The Wedding Fling

by Meg Maguire

  She didn’t reply.

  “Fine. It’s none of my business. And I’m not such an upstanding guy that I’m hurt by the idea of being somebody’s reckless rebound.”

  Leigh shook her head, her smile full of annoyance.

  “But some withered little chivalry gland in me’s screaming that I need to jump in that ocean and cool off. And for some reason I’m going to listen to it.”

  Leigh nodded. “Your gland is probably wise.”

  “So you okay? You gonna be able to get a lift to Bridgetown from me without flinching?”

  “We’ll see. I’m sure you could find a way to make me flinch regardless.” She smiled again, this time looking sheepish and soft. “You know, you’re a nicer man than you give yourself credit for.”

  And you’re an adorable, wonderful fool to think it, and far too kind for the likes of me. “You’re the first person who’s ever suggested that, but go ahead. Enjoy that delusion. Feel free to log it in the guest book.”

  She looked toward her lodgings. “Walk me to my door?”

  They crossed the sand in silence, and Will followed her up the steps to her patio, past the pool to the sliding doors. He spotted her bed through the glass and quickly looked elsewhere.

  Leigh fished her key card from her shorts. With a tap, the lock beeped and a tiny light turned green with approval. She met Will’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “I promise I won’t come bugging you again, asking for stuff that’s not listed in the brochure.”

  “My loss.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and touched his shoulder, kissed his jaw. As she pulled away she made her posture ramrod straight and offered him a curt, hyperprofessional salute. “Good night, Captain Burgess.”

  He returned the gesture, then slipped his hands into his pockets. “Sleep well, Leigh. And sleep in.”

  She slid the door open and waved as she closed it, then disappeared into the darkness of her suite.

  By the time he descended the patio steps to the beach, Will was shaking. Tiny tremors, from the adrenaline. Lust and surprise and guilt all poured in a blender and zapped into a cocktail that would knock any rational man on his ass. He rubbed at a knot forming in his chest, and aimed himself home, gulping deep breaths until his heartbeat slowed.

  As he rounded the curve of the shore, he slipped his phone from his pocket, checking the time.

  Late, but not too late. And no matter the hour, there was a phone call that needed making, to a man back in L.A. who’d pay good money to hear what Will had to report about Leigh Bailey.

  5

  “IT’S NOT A HURRICANE, is it?” Leigh watched the two maintenance workers folding her lounge chairs two days later at lunchtime, stowing stray furniture in a storage bay set into the patio. She’d been awakened by a call that morning saying the staff would be by to secure things ahead of an approaching storm.

  “No,” one of them said, fastening the canvas cover on her hot tub. “But very windy. You’ll be fine. Just don’ want these things flying all ’round when it get gusty. But no need to panic. Should be over by tomorrow mornin’.”

  “That’s good.”

  “An’ these villas are built like rocks, miss. Best you stay indoors, of course.”

  She pictured the cottages perched on stilts at the workers’ beach and wondered how well they would fare.

  She thanked the men when they finished the preparations, feeling excited about the coming storm. She hadn’t made any plans for the day, had no activities she’d been hoping to try out. Staying inside with a glass of wine in her hand and watching the sea thrash sounded lovely. Simple and lovely. And it’d keep her away from Will Burgess for another day, which was surely for the best. Leigh shook her head, lamenting what a fool she’d made of herself that second evening. She’d blush pink as a grapefruit the next time she needed a lift to shore.

  Just as she was finishing dinner, the winds arrived. She noticed it in the ocean first, a quickening of the waves lapping the beach, a rising of the tide. Then the sky grew heavy with fast-moving clouds, gleaming gray as gunmetal.

  Leigh settled on the couch with a glass of chardonnay to watch nature’s show. No commercials, no gossip, no reminders of the mess she’d left back home. Simple, elemental. Not unlike those few passionate minutes in the sand with Will. She gave herself a little mental shake for remembering it with such idiotic fondness. She was just another rich, bored tourist to him, surely, some laughable caricature of the jet set. It had stung to realize those facts, the morning after their...collision. Though the embarrassment didn’t do much to take the edge off the giddiness still wriggling in her middle. Her actions had been foolish, but her crush was as real as ever.

  By seven it was dark as midnight, with wind and sea spray whipping the villa’s picture windows. There hadn’t been any lightning, but Leigh’s skin felt fevery, her senses heightened as though something electric charged the air. She rose to go to the fridge, and as she refilled her glass, a great crash shattered her calm, and the bottle slipped from her hands, exploding across the tile. She whipped around to find one of the solarium’s tall panes all but obliterated, wind and spray gusting in to send the magazines and papers on the coffee table flying. She tiptoed around the bottle shards and hurried to the phone by the door to dial zero.

  “Reception,” chimed a friendly islander voice.

  “This is Leigh Bailey, in Shearwater Villa. I think something just crashed through my living room window. There’s wind coming in and stuff flying everywhere.”

  “Will you be all right for ten minutes, miss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please shut yourself in a different room and collect anything you’ll need for an overnight stay. I’m sending a car right now, and we’ll get you to a room here in the main complex.”

  “Thank you.”

  They hung up and Leigh picked her way along the edge of the living room, collecting her phone from the table and her sandals from the floor beside it. She could see what had happened; lying amid the solarium glass was a heavy terra-cotta roof tile.

  Her ride arrived before she had finished tossing a change of clothes into a bag. To her surprise, it was Will, standing on her stoop with his messy hair whipping around his face, his truck parked behind him. He looked comforting and familiar, solid in the midst of the chaos. Her middle gave a funny wriggle.

  She had to nearly yell to be heard over the gusting. “Hello again, Captain.” She shut the door at her back and Will took her bag.

  “What happened?”

  “A roof tile got blown through one of the windows. What are you doing here?”

  “I was the only one left in the vicinity, still battening down my hatches after I got the plane secured.” He opened Leigh’s side of the truck, the courtesy seeming surreal in such violent weather. She climbed inside and he joined her shortly in the cab.

  “Where are the other workers?” she asked.

  “I suspect the slumber party’s already begun,” he said, starting the engine. “This happens a few times a year. The workers’ village is on the quietest inlet, but they still evacuate us, set us up with cots and amenities in the main complex, around the pool. But don’t worry. You’ll be treated very well.” His tone was warm, but a touch false. He sounded as though he was speaking to any old guest, not the one whose body he’d held tight two nights before. She missed the real Will, the shameless one, and worried she’d scared him away.

  “Sorry about the inconvenience,” he added politely as he got them onto the road.

  She found the balls to turn and stare until he met her eyes during a straight stretch. “I sort of liked you better when you were a jerk, Captain.”

  Will faced forward and his smile arrived slowly, lit by the light of dashboard gauges. “Apologies. What about t
he other night? Is that off-limits or do I get to harangue you for trying to take advantage of me?”

  She relaxed, pleased she hadn’t ruined their rapport. “Just don’t treat me like some delicate visitor flower. That’s all I ask.”

  “Never been sexually assaulted by a guest before,” Will said, facing forward. “Just trying to be polite, lest you manhandle me again.”

  “Womanhandle, you mean.”

  Another grin.

  “You can get away with a lot,” Leigh said, “since you’re the only man who can get me off this island.”

  “If we’re being indiscreet again, I’m going to go ahead and delete the last two words of that sentence.”

  She replayed her remark and rolled her eyes at him. “That sounds more like the Will Burgess I know.”

  “First class, all the way.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But never fear, we shan’t cross paths tonight. You’ll be put up in the emergency suite, away from us commoners.”

  “Emergency suite?”

  “It’s nicer than it sounds. It’s on hand to placate guests when there’s a malfunction, or if they’re feeling ill and need to be near the medical staff. Or most often, if their marriage breaks down and the husband gets the boot from the love nest. The workers call it ‘the doghouse.’”

  “Oh dear.”

  Will steered around a trash bin that had been blown into the road. “Doghouse or not, it’s lovely. You’ll be spoiled rotten. They always bend over backward when anything goes wrong.”

  “I don’t need spoiling. Just shelter.”

  They lapsed into silence for the rest of the trip, and Will got them safely to the parking lot outside the reception building. “I’d hold an umbrella for you, but I’d rather not get swept out to sea.” He opened his door and pulled her case from behind the seat. Leigh saved him the trouble of opening her side, and hurried behind him through the punishing wind and into the warm, dry calm of the lobby.

  The manager hurried forward with a broad smile. “So sorry about this, Miss Bailey.”

  Leigh smoothed her wind-whipped hair and offered a smile of her own. “I don’t mind. I just hope the room isn’t wrecked.”

  “Shall I show her the temporary suite?” Will asked. He took the key card and led her to the left, past the fountain.

  “If there’s anything you need,” the manager called after them.

  “I’ll ring, thank you,” Leigh said.

  “No charge!”

  Will showed her up a flight of stairs and down a hall to a beautiful suite that overlooked the dock and The Passport. It was nowhere near as spacious as her villa, but just as tastefully decorated, hardly an afterthought. She wondered exactly how often this space did get used for the crises Will had mentioned, both medical and marital.

  He set her suitcase beside a desk.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome.” He paused before adding, “Sorry this trip’s not going quite according to plan.”

  She shrugged. “When does anything ever go according to plan? Or if it does, what fun is it, anyhow?”

  He grinned at that, the last of his formality melting away to reveal the man she’d developed a speed-crush on during that party. “Well put.”

  Leigh glanced at her feet, vaguely noting that her shoes were plastered with wet sand. “While I have the chance, I want to apologize for the other night. For being such a freak when you were nice enough to walk me back.”

  “Already forgotten about it.”

  She knew it was a fib, meant to lessen her embarrassment, but she couldn’t help but feel a bit sad. She wouldn’t be forgetting his kisses anytime soon. “It’s been a weird time for me. I lost track of my head. And I could have gotten you in trouble for it, so I’m sorry.”

  His smile turned tight, his expression melancholy. “I don’t want your apology, Leigh. And I don’t need it. I shouldn’t have lost my mind right back.”

  “At least you found yours.”

  “Barely... But if anyone was suspicious about my walking you home, my going missing with you now won’t help matters.”

  “True.”

  “I’ll leave you to get settled in. Milk that free room service for all it’s worth.”

  He headed for the hall and they exchanged sheepish waves.

  She felt better as the door closed behind him. Good to know their romantic collision seemed to have left Will feeling foolish, too. At least that meant it had gone both ways, not just her throwing herself at him, some deluded crazy woman.

  Crap, she really ought to have tipped him, just now. She’d have to overtip him the next time she flew to the mainland, take a page out of his book and hide a crumpled bill in the plane’s cabin.

  Still, Leigh couldn’t settle down. The formerly fascinating storm had lost its appeal the second it sent that tile smashing through her window, and the gusts rattling the panes here were far from soothing. Flipping channels only made it worse, as her old anxiety over stumbling across gossip about herself churned her stomach. She wished she had a jar of peanut butter.

  She checked the room service menu, but nothing fit the bill. She didn’t want something fancy delivered on a silver platter. Maybe there was a vending machine downstairs, with candy bars or cookies. She dug her wallet from her purse and pocketed her key card.

  The building was bustling, the staff rushing around to get displaced workers set up with cots and food and towels.

  Leigh was cast cursory, anxious smiles as she wandered around the ground floor. She walked through a large rear recreation area, with a big pool, a sauna, deck chairs. A place for people to congregate, she guessed, if they were renting the villas as part of a destination wedding or other well-heeled occasion. She recognized faces from the barbecue among the workers getting themselves set up with clusters of cots. People were delivering blankets and pillows, looking as though this was no new drill. Only Rex, the shameless flirt she’d danced with, paid her any special attention, though he was too preoccupied to offer her much more than a mischievous glance. Will strode past, a heavy jug of bottled water hugged to his chest and a package of paper cups tucked under one arm. Oscar and Bethany were there as well, Bethany rubbing her huge belly as her husband set up cots for the two of them, sleeping pads for their children. Leigh frowned. She wandered over, mission forgotten.

  “Hello again, miss.” The woman wore a cooler, more professional smile now than she had while manning the grill. “Heard your villa had a little mishap.”

  “It’s no big deal. They set me up in the emergency suite.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. But I can’t help but wonder if maybe you’d like to swap with me for the night?” She nodded toward her belly. “I can’t imagine a cot’s going to be comfortable for you.”

  “Don’t you worry about me,” Bethany said with a wave. “Don’t be silly.”

  Leigh didn’t think she was being silly, she thought she was being logical. But she realized now that maybe her idea would’ve gotten the woman in trouble, so she didn’t push it.

  “It’s a very kind offer,” Bethany said. “Very kind. Thank you. But I’ll be jus’ fine.”

  Will reappeared with a blanket in his hands, which he tossed onto a cot not far from the couple. “Looking to crash another party?” he teased.

  “I was just asking if Bethany wanted to switch with me for the night.”

  “Ah.”

  “’Course I said no.” She shook her head. “Sweet of you,” she added to Leigh.

  “Very sweet,” Will agreed, and he gave Leigh a calculating glance.

  She didn’t know what to make of that look, so she changed the subject. “Is there a vending machine anywhere?”

  “Sure. It’s called room service.�
��

  “I don’t need room service, not when all this is going on. I just wanted a candy bar or something.” Something distracting and decadent, though now that she was close to Will once more, his distracting and decadent kisses sprang vividly to mind, eclipsing her sugar craving.

  “Never mind. I’m not actually hungry.” She felt dumb. Her naive offer had clearly made Bethany and Oscar uncomfortable, and now Will thought she was even sillier than before, totally out of touch with the guest-worker dynamic, some ridiculous cartoon of a dippy Hollywood actress. She bade them a good night with burning cheeks.

  * * *

  WILL WATCHED LEIGH WALK away, more confused than ever. But one thing was for sure—he’d made the right decision after their passionate mishap on the beach, backing out of that deal with the tabloid bottom-feeder. The second he’d told that asshole where to shove his money, it was as though Will had finally remembered how to take a deep breath.

  Obscene paycheck or not, she wasn’t some generic celebrity to him anymore. She was kind and lost and vulnerable, and she didn’t deserve to be spied on, much less be written about by an opportunistic creep. Will had called the editor, planning to tell him a few harmless facts, but had wound up cussing the guy out. So much for a quick fix to his money problems. So much for pretending he didn’t have an ethical bone in his body.

  Someone else might’ve seen Leigh’s kind offer to Oscar and Bethany as obliviousness, but Will found it charming. She was so lousy at being privileged that she didn’t automatically view herself as an “other,” an outsider, a guest. It was downright adorable and deserved rewarding.

  Once his cot was set up, he headed for the kitchen. It was chaos, with the cooks throwing meals together for workers and families who hadn’t had supper yet. Will slipped through the bustling crowd and headed for the pantry, poking around until he found a selection of American candy bars. They kept them stocked, along with a variety of offerings from the U.K., for the inevitable requests from homesick guests. Will picked three, hoping one might prove a favorite of Leigh’s.

  He was no stranger to the inside of the emergency suite—he’d escorted motion-sick guests there more times than he could count. He hid the candy behind his back and knocked on the door. Leigh answered shortly, dressed in a bathrobe.