As his delicious lips covered mine, I muttered, “Shouldn’t someone be at the helm…what the hell is a helm…or…”

Neal took my head in his hands, kissed me several times and kissed me again. “No need. We’re fine.”

“Umm. Fine. We’re…” Suddenly he lifted me up and all my motion worries vanished.

The bright sun had settled below the horizon, casting a reddish-pink glow across the sky and water. The waves seemed to calm in order to give us a few special minutes to…

How fabulous!

I figured Neal knew what he was talking about by letting the boat float around all by itself. What’s the worst that could happen anyway?

We’d drift out to sea and have to spend more time together?

“I seem to be getting my money’s worth-” I kissed him behind the ear and amid his moans finished with, “-out of this date.”

A deep chuckle tickled my cheek. Neal’s arms were around me, over me, and like some testosterone-soaked octopus, on every wonderful part of me. Getting a little rough, but guys will be guys.

This time we moaned in pleasure together.

“Ever made love out at sea?” he asked against my cheek.

I paused. There was that one cruise I’d taken, but with all the murders, making love had not been on my itinerary. “Nope.”

Neal lifted me up and carried me toward the stairs, which led down to a cabin-the likes of which were fancier than my condo at home, and I’d never tell Miles that since he owned and decorated it.

The sandstone walls were circular, as were the mahogany dressers built into said walls, which surrounded a-you guessed it-circular bed. Gold, brown and navy striped covers neatly sat on the mattress with pillow shams, with drapes and two stuffed chairs to match.

Very nautical bachelor.

“Beautiful,” I said as he set me down on the duvet. “You the interior decorator?”

He chuckled. “Surgeons-make that most men in general-are not very good at that stuff.”

Then who was? Damn it! I had no business asking that question.

While I chastised myself, Neal busied himself with removing my jacket, unbuttoning my blouse and slipping it off. He then very gently set it on the bedside chair. How cute.

Not the most spontaneous person around, I asked again, “Are you sure no one needs to be upstairs driving this thing?”

“I’m sure, Pauline. I’ve been sailing since I was about nine.” Oops. I thought I’d just insulted him. He gently undid my pink locket and carefully set it on the pile of my clothing.

“But you’re not sailing.” He nuzzled my neck at the spot just below my jawline. Oh…wow. Good thing he’d taken off the locket or it might have accidentally sprayed him. That would be a real sexual deal breaker for sure.

“She’s well-equipped with instruments, lights, an anchor and all kinds of fancy stuff so that we can…do what the hell we want down here. Besides, it’s a quiet night, but with the bright full moon any other boats that pass by will clearly see us. Stop worrying.”

I hadn’t even thought of another boat ramming into us. “Thanks for that,” I said.

Neal lifted me up slightly to yank the duvet and covers down. The sheets had to have been woven with a thousand thread count. I felt as if I could slide right off the side with the tilt and roll of the boat.

And my mind had been too preoccupied with Neal to remember that earlier I’d felt like seasick crap.

I did yawn again.

“No, it’s not the company,” I said as I undid the zipper on Neal’s jacket.

Soon he was only in his jeans-and I realized I had a real “thing” for shirtless, well-built jean-clad guys.

I, however, had my jeans gingerly removed in one sensual moment by Neal. Hey, he was a doctor for crying out loud!

My vision blurred a bit as another damn yawn snuck out. Although I didn’t want to admit it, the damn Benadryl had knocked me for a loop. Shit. I decided staying “active” would help keep me awake.

Neal bent over to lift his jacket and shirt up from the floor. I had to smile to myself at the guy’s perfection qualities. Jagger would have walked all over both of our clothing without a thought.

But the doc pulled his red shirt from the jacket, folded it, stuck it on the bedside stand and started to fold the shirt.

“Force of habit. I’ll be right with…”

Neal was talking. I knew it because I could hear his voice. But I wasn’t comprehending a thing as I watched him fold his shirt so carefully.

Red.

Expensive looking.

Hmm. Intriguing.

Shirt with the one side pocket…missing a tiny piece.

I knew it wasn’t the Benadryl that had my mouth drier than the sandy beaches of Newport. No. It was Neal. Neal folding his shirt. The red, expensive shirt. The fabric that looked exactly like the swatch I’d found on the bushes of Cliff Walk where Ian had died.

Suicide?

I didn’t think so.

Perfect Neal was wearing this particular red shirt as if mocking me. Giving me some kind of signal. Yikes.

Neal set the shirt on top of his jacket and turned back.

My jaw dropped.

Apparently he was better at reading body language than I was at hiding my reaction. His look became rather ominous, eyes darkening, face scowling.

He knew, just knew, that I had caught on about the shirt.

“Goddamn it, Pauline.”

I wrinkled my forehead and tried to chuckle. “What?” I asked, moving to the side with the hopes that maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as crafty as I’d given him credit for. Or should I say devious? “I’m fine.” I tried to sit, but he pulled me back. “I have to use the powder room.” And get my pepper spray.

He looked at me and shook his head.

This time that body language said, “Doesn’t matter. You ain’t going anywhere. We have things to do.”

In my gut I knew Dr. Neal Forsyth wasn’t talking sex here.

And in my medical opinion, Neal brought me out there for one specific reason, and in the interim he snapped. Snapped like a twig. I could see it in his eyes. The guy was nuts.

I had to think fast.

“Let me go, Neal.” I leaned over and tried to kiss him on the cheek (as a diversion despite my nearly gagging), but he pushed me away.

Oh, boy.

This was not looking good.

Suddenly Neal was standing above me, and with his shirt off looked more like my older brother than the young doctor that he was. I pushed myself over to the other side of the bed and stared at him.

That ominous, dark look deepened in his eyes…and I realized…Neal Forsyth was not as young as I thought he was.

The guy must have had plastic surgery.

Oh, yeah. Neal probably had BDD too-or was hiding something.

Or had plastic surgery to change his appearance. Oh…my…God.

How could I have not noticed before? Okay, I cut myself some slack since it was so dark in Forsyth Manor the other night, Neal didn’t take off his shirt, which should have been some kind of clue, and I’d had…maybe a bit too much expensive alcohol.

I moved one way.

He followed.

I had to do something fast. “Oh, are we role playing here?” The words slipped out of my mouth in hopes that Neal would believe that I thought he was kidding. Then I could get away from him-and go where?

“Yeah, Pauline. We’re role playing.” He came to my side of the bed and looked down.

I tried to ease back and grab my jeans.

If something menacing was going to happen-and my gut was screaming that it was-I certainly didn’t want to be found in my floral pink undies.

I knew I needn’t worry since shark bait didn’t need to follow any fashion trends. Who the hell would ever see? I gave up trying to grab my pants and concentrated on what to do.

Save my life came to mind.

I yawned and felt my body getting lighter. My arms actually felt heavy, and I knew if I had to get up and run, my legs would fight me. The Benadryl could be my undoing here.