But that was fine. If these were to be her last few minutes on the Caribbean island, she would be perfectly happy to spend them staring at Mr. Sutherland. The man was stunningly handsome and muscular-not that she’d seen any of his actual muscles in person. Sadly, his impeccably tailored black suit covered his rugged frame completely. But Grace knew the man was built because of the way he’d so casually taken that heavy drink tray from her hands and lifted it up onto his shoulder so effortlessly.

Granted, before this trip to Alleria she hadn’t gotten out of her laboratory much, but she’d never seen anything quite like him. His arms and shoulder muscles had to be in remarkable condition. She itched to squeeze them.

And that was an absolutely ridiculous thought, she scolded herself.

“I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he said, interrupting her pleasant daydream, “and bet that you’ve never worked as a cocktail waitress before. Am I right?”

She took a deep breath or two as she considered lying to him, then changed her mind. She’d never been very good at prevarication. Still, it wouldn’t do to tell him everything. But then she argued with herself, Oh, why not? Finally she said, “Yes, you’re right, but-”

“That’s all I wanted to know,” he said pleasantly. “You’re fired.”

“No!” she cried, gripping the arms of her chair. “You can’t fire me. Not yet.”

“Not yet?” he repeated. “Why not? Because you haven’t had a chance to break my entire supply of glassware?”

Her shoulders sagged. “No, of course not. But…I can’t go home.”

His eyes focused in on her. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Grace. Grace Farrell.”

“Wait a minute.” He cocked his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Your name is Grace?”

She nodded gravely. “That’s right.”

“You’re kidding.” He chuckled, then leaned his hip against his desk and began to laugh, a deep rich sound that caused tingles to stir in her stomach.