Emilie wandered into a tiny shop with umbrellas and tables on the sidewalk. For the next twenty minutes she sat at a table taking in the island sights and watching the people on bicycles or taking a leisurely walk. Right before lunchtime as many shops were closing, she headed back to the Hibiscus Inn.
Rowan was waiting for her on the inn’s porch.
“Looks like you got a nice tan,” he called, putting the glass he was holding down on the table.
“I feel like I did.” She touched the tip of her nose. “Looks like you got sun, too. How did the fishing go?” Rowan was a golden brown all over and his hair had platinum highlights.
“We threw back mostly everything we caught. It was a good business meeting though. Brian and I are usually in sync.”
“Awesome.”
Rowan sat back down, patting the spot on the rattan settee next to him. “Take a load off.” He raised a finger, getting the server’s attention. “Can you please bring the lady a drink, same as I’m having.”
“What is it?”
“Ginger beer. Made with fresh ginger. It’s both thirst quenching and excellent for the digestion.”
Another hour passed with them chatting about one thing or another. They were getting along so well that, coward that she was, Emilie was reluctant to bring up last evening’s conversation. At least for now.
“I don’t know about you,” Rowan said, standing again and holding out his hand. “I’ve had way too much sun for one day. I’m going to get a couple of hours of shut-eye. Want to join me?” A sultry wink followed the invitation. “Okay, got it,” he said when she didn’t bite. “We’ll meet up in a couple of hours and go listen to steel pan music. We’ll sample some island beverages and dance.”
“Maybe I’ll get some ideas on how to improve the jam,” Emilie joked. “And by the way, you’ll be napping alone.” She tapped his arm playfully.
“You’re no fun.”
Two hours later, Emilie took her second shower of the day and changed into a cool ankle-length skirt and halter top. A wide-brimmed canvas hat helped keep her unruly hair manageable. Off she went to find Rowan.
He was not in front of the reception desk or out on the porch as she had expected. Fifteen minutes later and growing concerned as time went by, she approached the woman at the reception desk and asked her to call Rowan’s room. Maybe he was turning the tables on her. She was the one who was usually late.
“I can’t, miss. The phones are down,” the woman said apologetically. “But I can send someone up to see if he’s in.”
It would be quicker if she checked. The relaxed island lifestyle did not lend itself to speed and it would probably be another half an hour before someone got to it. Taking the steps two at a time, Emilie used the walk down the hallway to catch her breath. She stood in front of Rowan’s door, took another deep breath and rapped.
No answer and not a sound coming from the interior, either. An unsettling feeling beginning to build in her stomach, Emilie knocked again. This time she thought she heard rustling.
“Rowan, it’s Emilie,” she called.
The door pushed open; a bleary-eyed, bare-chested Rowan faced her.
“You changed your mind about joining me?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
It took her a second to figure out what he meant.
“Forget it. You’re late. We were supposed to meet downstairs almost half an hour ago.”
Rowan’s open palm thudded his forehead. “Oops. I must have overslept. Might as well come in, I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“I’ll wait downstairs.”
“If I make you that nervous, wait on the veranda.” He held the door open wider. “There’s an awesome view of the bay and people can hear you scream if I get forward.”
He was cocky as ever, but so far he’d not crossed the line. She had to admire that about him. Even so, she still entered the room with some trepidation. Rowan’s manly scent was everywhere. She tried not to stare at his half-naked body and the boxer shorts that hung low on his hips. But she did dart a glance at the sun-kissed hairs on his chest, the same golden blond as his head. Rowan’s toned arm muscles and six-pack abs were the stuff that women dreamed about. Temptation was much too close. She headed for the veranda and safety. Rowan’s taunting laughter drifted after her.
“Coward!”
He was dressed and freshly shaved within minutes. Looping an arm around her shoulders, he joined her looking out on the bay.
“What a view, huh?”
“It’s beautiful and still unspoiled. According to everything I’ve read, the island has changed some, but you don’t feel as if it’s a little America.”
“That’s because the locals have embraced change while at the same time preserving their customs. They know that to keep the tourists coming they have to join the twenty-first century. They’ve made improvements and now electricity doesn’t come and go at the blink of an eye. Video stores and Internet cafés aren’t that unusual.”
“Too bad Flamingo Beach isn’t so forward thinking.”
“Everything considered, it’s not that closed-minded a place,” Rowan remarked. “People live side by side peaceably. There’s even a fairly large gay population. The kinds of people drawn to the town are captivated by its charm, and they’re bound and determined to preserve its history. Look at how they’re restoring the old houses rather than tearing them down. They’re making changes for the good and where necessary.”
“But a casino isn’t exactly necessary,” Emilie said, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Some would say the same about a resort and spa.” Rowan’s smile took the sting off his words. “I say we table this discussion and go hear the musicians play. There’s nothing like a cool glass of coconut water and some good pan music to get us in the Bahamian spirit.” Rowan took her hand, leading her out.
A short cab ride later they pulled up in front of one of the island’s bigger hotels. A bougainvillea-lined pathway led out onto the beach where the pan men were already playing some popular tunes. On the sand a handful of drunken couples gyrated.
Two seats came empty at the bar and they raced for them. For the next couple of hours they sampled an assortment of tropical drinks and listened to the steel band play its usual repertoire of tourist songs. Fortified by the alcoholic beverages, Emilie tackled last evening’s sensitive topic again.
“How old were you when you got married?” she asked.
“I was thirty and just starting to feel successful. Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering. Where did you meet her?”
“You are obsessed with my marriage. What’s this? Twenty questions?” There was a teasing note in his voice. He didn’t sound angry.
“I’m just curious. You never bring your ex up in conversation and that seems strange.”
“I was working on a project in Nassau. She was a server at my hotel.”
Ding-dong. He’d picked a woman who definitely wasn’t his equal and would make him feel like a big shot. The disconcerting thought again popped into her head. It wasn’t about being attracted to black women, it was about feeling superior.
“And you dated this woman for how long?” Emilie quizzed.
“I wouldn’t exactly say we dated.”
“But you married her.”
“Enough.” Rowan hopped off the bar stool, stretched and rotated his neck. “I feel like I’m on the witness stand. It happened a long time ago, and honestly, I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t a great period in my life. I’d rather dance.” Grasping her hand, he tugged her onto the dance floor.
The band naturally chose that moment to slow things down. Emilie was pressed up close to him, not exactly cheek to cheek since his considerable height prevented that. But it was the closest she’d gotten to Rowan since they’d made love, and the sparks he ignited in her were undeniable. His dancing was a reminder of sex standing up.
“We haven’t talked about dinner,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m
thinking a little wine, some fish…room service.”
“I’m thinking the booze is talking.”
“From the moment I saw you, I’ve wanted you. I wasn’t drinking alcohol then. Have I waffled?”
“No, you haven’t.”
She laughed. If nothing else, Rowan had been resolute in his pursuit of her. But his reasons were all wrong, at least that’s what the voice in the back of her head kept saying.
“Let’s get the heck out of here while I’m still standing,” he said, twirling her again.
Arm in arm, and needing the fresh air, they walked back to the Hibiscus Inn.
A note waited for Emilie at the reception desk. Joya, whom she’d told where she would be staying, wanted her to call. Emilie wondered why she hadn’t tried reaching her directly, but when she dug her cell phone out of her purse she realized there was no service.
“Here, use my BlackBerry,” Rowan offered. “I’ve gotten calls from the States so I know it works.” He moved away to give her space.
The wireless device in hand, Emilie retraced her steps, walking out to the front porch. It was around dinnertime so Joya should be home. Emilie punched in her friend’s number and waited.
“What’s so urgent?” Emilie asked the moment Joya picked up.
“I didn’t want to alarm you, just give you a heads-up. Your boss, our senior VP of sales and marketing, Tom, showed up after you left yesterday. He wasn’t happy you weren’t in. He and the general manager called a meeting to let the staff know Landsdale International is merging with the Knight Corporation.”
“What! Are you sure?”
“Yes. It sure makes it that much easier for a casino to be up and running in six months. Just some minor renovations and the Seminoles and Landsdale International are in business.”
Emilie was reeling from the news. She placed a hand on the porch railing to steady herself. This was big news with a far-reaching impact. Her job could be in jeopardy; all of their jobs could be in jeopardy.
“Thanks for letting me know. I would have walked in on Tuesday and been totally unprepared. The sales force is going to be panicked if they aren’t already.”
As she disconnected, a horrifying thought formed. Rowan had to have known. He’d met with Keith Lightfoot and Stephen Priddy right before they’d gotten on that plane. Rowan must have been brought up to speed about the acquisition but he hadn’t said one word.
Here was yet another reason not to trust him.
Chapter 13
Rowan’s fingers massaged Emilie’s tight back muscles. He could tell by the tense way she held herself something was wrong. It must have to do with the phone call she’d just returned.
“Everything okay?” he asked although deep in his gut he knew it wasn’t.
“No, it’s not,” she said, turning to face him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That Landsdale was acquiring my company.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give me that.” Emilie stepped away from him. “You of all people had to know what was going on. You’re the developer.”
There must be some mistake. Keith Lightfoot and Stephen Priddy would have known what was going down, especially Priddy since he handled the financial stuff. Yet there had been no mention of it, not even an inkling. Rowan didn’t like being played for a fool, he thought angrily.
“Who did you hear this from?” Rowan demanded, conscious of the very public area where they were still standing.
“Joya told me.”
In a voice that didn’t sound like her own, Emilie told him about the emergency meeting her boss and the general manager had called.
“I wonder what that means for the casino,” Rowan said out loud.
The glare that Emilie gave him said it all. She did not believe that he was as much in the dark as she was.
“Tell you what,” he suggested. “Come upstairs with me and I’ll call Derek. He’ll tell you exactly what I’m telling you. We knew nothing about it. You trust him, don’t you?”
“At this point I don’t know who I trust,” Emilie said warily.
When he reached for her hand she didn’t pull away.
Stopping at the front desk, he spoke to the clerk. “Can you have room service send up whatever tonight’s dinner special is? We need it for two. I’d also like the best Cabernet you have.”
“I’ll take care of it, sir,” the young girl on the evening shift answered.
Emilie was halfway up the stairs when she said, “I’m not going to your room. I would be crazy to.”
“I thought we’d agreed I would call Derek.”
“Why can’t we do it on neutral territory?”
“Neutral as in where? If it’s not your room or mine then it’s a public area. If you’re uncomfortable coming to my room, then we can go to yours. Just tell me, and I’ll let the front desk know where to deliver the food.”
“Fine, I’ll go to yours, just as long as you understand that my having dinner with you does not mean I’m your dessert.”
“Don’t you think there are more serious matters on the table right now than sex? I have a lot hinging on this project, and I’m sure you’re worried about what an acquisition means to your job.”
She was quiet for once, not even challenging him. While he longed to hold her and reassure her that he could be trusted, his intuition told him it would not be wise. Until he got Derek on the phone it was best to keep his distance. What he needed to do was prove to Emilie that he knew nothing about the Landsdale/Knight acquisition, and that just like her he’d been blindsided.
The Hibiscus Inn, small as it was, provided turndown service. Two mints were now artfully displayed on his pillows. Emilie took off her hat and set it down on the desk before making herself comfortable on the divan in the corner.
While she was doing that Rowan punched in Derek’s number.
“It’s Rowan,” he said when his partner picked up.
“What the hell are you doing calling me, guy? I thought this was supposed to be your honeymoon?” His partner and friend laughed at his own joke. Under different circumstances Rowan would have had an appropriate comeback but Emilie was tuned in to the conversation and how he handled himself was crucial.
“Why didn’t you call me the moment you heard about the Landsdale acquisition?”
“I didn’t know about it until Joya came home all steamed up. I figured there wasn’t a thing you could do about it in Harbour Island anyway, and that you’d deal with it Tuesday when you got back,” Derek said.
“Try getting us an appointment with Lightfoot first thing Tuesday morning. I’m curious how this surprise announcement will affect us. We have an agreement to construct a resort and casino.”
“It’s already taken care of. We have a meeting first thing Tuesday.” Derek was always one step ahead of him, another reason they worked together so well.
Rowan hung up and turned to Emilie.
“Derek is as much in the dark as I am.”
A knock on the door put a temporary end to any discussion. An employee arrived bearing their dinner and the wine on a tray. Thinking it would be nice to eat outside, Rowan pointed to the table on the veranda.
They ate the meal of rice, peas, grouper and salad with relish. Emilie was fairly quiet throughout, answering only when he asked her a question. It worried him. What was going on in that fine mind of hers?
“You really had no inkling this Landsdale-Knight thing was coming?” Rowan asked as he collected their dishes, placed them on a tray and set the mess outside of his door.
“Not a clue. I’d just like to know whether we’ll continue to operate as we have or not. Landsdale’s holdings are far-reaching and there’s bound to be duplication of positions, which usually means layoffs.”
“Maybe you’ll get a better job out of this.”
She sighed, an exasperated sound. “That usually means moving.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
She pushed away from the table and stood with her hands gripping the veranda railing.
“I’m sick to death of moving. I want permanency and a place to finally call home.”
Rowan followed her over, his hand caressing her forearm. “Why is putting down roots so important to you?”
He wanted to know. How she answered the question was extremely important. His ex had been an insecure woman who wanted to keep him chained to home. His lifestyle was one of getting on planes and chasing after the next opportunity. He had to go where the potential was if he wanted to make money. And any woman in his life needed to understand that.
Emilie took a moment to think about what he’d said. For a while he was certain she wouldn’t answer.
“My father was a traveling physician. That meant my brothers and sisters and I were constantly packing our bags. We were always on the road, always changing schools and having to find new friends.”
“And you chose a career in the hospitality industry because…”
She looked at him with those huge green eyes of hers. “Because I liked working with people of various nationalities. I was young and optimistic and didn’t realize that getting ahead might mean moving.”
“You got a rude awakening then.” He covered the hands that still gripped the railing tightly.
“I did.” She moved ever so slightly and the connection was lost.
A moon now hung low over the bay, turning the water to molten silver. A gentle breeze rippled the waves, at the same time cooling down everything. They stood lost in thought.
“What will you do if you lose your job?” Rowan probed.
“Start looking for something else in the hospitality industry. Maybe I’ll move back to South Jersey.”
He touched her arm again, needing to feel her. “Why Jersey?”
“I loved the Jersey Shore. I moved for personal reasons, but it’s still the one place I consider home.”
“Why?”
He was pushing the envelope. She could easily shut down on him again.
“Why? Because I lived there with a man I loved and for a fairly extended period. I sacrificed several promotions to be with him. We built a home together. One day he left for work and never came home.”
Sex on Flamingo Beach Page 12
