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THERE WAS A NAKED WOMAN ON HIS BOAT.

Logan Hardington shook his head and rubbed his eyes, but the picture didn’t change. Lady Godiva was sprawled over a pillow on his deck, a navy blue blanket draped over the bottom half of the curviest ass he’d seen in a long while.

Long, blonde—almost yellow—loose curls tumbled over creamy shoulders all the way down to that blanket, the ends pooling in the dimples above her ass, some strands twirling along the visible portion of her cleft near the light blue markings of a faded bruise.

Shapely legs, one slightly bent, only a shade or two darker than the fiberglass boat deck, trailed from beneath the blanket, one small foot flexing in the soft morning breeze. A hint of upturned nose peeked from beneath the blonde jumble, pink lips pursed in sleep, slender fingers disappearing beneath her cheek. He wondered what color her eyes were.

And why she was naked. On his boat.

Hungry gulls cawed overhead, but she didn’t stir. The wake from McKye’s charter jostled the Mir-a-Mar as the day’s fishing tour set out, but that didn’t rouse her either.

Oh hell. She was probably a drunk co-ed who’d followed some “sailor” home. He’d seen that walk of

shame many mornings. Didn’t these people think of the repercussions?

Logan looked back down the pier where his son, Michael, chatted with Tony as the wizened old salt chopped chum, and Logan smiled. Ah, the things he would have loved to have seen as a boy. The things he should have been able to show Michael from day one— And would have if his ex-girlfriend had only men-

tioned a little thing like a pregnancy…

Logan tamped down the anger at Christine—who, according to his son, now went by Rainbow for God-only-knew-what reasons—and focused instead on the next female to make him wonder what men ever saw in women.

Then Lady Godiva moved and the blanket slipped to the side and Logan knew exactly what men saw in women.

But not what he wanted his son to see. No matter how much Logan wanted to savor the image.

“Hey, um… Miss.” Logan hunkered down and shook one of those shapely legs.

She mumbled something and flipped her head the other way, a tangle of hair tickling his arm. Logan pulled his hand back and captured the curls as they slid across his palm. Silky. Soft. The way a woman’s hair should be.

He blinked. What the hell was he doing thinking about her hair? She was naked, for God’s sake, and his six-year-old was going to get one hell of a birthday pres-ent if she didn’t wake up and cover herself.

“Miss, wake up.” Logan shook her shoulder, glancing back to Michael. Thank God Tony had a ton of fish tales to keep the boy occupied.

The woman sighed, and her shoulder slid beneath his fingertips. Her skin was just as soft and silky as her hair.

He should not be noticing.

“Lady, you really need to get up.” Not that getting up was a problem he seemed to be having. Christ. How long had it been if he was getting hard over the naked back of a lush?

Then she rolled over.

One lone curl encircled a taut, pink nipple. Oh, boy…

No problem getting up now.

A naked woman… Right there in front of him. A naked goddess, more like. A gift from the gods just for him.

Except, of course, there was Michael…

Logan shook his head and reached for the blanket that had slithered to the deck atop some crushed shells and dried seaweed. Fighting with himself the entire time, he tossed it over her.

“What in the sea?” The blonde bombshell awoke as if she’d been tossed overboard, sputtering and spitting the blanket away from those perfect lips, the most incredible eyes widening above that mouth. The color of the sea… aquamarine. He’d never seen anything like them.

“Um, hi?” The corners of her eyes turned up along with her mouth. A dimple winked high on her left cheek.

“Oh.” Logan cleared his throat. She didn’t sound drunk. “Hi. I’m Logan Hardington.” He rocked back on his heels. “Who are you?”

“I’m, ah… Angel. Tritone.”

She was an angel all right. Straight from Heaven, via the bowels of Hell. A temptress. Flushed with the haze of sleep, innocence and sensuality stared at him from those ocean eyes, and she had the most delectable lips he’d ever seen. Slender arms clutched the blanket to breasts that spilled from the sides, leaving barely anything to the imagination. Not that he needed to imagine since he remembered every splendid inch of those heavenly delights. If this woman wasn’t walking temptation, he didn’t know what was.

“So, Angel Tritone, did you have one too many last night?” Remember that, Hardington. No matter what kind of influence she’d be on you, she’d be a bad one on your son.

Having to kick her off his boat definitely sucked. But he was a father now. A responsible, practical father who didn’t fool around with sexy, naked women on his boat.

A horny, recently celibate father who’d love to fool around with this sexy, naked woman on his boat.

But who wouldn’t.

Damn. This responsibility thing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Angel cocked her head to the side, curls spilling over her shoulders in perfect, centerfold-fantasy mode, and he had to work really hard to keep his groan from escaping.

“One too many what?” Her tongue flicked over her lips again in an unself-conscious and utterly sexy way.

He had to get her off his boat. For sanity’s sake. Propriety’s, too. Not to mention an impressionable six-year-old’s. Logan stood up and held out his hand. “Never mind. Let’s get you up and at ’em.”

“At who?” She reached for his hand.

Logan forgot the question the minute her fingers touched his. Hell, he almost forgot his own name, and the six-year-old down the pier was fast becoming a dis-tant memory.