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her jaw wired together. In fact, make that a lobotomy, she’d clearly lost her marbles. Why the hell else would she be standing there like one of the Pink Ladies holding her T-Bird boyfriend’s jacket?
     
    Dylan turned, startled to hear a woman’s voice, recognising it a second before he saw her. English.
    “Some folks would consider this stalking,” he said, enjoying the look of indignation that crossed her face.
    “And some people would say thank you for returning their jacket,” Kara shot back, emphasising the English word. “Nice place,” she added, deadpan, casting a speculative glance over the boat. Then, “The Love Tug?” She read the name of the boat out loud, nodding slowly. “Well. You’re full of surprises.”
    An illogical urge to defend the old boat rose out of nowhere, and he found himself patting the railings like the owner of a loyal pet. “She’s pretty special, huh?”
    When Kara nodded, her long dark ponytail bobbed like a high school cheerleader’s, and her denim mini couldn’t be have been any more minimal without being a belt. She was certainly faithful to those cowboy boots. The expanse of smooth, honey-gold leg between the boots and the skirt brought him full circle, right back to those cheerleaders.
    He jumped down onto the lower deck. “I was just about to make coffee to have with these.” He held up the bag of still-warm Danish pastries that he’d just bought from the tiny bakery at the other end of the beach. “Join me?”
    She scanned the gap between the sea wall and the boat doubtfully, and he held out his empty hand.
    “I can put a shirt on, if you like,” he murmured silkily as she stepped past aboard. “I’d hate you to be overcome by the urge to rip my shorts off.”
    Kara stomped on his foot as she passed him, her cowboy boot heavy on his sneaker as she twisted it.
    “Sorry.” The insincere smile that accompanied her apology said it all.
    He grinned as he took his jacket from over her arm and stepped inside the cabin, nodding his head for her to follow him. She wandered in slowly, her wide eyes drinking in every bizarre detail of the place he currently called home.
    Running a finger across the buttercup yellow work surface, she came to a halt opposite him.
    “Is this place yours?”
    Dylan could see that Kara was trying to work out if his taste ran to roller boots and disco balls.
    “For now.” He lifted the lid on the sugar pot and looked at her. Fuck, she was crazy-hot . “Sugar?”
    Her presence seemed to fill every bit of the cabin with a low, simmering heat; one wrong word could set her off like a firework. She radiated energy, and being around her gave him an undeniable high.
    She held up two fingers, and it took him a second to realise that she was referring to the sugar.
    That was refreshing. Most girls back home would break out in a cold sweat just being near the sugar bowl, yet here she was telling him to pile it in. He picked up the mugs and glanced towards the door. “In or out?”
    “Undeniably fabulous as this place is…” She cast her eyes dubiously around the cabin. “…let’s go sit in the sun.”
    Dylan followed Kara out and gestured for her to climb the small stepladder onto the roof terrace.
    “Don’t look up my skirt, Sailor,” she warned over her shoulder.
    Dylan tried to look away as she went ahead of him and failed entirely.
    “You looked up my skirt,” she said matter of factly, as he stepped onto the deck and handed her the coffee mug. He shook his head and attempted an innocent expression as he opened up a couple of deck chairs and a rickety table.
    “Thanks for bringing my jacket over.” He sat down, ripping the bag of pastries open and spreading the brown paper out beneath them on the table as a makeshift plate. “Choose your weapon.”
    Kara perched on the chair opposite his, her attention caught by the still warm, sweet-scented pastries.
    The girl clearly had a serious sweet tooth. Dylan tucked that snippet of