Touch of Fate. A.C. Arthur
too nonchalant for her.
“What’s she doing there?”
“Probably writing her next book.”
“Book? Are you serious? When is she going to find a job?”
Karena sighed. “Writing is her job, Monica. Her book’s in the stores in case you didn’t know.”
“I know about the book. I’ve ordered a couple hundred of them in the past week. But really,” she said, her coral-painted nails moving swiftly over the keyboard, “is she making this a full-time permanent thing?”
“Yes. I think she is. Actually, I think she should. She’s good, Monica. You should read one of those hundreds of books you bought. This might be what she really needs to do.”
“She really needs a steady income and a pension plan.” Monica sighed. Why was she the only person in her family who thought along the lines of responsibility? Well, there was her father, Paul Lakefield, but he was more like a dictator in Monica’s book. She, on the other hand, was just being practical.
“Deena will be fine. She has her trust fund that she hasn’t touched. And besides, Deena’s always done whatever was necessary to take care of herself. She doesn’t ask us for anything.”
“You’re right,” Monica agreed. Her youngest sister never asked her for help. Truth be told, Monica was a little hurt by that fact. But she’d never let anybody else know that.
“Well, does she at least have an agent or an attorney to make sure she’s not signing her soul away on one of those publishing contracts?”
“Last time I talked to her she was interviewing a couple of prospects. Don’t know if she’s actually signed with one yet, but it’s one of her priorities.”
Monica chuckled.
Karena looked at her in a funny way. “What?”
“Nothing. I just can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh.”
“Well, I’m not the one shacking up with the handsome detective so maybe I don’t have anything to laugh about. But you’ve got to admit, Deena with priorities is funny.”
Karena smiled. “At one time you would have been right but I think she’s changing.”
Karena had reached into her own briefcase, no doubt to pull out the sales report they were meeting to go over. That was to signal the end of the discussion on Deena.
Monica still wasn’t certain she liked the idea of her sister being so far away by herself but recognized there wasn’t a whole lot she could do about it at the moment. Maybe Deena was changing, maybe she could handle things on her own. No, her little sister was still naive to the world and all its pitfalls. For that reason she vowed to keep a close eye on her, to make sure that nothing or anyone would ever hurt Deena, the way she’d been hurt.
She’d done something different with her hair today. The shoulder-length locks had been pulled up in the front, twisted into some kind of knot, a red flower adding a splash of color. The flower matched a long flowing skirt of red and white and a skimpy red halter top that showed more skin than was probably legal. On her feet were a combination of sassy straps and sexy heels.
Max was totally undone.
He’d thought about her all through the night—or the remaining hours after he’d found himself a snack in the kitchen. Laying in his bed while an almost-cool breeze seeped into his room, making the thin gauze curtains dance mysteriously, all he could see was her smiling face. There was something bright and fresh about Miss Deena Lakefield that Max hadn’t encountered in a very long time.
In the circles he and his cousins ran in back in Vegas, women came in one of two categories: fast and ready to seduce, those were the ones who knew the Donovan name and had already counted the dollar signs before smiling into the face of one of the illusive men; or naive and impressionable, those were the ones who didn’t have a clue but would have a man so tied up in scandal and delusions of love affairs he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.
No, Deena Lakefield was surprisingly different and refreshingly arousing.
Jogging down the front steps, he caught up with her just as the stone pathway turned to grass.
“Taking an afternoon stroll in lieu of the moonlight one you denied me last night?”
She turned, looked up at him, laughter already sparkling in her eyes. At her ears, large gold hoops dangled. “I didn’t deny you anything. I just didn’t feel like walking.”
Max nodded, slowing his pace so that his long stride matched her short, quick one without missing a beat.
“I didn’t ask you last night if you were here for just business or a little pleasure, too,” he said, noting the quietness that surrounded them. There wasn’t another house for miles and they were walking along the generous acreage of Sandy Pines. He wondered where she was going since he was currently following her lead. He knew which parts of the island he wanted to visit, needed to get around to visiting to secure the appropriate permits required to get started on the renovations. But for right now he was content to take some time to get to know her better. The slow Southern pace was doing something to him, something he wasn’t sure he liked.
“A little of both. I can write anywhere, but my next book is set on a secluded island.”
“Really? Does the hero save the heroine from a vicious shark attack? For which she must repay him by spending one glorious night in his bed?”
She stopped and used a hand to shade the sun from her eyes as she looked up at him. “Just how many romance novels have you read, Mr. Donovan?”
“I like it better when you call me Max.” Reaching out, he took one of her hands in his and continued their walk. “And I don’t read romance novels. The formula is just so cliché anybody would know it.”
“That’s not true. Granted, there are certain plots that work well over and over again. The author’s goal is to not be cliché, to let the characters fall in love on their own.”
“Yeah, with candlelight dinners and violinists in the background.”
“Or something as simple as lovers walking on the beach.”
Her words seemed to float on the breeze as the grass shifted to sand. Max looked to his left and saw that their walk had led them right to the shoreline. Broad Creek greeted him with glistening blue-green water and rustic sand. The sky was a periwinkle blue with the sun like a huge orange beacon in its center. The breeze was gentle, the air fresh. It was, Max thought, the perfect scene.
“Touché,” he conceded her observation and continued walking along the sand. “So that was the business portion. What’s the pleasure? Are you here alone?”
“Funny you should ask that now as you walk me along the beach, holding my hand like we’ve known each other a lifetime.”
Max chuckled and felt more relaxed here with her at this very moment than he had in the last couple of years.
“I figure you’re alone because what man would be foolish enough to let you out of his sight?”
“If you hadn’t just told me differently I’d swear you’ve been reading romance novels. You’ve got sugary lines memorized.”
“Not sugary. Honest.”
“You make a habit of being honest?” she asked.
“I try. How about you?”
She shrugged. “It’s the only way I know how to be. My family says I don’t think before I talk, so you’re never quite sure what’ll come out of my mouth.”
“I guess that can be a good and bad thing.”
“I’ve never had any problems. It’s mostly the person I’m talking to that doesn’t like something I’ve said. But that’s