Hot For It. Melissa MacNeal
those dark shining eyes that seemed to see through to her deepest secrets. Until now.
She winked at him, holding her flute toward Trevor for more champagne. “So what’re you doing tomorrow, Grant?”
2
Cat stomped her feet in the frigid air that whipped along the curbside check-in area at the St. Louis airport. Just a week ago she’d been languishing in the loft at Trevor Teague’s, worrying where her next check was coming from, and here she was shipping off to an island paradise beyond her wildest dreams. To buy the damned island!
Maybe.
She reminded herself that, yes, the photographs on the Web site had looked too good to be true. And yeah, the arrangements for her offshore accounts and for the flight to view this island property had fallen into place as though her guardian angel—this time in the form of Grant Carey—had waved a magic wand. As he hefted her suitcases from the trunk of his Lexus into the check-in line, the breeze caught his steely hair and gave his cheeks a ruddy glow. A glow of sincere joy for her.
“I’ll be in touch, sweetheart,” he murmured, bussing her cheek. “Keep me apprised of your findings, and I’ll be sure all your new accounts and connections remain confidential.”
“If there’s anything we can do—” Bruce chimed in. Then he grabbed her in a huge hug. “This is so exciting, Cat! Have a fabulous time!”
“You’ll be the first one I call if I need a groundskeeper,” she insisted, returning his grin. “I owe you big-time, Mr. Bigelow.”
“And don’t forget to e-mail us soon as you get there.” Trevor slipped the strap of her computer case over her shoulder, letting his hand linger for a squeeze. “With that theft-detection software I installed, your laptop—not to mention your new book!—will be traced immediately if a thug snags your Mac. Can’t be too careful in countries where technology’s scarce.”
Cat bit back a remark about how protective they were all being. After all, they just wanted her to be safe and have the time of her life, now that she had a life. “And what does that do, again?”
“Every time you send an e-mail, a separate message goes to the account address I’ve set up, and it tells us the location of your laptop,” he explained patiently. “So if someone swipes it, you call the software company and they’ll know where your Mac is as soon as the thieves go online with it.”
Cat nodded as though she understood. “Like having an On-Star chip in a car?”
“Pretty much.” The architect stuffed his hands in his overcoat pockets, his grin tentative. “But we’ll think positive thoughts, Cat. You’re going on the adventure of a lifetime here, and we’re all wishing we could, too!”
She threw her arms around his neck, basking in his warmth and the subtle scent of his cologne…the way his close-cropped beard teased her cheek when he kissed it. “Soon as I’m settled, you might as well come see me,” she insisted to the three of them. “Why spend the rest of your winter in St. Louis when you could be sunbathing on my white sand beach watching the dolphins frolic?”
“Oh, stop! Just get on the plane, you tease!”
After a final round of hugs as she checked her luggage, Cat strode resolutely toward the terminal doors. When they opened automatically, as if recognizing her as the queen of her own ocean domain, she turned for a final wave. Three gorgeous guys raised their arms as though saluting her with their pirate swords, and she laughed.
It was a big improvement over bursting into tears, wasn’t it?
The trouble with flying alone, first to San Juan and then to St. Lucia, was having so much time to think. Oh, she’d brought along the stack of information she’d received about Porto Di Angelo, the island she was viewing, but she couldn’t focus on it. Cat alternated between little-girl giddiness over this adventure—was she really flying down to buy her own slice of paradise?!—and the gnawing fear that Laird King’s creditors would somehow shatter her new plans, despite the safeguards Grant had put into place.
And now that the first rush of hitting the jackpot had settled, she felt overwhelmed by loneliness. Surrounded by strangers and preoccupied flight attendants, Cat had to face emotions she hadn’t expected. She stared out the window a lot so the kid in the aisle seat wouldn’t think she was a nutcase when she went from tears to gleeful grins.
It felt odd to be setting out by herself, after nearly fifteen years of marriage to Laird. While she’d been shocked and pissed at the mess he’d left her, she couldn’t just erase the good life he’d provided her—at least on the surface. Then came the condolence calls and those damn threats from bloodsuckers trying to wrench money from her after they snatched her house and her car. Scary, to think how she could’ve ended up in a homeless shelter, had Trevor Teague not invited her into the house he shared with Grant and Bruce.
While she’d always loved to travel—she and Laird had gone abroad or cruised every year—as a writer, she’d spent most of her time alone. In imaginary worlds of her own creation. But this trip was taking her to a whole new reality, where she didn’t know a soul. She’d really jumped off the edge—mostly because that shooting star and the swaggering voice who called himself Spike had pushed her.
What if her parachute didn’t open?
What if this leap of faith landed her among sharks and crocs who smelled her fear and swallowed her whole? Would that theft-detection software protect her, half a world away from everything and everyone she knew?
When she got off the plane in San Juan, she still had no answers. Thank God her travels had taught her how to navigate airports: this one was colossal, and she was alone in a sea of people moving toward their gates with their own concerns. Their own companions.
Hey, you got me, doll!
Cat fought the urge to gaze crazily around her. She was approaching the security checkpoint and didn’t need those uniformed agents thinking she was wacko. The smell of cigarettes was suddenly so strong, she could’ve been in one of the glassed-in lounges where they confined smokers these days.
“Where were you when I was feeling so lonely on the plane, huh?” she muttered. She stepped out of the stream of people funneling toward the X-ray machines, in case anyone was watching her talk to herself.
Like you would’ve talked to me on that plane, Spike replied. I was in the center seat the whole time. Watching the movie.
“Right. You could’ve told me you were there—”
You needed that time alone, babe. I’ve learned to never come between a woman and her mood swings. He cleared his throat ceremoniously. Better get your sweet self into that security line, missy. It’s a loooong way to your gate, and if you miss this plane for St. Lucia—
“Are you telling me what to do?” Cat stepped out of the restroom doorway, smiling apologetically at the dark-skinned lady who came out and stared at her funny.
Okay, fine, doll. I got work to do, anyway. If you’re gonna get all pissy—
“I’m not getting—”
And by the way, I can hear you just fine if you think your part of the conversation. See ya around, sugah—if you make your plane, that is.
Half an hour later, Cat scurried aboard the little express jet.
“Thank you for waiting,” she gasped at the glaring blond flight attendant. She beelined to her seat, avoiding the eyes of the passengers who’d been there several minutes ago. The door whumped shut behind her, and as they taxied away from the terminal the spiel about plane safety came over the speaker system.
What a relief that, again, no one occupied the aisle seat beside her. She could catch her breath and regroup without—
Without so much as a thanks or a kiss-my-ass! The pilot had to take a sudden leak, or we’d be long gone, girlfriend. See if