The Wedding Fling. Meg Maguire
drive. They exited and he carried her suitcase up a set of wide stone steps.
“Thank you.” Leigh checked that her key card worked, setting her bag inside before rooting through her purse.
Will shook his head. “Don’t.”
“No tip?”
“Your earlier gratuity was more than generous.”
“Oh. Well, thanks for the lift.”
“Enjoy your stay. See you when you’re ready to head back to the mainland.”
She put out her hand and he accepted it. That sure shake, his skin as warm as his dangerous smile. A curious, vengeful part of Leigh imagined that confident touch elsewhere on her body. A new man’s unfamiliar palms on her bare skin, for the first time in two years… Realizing their shake had gone on too long, she released his hand.
“See you around,” she said lamely.
“I suspect you will. Enjoy your escape.”
“I’ll try.”
He offered a polite smile, then trotted down the steps, not looking back as he climbed into his truck and drove away.
The second he disappeared past a stand of palms, Leigh missed him. Not Will, the person, but the sort of person he was—one who didn’t give half a damn who she was.
She carried her bag through the entryway and into a sunken living room that opened to a solarium at one end, overlooked by the mosaic-paneled counter of a gleaming kitchen on the other. The villa was only one story, but the cathedral ceiling and tall windows made it feel doubly spacious. Plush furniture, massive television mounted on one wall, cut lilies filling the air with the heady smell of the tropics.
She wandered through the living room and found the master bedroom. Its far wall was nothing but glass, looking out onto her patio with its pool and hot tub, pristine white beach and aquamarine ocean beyond.
The place was jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Island-exotic but L.A.-stylish, peaceful, ordered, quiet…
Too quiet.
It was far too easy to get lost in one’s thoughts here, and Leigh was eager to get lost outside her head, at least until the stinging open wound of recent events scabbed over.
She made herself busy, unpacking straight away. To her surprise, she found a crumpled hundred dollar bill in her suitcase. She smoothed it, conjuring Will’s smirk. “Freak.”
She called Reception and gave instructions for how to field any calls. Miss Bailey is enjoying her vacation, and does not wish to be disturbed. If you leave a message, we will be sure it reaches her. Just the right mix of stern and casual, so hopefully, she’d be left alone, but not cause too huge a panic.
That first evening passed in beautifully appointed boredom. Leigh napped, waded in the surf, ordered a delicious dinner and admirably resisted both the TV and her phone. She was going through the motions of relaxation, but didn’t feel any of their effects.
This was surely the longest in years she’d gone without seeing a familiar face, and she hadn’t counted on how lonely she’d feel, how small and insecure. The solitude was supposed to clear her head, but her worries seemed to echo all the more loudly. Now and then she nearly missed Dan… but no. She merely missed her old life, that comfortable lie she’d grown so accustomed to living.
LEIGH SLEPT POORLY, reading on the couch until she fell into fitful dreams full of dress fittings and ocean waves.
The next morning, her doorbell chimed as she was brushing her teeth. She crossed the lounge, spotting Will Burgess’s truck through the window. Her stomach gave a funny flutter. She was clearly hard up for company, to feel a rush at the prospect of a conversation with the most abrasive man she’d met in ages. Sexy, sure, but undeniably tactless.
Toothbrush in hand, she opened the door.
Will’s eyes were hidden by sunglasses, and stacked atop his pair were another—Leigh’s. “Good morning, valued guest.”
“Good morning, sketchy pilot.”
He took off both sets of glasses and handed hers over. “You left those in my truck yesterday.”
“Thanks. You left your bribe in my bag.”
He grinned, and Leigh was tempted to don her shades to protect herself from his extraordinary eyes.
“Must have fallen out of my pocket.”
“And into my zipped suitcase.”
“The mysteries of physics. You’ve got a little…” Will gestured at the corner of his mouth.
Leigh wiped at her lips, at whatever toothpaste he saw.
“Other side.”
She tried again.
“That got it.” Will leaned against the door frame. “Must be hard not having your butler around to let you know when you’ve got stuff on your face.”
She rolled her eyes.
“How did you cope, brushing your own teeth?”
“Are you waiting for a tip, Captain? Because the more you talk, the crappier your chances are getting.”
“Just being friendly. Customer service and all that. Anything you need?”
Company was the only thing Leigh really craved, but she wouldn’t admit it to this man. “Only if you know how the coffeemaker works. It’s so high-tech I couldn’t figure it out.”
“I can operate a plane, so let’s hope it’s not beyond me.”
Leigh stepped aside and he strolled to the device.
“Damn, that is high-tech.”
She watched as he messed around with the digital features. His laid-back charisma seemed even more obvious amid the kitchen’s sleekness. What Leigh had felt in the terminal the previous afternoon hadn’t been a fluke, or a simple matter of revenge—she was attracted to him. But it was a purely physical attraction, signifying nothing more than the fact that he was slightly sexier than he was annoying.
After much poking, he got the machine hissing and gurgling and coffee began to fill the pot.
Will gestured between the machine and himself, making a great show of his accomplishment. “How about that? All it needed was a retinal scan and two forms of ID.”
“Thanks.”
“Just make sure you select a mode. I think that’s the only trick. Anything else you need?”
“No, I’m good. Thanks for bringing my sunglasses.”
“Anytime.”
She was on the verge of inviting him to stay for a coffee, but he spoke first, sparing her from sounding pathetic.
“I better head in for the morning flight.”
“Yes, you better.”
She walked him to the door, trying to ignore the shape of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the disarming, masculine rhythm of his easy gait.
“Thanks again.”
He gave her a salute and headed down the steps to his truck. “Enjoy your coffee,” he called, slamming his door.
“Enjoy your flight.”
He draped his tan arm along the open window as the engine groaned to life.
Leigh closed her door and listened until the truck was gone, then sank up to her neck in lonely silence. She poured a coffee and flipped through the resort’s activities guide, nothing sparking her interest. Nowhere in the many descriptions did it say, “Interact with other humans before you lose your mind! Don’t forget to bring a towel.”
She