She didn’t know the difference between the two. “There’s nothing to do, Mom. Honestly, I’m hap...” The lie stuck like dirt in his mouth. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, you’re fine all right.” She stood suddenly, as if the chair couldn’t contain her any longer. “You’re so fine you are going to spend every day and night alone, and I am never going to rock a grandbaby.” She loosened her arms to make a cradle. “You know, Ezra is a very popular name now.”
This from a woman who’d named her sons Jeremiah and Ezekiel. “Mom.” He stood slowly. “I date a lot.”
“Dating isn’t love!”
“No shit.” He regretted the words the minute he’d mumbled them.
“Because you’ve dated the wrong women!” She came around the table, falling into the chair next to him so she could grab his arms and squeeze. “We’re going to find you a nice girl. Not one of these skinny supermodels I see on those society pages with you. I’m going to find you a good, sweet, nurturing woman to be the mother of your children.”
“Mom, honestly, I’m okay without turning Dad’s party into The Bachelor.”
“I don’t think you’re okay. Look at you.”
Inching back, he gave her a shocked look. “What about me?”
“All you do is make money and go to that gym and keep getting...” She grabbed his bicep and tried to close her hand around it, which of course was impossible. “Is it necessary to be this muscular? Are you trying to kill people with these arms?”
He laughed and shook her off. “Just staying in shape.”
“You know what keeps you in shape? Babies keep you in shape! A family keeps your heart in shape.” She slapped a palm over her chest, smacking it loudly. “I know this is right, Ezekiel. That party will be like Cinderella’s Ball, and you’ll be the prince with his pick of the finest.”
He didn’t know whether to hoot or howl.
“Now, don’t you give me that face, young man. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. You’ll have your choice of the loveliest girls on this island, in Naples, Fort Myers, oh, heck, I know people with eligible daughters in Miami Beach!”
He rearranged the look of shock and horror into a serious scowl. “Mom, I do not want to be hounded by a bunch of gold-digging females who are trying to snag a husband. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here for you, and Dad.”
“And your business meetings.”
“Yes, I have a few things scheduled with clients while I’m here, but honestly, I’m not here to...” He stood up, corralling his frustration. As he did, he caught the sound of something from the balcony above, outside one of the upstairs bedrooms.
The doors were open up there. How much had she heard?
“That’s just the maid,” his mother said.
He looked up and caught a flash of honey-colored hair inside the upstairs sliding glass door. Even in a maid’s uniform, with no makeup, and clunky sneakers, she was sheer perfection. But, then, Mandy Mitchell could wear a burlap sack, and he’d want to get in it with her.
“Are you even looking, Ezekiel?”
“I am.” And looking at her was still one of his favorite pastimes on Earth. He’d sat in the same classroom with Mandy Mitchell exactly twice in four years—not that she remembered—and the tilt of her nose, the angle of her jaw, and even the arches of her eyebrows over jade-green eyes were burned into his every synapse.
“You’re not looking in the right places, then,” his mother said pointedly.
“Yes, I am.”
When his mother didn’t answer, he caught her following his gaze, and then she sighed. “Such a sad story, that Mandy Mitchell.”
“What’s the story?” He tried to sound disinterested, but hated how much he needed to know.
“You remember her from Mimosa High, right? The beauty queen, head cheerleader, prom princess, you know.”
He knew. “Yeah.”
She shook her head, tsking softly. “She got married right after college. Married quite well, too, they say.”
He snorted. “Not well enough.”
“Oh, he left her with nothing.”
“She’s divorced?” He had to work not to keep the elation out of his voice.
His mom tsked loudly but kept her voice at a whisper. “Dumped, more like. She probably cheated on him because what woman leaves a marriage with nothing?”
Plenty of women did—if a man did a prenup properly. His lawyer had mentioned it on more than one occasion.
But his mother was still relaying Mandy’s story. “One day, she was a socialite in Tampa and the next, she was back in Mimosa Key, living in her parents’ house on Sea Breeze Drive, while they gallivant all over the country in an RV.”
Mandy wasn’t married. The words ricocheted through his head.
“And have you seen her up close?” his mother asked. “Maybe it’s me, but she sure doesn’t look like the stunner she once was. It’s like she stopped caring.”
Maybe her skin didn’t glow like polished porcelain and her eyes didn’t have an artist’s palette painted on them, and maybe she wasn’t wearing a miniskirt that made his teenage boy’s body take over every thought. But none of that was what made Mandy Mitchell beautiful to him.
His mother’s attention was back on the lists. “You’re going to like Elizabeth MacMann. Her father is a dentist, you know, in Naples. They belong to our club.”
The country club in Naples. The dentists. The daughters. It all sounded like hell right now. Overhead, he heard the vacuum start up.
His mother stood. “Let’s go have lunch so that girl can do the downstairs.”
“I’m not that hungry, Mom.” Not as long as he’d have a chance to talk to Mandy.
She eyed him harshly. “Why are you lying?”
“I’m not lying,” he denied hotly.
“Well, something has you looking...hungry. Yes, I know that look in your eyes, son. You need some nourishment. I want to go before your father calls me to pick him up at his physical therapy. Let’s go.”
“All right.” Reluctantly, he got up, realizing he was hungry. But not for food.
The question was, how was he going to satisfy that hunger?
Chapter Three
When she heard the front door close, Amanda hustled to the window to see Zeke let his mother in the passenger side of the car, then go round to get behind the wheel and drive away.
Only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding all the while she’d cleaned...and listened.
Hey, the sliders were open right over the patio. The conversation had drifted up. And...
He had a fifty-million-dollar sports memorabilia collection? A yacht? Four homes? And...he wasn’t happy?
No, he hadn’t said that, not once. But anyone with a brain, heart, and an ounce of knowledge about human nature could hear that between the lines. Well, shoot, what did it take to make someone happy, then?
She knew what his mother’s answer would be. It was all Amanda could do not to break into a chorus of “Matchmaker, Matchmaker” after listening to that.
Well, at least he hadn’t married one of his supermodel actress tabloid ladies and tried to bend, fold, and mutilate her into a woman he thought was perfect. Not like some powerful men she knew.
But a guy who looked like that and had cash out the wazoo? “Spare me,” she whispered to herself as she lugged her bucket and mop downstairs. “Trouble with a capital T. So he’s rich, big deal. Money doesn’t buy you happiness.”
It could, however, buy the business that would save her from having to work for Tori.
The thought meandered around her head as she walked down the hall to the master bedroom. Shame she’d been too shortsighted and status-conscious to have become friends with Ezekiel the Geekiel. Now she could have asked him for a loan.
She paused and got down on her knees, spying some dust along the baseboard. A guy with four houses and millions in “old sports equipment”—he wouldn’t miss five grand. Pushing up, she headed into the ma
ster, where the plantation shutters remained closed, keeping the oversized room dim and cool.
The bed was unmade, a single leather duffle bag open at the bottom to reveal neat piles of clothes still packed inside. As she stripped the bed, the soft, masculine scent of him drifted up. Unable to resist, she pressed the empty pillowcase to her nose and sniffed, closing her eyes and remembering how he’d looked when he’d admitted his real name.
Shy. Humble. Hot as freaking hell.
She tossed the case onto the pile of sheets and went to the linen closet for a fresh set. Too bad she wasn’t a woman without morals. She could...do him for five grand. The thought made her laugh out loud, but, damn, after it got planted, she couldn’t help thinking about it.
She smoothed the fitted sheet, pulling the fine Egyptian cotton taut over the mattress. She took a second to let her finger caress the creamy linen, closing her eyes to imagine that man in this bed, naked, ready, hard… A completely unexpected and lusty thrill wended through her, giving a sharp jolt of desire she hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
Nice to know her bastard husband hadn’t wrung everything out of her.
Finishing the bed, she turned to the bathroom, which should surely cool her inappropriate thoughts. Passing a two-person marble Jacuzzi, she stepped into the massive shower, looking along the wall at the six jets on either side—to accommodate two people, of course—all the way eight or ten feet high where, oh, damn it. Really?
A tiny little dragonfly clung to the tile, fluttering translucent wings. She let out a soft grunt. How did that get up there?
It didn’t matter. Amanda had to get him down. Aiming carefully, she tried tossing her sponge at him and nearly grazed his wing, but he flew around the top of the shower and perched on the rain-shower nozzle in the ceiling.
“Oh, you’re going to be sorry you didn’t cooperate, buddy,” she whispered to him. “This shower ain’t big enough for the two of us.”
She didn’t have her step stool, so Amanda glanced around and spied the bucket she’d brought in. “That’ll work.” Turning it over, she checked the stability, which was good enough for a quick swipe, and placed a sneaker on it to hoist herself higher. “Hey, little guy.” She waved at the dragonfly, hoping that would get him to fly down. “Come here. Come down to Mama.”
On her tiptoes, she reached, but the dragonfly leaped from the wall and buzzed her. Amanda let out a soft cry and nearly toppled, grabbing hold of the wall to prevent a fall.
And DragonBastard flew back to the very top of the shower, ten feet in the air, his buzzy wings laughing at her.
“And now you die,” she said, unhooking the faucet hose that was meant to make showering easy and luxurious but was about to drown an insect. Climbing up on the bucket again, she took aim with one hand, twisted the water on with the other, making the spray shoot forward with so much force it shook her whole body, wobbled the bucket, and all hope of balance.
Like it was happening in slow motion, Amanda felt herself suspended in midair for a split second, then down she went, slamming onto marble and losing hold of the spray hose that danced and twirled and soaked her from head to toe.
Slipping on the wet marble, she reached up to twist off the faucet, accidentally hitting the other knob, and instantly all twelve jets spewed ice-cold water.
“Holy, holy crap!”
“You need some help?”
She squeezed her eyes shut against the water and the horrible possibility that she’d heard a real voice, a human voice, a man’s voice. Unless that flipping dragonfly could talk.
The water stopped. Shit. No dragonfly could do that.
“I call this above and beyond the call of cleaning duty.”
She let out a soft sigh and finally opened her eyes, looking up at the silhouette of a man looming over her. Even blinded by water in her eyes, Amanda recognized the width of his shoulders and the soft lock of black hair that fell near a blue eye. And, of course, a sly smile he couldn’t fight.
As she opened her mouth to reply, the dragonfly buzzed down, right in front of Zeke’s face. He snagged the insect with one quick snap of his wrist, careful not to crush him.
“Normally, I’d take this outside to live another day, but from the sound of things, you have a personal beef with him. Want me to squeeze the life out of him?”
Like the sight of this man was squeezing the life out of her lungs? Nothing—not even the DragonBastard—should suffer like that. She shook her head. “He may live.”
“How about you?” With his other hand, he reached down.
“I may die of embarrassment.” She pushed up on one knee, but he closed his hand over her elbow to help her up.
“Don’t die until you dry off.” His gaze dropped over her uniform, slowly enough that she couldn’t help imagining the soaking wet cotton clinging like a second skin to her body. He lingered for a second on her breasts, definitely not reading her name tag this time. Under his gaze, she felt her nipples bud like little traitors.
“I call it a sign you throw yourself into your work. Literally.”
Despite the chill of cold water trickling over every inch, heat rose to her cheeks. “I try,” she said, attempting a smile.
He returned it as he helped her stand, backing up with the dragonfly fluttering madly in his other hand. “Let me take him out.”
When he disappeared, Amanda nearly folded right back down on the wet marble. What was she going to do now? She glanced down at the thin, wet, nearly see-through fabric and swore softly. Wouldn’t that be a nice sight for resort guests as she walked back down the path! No doubt, that would get back to her boss.
She stepped out of the shower stall, unable to avoid a glance in the mirror. Her heart dropped like she just had from the upside-down bucket.
Tori’s words echoed. Have you looked at yourself lately?
Sopping hair, soaked face, drenched uniform, and...oh, nothing about the woman gazing back from the mirror was magnificent.
Hearing his footsteps, she stepped away from the depressing sight and inhaled, digging deep for cool and composure.
“Would you like something dry to wear?” he asked, filling the bathroom doorway.
The question threw her, so unexpected and kind. Any other guest would have been furious at the intrusion and insisted she leave, right after they reported her to management.
“I’m...” She ran her hands over her torso. “I’ll be out of here in a minute and send a...better maid.”
“That’s crazy. There’s a clothes dryer here, right?”
Her pulse kicked, and not just because the offer was so damn thoughtful and the man delivering it was as handsome as he was sincere. It was so...unexpected. “In the laundry room, but I—”
“Then we’ll have those dry in ten minutes.” He reached for the knob to close the door. “There’s a robe in the closet, but I’m sure you know that.”
Without another word, he closed the door and left her standing in stunned shock. Really? No chastisement for her incredible clumsiness and stupidity? No derisive look that he didn’t get better service for all this money?
Grateful to the point of shaking, she slowly undressed, trying not to think about the fact that she could—no, she would—get fired if she got caught undressing in a guest’s bathroom.
She slipped off her ID lanyard and set it on the counter, then unbuttoned the shirt, peeling the wet fabric from her body. Kicking off her sneakers, she did the same to the slacks, opting to keep her underwear but tossing in her water-logged bra.
She stepped into the robe and pulled out her ponytail, toweling her hair in the mirror, where things weren’t that much better than they’d been a minute ago. Touching her pale cheeks, she leaned closer, seeing her face through his eyes.
Mandy the Mess.
She pinched her cheeks to return some color and licked her finger, blinking in an attempt to darken her pale lashes. But that didn’t work. Then she remembered that inches from her hand, in the top drawer, was the
complimentary makeup kit that management supplied in every bathroom in Casa Blanca. One of the perks of a resort owned by a woman, she’d often thought.
Very slowly, she tugged at the handle and pulled out the drawer, seeing the makeup, sunscreen, and some personal items.
It had been a long time since Amanda had bothered to put on makeup for a man. So why start now? She closed the drawer harder than necessary. What was she doing, anyway? Trying to impress a rich man? Hadn’t she learned her lesson about men like that the hard way?
Scooping up her wet clothes, she opened the door, wearing a bathrobe and no mask.
* * *
Amanda found Zeke in the laundry room, the dryer wide open and waiting. He was staring straight ahead, his thoughts so far off and intense that he didn’t hear her behind him. She paused for a second, taking him in, from the soft black hairs that brushed his collar to the strong, muscular back that pulled an expensive white shirt tight across his shoulders. His waist was narrow, the shirt tucked into crisp khaki pants, and his ass...
She let out a sigh. That right there ought to be illegal.
He spun around and caught her, sending a rush of shame to her cheeks. “Sorry, I...” Flustered, she walked to the dryer. “I can do this.”
“No, please, give them to me.” He reached for the ball of wet uniform, his hands closing over hers. She caught his gaze, locked on her, and they stood for the span of two, three, four strong heartbeats.
“I can do it, Zeke,” she said quietly. Almost reluctantly, he lifted his hands from hers but didn’t look away. “My guess is you don’t run a lot of the dryers in your house...houses. Four, is it?”
His gaze flickered away. “You were listening.”
“No, no. I did catch a little of your conversation, though.” She shouldered him to the side and leaned over to toss her clothes in the dryer. “Your mom is...”
“Relentless,” he supplied with a laugh, crossing his arms as he leaned on the granite folding counter next to the dryer. “It’s a family trait.”
“Is that how you account for your success?” she asked, bending over to unhook a button that had gotten caught inside the dryer.
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