Now, though, the months had stretched on and she honestly didn't know how she would ever leave this place. The house hovering on a cliff high above the water didn't belong to her, yet it had become her home. Her sanctuary in the middle of an insane world where the raging currents could sweep those you loved in and out of your life with cold indifference.

A parent. A sweet little boy. A much-loved sibling.

Perhaps that was why she so enjoyed the sound of the surf from far below. Because it was a constant reminder that she was here, high above it and removed from it all. No one left to care about. No one whose loss could be the final blow that shattered her battered psyche.

No one.

Sitting on the terrace, spying on the rest of the world through her laptop, she wondered why she never felt lonely. She went down into town only once a week for supplies, nodding at the postal workers as she checked the always empty PO box. Or exchanging a quiet hello with the woman who ran the local general store that sold everything from apricot jam to weed whackers.

She sensed they all wanted more-conversation, a chance to share juicy gossip. Perhaps even a moment to warn her about living in a house many locals seemed to fear. But she didn't give anyone the opportunity. She remained distant, always paying for her few purchases with cash, never trying to use a phony credit card, or, worse, a real one that could leave a paper trail. That was the extent of her involvement out there in the world.

That world, however, did occasionally come here.

She'd had a few regular visitors at first. Now, though, only two people ever climbed up the steep, winding steps that led from the driveway and detached garage to the house itself, which was practically an extension of the cliff. One was her self-defense trainer, a former army sergeant who came a couple of times a week and worked her until she was so exhausted, she sometimes actually slept without dreaming. A blessing. With his help, she had molded her body to match her spirit, making it hard, lean, and dangerous. She would never be anybody's victim again.

As for the other occasional visitor-he came the second weekend of every month.

"So what the hell are you doing here now, a week early?" she whispered as a familiar dark sedan parked behind her Jeep at the bottom of the hill, far below the patio.

Completely in tune to her surroundings, accustomed to the reassuring lull of the surf that was the constant sound track to her new life, she had immediately noticed a new, unexpected sound a few minutes ago. An engine.! A car. Coming up the long driveway.

Her heart had begun to thud at the intrusion, but she hadn't panicked. Clicking a few keys on her keyboard, she had switched her laptop over to the surveillance system that monitored every square inch of this property. From the cameras mounted on either corner of the garage roof, she'd identified her visitor and breathed a sigh of relief.

Now, though, she was no longer relieved. Instead, in the few seconds it had taken her to process Wyatt Black-stone's presence here on a sunny, breezy Thursday afternoon, nervous tension had begun to flood her.

This change in routine wasn't like him. Not only utterly brilliant, Wyatt was also reliable and calm, as even and steady as those waves crashing on the shore. Whatever had driven him up here must be important, but she didn't immediately fear the worst. If she was in danger, if there had been any threat at all, he would have called her and told her to get out.

Last winter, or even spring, she would have done exactly that. Now she wasn't so sure. In fact, part of her welcomed the idea of confronting her deepest, darkest fear here, on her turf, with her newfound confidence and highly honed skills.

But Wyatt hadn't called and she sensed no danger. Something else had prompted the visit. He knew she didn't want him here, though, of course, she couldn't force him to stay away. It was his house, after all, even if he did seem to loathe it.

She had made it very clear a few months ago that he didn't need to keep coming up here and checking on her. The trip up from D.C. wasn't an easy or a direct one, and he'd made it every weekend for months. Finally confronting him, she'd asked him to limit the visits.

As usual with the enigmatic man, his reaction had revealed absolutely nothing about what he'd thought of the request. He'd simply honored it.

Until now.

The car door opened. She watched as he stepped out, clad, as usual, in a dark, impeccably tailored suit. She had only rarely seen him wearing anything else. Designer sunglasses hid the startlingly blue eyes, but didn't disguise the handsomeness of his masculine features-the sculpted cheekbones, strong jaw, chiseled chin, perfectly formed mouth.

How a man who looked like a movie star from Hollywood's golden age had ended up in the FBI, she honestly had no idea.

A soft ocean breeze swept through his thick, black hair, but didn't dare to tousle it. She'd bet Neptune himself wouldn't have the balls to toss ocean spray onto this man's shiny, immaculate shoes. He was that intimidating.

At least, she'd once thought so. He'd intimidated her to near incoherence once upon a time. Left her tongue-tied and awkward, not knowing what to say or how to act. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that j every other woman he met had the same reaction. And that she no longer felt that way.

Instead, as she watched him slam the door, then glance up toward the house perched so high above, she realized she felt nothing. At least nothing that could be construed as romantic emotions.

Physical ones? Well, they were another story. No matter how cold a person's heart, the white-hot flame of j sexual attraction could be hard to resist. Still, any physical attraction she might feel for Wyatt Blackstone was so deeply buried beneath her own layers of self-defense! and wariness, she would never give them free rein.

He reached the bottom step, carved into the rocky hill. Pausing, he glanced down to the right of it, at a clump of sea grass. Then he turned his head up toward the garage.

Toward her. Through the camera, he pierced her with that direct gaze even his dark glasses couldn't disguise, demanding entry.

"Okay, okay," she mumbled, flicking a few keys, disabling the nearly hidden motion detectors that would screech in alarm if he passed them.

He didn't even glance down again to ascertain that the light on the tiny sensor beside the step had changed from red to green. He merely began to ascend, knowing full well she had heard him arrive. Knowing she had been watching every move he made, knowing she wouldn't, couldn't, keep him out. Even if she wanted to.

She shivered, acknowledging the truth: Part of her wanted to.

But worse, another part of her, that tiny, hopeful little spark of her old self that she hadn't been able to entirely extinguish, didn't. You're just tired of hearing nobody's voice but Sarge's telling you to give him twenty more reps.

Maybe. Or maybe not.

Either way, she couldn't deny that white-hot flame burned the tiniest bit hotter at the sight of him on the monitor.

Wyatt rose up the hill, step by step, moving as smoothly and gracefully as a cat. She'd never known a man who appeared so fluid, so comfortable in his own skin. He'd always made her feel like an awkward, fumbling klutz.

A faint, humorless smile widened her lips. She was so not that girl anymore. Hard to remember what her former self had even been like. Or what she'd really felt about the man drawing closer and closer to her front door. Had her life once really been so innocent that a steady glance from a handsome man could put a blush in her cheeks? Had she truly sometimes fancied herself in love with him, even as out of reach as he had seemed?