by Mia Dymond
“Any siblings?” she continued.
He made a slight right turn, slowing to cross the wake so she wouldn’t feel too much of the motion. “No, just me.”
“Are you a mama’s boy?”
“Yes.” Her tease didn’t stop him from being honest. “I’m my mama’s favorite.”
“So, we’re both an only child and our mothers’ favorites.”
He grinned. “That should make us compatible for the week.”
“I think there’s a little more to it. Where did we meet?”
“You think anyone will ask?”
“It’s possible, especially if we arouse suspicion.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I usually come alone.” Her eyes narrowed. “Which reminds me, you don’t have some crazed female stalker do you?”
“No.” He straightened the wheel and increased the speed. “We met at the gym. You saw me pumping iron and fell madly in love.”
“Right,” she drawled. “I spend so much time at the gym.”
He chuckled at her sarcasm. “Yoga?”
“Yes, but you don’t look like the yoga type.”
“Absolutely not.” He gave her a quick glance and noticed she loosened her grip on the
chair.
“How about this? We met through a mutual friend when you installed my security system.”
Damn, he loved her brain. “We did.”
“Yes, and since it’s the truth, it won’t be hard to keep straight.”
“Can we keep the part about how you fell madly in love with me?”
“Would that stroke your ego?”
He shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“You think I love you?”
“Not yet.”
She paused and moved her gaze from his to the broad, blue ocean in front of them. He waited patiently for her to formulate the argument that would invariably come next. Although he knew she didn’t love him, the chemistry between them was undeniably combustible and instinct – or hope – told him that if he waited long enough and earned her trust in the process, his answer would prove truthful. And in the next instant, when she worried that plump, bottom lip with her teeth, she confirmed his hypothesis.
She turned back to him with a sparkle in her bright blue gaze. “Then you’ll have to make this week a memorable one, won’t you?”
***
Diesel stood on Bailey’s front porch and clenched his jaw to keep his mouth from falling open in shock at the sight of the woman who stood next to him. Originally, he pictured a tall drink of water, dressed in clothing that probably cost more than most people earned in a year, waving a hand at her cronies to do her bidding. Instead, this woman stood approximately five feet, seven inches tall, dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a simple blue, short-sleeved t-shirt. Her long, brown hair was pulled back into one of those messed-up bun/ponytail kind of things and as far as he could tell, her facial skin glowed au-naturele. Where was the diva? The entourage? The smell of money?
He took a deep, calming breath. Get in, complete the objective, get out.
“Captain Diesel Clark.” He extended a hand. “Bailey asked me to let you in.”
She gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Trista Anderson. Thanks for being here.”
“Where’s your entourage?”
She giggled. “My what?”
“Your entourage, your security detail, your assistant.”
“Oh, they’re not coming.”
“You traveled alone?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “I’m a big girl, Captain Clark.”
“Diesel.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Diesel.”
“Okay Diesel, yes, I traveled alone.”
He pointed at the bright white, four-door sedan parked in the driveway. “In that car?”
“Yes.”
“Is it yours?”
“No, it’s a rental.”
“Did anyone follow you?”
He ignored the momentary flash of fear in her dark chocolate gaze when she answered. “I hope not.”
“That wasn’t safe.”
“Look, Captain – “
“Diesel.”
“Diesel. Despite your impression of my notoriety, most people don’t recognize me out of my element. My designs are the superstars, not me.”
“Noted.”
He resisted the urge to point out the many, many holes in her explanation. If she wanted to believe no one would notice her, then more power to her. His job was to open the door. That’s it.
“Park your car in the garage. Remote is on the kitchen counter.” He unlocked the door, opened it, and then punched his code into the alarm keypad to quieten the warning tone that would eventually trigger the sirens. “Did Bailey give you a code?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Enjoy your vacation.”
As soon as he closed the door behind him, Trista released the breath she didn’t realize she held. That interrogation had been a tense one. Obviously, Captain Clark – Diesel, she corrected herself – took his assignment seriously. Then again, Bailey had a way of convincing people to do that. Her friend had a knack for getting results, that was for sure.
Too bad Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Bossy had rushed off, she might have offered him a cup of coffee. Then again, maybe not. Something told her he had quite the talent for pulling information out of people and there were a few things she preferred to keep to herself. Especially while she was in Hummingbird Bay.
Her spontaneous escape was a vacation of sorts, a chance to get away from the hustle and bustle of New York City and relax. No worry, no concern, no anxiety, no shadows. Just a leisurely trip to house sit for a friend and enjoy the peace and quiet. And remain anonymous.
An excellent reason not to attract the attention of one extremely captivating Captain Diesel Clark.
She giggled and headed to the kitchen. She would take his advice to park her car inside the garage because it was a logical suggestion.
Not because she followed orders.
***
Ice stood next to Bailey just inside the front entrance of the Sea Gull Regency and casually took in the surroundings. Two words described the place: posh and expensive. Beneath the vaulted ceilings with skylights carved in the tops, he stood on bright white, shiny floors that bounced his reflection back at him. The long counter stretched along one wall appeared to be oak, behind which three young, attractive women dressed in business suits greeted guests and distributed room keys. Valets with suitcase trolleys lined the back of the lobby, ready to escort guests as necessary.
“We check in over there.” Bailey pointed at a secluded podium in one corner behind which two men in suits stood in conversation.
“Do you know those men?”
“Francois Gerard, the Concierge, is the man on the left. The other is Daniel Santana, the General Manager.”
“How well do you know them?”
“Professionally. I’ve worked with them since the resort opened five years ago.”
“Give me a brief layout of the area.”
“The lobby is pretty well labeled with signage.” She pointed as she explained. “The Concierge Desk, Guest Services, and Valet. Behind the Concierge Desk and Guest Services Counter is a hallway that leads to the administrative offices, security, employee breakroom, cash office, storage, and first aid.”
He committed the area to memory and then glanced down at her, glad to see her skin had lost its’ green tint. “We’re supposed to be a couple, right?”
She nodded.
“Well then, baby.” He tilted her chin with one finger. “Let’s get this party started.”
He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, intent on placing a small, gentle kiss to convince those who watched. Instead, the electricity generated by their contact sizzled and sparked, threatening to burn them alive. His conscience told him to back off, to complete the intended mission and then retreat, but pure animal instinct pushed h
im further. Unable to escape the heat, he moved his hand to sweep the side of her neck, pressed her closer against him, and then opened his mouth over hers and took each of her lips in a strong, bold massage. She released a tiny whimper when he slipped his tongue between her lips and began an intimate tangle with hers.
His cock stood straight and tall between them, ready and willing to take the lead if he’d give the signal. Pressure on his chest made him aware that somewhere along the way she’d unbuttoned his shirt enough to slip her hands inside and press her palms against his skin while her fingers caressed his pectorals. Blood surged through his veins, scalding his skin as he fought the urge to pin her to the nearest wall and brand her as his own.
Luckily or not, common sense picked that moment to tap him on the shoulder.
He placed one more, small peck against her lips and then lifted his head. As soon as he gazed back into those beautiful blue eyes, he was tempted to do it all over again.
“We should probably check in,” she said softly.
He could only nod in agreement, still held captive by the incredible pleasure of her hands on his chest. Hell, he’d be perfectly willing to rip off his shirt if she kept it up. Arousal paralyzed him as he waited for her to take the lead, not bothered in the least when she didn’t. In fact, she still moved her fingertips in lazy circles on the surface of his pecs and he really didn’t want to stop her. But, damn, someone had to.
He forced himself to speak. “Bailey.”
“Hmmm?”
The dreamy, dazed look she gave him threatened to change his mind but if they had any hope of beginning their investigation, they had to … start.
“As much as I love your hands on me, we can’t check in until you remove them.”
“Oh!” She quickly lifted her hands as if they were burnt and then fumbled to button his shirt.
He smirked and gave her fingers a squeeze. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll button while we walk.”
By the time they stood in front of the Concierge podium, his shirt was back in place and Bailey seemed to have pulled herself together. The Concierge – Francois Gerard, he remembered – extended a hand to Bailey as he spoke with a French accent insinuated by his name.
“Good evening, Miss King. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Thank you, Francois, it’s nice to see you too.”
Ice found himself almost jealous at the killer smile she directed at the other man and then remembered where her hands and lips had just been. He kicked the green-eyed monster in the ass.
The second man followed suit with his own hand and smile. “We’re so glad to have you.”
“Thank you, Daniel. This is Tyson Arnett.”
“Ah, yes.” The general manager smirked. “Would you like to exchange your suite for a smaller one?”
Ice bit back a grin. Obviously, that kiss served its intended purpose.
“No thank you, Daniel,” Bailey answered. “The resort appears to be full. Our accommodations will be fine.”
“Excellent. I must warn you, though, we’ve had an incident.”
“An incident?”
Santana nodded, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Mr. Overton was murdered early this morning.”
Bailey gasped and although Ice knew she was aware of the incident, he also knew her reaction to the identity of the victim was genuine. Up until now, the corpse had been unidentified.
“Why?” she said finally.
“We do not know. The authorities will notify us when they have information.” The man shook his head. “We are deeply troubled.”
“Do you think your guests are safe here?”
Impressed, Ice didn’t interfere with her technique. As long as she batted those baby-soft eyelashes, these two men would tell her whatever she wanted to know.
“At the moment,” Santana answered. “We have no reason to believe anyone is a direct target.”
Ice shifted his weight from one hip to another, tempted to voice his disagreement. On the contrary, if no one knew why the victim ended up murdered and stuffed into a closet, danger was imminent.
Again, Bailey made him proud. “Oh, good.” She made a production of releasing a relieved breath. “Then the police have someone in custody.”
Santana glanced at Gerard and then back at her. “Not at the moment. However, we don’t want to cause panic until we know for sure this wasn’t an isolated incident.”
“Was Jack in some kind of trouble?” She widened her eyes for emphasis and again, expertly pulled information from Santana. Who needed water boarding when those baby blues worked ten times better?
“Perhaps. He seemed to have been distracted lately. In fact, after his shift this morning he was scheduled for two weeks of personal leave.”
She patted the other man’s hands. “I trust you, Daniel. If you say we’re safe, we’ll relax and enjoy our stay.”
“I insist. I’ll get you started by sending a bottle of champagne to your room.” He nodded at Gerard, who picked up a nearby telephone and spoke softly into the mouthpiece.
Santana handed her two plastic cards. “Relax, enjoy, and don’t hesitate to ring if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you, Daniel.”
She shot the manager another smile and then turned to him and gestured with one hand to a set of chrome elevators across the lobby. “Tenth floor.”
He placed one hand to the small of her back as they covered the distance to the elevators and then stepped inside a vacant car when the door opened.
“Nice work,” he said as the door closed.
She slid the card into a slot in the numbered panel and then punched the appropriate white button. “Thank you. I have to tell you, though, I have a hard time believing anyone would target Jack.”
He pulled her close, aligning their bodies, and then bent his head and brushed his lips over the outer shell of her ear. To anyone else, his action would be interpreted as a lover’s caress.
“Until I know this car isn’t bugged, no talking,” he whispered.
Her cheek lifted beneath his in what he assumed to be a smile. “Anything else you’d like to do on the way up?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation as he stepped away from her, “but I’m certain we’re on camera.”
“Wanna make a movie?”
His cock twitched in the confines of his jeans. Hell yes, he wanted to make a movie – a naked, sweaty one. But not in this box. He knew himself too well, there were too many stops between here and their room and once Bailey wrapped him like a glove, there would be no stopping.
“Behave.” He placed a kiss to the top of her head and then backed up against the wall. Distance proved to be best at this moment.
As soon as the elevator stopped, he waited for her to remove the key card and then followed her down the hallway. So much for distance. Her slim hips and shapely ass coerced him into walking as closely as he could. He exhaled hard. That movie sounded more promising by the minute.
As soon as she opened the door, he all but pushed her inside and then propped himself on one hip against the sofa. He folded his arms over his chest so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for her. Damn, it was going to be a long week.
Bailey sat on the sofa and crossed one leg over the other in an effort to ease the ache between her legs. Holy God, this man tempted her. All that annoying testosterone oozed from his tantalizing body and darn near drowned her. And as badly as she fought to escape it, her traitor-of-a-body welcomed it.
She gazed up into his easygoing but focused stare, sure that he knew exactly how he affected her and cocky enough to pat himself on the back because of her reaction. Yet, he stood at least a foot away from her with his hands somewhat restrained.
Yeah, he was just as tempted.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Who is Jack?”
“Jack Overton, the resort’s security manager.”
With her gaze still focused on his, she bent at the waist to unbuckle the strap of one sanda
l and then slide her foot from the confines when she caught a slight twinkle in the depths of his gaze.
Interesting. Mr. Cool had a thing for the shoes.
Determined to test her theory, she repeated the process on the opposite foot, empowered when the twinkle became a spark. Oh yeah, he loved the shoes.
“What do you know about him?”
She shrugged as she nudged the sandals to the side. “Next to nothing. I’ve met him and know him by name but that’s about it.”
“What makes you doubt the theory that Overton would be a target?”
“His reputation is stellar. Since opening, the resort has been known for a safe and secure atmosphere.”
“You don’t think he pissed someone off?”
“Possibly, but why? The clientele that frequent this resort expect stringent security policies.”
“Is Overton the only security guard?”
“No. David Green is the assistant manager. Like I said, the resort really has no need for a full team.”
“You’ve never encountered security issues here?”
“Never. That’s why I’m puzzled by this whole situation. Murder in a place like this is so unlikely.”
“Murder is rarely anticipated.”
“True, but guests here are not people one would consider capable of murder.”
“Capable?”
“I would assume murder is messy. These people are wealthy, spoiled, and in some cases very well-known. I’m willing to bet that if any one of them even considered the act, they would hire someone and insist the act was carried out as far from them as possible.”
“What about outsiders?”
“What about them? You’ve seen for yourself how hard it is to get inside. The only way an outsider gets in is by access from an insider.”
“Exactly.”
“You think this is an inside job?”
“Possibly.”
