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stepped from the shower and vigorously dried herself, toweling her hair so that it wouldn’t drip. Calm down, talk to this man before going berserk. He planned to beat you—by fair means or foul. Maybe he wants something simple.
    Like what? Cat frowned suddenly, thinking of Sam’s strange behavior after the race. He hadn’t appeared half as perturbed as he should have been. Cat had demanded to know if he—by any chance—had any idea of who the stranger was. “Maybe, maybe not,” Sam had replied enigmatically. With the crowd heading for the lounge within hearing distance, Cat hadn’t pressed him. “If he’s who I think he is,” Sam had said smugly just before she had left him disgustedly to shower and change, “you’ll figure it out soon enough. You should have figured it out by now.”
    “I’m not exactly in the mood for riddles!” Cat had snapped. Sam had only turned away and smiled.
    Now I have to wonder what’s the matter with him, too, Cat thought peevishly. Tiger Cay might be slipping from my hands and he’s smiling and talking in puzzles.
    I’m going to face that damned cheat right now, she decided firmly. He had played enough games. He wasn’t going to tear apart what was left of her nervous system with any more procrastination.
    With determination giving her every movement extra vehemence, Cat wrapped her towel around herself and threw open the bath door—only to stop dead still, incredulity and rage burning her from head to toe.
    She had no need to seek out the arrogant stranger who had just made a catastrophe of a life of peace and tranquility. He sat comfortably, a bare ankle crossed over a bare knee, in the wicker rocker that flanked her bed, casually reading her copy of a Smithsonian , his eyes, still hidden by the dark glasses, rising as she froze in the doorway.
    To top off his disgusting arrogance, he had the audacity to give her that devilish grin she was coming to loathe.

CHAPTER THREE
    “Y OU MAY HAVE WON a bet,” Cat enunciated crisply, “but as of this moment, you have no rights to Tiger Cay. And if you did own Heaven’s Harbour and the lodge, you would still have no rights to my room. What are you? A lockpick as well as a cheat?”
    He tossed the magazine on the bed, and smiled as he laced his fingers behind his head and nonchalantly crossed his ankles with his feet propped on her bed—an indication of a long and comfortable stay? Cat wondered.
    “Relax, Mrs. Miller,” he told her, “I have no designs upon Tiger Cay.”
    Cat carefully hid her surprise beneath another demand. “How did you get in here?”
    “No lock-picking needed. You left your door open.”
    “How did you know this door was my room?”
    “That’s no great mystery.”
    Cat stood silent for a moment, wishing she could either hurl something at him or kick a hole in the bathroom door. He’d love that, she thought, he wants to see me lose my temper.
    She remained in the doorway, afraid to sit lest she lose her towel, yet also determined not to rush around like an idiot to grab her clothing—and further display the discomfort he was causing her.
    “All right,” she snapped. “Just what do you want?”
    “Let’s see,” he murmured. “You owe me five hundred thousand, correct?”
    “Even that is debatable.”
    “Not debatable,” he argued firmly. “You owe me five hundred thousand.” Feigning mock sympathy, he added, “Really, Mrs. Miller, instead of outrage you should be displaying appreciation for my discretion. I came here to avoid any of our conversation being overheard.”
    “That was magnanimous,” Cat said sarcastically. “Get to the point. What do you want?”
    He still didn’t answer. Deserting his relaxed pose, he stood and began idly prowling her room. Heaven’s Harbour Lodge had been built in the late eighteen hundreds by the head of a small colony of British subjects. Everything about the place was airy and spacious with a touch of island ease combined with basic Victorian