Evan hurled another rock into the ocean, not bothering to try and make it skip across the crashing waves, and faced the truth: He hadn’t been thinking. Not one single second. The only idea he’d had in his brain from the moment he’d laid eyes on Miss Stanton back in the tavern had been, Kiss her. Now. End of story. Except it almost wasn’t the end of the story, now, was it? If he’d been caught like that, with her in his arms and their mouths locked together . . . A shiver deeper than the chill of the sea slithered between his shoulders. He’d be married, that’s what he’d be. Leg-shackled. Good as dead. He turned from the stormy waters and made his way to the narrow walkway winding up the steep cliff. He couldn’t lose sight of his mission: vengeance for his brother’s murder. The only intelligent thing to do was avoid Miss Stanton like the scurvy. Naturally, when he hit the midpoint of the trail, there she was. Evan cursed his damnable luck. Wasn’t this why he had intended to avoid any intimacy with her in the first place?
