Ash stared after his disappearing figure. Sam Blalock seemed nice enough, on the surface. And he’d been a friend of Marc’s. She knew she should trust him. But something about the way he’d studied her with his short glances throughout the drive irritated. She’d noted them from the corner of her eye while she’d pretended not to notice.

An element about him was familiar. Something that drew her toward him. And she resented the fact he was attractive, if not overtly handsome. He was too rugged, his jaw too square and stubborn, his nose bumpy from being broken. And his voice was too inviting—warm and deep, a little raspy.

Maybe she resented him because he felt familiar, because several aspects about him reminded her of Marc. That realization had her stiffening against his friendly overtures, almost from the start. Her attraction felt like a betrayal—of Marc, of her own body.

She set her duffel on the soft, flower-sprigged duvet covering the king-sized bed and jerked open the zipper. Her clothing and toiletries were a wild jumble. She’d simply tossed items into her bag, hurrying to escape her apartment. Sighing, she lifted the bag and emptied the contents onto the bed.

Her navy and white, two-piece swimsuit landed on top of the pile. Of course, she wasn’t going swimming in the middle of the night with a stranger. That was plain crazy.

But through the glass door, she could hear the gentle lapping of the waves and smell the sea-fresh air. And moonlight glinted silver on the porch railing and over the crests of the distant waves. She fingered the suit. A swim would feel lovely. How long since she’d swam in salt water? Years. Which was why even the mention of the less-than-pristine beaches of Grand Isle hadn’t seemed so bad when Marc had teased her.

Marc had wanted to bring her here. He’d still want her to enjoy the accommodations he’d arranged. She knew that for a fact. And she would be safer with his friend’s company, at least while swimming in a dark ocean.

Just as she had in her apartment, she quit thinking, and instead moved in jerking dashes, grabbing her suit and heading to the bathroom to change. Inside a minute, she walked barefoot out the French doors, down the wooden steps to the paved path that lead through a tiny garden and to the gate that opened onto the sand.

Sam had been faster. She saw his frame outlined by the moonlight, a large dark shadow that caused her breath to catch. From the back, his build was so like Marc’s that she pressed a hand to a painful twinge twisting in her chest.

He stood at the edge of the water, waves lapping at his ankles. Her feet made soft crunching sounds in the sand, so he turned and smiled. “You can swim, right?”

“Think an ex-SEAL would tolerate a girlfriend who couldn’t?” she quipped, then blinked in surprise that she’d dredged up a barb.

His teeth flashed white. “After you,” he said, turning to the side as she strode closer.

A long strip of beach offered plenty of room to play, but inner minx coaxed her into passing close by his body as she walked into the waves. Maybe she wanted to see if she could make him uncomfortable. Maybe she just wanted a closer look at what the moonlight defined in silver and shadow.

For months, she hadn’t felt a spark of curiosity about another human being. But here she was, wondering about this man who stood so still she couldn’t detect the rise and fall of his chest as she passed.

A foamy wave lapped at her toes, and she almost groaned. The sensation was like wet silk. Glorious. And now she wanted it wrapped around her entire body. She took several more steps then dove into an oncoming wave.

She swam to the middle of the inlet, then rolled to her back and floated, letting the gentle swells lift and lower her body while she stared at the starry sky above. It seemed like all the stars of the Milky Way winked down on her. What would this night have been like if Marc had lived?

She had no doubt he’d have cajoled her into a swim upon their arrival. And maybe talked her into making love in the shallows. Lord, how she missed his spontaneity. His joy of simple pleasures. Mostly, she missed the way he looked at her—like she was something beautiful and mysterious. How often had he asked what she was thinking, because he wanted to know how her mind worked, to learn what made her happy. He was always so observant—of her and their surroundings. How had he missed the figure hidden behind the door?

Chilled now, she dropped her feet and dog-paddled, staring at the light blinking in the window of the cottage Marc had secured for their getaway. She was glad of the darkness that hid the tears welling in her eyes. She dipped her head backward, and then shook her hair.

“Ready to swim back?” came the deep-timbre of the voice beside her. Not Marc’s, because it didn’t hold the same note of silky, Cajun warmth. Sam’s voice was brisk. Deep, but the sound didn’t send shivers down her spine. Was she disappointed?

She forced a slight smile and turned to look at him. His arms swept forward and back, holding him in place beside her. How long had he been watching her? This time, a slight shiver did roll down her back. His gaze was steady. He was studying her. Was that a SEAL thing? Had Marc’s intense interest in her been a habit born of his training?

“I think so,” she said. “I should get some rest. I haven’t slept since…” She shook her head at the inability to remember when. Yesterday morning, she’d dragged herself from her sofa to see Melanie Oats, but she hadn’t really slept that well. Her dreams had been fitful, causing her to turn and waken every time her heart beat faster and her legs felt leaden.

“I hope you enjoyed it. I swim often. Fish, too. Off the rocks,” he said, pointing toward boulders at one end of the beach, an outcropping that stretched into the water. “When I’m here, anyway.”

“Are you gone a lot?”

“Sometimes more than others. When duty calls…”

She nodded. “Guess I’ll head back.” She struck out again, this time for shore. Slower now because fatigue had taken hold. By the time her toes touched the sand, her body felt heavy. She realized she hadn’t brought along a towel, so she stood and squeezed the water from her hair.

Sam paused beside her. “I’ll walk you to your door.”

“There’s no need,” she said, her tone abrupt. She was glad of the darkness that hid her blush at her rudeness. Sam had been nothing but kind.

“Maybe not,” he said before giving her quick smile. He strode forward, bent to a pick up a towel he’d left on the beach and held it out.

Feeling his gaze touch her body, she felt self-conscious for the first time, realizing how little she wore and the fact he could likely see her nipples tightening against the stretchy swimsuit fabric. She quickly wrapped the towel around her body and walked beside him toward her bungalow.

“Sweet dreams, Ash,” he said softly before he turned to leave her.

Her body stiffened and she stood, staring after his tall figure. Why had he mentioned dreams?