by Roze, Robyn
The dead man with Marcus Black’s ID in a burned-out car on the Changi Coast Road flashed in Sean’s mind. “Ghost or not, you can’t slay all the monsters, Marcus; there’s an endless supply. You made a difference here. You’re not obligated to do more.”
Marcus fidgeted, looking annoyed by the response.
“I can’t tell you which road to take. When the time is right, you’ll know what to do. Trust me, no matter what you decide, you will always remember the exact moment you did. For better or worse.”
Time ticked by for a few beats, acceptance and respect settling between them. Then Sean turned to join Mick and the other men.
“I’ll need connections,” Marcus blurted, then took a breath, “depending on my decision.”
He had already made it, the conviction unmistakable in his voice.
Sean thought for a moment, then faced him, further gauging Black’s resolve. “I know just the guy who can get you set up, make the introductions you’ll need.” One corner of his mouth tipped up, as did Marcus’.
A solid handshake sealed the unspoken pact and their uncommon, unwanted connection.
Standing on a dock at the Keppel Bay marina, sunglasses hooked at his collar, Mick rocked back on his heels, a squint of calculation marking his face. “It’ll take at least a month.”
Sean’s eyes roamed over the sleek lines of the Tuscan Dream, listing gently in her single slip, bow aimed toward the open water, sun glinting off fiberglass and chrome. “You can take twice that. Maybe more,” he answered, feeling her seductive pull, begging him to take her back out to sea. “I’ll let you know where I want her ported in Greece.”
“Yeah, sure, unless I’m mysteriously incommunicado.” He grinned with mischief. “You’re taking a risk, brother. I may decide to make her mine.”
“Wouldn’t blame you if you tried; she’s perfect.” Then he tipped his head down, eyes notched above his shades, and zeroed in on Mick. “I’m confident you’ll make the right choice.”
Mick shrugged. “Right for who?”
They chuckled, then turned silent, a palpable tension emanating from Sean.
“Still getting the silent treatment?” Mick asked, reaching over with a reverent sweep of his hand along the smooth exterior of his home base for the next month or two.
Sean didn’t answer right away, trying to control his rising frustration and deepening disappointment. “She won’t fucking ignore me when I’m standing in front of her.” The anger and aggression in his voice rang a warning bell in his own ears; it had been ratcheting for days. He needed to lock it down before he laid eyes on her. He knew that.
“You’re not gonna charm her like that, Romeo. You’ve got ass-kissing to do. Like it or not, it’s pucker time, bro.”
He wanted to argue the point, yell at the top of his lungs, beat the shit out of something. Anything to purge his boiling mess of feelings before he came face-to-face with her, before he said something he would regret. Again.
In recent days, Mick had recounted what Shayna said to him aboard the yacht the night she walked in on their phone call, warning him she wasn’t Sean’s property, and questioning why he had come back into her life. He had thought a lot about those things, about her own frustration and disappointment. He should have been there to hear it, and answer for it.
You’re right. I don’t own you.
But you are mine.
And without you, there is no heaven.
Only my hell…
A nudge from Mick scattered the somber images that had coalesced in his head. Then he noticed the clipboard a marina employee held out in front of him. He took it, skimming through the paperwork and signing off on the refueling and added services he had arranged.
As the attendant made his way back down the dock, Mick eyed his temporary sea home, his excitement bare. “Goddamn, I’m gonna enjoy this. There’re some perks for putting up with your grumpy ass, after all.”
“Fuck off,” Sean said with a chuckle.
Mick moved past him, itching to board the luxury craft. “I got this, brother. You don’t need to hover. Hell, I could get her to the Med and back with my eyes closed. Don’t worry, I won’t ride her too hard. I’ll be gentle,” he teased. “But I can’t promise she won’t come back with my name tattooed on her ass.”
The friends grinned, grinding through the gears of their private handshake.
Then Mick’s expression turned solemn. “She’ll come around.” A knowing look passed between the old friends. “And then you two’ll lollygag around the world on this rowboat, assuming I give her back.”
They man-hugged it out, then Sean watched as his friend climbed on board, disappearing below the aft cockpit to, no doubt, run his own engine check. For a moment, he envied the freedom awaiting Mick on the open sea, but it quickly faded.
A private jet awaited to take him to the headstrong woman he needed to win back over. She would find her determination equaled by his.
Because having tasted heaven, he was not going back to hell.
Chapter 28
Ornate chandeliers hung overhead as Sean marched across the inlaid marble through the lobby of the Shangri-La, headed for the Grand Staircase off the rotunda. Scott had insisted they meet before Sean beelined a path to Shayna’s room. It was difficult to follow those instructions knowing she waited only a few floors away, especially when all he could think about was kicking down the door and kissing her into submission.
There would be plenty of time for that. Right now, he needed to do this her way.
Sean noticed Scott first, sitting alone in an alcove under a staircase, stained-glass window at his back, his laptop screen mirrored in his glasses. He surveyed the immediate area with its gilded wrought iron and Blackamoor torchère. For the time being, the space was free of foot traffic and guests loitering the open hallways above them.
As Sean approached, Scott laid his glasses and laptop on the side table and stood, the chip on his shoulder obvious. “It’s about damn time, Parker.”
Sean was in no mood for attitude. “Make this quick. I want to see her.”
“Yeah? Well, slow your roll, Rambo. She’s not here.”
The disappointment felt like a gut punch. “Didn’t you tell her I was coming?”
“It’s hard to talk to her when I don’t know where the hell she is.”
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“She left a few weeks back.”
“And you let her!”
“Let her? You are married to my sister, right?”
The sarcastic tone bristled Sean.
“She’s a grown-ass woman, not a prisoner. Somehow, she left without a trace.”
“How do you know she wasn’t taken!”
Scott yanked a sealed envelope from his shirt pocket and slapped it against Sean’s chest. “She left us letters, and she calls every day. If I’m still checked-in, she leaves a message at the reception desk for me, letting me know she’s safe.” Then he pulled a phone from his pocket and handed it to Sean. “She left her phone with me too, as a safety precaution—for both of you. With the phone’s GPS, it’d look like she was still here. That’s why she didn’t check out of her suite either. She didn’t want to trigger a chain reaction that might spoil your fun and put you in danger. Bottom line: she did a bang-up job. I’ve used my channels, and she’s under the radar. I can’t find her using any name, including the one she checked in under here.”
“Your channels are shit then. There’s no fucking way she just disappeared.” He tore open the envelope, the mangled piece falling to the floor. “Her location is probably in here. You should’ve already looked.”
“It’s not. She said so in my letter, which was more a list of demands. After you read yours, I’m checking out; that’s the signal that will tell her you’re here.”
Sean stared at him for a long moment, speechless, trying to get his head around the upsetting situation.
Flicking the paper
in Sean’s hand, Scott said, “Would you just read the goddamn letter already.”
“You had one job. One! Keep her here and busy. And you couldn’t manage that.”
Scott stepped closer to his brother-in-law. “You had one job, Parker. Keep my sister happy. You couldn’t manage that.”
If you weren’t Shayna’s brother…Sean’s fingers dug into his palms as he pushed down the impulse to strike back. Instead, he turned his attention to the hotel stationery he had unintentionally crumpled in his fist. Uneasy about what he would read there, he smoothed it out and took a breath.
You’re angry I’m not where you put me.
Disappointed that your wish was not my command.
Believe me. I know how you’re feeling right now.
I love you, Sean, but…
He dropped down onto the nearest seat and continued reading the heart-pounding words. It was short on narrative and long on demands; Scott had been right about that. When he finished, he let the paper drift to the floor, palms braced around his head, elbows pressed to his knees.
Over the decades, he had planned complicated missions, commanded platoons of men. But this woman…This singular woman had upended the principle order that had governed all his days before her. From the moment he laid eyes on her that afternoon in his restaurant, he had chosen a fork in the road with a striking clarity he could still feel and would never forget.
Her rules laid wrinkled at his feet, his eyes tracing the sweep of her writing. She wanted a marriage of equals. She wanted trust. She wanted transparency. Anything less than she had outlined would be a deal breaker. She had called him out, and rightly so. He had been stingy, rationing out those things bulleted on her list as they suited him, not her.
Scott interrupted his thoughts. “Now that you’ve read it, I’m supposed to give you this.” He offered a black velvet pouch to Sean. “She said you’d understand what it means.”
The jewelry pouch in Scott’s hand sparked a glimmer of hope at what might lay curled inside. “Why the fuck didn’t you lead with that,” he said, rising to his feet and pulling open the drawstring pouch.
“I had my orders.” Their eyes met for an instant. “Now you have yours.”
Pouring the contents into his hand, Sean’s heart quickened, the earth solid under his feet once again. The colorful gemstone necklace shimmering in his palm telegraphed her location only to him and announced her wish.
A wish that was now his command.
Shayna propped one shoulder against the wide doorframe with its royal blue trim, contrasted against the bright white walls of her private bungalow. A cool ocean breeze fluttered across her flushed skin. The morning twitter of birds and monkey howls echoed in the surrounding forest, as the sun’s breathtaking palette of colors splashed across the dawn sky. She drew a deep, contented breath and released it with a heavy sigh of gratefulness.
Liberation.
The cathartic freedom of a butterfly who had struggled and broken free from its cocoon, eager to fly. Ready to experience the world with abandon, free from the heavy chains of the past. A past filled with good and bad; right and wrong; love and loss. Every experience had served a role in bringing her to this exact moment in time. A moment which felt more perfect to her than any other ever had. Her lids shut, and the corners of her mouth lifted in appreciation for new beginnings, second and third chances, and the warmth of the risen sun.
Her eyes slowly opened, taking in the glint of golden rays dappled on the tranquil water a short walk across the sand, beyond the hammock stretched between two palm trees. She pulled the sunglasses down from her newly layered, chin-length hair to shield her eyes from the radiance.
Soon, she would celebrate her fiftieth birthday. Her lips spread in a broad, bright smile. The next decade of her life would be the best yet. She had no intention of conforming to any conventional notions scripted for a fifty-something woman. She would do it her way. All of it.
She glanced down to the gem rolling between her thumb and index finger, dangling in the scoop of her recently pierced navel. She loved the shiny new addition; her lips twisted with mischief. She knew someone else who would love it too.
Her gaze drifted to the rustic dining table on the covered veranda and the unfolded note inching along the top at the gentle urging of the morning breeze. A handwritten note delivered by the property manager the afternoon before, penciled with four simple, powerful words. Words that even now caused an intense bloom of heat and emotion to race outward from her heart, like a runaway wildfire.
Your husband is coming.
The thrill of the passion and promise implicit in those four words elicited a soft moan of longing and impatience lying coiled along her spine. God, how she missed him, fantasized about this ending. Their new beginning.
She untied the silky, low-hanging wrap at her hips and let it slide down her legs to the red tiled floor. Bare as the day she was born, she strode with purpose across the wraparound porch toward the siren call of the azure sea undulating ahead of her. The air lifted her blonde layers and tickled her cheeks, welcoming her to another glorious day of waking up alive.
Ditching her sunglasses on the white sand, she sauntered into the balmy water, now licking at her hips. Life did not get much better than this. Except it was about to…She arced and sliced with precision into the diamond speckled cove, an irrepressible smile curving her lips.
My husband is coming.
Chapter 29
After a twelve-hour flight from Paris, Sean landed in São Paulo, rented a Jeep Wrangler, and now raced along the final stretch of the four-hour drive to the out-of-the-way cottage where he knew Shayna would be waiting for him in Picinguaba. The necklace tucked safely in his pocket was her promise of that.
He had barely slept since leaving France. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins from the shock of hearing she left Paris—alone, and from her uncompromising letter, spelling out what she expected from him, what she needed most…When you’re ready, and not before…
Turning further off the beaten track and onto a rugged manmade path, tires chewing up rougher terrain, he recalled the last time he traveled down this bumpy, forested trail. They had spent six weeks in their own private little sanctuary unplugged from the rest of the world: no television, no internet, no landlines or cell service on the property. The ideal place to commune with nature and with the woman he loved. Days spent kayaking, scuba diving, hiking, and exploring the nearby fishing village. Nights spent exploring each other. Their time off the grid had been nothing short of paradise.
It would be again.
Finally, the modest yellow structure came into view in the shady distance, like spears of sunlight slicing through the towering trees and dense vegetation. Making his way to the clearing, he braked for a moment. The stunning postcard view filled his windshield with a white sandy beach, blue water, and groves of palm trees. Off to his right, their oasis: a secluded cove, a docked catboat, and a one-bedroom dwelling with as much sheltered outdoor space as indoors.
An older Land Rover sat under the shade and he parked beside it, eyeing the cottage’s colorful, open louvered windows and doors, hoping to glimpse her inside. Heart pumping faster, knowing she was near, he got out of the Jeep and made his way onto the porch, calling her name. No answer. He glanced into the bedroom, the canopied bed’s bright white veil billowing lazily in the tropical breeze. He called her name again, but only silence greeted him indoors and out.
Then he returned to the main veranda, noticing a piece of paper weighed down with a heavy coffee mug, a pen beside it. He smiled when he read the message he had insisted the property manager deliver in person, wanting a return call confirming Shayna was on site, and safe. Since receiving the note, she had left footnotes for him about her whereabouts on the same sheet of paper.
Gone to Paraty for supplies.
Gone for a swim.
Gone hiking.
Gone paddle boarding.
Hi
s eyes shot to the cove and then scanned along the coastline. He grabbed the binoculars lying on the table and quickly moved to a higher spot with an unobstructed view, scrutinizing the area further. After a few minutes, he found her, standing tall and strong on a board, her face concealed with sunglasses under the shade of a floppy hat. He would know those long legs anywhere, his hands intimately familiar with them and the curves outlined under the white T-shirt clinging to the wet bathing suit underneath it.
Unable to take his eyes off her, he followed her path and watched as she eased back on the board to raise the nose and turn into the cove; her measured strokes bringing her closer to shore, and to him. He put the binoculars down and positioned himself out of view against a thick porch column, wanting to enjoy the hopeful moment longer. She lowered to her knees and hands and then slid off the board into shallower water. Flipping the board to its side and gripping the carrying handle, she strode to shore unaware of her awed audience of one.
After shrugging off the drawstring backpack and slinging it under the tree where she had propped the board, she stilled as if she felt an unexpected shift beneath her feet. Slowly, her face turned in his direction, drawing him out of the shadows of the roofline. A slight smile played on her lips as she scanned him from head to toe. She looked happy to see him, but tentative. He couldn’t blame her, imagined her questioning whether he would try to talk her out of the terms in her letter.
I won’t.
He sat down on a step near a bucket of water situated beside her beach sandals, a hand towel hanging on the post beside him. “Come here.” He heard the hoarse need in his own voice.
She heard it too. Tossing her hat to the ground, she gripped the bottom of her T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, pitching it away onto the sand. He sucked in a mouthful of air at the sight of the high-cut black suit with the long, zippered front; one of his favorites on her. His gaze shifted to her hands fluffing through her blonde hair; shorter, tousled, and sexy as hell. With her sunglasses dangling from one hand, she stalked toward him with a grace and confidence that always got to him, smoothed out his rough edges and rounded his sharp corners every time.
