by Diana Palmer
Praise for the New York Times bestselling novels of Diana Palmer
“As a romance follower you just can’t do better than a Diana Palmer story to make your heart lighter and smile brighter.”
—Fresh Fiction on Wyoming Rugged
“A fascinating story.... It’s nice to have a hero wise enough to know when he can’t do things alone and willing to accept help when he needs it. There is pleasure to be found in the nice sense of family this tale imparts.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Bold
“Palmer proves that love and passion can be found even in the most dangerous situations.”
—Publishers Weekly on Untamed
“The popular Palmer has penned another winning novel, a perfect blend of romance and suspense.”
—Booklist on Lawman
“Palmer knows how to make the sparks fly.... Heartwarming.”
—Publishers Weekly on Renegade
“Sensual and suspenseful.”
—Booklist on Lawless
“Diana Palmer is a mesmerizing storyteller who captures the essence of what a romance should be.”
—Affaire de Coeur
“Jacobsville is one of the kindest places on earth and filled with some of those most eclectic characters... Probably why a visit to this place is so wonderful. Wyoming Winter is another heartwarming romance by the master of small-town conflicts and love.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Fans of second chance romances that triumph over tragedy and loss will enjoy this heartfelt story.... Untamed will definitely pull at your heartstrings.”
—Harlequin Junkie
“A Diana Palmer book is always an emotional read; she writes wonderful heartfelt stories.”
—Fresh Fiction on Wyoming Legend
A select reading list of titles from Diana Palmer
Wyoming Men
Wyoming Tough
Wyoming Fierce
Wyoming Bold
Wyoming Strong
Wyoming Rugged
Wyoming Brave
Wyoming Winter
Wyoming Legend
Wyoming Heart
Long, Tall Texans
Fearless
Heartless
Dangerous
Merciless
Courageous
Protector
Invincible
Untamed
Defender
Undaunted
Unbridled
Unleashed
For a complete list of titles available by Diana Palmer, please visit www.dianapalmer.com.
Diana Palmer
A Love Like This
Table of Contents
White Sand, Wild Sea
Fit for a King
Excerpt from Notorious by Diana Palmer
White Sand, Wild Sea
For Trudy, Helene, Shirley, Kay, Cindy, Brenda, Antonia and Nancy
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
NIKKI BLAKE FOLLOWED the other four tourists out of the creamy gray walls of Fort Charlotte, touching the weatherworn smooth stone with her fingertips. It was like touching history.
Her eyes darted around the high walls of the massive fort on the edge of Nassau, to the solid cannon sighting over them, to the chains where the “bad boys” once were anchored. The guide had told them that, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He’d taken them down below, down carved stone steps far below the cannon to a smothering hot underground room, where kerosene lanterns provided the only scant light. He’d plugged in a trouble light in that small room to disclose a rack with a dummy on it, and one beside it—the tortured and the torturer. Nikki had claustrophobia at the best of times, and the underground room had been trying. When she got back to the surface, she dragged air into her lungs as if it had suddenly gone precious, drinking in the thick, flower-scented subtropical air like a beached swimmer.
She barely heard the guide wishing them farewell as she held on to the cold stone as they went back through the tunnel and out over the moat. It had been an exciting experience, one of many during the two days she’d been on New Providence. She’d needed this vacation badly, but if her aunt and uncle hadn’t pushed, she’d probably still be in Ashton having nightmares about that last big story she’d covered for her weekly paper.
“Where to next?” she asked the pleasant tour guide, a mountain of a man in a beautifully colored tropical shirt, as he held the jitney’s sliding door open for his party.
“The botanical gardens and the flamingos,” he told her with a smile. “The flamingo is our national bird, you know.”
She did, but the gardens weren’t on her part of the tour. She’d opted for the two-hour city tour, not the four-hour one, thinking that the heat would probably smother her if she had to endure that much of it all at once. Besides, she wanted to go back down Bay Street and wander along the straw market and Prince George Wharf, where the passenger ships docked and tourists in colorful holiday clothes decorated the view everywhere the eye wandered.
“You’re coming, aren’t you?” the lady from Chicago asked with a smile. “You’ll love the flamingos. And the flowers...gorgeous!”
“We’ve looked forward to it all day,” the couple from New Jersey added. “It’s going to be great fun.”
“I’ve got some shopping to do,” Nikki said reluctantly. She’d enjoyed the group so much. They were all pleasant people, very friendly, not a complainer in the bunch. They’d been good company on the winding tour along the narrow paved roads that led them past stone fences behind which island cattle had once been kept, the governor-general’s imposing home and the neatly walled little houses out in the country surrounded by tall casuarina pines, hibiscus, breadfruit, banana, golden palm and silk cotton trees.
The island had been an incredible experience from Nikki’s viewpoint. A native of Georgia, Nikki lived in a medium-sized town south of Atlanta, and the vegetation there, mostly hardwoods like oaks and flowering trees like magnolias and lots of pine trees, was a far cry from these exotic fruit trees.
This was the first holiday she’d taken in the two years she’d worked full-time for her uncle’s newspaper. It had been a necessary trip, not really a luxury: an escape from the nightmares that haunted her, from the sight of Leda’s mud-covered body in the pile of debris the tragic flood had left in its foaming path.
Oddly enough the Caribbean didn’t bother her, while the sound of running water back home had brought on horrific nightmares. Perhaps it was the very difference of the place that had begun to soothe her.
Nassau itself was quite exciting, from its busy streets to the fantastic jewel-colored water and coral beaches. Her pale green eyes had misted at her first glimpse of Cable Beach, on the way from the airport to the hotel. She’d never dreamed there could be anything as beautiful as the sudden shock of that turquoise water and the white beaches beyond the stand of sea grape and casuarina pines in the foreground. It had literally brought tears to her eyes as she held on to the seat while the rushing jitney swayed to and fro on its winding paved road to the towering white Steel Nassau Inn, a chain hotel overlooking the harbor and one of Nassau’s best. Callaway Steel’s hotel empire had acquired it several years ago and done extensive renovations.
Everything about the city fascinated her, from the statue of Woodes Rogers and the old cannon at the entrance of a nearby hotel to the story behind them. The people on the busy stre
ets, in the shops, in the hotel itself, were gracious, friendly, proud of their island and their culture. They savored it like aged wine, something impatient tourists had to be taught to do. The first lesson Nikki learned was that in Nassau nobody was in a hurry. Perhaps the subtropical atmosphere had curved time, but the minutes seemed to actually slow and lengthen. Time lost its meaning. The Bahamians moved at a slower pace, took the opportunity to enjoy life a minute at a time, not a day all at once. After the first six hours she spent in Nassau, Nikki put her wristwatch into her suitcase and left it there.
When the jitney let her out at the door of the hotel, she went up to her room and changed into her one-piece white bathing suit with a flowing caftan cover-up in shades of green. The long, carpeted hall was deserted when she opened her door and went back out, with one of the hotel’s spotless white towels thrown over one arm. Hotel rules forbade taking towels from the rooms, but Nikki had been too excited to stop and read the signs.
She locked the door behind her and started toward the elevator with the key clutched tightly in one hand.
When she rounded the corner at the elevator, with its huge green palm leaves painted on the metallic walls, the doors were just beginning to close.
“Oh, wait, please!” she called to the solitary occupant, a big, imposing man with faintly waving thick dark hair and eyes that were equally dark and hostile.
He hit the button with a huge fist and stood waiting impatiently for her to get in. She got a brief glimpse of hard features and a square jaw above a very expensive beige suit before she looked away, clutching the forbidden towel tightly against her as she murmured, “Lobby, please.”
He ignored her, presumably because he’d already punched the appropriate button. Or perhaps because he didn’t speak English. He was deeply tanned and had a faintly French look about him. Nikki had spent the time she’d been in Nassau learning that American-looking tourists were more often than not German or French or Italian. Back home, being a Georgian was no distinction, because most everyone else in Ashton was, too. But in the Bahamas being an American was a distinction. She smiled delightedly at the irony of it.
“You do know that guests are specifically asked not to remove the bath towels from the rooms?”
It took several seconds for her to realize that the deep, northern-accented English was coming from the man beside her.
She turned and looked at him fully. He was as big as her glimpse of him had intimated, but older than she’d first thought. He had to be in his late thirties, but there was a rigidity about his posture, and those intimidating deep-set eyes, that made him seem even older than that. His face looked as if it rarely smiled, broad and square jawed and expressionless.
“No...nobody said anything yesterday,” she stammered. She hated that hesitation in her own voice. She was a reporter; nothing ever rattled her. Well, hardly anything...
“There are signs in the rooms,” he replied curtly. “You do read?” he added harshly, as if he doubted it.
Her pale emerald eyes caught like small, bright fires under her thick dark eyelashes, as thick and dark as her hair. “I not only read,” she said in her best Southern drawl, “I can write my whole name!”
She hadn’t thought his dark eyes could possibly get any colder, but they immediately took on glacial characteristics.
“Your Southern accent needs work,” he said just as the doors opened. “Mute the rs a little more.”
She gaped at his broad back as he walked away. It was one of the few times in her life she’d been stuck for a comeback.
With an irritated toss of her head she bundled up the towel, holding it against her self-consciously. She hurried in her sandaled feet down the long hall, through the patio bar, which was all but deserted in early afternoon, out past the pool and onto the thick white coral sand, where turquoise water and blazing white foam waves lapped crystal clear against the shore.
Arrogant, hateful man to embarrass her like that, to ruin her pleasant mood... She’d buy a towel, a big beach towel, at her earliest opportunity, that was for sure.
She dragged up a heavy lounge chair and dropped her towel and hotel key on it, leaving the chair under one of the palm-tiled roof shelters that were scattered around the hotel’s private beach.
She dragged the green patterned caftan over her head and tossed it on top of the heap, leaving only the low-cut white swimsuit on her softly tanned body. It was a good figure, even if a bit thin. Her breasts were high and firm, if small; her waist flared out into full, rounded hips; and her legs were long, shapely and tanned.
She walked carefully in the thick sand past the other sunbathers to the water’s edge, wary of those dangerous pull tabs from canned soft drinks. There were infrequent ones underfoot, despite the valiant efforts of hotel employees who raked the sand constantly to keep it clean.
The water was surprisingly warm, smooth and silky against the skin, like those constant breezes near the water that made the sultry heat bearable. Nikki had learned that an hour of walking up and down the streets called for something cold and wet pretty fast. She was constantly scouring the malls and arcades for tall, glass-chunked containers of yellow goombay punch. And she found that she needed to spend an hour at midday lying down in her hotel room with the air conditioner on full. That was something else Nassau boasted—air conditioners at every window. Apparently everyone was vulnerable to the summer heat, not just tourists who were unaccustomed to the subtropical environment.
She moved out into the glorious aqua water with smooth, sure strokes, savoring the sound of it, the sight of tall casuarina pines across the bay, the huge passenger ships docked nearby. The salt stung her eyes with a vengeance and nagged at a cut on one finger, but it was all so gloriously new and the pace of life was so much slower, that she felt like a small child at a state fair. It seemed odd for her to choose a watery place to relax, after the tragedy that had forced her to take a leave of absence from the paper. But then, the Caribbean wasn’t a river, after all, and the whole environment was so different that she didn’t think about anything except the present and the pleasure of new experiences.
Her hair was soaked when her strength gave out, and she dragged herself out of the water and back to the yellow plastic-covered lounger to collapse contentedly onto it. She eased up her hips long enough to move the towel, room key and caftan from under her before she stretched back and closed her eyes.
The peace was something she’d never experienced before. Her life at home was full, and hectic most of the time. But this was incredible. To be totally alone in a foreign place, where she neither knew nor was known by anyone. To have dared the trip by herself, to spend two weeks away from her familiar environment and depend only on herself—she knew already that the experience would last her a lifetime.
All her life Nikki had been told what to do. By her parents until their untimely deaths, then by her aunt and uncle. Even by Leda until her marriage.
Nikki sighed. Leda had been her best friend, and she’d wanted Leda to like Ralley Hall. It had been so important that the two people she loved most would get along. And, of course, they had. A month before Nikki and Ralley were to be married, he and Leda had eloped. They’d been married a year and were planning to move back to Ashton when the flood went tearing through the small house they’d bought...
She was suddenly aware of eyes watching her and she opened her own, turning her head lazily on the chair to find the unpleasant stranger from the elevator standing just at the edge of the sidewalk near the swimming pool, looking out over the bay. He was still wearing his suit trousers, but he’d exchanged his expensive shoes for sandals, and doffed his jacket and tie. He looked relaxed, urbane and more than a little intimidating to Nikki, whose experience hadn’t included high-powered businessmen. She was used to politicians and city officials, because that was her beat on the paper’s staff. But she knew the trappings of high finance, and this man had dollar
signs printed all over him. He held a glass of whitish liquid with ice and a cherry in it, quite obviously a piña colada, but the favorite island drink hadn’t seemed to relax even one of the hard, uncompromising muscles in his leonine face.
While she studied him, he was studying her, his dark, cold eyes analyzing every inch of her body in the wet bathing suit. She boldly gave him back the faintly insulting appraisal, running her eyes over his powerful physique, from massive chest down over narrow hips and powerful legs. He was a giant of a man with a broad face, an imposing nose, a square jaw and eyes that cut like sharp ice.
Without a change of expression he let his eyes roam back to the turquoise waters for an instant before he turned and walked away, panther-like, toward the patio bar, without having glanced Nikki’s way again. She reached for her cover-up and drew it on, feeling chilled despite the heat. Whoever that man was, he had an imposing demeanor and she wouldn’t have liked him for an enemy. But there was something vaguely familiar about him, as if she’d met him before. How ridiculous that was, when except for college and the occasional shopping trip to Atlanta, she’d never been anywhere.
She closed her eyes and lay back on the chair, dismissing the disturbing man from her mind. The whispering surf and the murmur of nearby voices, overlaid by a faraway radio playing favorite tunes, lulled her into a pleasant limbo.
The patio bar was beginning to fill up when she started back into the hotel, but the stranger wasn’t anywhere around. She glanced longingly at the bar, where the white-coated bartender was busily mixing drinks. She’d have liked to try a piña colada, but she had no head for alcohol, and especially not on an empty stomach. Supper was going to be the first order of business.
She went back to her room and threw on a sleeveless white dress that flattered her dark hair and golden tan, her brunette hair contrasting beautifully with her unexpectedly pale emerald eyes and thick black lashes. She wasn’t beautiful. She wasn’t really pretty. But she had perfect facial bone structure and a soft bow of a mouth. Her posture was a carryover from ballet lessons, and she had a natural grace that caught the eye when she moved around a room. Her enthusiasm for life and her inborn friendliness attracted people more than her looks. She was as natural as the soft colors of sunset against the stark white sand. But Nikki didn’t think of herself as anything more than a competent reporter. When she glanced in the mirror, she saw only a slender brunette with a big mouth and oversize eyes that turned up slightly at the corners, like a cat’s, and cheekbones that were all too obvious. She made a face at her reflection before she left the room, looking quickly around for a fringed white shawl to throw over her bare arms before she went out the door.
