I turn to face Blake Morgan - true billionaire and property developer, notorious heartbreaker, and the last person I want to be trapped with during a category three hurricane. He's standing in the doorway, water dripping from his expensive cotton shirt, which is now completely transparent and clinging to muscles I absolutely refuse to notice!

"Thank you, Mr. Morgan," I say with exaggerated formality, "but I'm perfectly capable of handling emergency preparations myself. I've lived in the Keys my whole life, unlike some people who just fly in on their private jets to buy up family businesses."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "Marin, we both know that's not what happened with the marina."

"Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly like what happened." I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together.

"You swooped in with your fancy proposals and promises of 'modernization,' got my grandmother excited about retirement, and now Paradise Marina is just another property in your portfolio. Thirty years of Hamilton family history, gone in one board meeting."

Blake runs a hand through his wet hair, sending drops flying. "If you'd just let me explain."

"I think you've explained enough." I stand up, needing to move, to do something other than sit here remembering how it felt when he kissed me on the dock last summer, before I knew who he really was. "I'm going to check on the boats."

"No." He blocks the doorway with his broad shoulders. "There's three feet of storm surge out there and wind gusts over eighty miles per hour."

"Move, Blake."

"No." His voice softens. "The marina's battened down. I checked everything myself before I came here to warn you about the evacuation order."

"Which I chose to ignore, as is my right as a stubborn Florida native," I remind him, trying not to notice how good he smells, like rain and cedar and memories I need to forget.

"Which is why I chose to ignore your very clear instructions to leave you alone and stayed to make sure you didn't get yourself killed." He crosses his arms. "Someone has to protect you from yourself."

I laugh, but it comes out more bitter than I intend. "That's rich, coming from you. I don't need protection, especially not from the man who...." A massive crash from outside cuts me off, making us both jump.

The thunderous noise sends me stumbling forward, and Blake's hands catch my shoulders. For one breathless moment, we're too close, and I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Then another crack splits the air, and we both turn toward the window. That was not thunder!

"The Anderson's palm tree," I gasp, watching through the door's window. The massive trunk slowly tilts toward their roof. "It's going to...."

Blake's already moving, pulling me toward the hallway. "Get your rain gear. Now."

"I thought you said going outside was too dangerous?" But I'm already grabbing my yellow slicker from the mud room hook, muscle memory from a lifetime of storms taking over.

"That was before sixty years of coconut palm decided to play demolition derby with the neighbors' house." He shrugs into a spare windbreaker I recognize as belonging to my uncle Jack, the harbor master. "The Andersons are in Miami, right?"

"Staying with their grandkids." I zip up my jacket with shaking fingers. "But their cat sitter's been coming by."

Our eyes meet, and I see my own worry reflected there. Without another word, we head for the French inner doors that open onto the
wraparound porch. The wind nearly tears my door from my hands as we step out, and rain stings my face like tiny needles.

"Stay close!" Blake shouts over the howling storm.

I want to snap back that I don't need his protection, but the wind snatches my breath away as we wade through knee-deep water toward the Andersons' Victorian. The palm tree groans, its remaining roots slowly pulling free from the saturated ground.

A plaintive meow catches my attention. Through the sheets of rain, I spot a familiar orange short-hair tabby in the second-floor window, pacing back and forth. They should have boarded up those windows too!

"Mr. Whiskers is trapped up there!" I point toward the window, and Blake nods grimly.