Daring Sarah

Just his luck, Duncan thought with a scowl as he tied off his sailboat. Sailed all night through a deadly storm, and when he finally reached port, some leggy blonde was stalking him from the pier.

Too bad for the gold digger. He wasn't there to play – his player days were over. He was there to take an old lady tourist to tea.

"You have to be nice to the American woman," Duncan's sister had insisted. "She's very sad just now. She's a widow."

Fine. He'd be nice to the sad old widow. But this young beauty, this willowy creature who looked delicate enough to bloom, he didn't have to be nice to her. He just had to somehow get past her on the pier without getting caught up in any of her schemes. In times past, he might have enjoyed a bit of a flirtation, but not anymore. He knew the damage a woman like this could cause. He was done with it all now, and good riddance.

So he gave her the old up-and down look. What a great figure she had, not that it mattered. She couldn't tempt him. He made sure to scowl as he barked an insult at her. "Not interested."

Next thing he knew, she was delivering an insult right back to him.

With an American accent.

American.

And naming his sister while she was at it.

Oh, no.

This was the American widow?

Some widow.