Everything to Me. Simona Taylor
grinding.
“What’s the problem?” he asked, as though he hadn’t been overhearing every word.
“The problem is,” she explained tautly, “that my new assistant forgot to confirm my booking. And with all the people turning up for the Jazz Festival, they haven’t got any rooms. From what they’re telling me, there’s hardly a room left on the island.”
He contemplated her predicament soberly. “What’re you going to do?”
“Find another hotel,” she said, as though it was the world’s stupidest question. Hotel information wasn’t going to fall from the sky; she’d have to find some help. Back at the airport, she remembered seeing a tourist bureau. She spun around and started dragging her suitcase.
To her surprise, he fell into step. She stopped so hard her shoes squeaked. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Walking you to wherever you’re going for help.”
Did music impresarios get merit badges for being nice to stranded travelers? “Why? I’m a grown woman.”
Lazily, he let his eyes roam her body, something on his face telling her he was well aware she was a woman. “I told you—”
“I know,” Dakota interrupted. “Two Americans on foreign soil, and all that. Thanks for being so patriotic, but if I really get into deep trouble, I’ll take it to the embassy.”
When he smiled, his long face, the same color as the sand scattered at their feet, almost warmed…but his voice held a note of amused mockery. “Our nearest embassy is one island over, in Trinidad.”
“I’ll be fine anyway,” she said with dignity. “I can take care of myself.”
His shapely lips tautened, and she knew exactly what was going through his head. “Yes, I forgot. You’re very good at taking care of your own interests.” Carefully, he set down her bag, hefted his, and stepped away. “Good luck. I imagine I’ll be seeing you around at the festival?”
She shrugged. “I’m covering it, so I guess… ”
“Well,” he said, his voice dripping with irony. “I hope you find the stories you’re looking for.” His bag swung as he walked away.
Sure, you do, Dakota thought.
She didn’t step into the tourist office until he was out of sight.
Chapter 2
Island time, Walker thought. No matter how often he traveled through the Caribbean, he never ceased to marvel at the slow, easy pace of everything and everyone around him. Coffee shop attendants stopped to chat in the middle of pouring him a cup, porters took their own sweet time crossing the road… Car rental companies moved with the speed of honey dripping off a spoon.
The previous client—no doubt an islander, he thought wryly—had returned the rental car he ordered more than an hour late, whereupon smiling employees had informed him in their musical accent that they’d clean the car up for him “just now.” Suspecting that “just now” in island-speak meant a good chunk of time, he’d bought himself a local paper and settled in for the wait.
By the time they’d handed over the keys to the pearl gray BMW sedan, it was fully dark outside. He eased past the airport, noticing that traffic had thinned significantly. The flight they were on was probably the last international arrival of the evening. Everyone had already gone home.
At least, those who had a home to go to.
In the yellow glow of a streetlamp, a hunched shape sat on a bench, two small bags propped up beside her. Merrick, he knew at once. The curve of her shoulders, her mere presence, in fact, told him she hadn’t found a place to sleep. He wondered idly how she planned on dealing with her assistant when she got back to New York. From his brief experiences, Merrick had quite a tongue on her; he was half-sorry for her assistant once Merrick could rustle up a few bars of signal on her phone.
As he rolled past, struggling to remember to drive on the left rather than the right, he turned his head—and their eyes locked. Hers were wide and dark against her tan skin, Japanese anime-huge, and in a flash he read anxiety and fear. One hand clutched the collar of her leather jacket to her throat. It was still warm out, so it couldn’t have been to ward off the cold. In his rearview mirror, he saw her slap at her neck and wince.
In the darkness, the mosquitoes had come out.
The gods were having a laugh at her expense. Poetic justice, given the mess she’d almost made of his career.… Well, technically she’d made a mess of Shanique’s career; he’d survived virtually unscathed. But still… Feeling guilty at the meanness of the thought, he comforted himself. She’d get lucky; it was mathematically impossible for every single bed on the island to be filled. She’d try again in a while, and at the very least find a dive where the all-night bar would keep her up and the bedbugs wouldn’t give her a moment’s rest. Then maybe she’d be too tired in the morning to do any more muck-raking for her damn column.
In the rearview mirror, he saw the light above her head flicker, and she tilted her face upward in panic.
Walker eased his foot off the accelerator.
The woman was alone and possibly in danger. Who knew what kind of creatures, two-legged or otherwise, came crawling out of their holes after dark? What if something happened to her out there? A feeling of dread, mingled with a vague sense of responsibility, ran through him. If you saw someone standing on the tracks and a train was bearing down, only they couldn’t hear it coming, would you push them out of the way?
Would you yank them out of harm’s reach even if they’d done you wrong?
Naw, the voice in his head chided, you’re not thinking… .
With a squeal of tires, he made a U-turn, and headed back to where she sat. As he slammed on the brakes, her face was the picture of confusion and alarm.
“Get in, Merrick,” he ordered.
“What?”
He hopped out, walked around, and grabbed her bags. “You can’t stay here.”
“I wouldn’t be the first traveler to spend the night at an airport,” she said stubbornly. “There’s security all over the place. I’ll be safe.”
“It’s a dinky country airport—an open air airport—on one of the smallest islands on the planet. And in case you haven’t noticed, most everyone’s gone home. What were you planning to do? Sleep on the bench?”
“I was planning to stay awake on the bench,” she countered, and slapped at the back of her neck again. “I hear the sun rises early in the West Indies.”
“There are mosquitoes dancing around your head. Can you imagine what you’ll look like by morning?”
“What’s it to you?” she responded suspiciously.
“Refer to my previous statement about leaving fellow citizens stranded.” He could have added a comment about damsels in distress, but he knew he’d be an idiot to go there. Merrick looked unlikely to be amused by his chivalry.
“I’ll be sure the president’s notified.” She folded her arms, but didn’t make a move.
As he threw her bags into the back, next to his, her dark eyes rounded. “What are you…?”
“Far as I know, my place is confirmed and waiting for me. You’re welcome to come along.”
She gasped. “Stay with you? In your room?”
He laughed, delighted by her horrified reaction. “Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t suggesting we share a bed.…” He stopped, and his tongue flicked against his lower lip. “Not even one of those chaste little arrangements where one of us sleeps on top of the sheets and the other sleeps beneath them. This isn’t a teen sitcom.”
She