Navy Seal Seduction. Bonnie Vanak
how glowing and happy Lacey had been, and then growing paler and sicker, and worried at the bleeding the doctor assured her was normal, just spotting...
The past was the past.
Ives brought the wine and uncorked it with a flourish. As they ate, Lacey asked him about his work. He made noncommittal answers, as he always had, and turned the conversation to her life here in St. Marc. Maybe if he could discover why she was so determined to stay, he could coax her into leaving and finding something better back home.
“How the hell did you end up here in this part of the world?”
She sipped her wine and nodded. “Not bad. Remember how I told you I spent time here in high school when Dad was appointed the US ambassador to St. Marc? I developed an affinity for the people and learning the culture.”
Odd. He’d forgotten her time abroad. She’d seldom mentioned it during their marriage, maybe because she knew her father disliked Jarrett intensely. He blamed Jarrett for Lacey’s dropping out of college and getting married, no matter how much she insisted it was her idea.
Enthusiasm lit up her face as she described Marlee’s Mangoes, the NGO she’d formed to help poor women and children. She’d started the charity from her share of profits from a coffee plantation in St. Marc. Marlee’s Mangoes operated out of a twenty-five-acre farm a good two-hour drive from the city. She harvested fruit from mango trees, and her staff prepared a popular mango jam and salsa she hoped to start exporting.
Lacey waved her hands, illustrating the operation. He studied those hands with curiosity. Once she’d never failed to go without her weekly manicure. Now those nails were unpainted and filed down to the quick.
“The marmalade is well-known around the island. I have contracts with several high-end restaurants that cater to tourists who come here from the cruise ships or vacation at the beachside resorts.”
“How did you get started?”
“I came here four years ago when Paul offered me an opportunity with his coffee business. He owns the plantation and factory where they process the beans. And I fell in love with the people, and the culture, and realized there was a need I could fulfill for poor women who had no place else to go. So I bought a small farm to start Marlee’s Mangoes.”
Four years ago, shortly after their divorce. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Buying a farm is a huge step. Isn’t land expensive here?”
“Outrageous, but I bought the farm from the son who inherited the land after his dad died. I went to school with him here in St. Marc and got the land cheap, even before it went on the market.” She grinned and his heart gave a little jump. Once she had grinned like that at him, and he fell hard and fast.
“Paul needed the capital for his coffee business and he needed help. I enlisted my dad’s help to set up a new processing factory to wash the coffee beans and sun dry them. We sell those beans to companies in the States.”
Jarrett was deeply impressed.
“Not bad for a college dropout, huh? With my share of profits from the coffee business I funded Marlee’s Mangoes. But...” She leaned forward, her gaze sparking with life. “I’m very happy to announce that our NGO is now fully self-sufficient and no longer operating in the red. This is a huge deal for me because I’m teaching the women to be empowered, to learn skills that will grow their futures.”
Candlelight flickering on the table showed the pink flush on her cheeks. “It may sound idealistic, but I believe in these women and their potential. Some lost their husbands to violence, but many were victims of abuse. They’ll do anything for their children, and just want a chance for their kids to have a better life.”
Admiration filled him. Lacey always had a tender heart for the underprivileged. “It sounds like a terrific project. How did you come up with the name?”
Her expression fell. She toyed with the stem of her wineglass. “That’s private. I can’t talk about it.”
He let it slide. Jarrett noticed she drank very little wine. He lifted the bottle out of its silver bucket. “It’s very good. Would you like more?”
She shook her head. “One glass is my limit. I have to drive.”
Plan A out the window. She wasn’t going to get drunk and spend the night here. Time to put Plan B into action.
“Excuse me,” he murmured.
A pass of a few twenties to Ives, and he found himself in the hotel parking lot standing before Lacey’s older and somewhat battered SUV. It didn’t take long. Jarrett returned to the hotel, washed the grease off his hands in the men’s room and went to their table.
Their food arrived and as he picked up his fork, Lacey handed him the hot sauce without asking. Amused, he shook the sauce over his broiled fish. Marriage did that to you. You had habits that your spouse knew, and those habits were hard to break. But he was quietly pleased she’d remembered his preferences.
She ate quickly, keeping her gaze focused toward the hotel’s front. As the hour passed, her animated conversation grew quieter.
Lacey realized her donor was not going to show up. She dug out her cell and excused herself.
Jarrett polished off his meal and waited, nodding at Ives as he came to check on their wine. He’d slipped Ives money earlier to pass a bottle of the hotel’s finest rum to Augustin in apology for the thrown paint incident. If Ace’s intel proved right, and Ace’s intel always proved right, the bastard was drunk as hell right now on his favorite liquor. He didn’t want him anywhere near Lace.
Sure enough, Lacey returned, palming her cell phone, her expression dejected as she resumed her seat. “He’s not coming. Paul said Monsieur Augustin is inebriated and doesn’t want to go anywhere. Paul is staying with a friend tonight and said he’d call him tomorrow.”
And by tomorrow you’ll be gone. The man’s bad news, Lace. Will you trust me on this for once?
He signaled for the waiter. “Would you like dessert?”
She stood and he stood, as well. “I have to leave, Jarrett.” She stuck out her hand. “Thank you for dinner. It was nice to see you again. I hope you enjoy your stay in St. Marc.”
Instead of shaking her palm, he lifted her knuckles to his mouth. The kiss was a bare brush of his lips, but she turned pink. Desire and recognition flared between them, and her breathing hitched.
Then she pulled away, picked up her backpack and walked off, hurrying as if she wanted to get away from him fast.
He sat down, sipped more wine to quell his raging hormones, which urged him to run after her, sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs to his room. Straight into his bed, where they could get reacquainted in a much more pleasant way.
He waited.
Ten minutes later she stormed back to the table. “My car’s dead.”
Jarrett tilted his head. “Oh?”
“The battery is gone. Damn it, Jarrett, why did you do this? I need to get back home.”
“Yes, you do.” He leaned forward. “Home to the United States of America. That’s your home.”
Lacey dumped her backpack. “You bribed someone.”
He shrugged. “Money talks in these countries. Think, Lacey. I paid cash for someone to point out your car so I could remove the battery. What if I wanted to blow up your car instead?”
“Will you stop being so paranoid.”
“It’s my job to be paranoid and protect citizens like you. You’re not going anywhere. You’re spending the night here.”
Then he added in a gentler tone, “You couldn’t drive all the way back to your home this late, anyway. It’s too far and too dark on these roads. Stay here, and things will work out.”
Her