"You will love this sweet and touching romance!" - Roxie's Romance Reviews
"Anna creates a whole landscapes of colors, textures, sounds and scents, so you feel part of the scene... A lovely, gentle lovestory in glorious technicolor!" - Amazon reader review
An excerpt from Island Fantasies:
Kyle descended the rickety ladder from where he'd been repairing the roof, then wiped his hands on his shirt. It was time for a shower and a beer, and then dinner. His last dinner on his last night in this island in the South Pacific, and he'd be spending it alone. No wonder he was procrastinating.
He gathered up the tools and headed for the main building, following the singsong of the hotel manager's voice, telling someone they had come just in time. Just in time for what?
He came around the corner and froze at the sight of Hannah. Hannah, with those intense blue eyes so full of plans and mysteries. Hannah, with an uncertain smile -- sad yet hopeful at the same time. Hannah, looking bronzed as ever and endearingly flustered, too.
Hannah. The only thing predictable about her was her unpredictability.
"Hey, Kyle," she called softly.
Something inside him did a slide and bump. "Hey, Hannah," he managed.
Tiri smiled over them like a couple of prize lambs. "You see? I tell you she comes!"
Indeed, the woman had been insisting all day that Hannah would come. Kyle had dismissed it as wishful thinking, but Tiri was right. He glanced at his hostess. Ancient Polynesian navigators, Hannah had once told him, could sense land from hundreds of miles away. Maybe some Polynesians could do that with people. Maybe they could do that with love.
Tiri gushed to Hannah about Kyle's help, half in English, half in French. "He fixed la couverture -- the roof! He's very good with a hammer."
"I bet he is," Hannah murmured, looking him up and down.
Tiri gave her a little shove, and Hannah stumbled right at him. He caught her when her face was an inch away from his. Her lips cracked open -- with words or a kiss, he couldn't tell. He would have taken either just then, because suddenly the past forty-eight hours seemed terribly empty.
A second later, she was crushed up against him in a vise of a hug, her face buried in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and lost himself in the blanket of her warmth, her coconut scent. He was only vaguely aware of Tiri moving away, chirping something about dinner. Then there was only Hannah and the sound of waves tumbling over the beach and a hug that squeezed the last two days out of existence. She kissed him in a long, slow kiss.
Kyle closed his eyes. God, a kiss -- a single kiss! -- shouldn't taste so damn good.
"Um..." he mumbled when she came up for air. "Can you stay for dinner?"
She tilted her head. "How could I pass it up?"
"Can you give me a minute? I have to clean up."
He raced through a shower, finger-combed his hair in a rush, and decided to forgo a shave. Then he hastened outside, past the dining room, because Tiri had said something about the beach. The second he sprint-walked around the corner of the building, he stopped in his tracks.
A row of tall torches had been lit and set into the ground, lining the path to the beach like a runway. At the end of it was a table set by the sea: a square of white before an ocean of color. Hannah stood behind one chair, watching the sun set. She had a white flower tucked behind one ear -- dressed for the occasion, Polynesian style. She lit up on seeing him, with a shy and pure smile.
In his mind, he stood rooted to the spot for a long time, relishing the sight. But somehow his feet sprinted through time and he found himself at her side. Taking her hand, kissing it, and holding it close. She blushed behind the tan. The pirate queen, blushing!
They'd exchanged all of three words up to that point, and from the look of things, they might be struck dumb for the rest of the night, which was fine with him. Words could be tricky; sometimes silence was the key. Hadn't Hannah said as much the first night they'd met? They took their places and looked at each other over a flickering candle set among seashells in a glass bowl. Was it the dimming light or were Hannah's eyes a little more liquid than usual?
Afterward, he couldn't remember who spoke first or what the subject was. Only that everything about that evening seemed beautiful, serene, and bright, as if a star had chosen to concentrate all its energy on exactly that spot that night.
"Hey, you have to remember to taste the food," Hannah chided.
Right, the food. He did his best to transfer some attention to his tongue, but even with the coconut marinade and fish there, the best part was still the remnant of her kiss.
"Delicious," he said, studying the wine in his glass. Back in New York, he'd drunk wine that sold for three figures and it didn't taste as good as this one that came out of a box.
Hannah flashed that secret smile, the one that said she knew just what he meant.
That was about the sum total of their dinner conversation; the rest they left to the swaying palms, the whispering waves, the wisdom of the stars overhead. At one point Hannah pulled out her camera, considered the scene, and then put it away again.
"You don't want to take a picture?"
She shook her head and gave him a wistful smile. "No picture can capture this."
When the time comes to say goodbye, will he be able to let her sail away?
Step into romance, passion, and adventure in the South Seas.
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