Raven Koynes is a woman in hiding. Years ago, she escaped to the remote Gull Island Light Station, nestled far away in Lake Superior. She has carved out a life of peace and solitude for herself. Until fame d nature photographer Sebastian Knight arrives—in the height of a nor'easter storm—to document the beauty of Gull Island. Unsavory treasure hunters also blow in with the storm, determined to find missing cargo from a sunken ship. And they think Raven knows where it's stashed. A power outage is a final threat, pushing Raven to the limit.

Help arrives in the form of a stray German Shepherd Dog, who takes an immediate protective interest in Raven. He becomes her constant shadow and listening ear as she sorts out her growing—and conflicting—feelings for Sebastian.

Meanwhile, Sebastian came to the island looking for treasure as well, in the form of photographs. While he isn't so sure about a sunken boat and missing cargo, he only needs one look at Raven Koynes to know he's found his own valuable treasure. One he hopes he can hang on to once she learns about his mysterious secret.

Now that Madeline, the resident ghost, has found out, it's probably just a matter of time until Raven does too. And with the storm and power outage, no one is going anywhere any time soon.

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Release Date: December 8, 2025
Genre: Contemporary Romance / Romantic Suspense

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Excerpt
Coming Soon

Raven Koynes moved the lace curtain aside and took a long look at the scene. Snow swirled like a large-scale version of a snow globe. The wind howled, rattling the aged windowpanes. She could not believe the severity of what forecasters had labeled a mild wind from the west. Despite the weather forecaster’s continual assurances to the contrary, the winter snowstorm was continuing to grow. Right now, based on the amount of fresh white on the ground and the whitecaps slamming the rocky shore, she seriously wondered how worse it was going to get.

“So much for that mild wind from the west,” she muttered. If this were what the forecasting experts called a mild wind, she would hate to see what they considered serious. Based on her experiences, this was promising to be a real snowstorm.

If a storm was coming her way, which she believed, she wanted to be someplace where she could see it properly. Her favorite place to be during a storm was at the top of the lighthouse tower, standing so close to feeling the cold touch of the glass on her nose and fingertips, and watching nature’s furious onslaught. Alone at the top of the tower, with only the slightest bit of apprehension, did she witness nature’s stormy symphony.

The excitement of seeing lightning as it sliced through the sky. The thunder boomed close enough to shake the tower’s structure. Hailstones striking the roof and glass like pebbles tossed from heaven. She thrilled at the heavy rain falling, blurring her vision and then blending with the churning water below. The waves grew with increasing height, sometimes reaching over twenty and thirty feet during severe storms. Gradually, the storm would pass, leaving a few timid raindrops to settle and disappear on the water’s surface. The whole scene never failed to leave her stunned.

Donning her lined jacket and cap, she pushed the front door open, ducking into the wind, and immediately the chill surrounded and crept down the back of her neck. As if forewarning the storm, scattered cold raindrops nipped at her. Making her way to the shore, sidestepping stones slick with fresh snow and jogging over the flatter sections of ground, she hoped she was wrong. The waves crashed into the shoreline around five to ten feet high. Surely, her guest wouldn’t pick now to come out? Surely, he would wait on the mainland. Finding a solid footing on the worn rock, she hugged her jacket close against the biting chill, scanning the horizon, and wanting to be wrong.

This was going to be bad, she decided, meaning both the storm and the man. So, which one was going to reach her first?

She knew she could weather the storm until it blew over. It was the man who was bothering her more. Much more.

Sebastian Knight was a renowned photographer for some world-famous magazines. He also had several big glossy coffee-table books filled with his photos of exotic locations. Many of his pictures are displayed in prestigious galleries, and several have won elite awards. In short, Sebastian Knight was famous.

She knew all this because they were the selling points that had practically been shoved down her throat, leaving a bitter taste in their wake. Mr. Knight’s publicist had wanted to send him to her home on Gull Island on Lake Superior’s rugged shore to photograph its wild, natural, untamed beauty. That’s how they referred to her slice of heaven when they politely inquired. And since the Coast Guard owned the island and the light station that was her home, she was powerless to prevent the request.

Her brother, Wren, a Coast Guard officer, had explained all of this to her. He begged her to be nice to Mr. Knight, let him snap his pictures, and then send him on his merry way. He had promised her the man would be gone in a couple of days. He assured her she’d barely notice he was even around.

Wren arranged for the publicist to send her a copy of one of Mr. Knight’s books. Grudgingly, she read through it one evening, wanting to hate everything about the book. Between the thick covers were photos of frozen rivers, silent mountains cloaked in snow, and frozen icicles suspended in midair. There were photos of fields lying dormant under blankets of white, a snow-covered park bench, thick piles of snow covering quaint country bridges, a row of pine trees fringed in white lace, and many more within the pages of the book he simply called Winters.

Some were locations she recognized, such as winter over the Grand Canyon, sunny Palm Beach, across Maine, the Alaskan wilderness, and the Golden Gate Bridge. Others she referred to the subtitles to identify. Being not much older than her, it boggled her mind that one person could see so much of the world.

Thunder cracked, pulling Raven’s wandering attention back to the gathering storm. And right now, this Mr. Knight was coming to take thousands of photos of her quiet island home, exploit them in his famous magazine and glossy books, and make tons of tourists want to come to her tranquil island. The wild, untamed beauty would soon be spoiled by thoughtless vacationers. Like homing pigeons, they would flock to Gull Island, and soon it would become part of the official Superior Lighthouse Touring Circuit.

Drawing her jacket tighter against the increasing winds, she nodded to the storm clouds and crashing waves, feeling some of the same fury building within her. The deal with Knight’s people and the Coast Guard was airtight, Wren had assured her, so she needed to be civil. And she would be, to please her brother. But no one said she had to assist with his work. Tart satisfaction filled her with the thought of how she could subtly make his stay as unpleasant as possible, so much so that he might abandon the project and leave posthaste. She smiled, then laughed out loud as she imagined creative ways to be civil but uncooperative. Suddenly, she was eager to climb the tower and enjoy the mighty storm. Then she spotted the small dinghy bobbing on the water. Pausing, her heart sank at the realization she was not going to make it to the light tower.

Her jaw clenched in disgust, and then slow worry filled her, chasing away the earlier satisfaction. Following the boat’s progress, she knew she had been right. It could only be the world-famous Sebastian Knight coming, riding the swelling waves like a cork in a bathtub.

Stupid, stupid, foolish man.

It would be a wonder if he did not crash upon the rocks first.

* * *

Sebastian fought the propeller’s handle with one hand and tried to hold the camera steady enough with the other with a clenched jaw. If the waves slackened for a few seconds, he would have some shots of the cloud banks with the high swells behind them. The waves sloshed over the boat’s edge. His pulse quickened with each deluge. Wonderful and wild, he thought, with a rush of excitement. Nature’s fury as it gained momentum. What a powerful thing. He smiled, laughing into the raw energy swirling around him.

Another wave rocked the boat. He took the shot blindly, snapping a couple of pictures and hoping for the best. Quickly, he returned both hands to the task of getting safely to the house lit up in the distance. Beside the white clapboard two-story Cape Cod cottage, the stately alabaster light tower appeared as a welcome respite, beckoning him with its steady light. His arms ached with the continued effort of controlling the minuscule boat. The winds increased as he went further out on the water.

If they had expected this storm, why had they not given him a bigger, quicker boat? Surely, something heavier and faster would have been a better rental choice unless they had intended to drown both him and the boat. If so, they might succeed yet.

Riding the crest of the waves, he drew close to the shore. Building details bobbed into view. Straggly trees and seagrass whipped in the wind. He decided, with great satisfaction, that he was going to make it safely to land. He spotted numerous potential great photo opportunities welcoming him. For a moment, he debated whether to attempt using the camera for some shots approaching the shore and the light station. The dark swirling clouds framing the majestic tower would make a perfect shot.

Loosening his tight grip to remove his hand from the propeller handle, thunder boomed, followed by a flash of light. A woman stood on the shoreline.

Abandoning any ideas of catching more pictures, Sebastian concentrated on guiding the tiny craft to the wooden dock. The wind whipped the woman’s dark hair as she reached for the rope he held.

“Thanks.” He offered a grateful smile as she secured the boat. He gathered his belongings. Thank goodness everything he owned was waterproof. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it in before the storm hit. Looks like I just made it.”

She cast him a wry look. One that took him aback momentarily. Standing, loaded with his equipment, he studied her. “I’m Sebastian Knight. Hopefully you were expecting me.” He offered his hand.

“I was. I’m Raven Koynes,” she said, though not taking his hand. “Come on inside before we get drenched.” She reached instead for a couple of his cases.

Wordlessly, he handed over two lighter bags and followed as she led the way up the rocky path toward the house. The lights blazed within the structure, creating a sense of a warm and inviting home.

“Interesting last name you have,” he said, keeping up with her. “Is it French or Irish, like as in a handful of pocket change?”

She turned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her profile. He noted a wry, thin line pushing her lips upward.

“Something like that, except it is spelled K-O-Y-N-E-S.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Her cool indifference was not what he had been expecting.

Thunder crashed around them as they hurried up the rocky trail. Reaching the house, Raven swung open the front door, rushing in. Sebastian crowded in behind her scant seconds before lightning streaked across the sky, opening with pouring rain.

“Wow, that was close.” Sebastian pulled on the door, wrestling it away from the wind. Once the knob latched, he turned to the massive front room of an equally giant house before resting on Raven.

“You have a nice place here,” he said. “Very nice and very large. Victorian?”

“Almost. Thank you. I like it.”

“Don’t you get lonely here, all this space, just by yourself?”

“I happen to like all this space and just myself, Mr. Knight.”

Okay, point taken. For someone so pretty, he’d bet she had a spicy tongue when she wanted. Raven, the name suited her. Her long brown hair was as dark as a raven’s wing. Her dark brown eyes shone with a light that made him wonder what she was thinking. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face and lips that begged to be kissed. Her height reached his shoulders.

Amethyst earrings swung at her ears, catching the glow from the massive stone fireplace. A rough-sawn wood beam spanned the length of the fireplace. Photographs in heavy wooden frames lined the beam, arranged on a lace runner. His gaze stayed fixed on the purple earrings.

A February baby, he mused, intrigued both by the sparkling mulberry stones and the woman who wore them.

She glanced at her wrist, then looked back at him again. “It’s late. I bet you’re hungry. I have stew heating on the stove. Would you like to get settled in and have something to eat, Mr. Knight?”

The way she made the offer made him think her heart wasn’t in it. Professionally polite was the term that came to mind. He had been hoping for something more. Perhaps someone as excited about his photography as he was. Raven gave him the impression that if all his cases sank to the bottom of the lake, she’d be okay with that.

He cleared his throat, ready to try a different tactic.

“That sounds fine. I’d appreciate it. You can call me Sebastian if you like, Raven.”

She ignored his words and approached the swirling staircase. “There are two sets of stairs in this house,” she explained along the way. “This is the primary one, and the second is off the kitchen, toward the back of the house. There are four bathrooms and five bedrooms. I’m sure you will be comfortable during your stay.”

“I’m sure I will be,” he murmured in awe of the house. Arriving, twirling turrets and the sweeping porch fought for his attention in the storm’s light. Inside, the papered walls, thick carpeting, and furnishings in a Victorian color scheme of black, maroon, and gold, all tastefully mixed with nautical motifs. Pictures of freighters and yachts shared equal wall space with Victorian ladies and children.

Raven pushed open a door. It gave a soft squeak of aged hinges. “Here is your suite.” She moved away to give him space. He noted her excessive distance.

Stepping inside, he immediately caught the scent of pine coming from a glowing candle on the dresser. The wrought-iron, king-sized canopy bed was draped with thick, deep-red curtains and gold tasseled tiebacks. A walk-in closet promised he would have plenty of storage space, and he caught a glimpse of an en-suite bathroom with an ivory claw-foot tub. A wingback chair beside the crackling fire stocked with wood invited him to sit and relax. He set his bags and cases in two piles, one on the bed and one on the floor beside it.

“One of the nicest places I’ve stayed in a long time,” he offered. Compared to some locations he shot at, he felt like he was in a palace. “So, if this was originally a lighthouse, why is it so large?”

Turning to face him, she licked her lips before answering.

He wondered if it was a nervous habit or just an unconscious action. Whichever it was, it only served to draw his attention to her lovely lips.

She set the cases he’d given her on the dresser, then turned enough to answer him.

“According to the Coast Guard, this place was first opened in 1876 and housed the light keeper, his wife, and their family of six children. Due to the location and the boats available at the time, they would find themselves isolated here for most of the winter. Space was important to store their provisions for the long winter and allowed space for the growing family.”

Sebastian leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. How many times had she found herself isolated here alone? He considered asking, but decided against it, opting to focus solely on the property. For now. “Interesting. And all the outbuildings I noticed?”

“There is the tower, of course, which still operates today thanks to automation. There is the old barn, where the early families housed their cows and livestock they needed for survival, and a boathouse.”

She went to the dresser to blow out the candle, pushing her long hair behind her ear. “Plus, the smaller buildings needed to operate the tower. One used to be an oil storage room, and the other was for something else.”

“Something else?”

She shook her head, slowly turning back to him. “I don’t recall what exactly at the moment. Does it matter?”

“No, not really, I guess. Do you care if I check them out later?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you want,” she replied coolly. “I’ll leave you to settle in, and you can come to the dining room when you’re ready. The stew should be ready soon.” She slipped from the room.

Puzzled, he watched her go. Just when she was starting to warm up a little, she cooled off. He liked her habit of licking her lips before she spoke. If she kept it up, he would be mighty tempted to kiss her yet. And, unless he was reading her entirely wrong, which was possible with her hot and cold personality, she would have a temper under that professional façade. He made it his business to successfully read people. So, if he kissed her, how much temper and rage would he get in return?

Amused by the possibility, he placed sweaters, Henley’s, tees, and socks into the drawers, hung flannel shirts and jeans in the closet, not even putting a dent in the space that was offered. He lined up the cameras and other cases along the wall. The wrap-around turret window seat would offer a nice view. Kneeling on the seat, he leaned his head against the cool glass, feeling the chill against his cheek.

The view was better than nice. It was magnificent. Three windows rimmed the turret. The first one overlooked the distant rocky hills full of pine trees, while the second faced what had to be the boathouse Raven had mentioned, and the final window encompassed the mighty lake, still agitated by the churning storm, and the stately lighthouse tower.

Studying the wildness of the cold crashing waves, he could not suppress a shiver. Rain pelted the thick glass. Lightning slashed the dark sky with a brilliant flash. He jumped off the cushioned bench and prowled around the room to the other windows. Each one offered a different view of his location.

Snow-covered trees led into the wooded trails. Waves and gnarled pine trees hemmed the long stretch of rocky shoreline. His rental boat, tied to the narrow boat dock, bobbed like a toy in a bathtub when the water drained out.

Clouds. Waves. His fingers twitched with anticipation at so many amazing photographic possibilities.

Oh, he was going to love this place.

* * *

He may be a fool, Raven decided as she descended the back stairs, but he was also handsome. Those emerald-green eyes could bewitch a tree trunk.

It seemed almost unfair to give such beautiful green eyes like that to a man and then add a charming smile and the silky head of short, dark hair. To complete the picture, he was tall, lean, muscular, and well built. And foolish, she added, lifting the lid from the stew. She stirred it, releasing the rich aromas into the room. He was lucky to have made it before the storm swamped his little boat.

She might not like him being underfoot, but there was no way she would miss noticing him. Wren was going to be very wrong in his prediction. Already, she was finding it hard to ignore his natural charm and manners, and he was unnerving her. Darn the Coast Guard for allowing him to come. Darn Wren for not fighting harder on her behalf.

Hearing her guest’s footsteps on the stairs, surprisingly light for such a big man, she grabbed two bowls and quickly ladled stew into both. Carrying them to the dining room, she hoped he didn’t notice her trembling hands as she placed them on opposite place mats on the long table.

“Dinner is ready. Seat yourself.” She hastened back to the kitchen for their beverages.

Returning with a coffee carafe, she was startled to see him at the window, not seated at the table. He held the sheer, aged ivory curtain back, and his reflection in the glass looked somber, his brows puckered. Elsewhere, he remained alert, handsome, and every bit as irritatingly sexy as before.

“That’s some storm whipping up out there,” he said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

He caught her gazing, and her face heated. She hoped she wasn’t so transparent that he could read her thoughts. How embarrassing. “It’s a little early for a nor’easter, but anything is possible out here.” Brushing her hair back, she crossed to the fireplace and added a fresh log, watching the sparks. His interested gaze seemed to match the heated sparks of the fire.

Darn Wren. This was not what she had been assured of. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled, trying for composure.

“Aren’t you worried about it?”

At his persistent voice, she opened her eyes. He’d fully turned from the window and watched her expectantly. He wasn’t a particularly large man, probably average by normal measurements. However, aside from the physical attractiveness he’d been born with, there was a presence in him, an air or something invisible that refused to be ignored. Something almost magnetic.

Composure. One. Two. Three. Composure.

“Not really. I’ve been through storms here before. If the power goes out, there are plenty of candles and lots of wood for the fireplaces. There is an old wood-burning stove in the kitchen as well as the electric one.”

“Seems you have it all covered. The stew smells good.” Sitting, he moved a spoon through the thick broth, taking a sample bite.

She joined him, three chairs over, blowing on her spoonful before taking a bite.

“Um, this is good. What’s in it?” he asked, eating another spoonful.

“Moose.”

“Moose? Little dynamite, did you go out and shoot a wild moose for your dinner?”

She blinked at his question. Little dynamite? “What?”

“So, did you go out and bring this beast down yourself? Honestly, it would fit in with what I’m thinking you’re capable of.”

An involuntary smile curved her mouth, and her face warmed at his impulsive praise. Nice to know his opinion of her. “Hardly. My brother brought the meat from a moose hunt on the mainland. Seems they had a rogue bull that was causing trouble, so he joined the hunting party and shared the bounty with me.” She hefted the spoon.

“I see. You and your brother must be close?”

She swallowed before answering his question. “We are. All four of us are close.”

“Four? You have three siblings, and yet you choose to stay here in all this space and isolation by yourself?”

Lowering the spoon, she touched her fingers in turn. “Wren is the oldest, he’s with the Coast Guard. I’m the next in line. Robin is my younger sister, and Lark is our baby brother. Four.”

“Wren, Raven, Robin, and Lark. Your parents have something about birds?”

Her eyes narrowed and her back tightened, as did her fingers over the table’s edge.

“You really want to have this conversation?”

He blinked. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. It was a question, so I can better understand you.”

Raven debated why he needed to understand her at all, considering his reason for being on her island. Then he cut her a smile, and resolve faded away. She uttered a sigh.

“They were ornithologists,” she said quietly, a faint tremor in her voice.

“They were biologists who studied birds.” He confirmed.

She couldn’t hide her surprise that he recognized the technical term. He grinned at what she supposed was her startled expression.

“I have worked with a few while on bird-specific shoots,” he explained. “So, what’s with the ‘were’ part?”

She pushed her hair behind her ear and blinked back the burn in her eyes. “They were coming back from research in Brazil and their plane crashed.”

“I’m sorry.” He pushed the bowl away and moved his hand to her.

She wiped away the moisture in her eyes. Darn tears. Every time. “Me, too. But it was a long time ago.” She did not want to feel his firm, warm hand on hers. She struggled to regain the cool detachment she had earlier. “Anyway, you asked.”

“Okay. Point taken and note made. Be careful what I ask.”

“That would be nice.”

“Or at least how I ask.”

She frowned. He really was such an irritating man. He might think that cute grin might disarm her, but she had no intention of falling under his charming spell.

Silence ruled following his statement. As they ate, she got lost in the contents of her bowl, and he was busy surveying the room like he planned to steal any treasures. What did he see in the room full of wall-length, glass-fronted China cabinets and dual chandeliers? Did he notice the hand-hooked carpets and ivy-designed table runner had seen better days? If so, he gave no indication.

“Hey, that moose stew was really good,” he finally said, after finishing a second bowl. Persistent, he trailed her into the kitchen. “I can honestly say I’ve never had moose before. So, would you like a hand cleaning up?”

Without waiting for her to turn him down, he rolled up his flannel sleeves and reached for the bottle of dish soap on the sink.

* * *

She arched her brow at his haste and determination to help. She would have shooed him away, but clearly, he was not one to be so easily chased off. Resigning herself to the fact he was going to remain underfoot, she scooped the last of the stew in a bowl to reheat for later and handed over the pot. Accepting it, he slid into the soapy bubbles and scrubbed, softly whistling a chirpy tune.

What did he think of her kitchen? Primitive? The water came from a small hand pump, not a regular kitchen faucet. Practical? A stone hearth dominated one wall, with space for two kettles to hang. Heat poured out from the small fire she had built earlier. Elegant? More glass-fronted cabinets held dishes and drinkware. Mother-of-pearl knobs and handles allowed access to endless rows of storage drawers and cubbyholes. Antique? There were few modern appliances, with only the cream-colored fridge/freezer combo standing among the nineteenth-century workhorses of the kitchen. Old? That it was, but she kept everything clean and working.

Whatever his thoughts, he kept them to himself. She went to the fireplace to fetch more hot water for the dishes, carefully pouring it around his hands in the sink.

Their gazes met. She froze, swallowing awkwardly.

“That is an interesting bracelet,” she commented, noticing the wide, weathered leather band encircling his wrist. Stones of different colors lined the center of the bracelet, and a silver buckle held it in place. Despite herself, she stepped closer, drawn to the bracelet—and the man. She breathed in the scent of wild moose from his dinner, and a musky scent that seemed to naturally flow from him. “Aren’t you worried about such a pretty piece of jewelry getting wet?”

“No, it gets wet a lot. It was a gift from a special friend years ago.” He flicked his wrist, sending bubbles into the air. “Fact is, I couldn’t take it off if I wanted to.”

About to ask why, she changed her mind. Had it been from a girlfriend? A wife? Where did those thoughts come from? Startled, anxious for distance, she pulled a towel from the drawer, wet it from the small basin that rested on the counter, and washed down the counters. Soon, the kitchen was clean, and the dishes were dried and put away.

She hated to admit it, but they made a good team. His smug smile suggested he felt the same, and she was glad he refrained from pointing it out if that was indeed his thought.

“I’m going to check the weather one more time,” she said, hands on her hips as she surveyed the room. Darn if they hadn’t cleaned up quite well, and in good time. She was going to run out of things to do if he was going to remain constantly at her side or present in her path.

“Care if I come along?”

“Don’t you have pictures to take or something?”

He smiled. “Not with the storm going on like it is. In fact, I can’t go outside to explore until it passes and the weather clears. Right now, I really can’t do much of anything except explore through this big house.”

She cut him a frown. “Come on then. There’s a radio in the living room.”

Raven led him past the dining room, into the larger, similar living room. She selected the velvet chair near the softly ticking Grandfather clock. She snapped on the radio and curled one leg under her.

Sebastian went to the stone fireplace, hands in his pockets, turned to where she could observe his profile as he faced both the edge of the fire and the window. He cast a strong, confident outline, illuminated by crackling firelight and backdropped by stormy darkness.

* * *

Two commercials from the radio filled the silence when Sebastian gave in to his curiosity and prowled the room. He studied the photos she had on display. One, clearly her brother from the Coast Guard, showed him in full uniform. He had the same thrust to the chin, same determined look, and identical eyes. Others showed what he assumed to be her younger siblings, also with the carbon copy features. And two of her parents, appearing much in love. He guessed one was from the early years of their marriage and the other closer to their fateful passing in the accident. The admiration in their eyes remained the same. How wonderful and how rare.

He lingered at a photo of what could only be from her graduation. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was delighted, an exhilarated sparkle in her eye, the look of someone ready to conquer the world. Why is she living on this isolated chunk of rock?

“Nightly weather report.” The radio commentator’s voice broke into his thoughts. “A mild storm has turned into an early-season nor’easter. Swells of five to seven feet have been reported, and winds in excess of fifty to sixty miles an hour. The Coast Guard has issued a ban on all craft for the remainder of today and into tomorrow. People are advised to stay where they are and remain inside until the storm passes. Repeating our top weather story...”

* * *

A turn of the knob, the radio silenced. Raven released a long breath as she gazed around the room. Great, just what she wanted to hear, she thought in exaggeration.

Sebastian stuffed his hands in his pockets. “So, what exactly does that mean?” He nodded toward the radio.

“That,” she jabbed a finger at the radio, “means we’ll be lucky if the power doesn’t go out before the night is done and we’ll be stuck inside for a while.”

The power outage was something she could cope with. Being stuck inside with Sebastian Knight was another matter. The man was too charming, too handsome, too inquisitive, too...present.

A sound escaped his delectable mouth that was probably meant to be a laugh. Except she didn’t see anything funny about their situation.

As the announcer had spoken, he’d inched closer to her, slowly stepping across the worn rug, until he stood a mere three feet away. She looked up at him as he glanced around the room and then back to her.

“Good thing it’s such a big house. Guess it shows things could always be worse, right?”

His long arm swung around to remind her of the dimensions of the living room, and then he pointed upstairs and back toward the dining room and perhaps the kitchen beyond. He ended with a grin and a tilt of his head.

She failed to see how the size of the house mattered. He seemed determined to be in every room she was in. Rising to her feet, she went to the window facing the lake. Low moonlight shone through the heavy clouds, casting a dim glow over the rolling waves. The earlier rain had changed to snow, which was another indicator that this could be a serious storm.

Tops of trees bent low, almost touching the ground. Branches broke off, fluttering in the wind as if they were no more than feathers in a summer breeze. Lightning streaked through the sky, giving her enough light to notice something else.

“I hate to tell you this, but your boat is gone,” she said softly.

Instantly, he was peering over her shoulder. “Gone? We left it tied to the dock.”

She closed her eyes, inhaling his musky scent. Feeling his warm breath, laced with moose stew, on her cheeks, she forced herself to face the coolness of the glass, listening as the freezing rain slapped against the panes.

“I wonder if the storm pulled it loose,” he said thoughtfully, casting his eyes up toward the sky and the revolving light beacon. “It could be anywhere by now.” He moved to the fireplace, adding another log. It snapped and sparked.

“Don’t worry. They have insurance for this kind of stuff. And besides, they should have known better to let you come out in such a storm with a small dinghy.”

He cocked his head to one side, wearing a lopsided grin. “You know, I had considered that same thing. I mean about the storm and size of the boat. Well, at least I got all my equipment out of it.”

“Yes, how lucky for you,” she said quietly, wondering if losing his camera equipment would’ve spared her island home, or only postponed it. She also wondered how he would get off the island once his work was complete. Guess she would have to call the Guard, or better yet, call Wren, and have him send a boat.

A loud boom of thunder crashed overhead. Raven involuntarily jumped. The room plunged into darkness, save only the flickering glow of the fireplace.

She silently cursed her luck. Like with most storms, she relished the solitude and chance they offered to step back from day-to-day routine. Without refrigeration and nighttime lights, she was limited in daily choices. Normally, she found such periods peaceful and reflective.

“Um, you had mentioned this might happen,” Sebastian said, his voice coming from the darkness. “Now what?”

Peaceful and reflective were not high on her list at the moment. With Sebastian at her elbow, she needed space to recoup. To breathe. To escape the way he filled her senses and her thoughts.

And now there was no way she could call Wren or the Guard until the power was restored. Which she knew would be a while. For a brief, passing second, she wished Gull Island offered cell phone reception. It never had, and she had no clue where she packed her phone away. But he doubtlessly had one. Wait until he learned it was useless on the island.

And there was no way she was going to stay in a dark room with Sebastian Knight.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to bed,” she announced. “Perhaps by morning things will be better.” She spun, nearly running into his chest, and slipped around him to the side table along the stairs. She searched for the center drawer using her fingers, reached in and dug around, withdrawing two candles. She lit one using the fire and handed him the other one.

“Um…wouldn’t flashlights be more practical?”

“Maybe.” She thrust it at him until he was obligated to take his light. “However, wicks last longer than batteries. And if this outage goes for days, it’s better to conserve flashlights and rely on candles more.”

“You have been through this a time or two.”

His smile was warm, appreciative even, in the flickering glow of the fire. It stirred a warmth inside her, and she hastened to the stairs. “I have.”

“In that case, goodnight, Miss Raven.”

She paused at the landing and turned to his tall, slender silhouette in the fire’s glow. Her palm sweated as she rubbed it on the smooth wooden knob.

“Mr. Knight, I feel I should warn you. If you hear someone prowling around in the dark, it’s probably only Madeline. She’s essentially harmless.”

“Thank you for the heads-up. And who might Madeline be? A pet of yours?”

“No. The daughter of one of the early light keeper families who lived here. She never left.”

His eyes widened as her words registered. “Like I said, she’s more or less harmless.”

 

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