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back his damp hair, and unlocked the door. The young woman on the other side went wide-eyed but didn't say anything, so Seth gave her a tiny smile. As the door clicked behind him, he surveyed the coach section of the plane. Like first class, it was less than full. There weren't any completely empty rows, but Seth spotted a seat on the far side that had no one within three seats in any direction. He made his way over there, signing an autograph on the way, and glaring the female flight attendant away.
    He sat with his eyes closed the rest of the flight. No one bothered him, and Julian never came looking for him. Once they landed, he decided to forget about his bags. He knew Jules would take care of them, and if that was unfair of him, for the moment he didn't care. He had to get away.
    Get to Cassie.
    The plane had at least been crowded enough that Julian was forced to disembark before Seth got up to the exit. He was waiting for him at the end of the jetway, but Seth kept a family of six between him and the side Jules stood on, and sped up as soon as the way was clear. He took rare advantage of his celebrity to get through customs ahead of everyone else, and grabbed a taxi to the resort.
    Only on the road did his breathing ease.
    What the fuck was he going to do? He'd never thought his second chance at marriage would be gravy. His addiction, Cassie's job, the renewal of their old lifestyle and all the problems it presented--all of those would make it a challenge. But never had he ever thought Julian would come between them.
    The taxi pulled up in front of the resort's main entrance. Seth had a fleeting impression of pink stucco and masses of flowers as he rushed inside, ignoring the doorman's query about his baggage.
    "Cassie Bryant," he told the smiling clerk at the desk. "I mean, I'm Seth Graham. My wife--fiancée, that is, wife in a few days--she should already be here. Where?"
    The clerk trilled a laugh and typed something on her keyboard. "Been missing her, have you, Mr. Graham?"
    He made some kind of noise of agreement and strained over the counter, trying to see her screen. "Is she on the premises? Maybe she's eating." He looked at his watch but it was still on London time. He had no idea what time it was here. "Or in the spa?" No, Cassie wouldn't be doing the spa thing. Though Georgie would, maybe she'd talked her into it. He tried not to growl at the clerk, who was looking less cheerful now.
    "First let me check you in, Mr. Graham." She handed him a paper. He scrawled his signature, not caring that it was unreadable. "You're in villa three, at the far end of the beach." She slid a key card toward him. He snatched it up and felt the edges dig into his fingers. "Let me call your villa and see if Ms. Bryant is there."
    He waited only until she said Cassie's name, then took off. He ignored the odd looks of the resort's guests as he ran by in un-island-like denim, still wearing the jacket he'd needed back in rainy London, sweaty again, and probably as rumpled and wild-eyed as he'd been on the plane. Lovely. More bloody speculation about his habits.
    He jogged all the way down the crushed shell path to the villa. When he spotted the little yellow building he sped up...and smacked into the door when it didn't open under his hand.
    "Bloody hell." He rubbed his smarting nose with one hand and shoved the card into the slot with the other. The light flashed green and he pushed inside, already bellowing Cassie's name.
    He stopped dead. She stood on the marble floor halfway between the front door and the wide-open balcony on the other side of the living room. Her hair fluttered in the cross-breeze. It was lighter than it had been last time he saw her. She wore a sundress that crisscrossed over her breasts and draped past her hips, something he'd never have believed she would wear, but it suited her. She looked softer and more comfortable in her skin than he could ever remember seeing her. Ever.
    Suddenly his vision blurred, as if