pure magic.

The music segued into "Celebration," and then to "Raining Men," and a thousand other classics, streaming one after another. The bartenders at the whirling bar set out drinks, the crowd came by in waves to congratulate us, and it was the most wonderful night I could possibly imagine.

Another slow song, and once again I was in Dylan's arms, pressed up against that sturdy chest of his. It was a dream – a hopeless, wild fantasy, but I allowed myself to immerse in it. He was everything I'd always wanted in a man. Everything I could have wished for.

With one minor little issue.

The song came to an end, and the DJ's voice came on, heavy with regret. "And I'm afraid that's it. The bar's closing for the night, and I'm done. Have a great time on your sea day tomorrow, everyone! Get out on that deck and soak in the sun!"

I looked around in confusion. "It's over?"

Dylan chuckled. "I'm afraid so. And I'd invite you back to the suite, but I'm afraid I think that Tony and Gregg will be ... occupied ..."

I glanced over. Indeed, the two of them were staring into each other's eyes with a look which spoke volumes. We might not be seeing them all day long tomorrow, either.

I nodded. "All right, then, good night, everyone. I'm sure I'll see you around the ship tomorrow."

Dylan stepped up to my side. "I'll walk you down to your cabin. I know we figure we'll be fine, now that we've put some distance between us and Colonel Johnson. Still, it's better to be sure."

I blushed. "I'm sure I'll be all right. There are thousands of people on board who might see what they were up to. I can't imagine the soldiers would want to raise attention for no reason. You don't need to come down with me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you not want me to know where your room is?"

My blush deepened. "Not at all. It's just that I don't need a bodyguard. But if you'd like to come down with me, you're welcome to."

We hugged all around, and then Dylan and I were heading to the stairs.

The stairs were getting easier for me, the more I was walking them, and I thought the dancing was helping, too. It was limbering up joints which had for far too long stayed frozen in place.

We stopped at one of the landings, and Dylan looked at the black and white photos that hung on the walls. They were city images, but seemed as if they were two photos on top of each other.

"Ah, double exposures," he commented. "Two views of the same scene in New York City. See how in this one the woman is in two different places? So you get a sense of motion?"

I nodded. "That is interesting. It makes you think more about the scene." I looked over at him. "Are you a photographer?"

He shook his head. "My sister's boyfriend, Sean, is. He grew up in New York City. It's a fun place to visit. Lots going on there. I should take you sometime."

I blushed and set in motion down the stairs. It was one thing to have my private daydreams about being with Dylan. But to hear him say things like that out loud, it made it almost seem possible.

We walked down the remaining flights in silence, and in a few more steps we had reached my cabin door.

I turned to look up at him.

"Thank you so much for everything, Dylan. For inviting me to the wedding, for this beautiful dress, and for being there with me during ... whatever that was that happened ... with my brother. It's been a day I'll never forget."

I looked up into those blue eyes of his.

If he had been straight, this would be when we'd kiss.

Tears welled in my eyes.

His brow creased in concern, and he brought a hand to my cheek. "Phoenix, what is it?"

I shook my head, wiping at my tears. "I'm just being silly. Everything was so wonderful. I don't want it to end."

He blinked.

He stepped forward.

He drew me into a kiss.

I inhaled in shock, my body stiffening. What was he doing? Surely he wasn't going to kiss me out of pity?

He drew his head back, his brows together. "Do you not want me to kiss you?"

I stared at him, flabbergasted. "You don't have to, you know."

He chuckled. "I know I don't _have_ to, my treasure. I _want_ to."

I looked into that impossibly handsome face. "But ... but ... you're ..."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

It burst out of me. "You're _gay!_ "

This time his smile nearly split his face. "Who in the world told you that?"

I stared at him.

Nobody had.

I had just assumed ...

The words barely got breath behind them. "You mean ... you mean you're _not_ gay?"

His eyes twinkled in amusement. "I'm reasonably sure I'm not. Given the men my friends hang out with, if I'd had even the slightest inclination in that direction, I'd have been tempted by now." He shrugged his shoulders. "But, nope. So I guess you're stuck with me."

My eyes were round. " _Stuck_ with you??"

He laughed. "If you'll have me."

If I'd have him.

An elderly man came toddling down the hallway, and I dug into my purse for my key card. This was definitely a conversation to be having inside.

Private.

Alone.

He came up alongside me, his breath warm on my neck. "Does this mean you'd like to try that kiss again?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, yes, yes."

I slid the card into the slot.

I pushed open the door.

Andros was standing there, his clothing bloody and stained. His eyes held mine with fixed attention.

He was pointing a gun straight at my chest.

Phoenix and Dylan's story continues in Book 2 of this Cozumel Nights series!

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# Dedication

To Ruth, who inspires me daily.

To Toni, who has believed in me and this series from the very beginning.

To Suzanne, Michaela, and Felicia, who offered great feedback and support.

To George and Bob, who encourage me in all my dreams.

And, most of all, to my loyal fans who continue to encourage me in the cause. Whether you're on GoodReads, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, or my blog, together we help make the world a better place!

# About the Author

I feel quite strongly about the books that I write. I write these all myself – no ghost-writers, no third parties. I go to the locations described. I visit them in person, breathe in the fragrances, walk the streets, and soak in the sights. I then do my very best to bring them to life to you, so that you can take a virtual vacation to these locations.

I write about topics that have great meaning to me. We all deserve to feel loved, cherished, and respected.

Half of the proceeds of this book's sales benefit battered women's shelters.

Please send along as much feedback and suggestions as you can. The more we can polish these worlds and characters, the more we can help the cause.

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Worcester Nights series

Kate's life sucks. She's tending bar at a run-down dive. Her immoral boss fondles every co-ed within reach. The clientele is made up of TV-glazed zombies, drunkards, and ... who is that in the corner?

The Thunderbolt Hits.

She hadn't thought it was real. But when she looks into Sean's eyes, the force of the connection staggers her. Her mind desperately seeks to pull her back - he's an ex-felon. Far too talented with those rippled muscles and toned fists. He's everything she should be staying away from.

She craves him from the depths of her soul.

His touch smolders her skin; his fingers expose her to worlds she never dreamt existed.

But when his secret is ripped free from the dark shadows, their lives teeter on the brink of destruction.

Bermuda Nights series

Amanda desperately needed to get away. Her whole life had been about pleasing others - her straight-laced parents, her rule-bound teachers. When her best friend, Kayla, suggested they hop a cruise from Boston to Bermuda, Amanda leapt at the chance. This was her one chance to light the night on fire.

And then Evan stepped on stage.

Evan was exactly the man her country-club parents would have disapproved of. Ripped abs and soul-deep eyes. Lightning-fast fists. One glance and she knew she has to be his - if just for these seven brief, torturously-exquisite days.

And, oh, Evan could play her. His fingers were connoisseurs of her body, drawing out her deeper notes, sending her soaring to heights she barely knew existed. She lost all sense of self, of rules.

Until the day she saw what she was never meant to see - and her world changed forever.

Italian Nights series

Hannah and her sister, Megan, have been given the trip of a lifetime. They are cruising the Mediterranean Sea. Starting at Rome, they are working their way counter-clockwise through Florence, Monte Carlo, Barcelona, Sardinia, Sicily, and Pompeii. Life is their playground.

And then Hannah meets Brandon.

Brandon is strong, intelligent, loyal, and everything Hannah could possibly dream of in a man. He has also just walked in on his fiancée in bed with his best friend. Hannah is willing to wait as long as it takes for him to work his way through this betrayal.

And then all Hell breaks loose ...

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Las Vegas. Sin City. Heidi stepped off that plane ready to re-invent herself. Ready to delve into the glitz, glamour, and fantastical unreality which defines the mantra, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

What she wasn't ready for was Aedan.

Billionaire playboy. Supermodels dripping down his well-muscled body. He seemed to have it all. But for some reason he kept appearing where she least expected. And he made her feel a way she swore she never would again.

Like she could trust him.

Until the dark revelation that threatens to destroy her ...

Cozumel Nights series

Sonya thought she was finally free. Her controlling, fault-finding parents had sold the family home in St. Louis and moved down to retire to Florida. Sonya's life could begin anew! But instead, she found herself lonelier than ever, missing her older brother who had escaped to California the moment he'd graduated from high school. So when her parents offered to fly her down to see the new condo and go on a six-day cruise, Sonya hesitantly agreed. After all, how bad could it be being stuck on a boat with her parents for a week?

Oh.

The sole shining light was the bevy of stunningly handsome gay men she tumbled into the care of. They offered laughter, fun, and everything she could ever have dreamed of. And Dylan's arms around her could have been all she desired in life.

If only it could be real.

StepShifter Alpha Billionaire Lover

A NYC MMA SEAL BBW BWWM MMF Ménage Paranormal Romance

You've read about the billionaires who like to tie things with ... ties. You've lusted over werewolves and werebears. You've sent your blood pressure through the roof fantasizing about that pair of muscle-bound MMA guys whose sole focus in life is to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

You've perhaps asked yourself, self, why do all of these fantastic lovers have to be in different universes? Why can't there simply be one, all-encompassing, all-possessing man whose endless bank accounts and prodigious sexual talents are mine for the claiming? Or perhaps even two men? And why can't the stories be in short, easy-to-read snippets so I can get through JUST ONE GODDAMNED STORY before the kids start screaming bloody murder or that lazy husband of mine wants another beer from the fridge?

Well, pine no more, for the StepShifter series is here! And what's even better, if you post on Ophelia's page with what you'd like to see the Dynamic Trio do in the upcoming books, your wish is her command. Your fantasies will spring to life in technicolor glory. Well, not really in technicolor, because if she made the book's letters red, green, and blue, then the poor color-blind readers amongst us would miss out on the fun. But while the letters might be elegantly black, like the heroine, the language is absolutely racy. Purple. Red-hot passion. Definitely not for anyone younger than eighteen, or anyone without a serious sense of humor about how consenting adults might choose to pass the night. Or day. Or the time it takes a taxi to get from Grand Central Station to Yankee Stadium.

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