The Wedding Fling. Meg Maguire
sick to death of things being done for her, services offered by supremely nice people who probably just gossiped about her once she’d gone.
Then something occurred to Leigh. She didn’t have to wait for Will to come back to enjoy a taste of the candid, easy company she craved. She could go after what she wanted herself. After all, what had playing by the rules done for her lately?
3
AS THE SUN DIPPED LOWER, Leigh’s mood rose higher and higher.
A shower washed away the salt from her afternoon swim, and her hastily acquired shorts and funky halter top enveloped her in a sense of blessed unfamiliarity. The smell of sunscreen had her craving a cold drink, perhaps one with an umbrella in it, served in half a pineapple or some other delightful cliché.
When the clock chimed five-thirty she grabbed her new sandals, carrying them as she walked down the beach. Just as she’d hoped, after a twenty minutes’ stroll she spotted the workers’ settlement farther along the shore.
Will’s clunky old truck was parked just off the road, and Leigh followed a wooden walkway through the grass and sand to a dwelling yards from the high tide’s edge. Tinny music played from an unseen radio, and she spotted its owner as she neared.
He was straddling an upside-down canoe raised on blocks beside the building, sanding away a coat of peeling paint. It seemed there was no limit to how casual his wardrobe could get. He was dressed in khaki cutoffs, a plaid button-up shirt left completely open to flap about his arms in the warm breeze. He swept his shaggy hair from his eyes and Leigh had to admire the greater whole of him. Tan and lean, that mischievously handsome face looking placid for a change, his attention focused on his project. His well-past-five-o’clock shadow and bare feet made her envy his life with a fresh pang.
She clapped the soles of her sandals together. “Knock knock.”
Will glanced up from his task with a grin. “Well, look who’s here. You get lost on the way to a hot-rock massage?”
“Is this where you live, Captain?” She nodded to the cottage on stilts. “It’s adorable.”
Will glowered, faking insult.
“Sorry. It’s butch. Really butch.”
He set aside the sanding block and wiped his palms on his shorts. “What can I do for you, Miss Bailey? Need a lift to civilization?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness for that.” He reached to the windowsill and took a deep swig from a bottle of beer. “How was that coffee?”
“Just fine, thank you.”
“You walk all the way here?”
“It’s only about a half mile.”
“Didn’t know your kind walked.”
She shot him a snobby look, meandering closer. “My kind?”
His smile sharpened to a smirk, one that stirred Leigh’s pulse. “Yeah, your kind, little miss movie star.”
“Well, you were misinformed. My kind does plenty more than walk. I came to ask you about the dancing you mentioned yesterday.”
His brows rose. “That’s what you came here for? Dancing?”
“Sure. It’s my favorite thing in the world. Or it used to be.”
“And here I thought maybe you’d missed me.”
“Again, you’re greatly misinformed.”
“I don’t know what you’re thinking of, but the dancing here isn’t what you’re after. More like stand-up dry-humping.”
Leigh pictured such a thing. “Sounds like a movie I starred in.”
Another of those deadly, snarky smiles. “What happened in the movie?”
“The annoying pilot told the charming actress where to find a cold drink and a good beat.”
“Of course he did.” Damn, that dimple.
She kicked at the sand. “So, will you tell me?”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll take you.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure, what the hell.”
She smiled. “Thank you. It’s way too quiet back in my villa.”
“I’ll get chewed out if any managers think I invited you to fraternize with us lowly workers.”
“Then tell them the truth—that I forced myself on you.”
His lips twitched, as though he was holding back a remark, a flirtation. Just that tiny hesitation from this shameless man brought a warmth to Leigh’s skin, one that had nothing to do with the late afternoon sun.
“I’ll bribe you,” she offered.
“No more bribes. Plus I’ll get chewed out worse by management if they hear I failed to chaperone you, out among us uncivilized natives.” Will slid down from the canoe.
“Is this what you do with your free time? Fix up old boats?” Leigh ran a hand over the point where rough paint met smooth wood, and stole a glance at Will’s bare chest while he stowed tools.
“I do all sorts of stuff. And I work less than four hours a day, so I do a lot of all sorts of stuff.”
“No TV?”
“I don’t have one. Very little worth watching.”
“That’s for sure.” Leigh imagined what would have happened if she’d stayed in her villa—check room service for peanut butter availability, then scour the channels for news about herself. Pathetic, toxic habit. Tomorrow she’d phone and see if the satellite could be disconnected for the duration of her stay.
She waited while Will disappeared inside his house. The radio went silent and he emerged carrying a cooler, with a pair of sandals on top of it.
“What’s in there?”
“Essentials.” He headed up the walkway, dropping his sandals to the ground as they reached the rough gravel road and slipping them on. Leigh did the same.
“Thanks,” she said.
Will shrugged, setting ice inside the cooler rattling. “I would have ended up there eventually anyhow, with or without you.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Bethany and Oscar’s place.”
“And they work here, too?”
“That’s a given. Bethany’s a chef, Oscar manages the drivers.”
“They throw lots of parties?”
“It’s not that organized around here. People finish work, take a nap or smoke a joint—”
“Or sand a boat.”
“Or that. Then you wander toward wherever the ruckus is coming from. But I know it’ll be there tonight, since it’s Monday. Always something happening at their place on a Monday.”
A girl ran past them, followed by a smaller one, both shrieking with laughter.
“That little one was theirs,” Will said.
“Cute.” Leigh craned her neck to watch the kids disappear between the trees. “How often do us guests turn up at your get-togethers?”
“Rarely. Especially ones like you,” Will said with a tight, self-satisfied smile.
“Ones like me? Go on, tell me what that means, since I know you’re dying to.”
“Just that you’re a girl. Most of the guests who party-crash are older men, looking