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plate.
    “What are you doing here?” They spoke the words in perfect unison, then both let out awkward laughs.
    “Lacey brought you here?” he guessed.
    She nodded, reaching up to run a hand through that mass of midnight hair, then, as if she suddenly realized how little she had on, she stepped back into the shadows of the villa, but he could still see her face.
    “How about you?” she asked.
    He cleared his throat. “I work here.”
    She looked completely baffled. “You play baseball.”
    “Not at the moment. I work for the builder.”
    “Lacey said I’d be the first guest. I’m… staying here.”
    Hiding here, more like. The pieces slid together like tongue in groove. She’d run away from the mess in L.A., and her best friend had cloistered her in a place that wouldn’t even show up on a GPS yet, let alone at the other end of a reporter’s camera.
    Then another thought hit him like a fastball to the brain. “You alone?” He must have had a little accusation in his voice, because she raised an eyebrow and looked disappointed.
    “Yes,” she said quietly, sadness in her eyes and a softness in her posture.
    Shit. He’d hurt her. He regretted the question theinstant it had popped out. She was hiding from prying eyes and personal questions and what had he done? Pried and questioned.
    He held up a hand as though that could deliver his apology and took a few steps closer. “How long are you here? I’d love to…”
Talk to you. Kiss you until you can’t breathe. Spend every night in your bed
. “Get caught up.”
    “I shouldn’t be here that long.”
    In other words, no. “Too bad,” he said, hiding the impact of disappointment. “Maybe I’ll see you on the south end when you go home.”
    “I won’t go there.” The statement was firm, clear, and unequivocal.
Don’t argue with me,
dripped the subtext.
    She wouldn’t even
see
her dad? A spark flared, pushing him closer, up the stairs. She wouldn’t even do a drive-by to see if her old man was dead or alive? Because he’d bet his next paycheck she didn’t know… anything.
    Something hammered at him, and this time it wasn’t his heart reacting to the sight of a beautiful, not entirely dressed woman. No, this was the physical jolt of a whole different kind of frustration.
    “So, what exactly do you do for the builder?” she asked, apparently unaware she’d hit a hot button.
    But her casual question barely registered, her astounding near nakedness practically forgotten despite God’s professional lighting that gave him a perfect view of her body under those slips of white silk.
    “Carpentry,” he said through gritted teeth, a little surprised at how much emotion rocked him. He had to remember what she’d gone through, what her father was in her eyes, but right now all he could think about was a harmless, helpless old man who had no one to call family.
    Even though he had a perfectly good daughter standing right here.
    “A carpenter just like your father,” she said, nodding. “I remember he was quite talented.”
    “Speaking of fathers.” He dragged the word out, long enough to see her expression shift to blank. “I’m back in my parents’ house. They moved out to Oregon to be closer to my sister and her kids.”
    In other words, I live next door to your father
. He waited for the reaction, but she just raised her hand, halting him. “I really have to go, Will. Nice to see you again.”
    Seriously? She wouldn’t even hear him out?
    She backed into the opening of the french doors, hidden from view now. “I’m sure I’ll see you around, though,” she called, one hand reaching for the knob to close him out.
    He grabbed the wood frame and held it as tightly as he had when he’d installed the very door she was about to slam in his face. “Jocelyn.”
    “Please, Will.”
    “Listen to me.”
    “I’m sure our paths will cross.” But her voice contradicted that cliché. And so did history. One wrong word and Jocelyn would find