The Secret Prince. Kathryn Jensen
the sand. Looking around, she focused on a generous pile of terrycloth near his clothing and scooped it up. “Isn’t November a little extreme for swimming in Maryland?”
“Not for me.” He couldn’t resist. “I’m naturally hot-blooded.”
She rolled her eyes and tossed the towel at him. “Oh please—”
“Seriously. My body temperature runs two degrees above normal. Always has. I draw the line, though, at breaking through ice for my morning constitutional.”
“Limits are good.” Her eyes sparkled with humor.
Elly forced herself to look past the near-naked man toward the softly glowing horizon. She tried to remember the reason she was standing on a beach in the middle of winter in her stocking feet. But Dan Eastwood was very difficult to stop looking at. No male she’d ever personally met possessed a body like that. Wide, muscled swimmer’s shoulders, a rock-hard stomach, and hips that slimmed to strong, efficient kicking levers. But she hadn’t come to flirt with the owner of the Haven. Her mission was much more important than that and, she reminded herself, time was of the essence.
“You’re Daniel Robert Eastwood?” she asked, risking another glance his way. God, he was gorgeous!
“I’m Eastwood. And you?”
He was drying off his beautifully muscled chest, his long, strong arms—the towel dropped lower—his everywhere. She looked away, tiny beads of sweat springing up beneath her hairline despite the frigid air. “I’m Elizabeth Anderson. I need to ask you a few questions, if you can spare me ten minutes.”
He frowned. “If you’re selling hotel supplies, you’ll need to see my business partner, Kevin Hunter. He takes care of all the ordering. His office is in the main building.”
“I’ve already spoken with Mr. Hunter. He told me where you’d be.”
“He did, did he?” She liked the way his dark eyes flashed at her, suggesting he wasn’t at all displeased with his partner’s decision.
With a sudden jolt, Elly realized that she had been running the tip of her tongue across her upper lip and she stopped herself. He might read the gesture as an appreciation of his near-nakedness, which of course it was. But it was crucial that she keep her mind on the business at hand. A lot of people, very important people—not the least of which was her father—were depending on her.
As Dan tugged his sweatshirt down over his head, he snuck a good peek. She looked slim and healthy, though a little on the pale side, as if her work rarely took her out into the sunshine and she didn’t take much time off for outdoor recreation. Her pleated skirt was short, revealing elegant, long legs. Her breasts…hard to tell. All he could make out was a promising swell beneath the ultra-conservative suit jacket. Pity it wasn’t August. She’d have been hard put not to strip down under Ocean City’s blazing sun.
“Suppose we walk up to my house,” he suggested. “You can tell me what this is all about.”
“Why don’t you get yourself dressed, Mr. Eastwood? I’ll meet you back at your office.”
“That’s not convenient.” He started walking away from her, up the sloping beach. A moment later, he heard her scurrying behind him in the sand, and he smiled to himself.
“Why isn’t it convenient?” she called out.
“I have a nine o’clock. No telling how long the meeting might last. Ever heard of making appointments, Miss Anderson?”
“There isn’t time. I need to speak with you right away.”
Dan stopped and turned to face her. The urgency in her tone signaled trouble. “Maybe we’d better settle this right here. What’s the big crisis?”
She sighed and gazed thoughtfully along the wind-swept beach then turned back to study his face with an odd intensity.
“Talk fast,” he prompted. Pretty soon his fingers were going to fall off from the cold. After that, who knew what would be next.
“All right then,” she snapped, giving him an irritated look. “I am a professional genealogist. I work for my father’s company, and we’ve been hired to verify the ancestors and descendants of a gentleman, now deceased. There’s a possibility you might be related to his family.”
He laughed. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” she said. “All I need to do is ask you a few simple questions, then I’ll be out of your hair.” She tipped her head to observe him. “Your lips are turning blue. I suppose it’s all right if we talk at your place, since it’s so cold outside.”
“Thank you.” He stepped up onto the boardwalk that ran over a mile along the shore. Most of the structures at the far end of the driftwood-gray planks were high-rise condominiums and hotels. But here, in the older part of town, along with the arcades, snack shacks and amusement park rides, were a few of the older-style beach bungalows that had survived the ocean’s violent mood swings. Four years ago when Hurricane Evelyn had swept away entire blocks of the low wooden structures, Dan had seen the opportunity he’d been waiting for. He was out of the Corps, had earned his degree in business on the GI Bill and saved up a nest egg. He was looking for an investment that would keep him close to his beloved beach.
He and his best friend Kevin put together a proposal to buy the ruined property. They raised the level of the land by bringing in tons of fill, built protective man-made dunes, then erected sturdy, smaller versions of the original bungalows—twenty-five of them in a cluster. The Haven evolved into a far more successful business than either of them had expected. Dan couldn’t help feeling proud of what they’d accomplished.
But now that most of the hard work had been done, the days often ran together. The off-season was particularly lonely. After Labor Day, the tourists disappeared, including most of the dateable women. But here was pert, intriguing Elizabeth Anderson with her burnished locks, long legs, and baffling need to interrogate him. He toyed with the tempting idea of canceling his nine o’clock to spend the morning with her…if he could find a way to stretch her promised ten minutes to a few hours.
“So tell me about my mystery family.” He opened the door to the first house they came to and waved her inside.
“We don’t know that they are your family,” she cautioned. “Not yet. That’s why I need to talk to you.”
“So shoot.” He tossed the damp towel on the arm of the tan leather sofa and she followed it with a look of female disapproval for his casual housekeeping.
“What are your mother’s and father’s full names?”
“My mother is Margaret Jennings Eastwood. She goes by Madge. My father, I never knew. His name was Carl Eastwood. He died shortly after I was born.”
She nodded, sliding a small pad of paper and pen from her purse. Elizabeth wrote a few notes. “And the date of your birth?”
He told her.
“That makes you, let’s see…thirty-two?” He nodded. “Your mother’s current address and phone number?” she asked smoothly.
He stopped halfway into the bedroom and turned to face her, suddenly suspicious. “Why do you need to know that?”
“I’m sure she’ll be as interested as you are in your shared heritage,” she said with a brilliant smile. But her eyes shifted away from his before she’d finished speaking. He wondered if she might be concealing something he should know before giving her more information.
“If you need to speak with my mother, I’ll take you to her. What else do you need from me?”
She looked vaguely disappointed, but glanced down at her pad. Her tongue did its little lip-flick thing again. “Well…where were you born, Mr. Eastwood?”
“It’s Dan. In Baltimore, Mercy Hospital.”
She blinked,