24 Hours Bundle

by Jo Leigh

  Even now and even despite that she’d helped someone steal that Monet right out from under his nose, he still wanted her. And he had a hunch that her partner in crime was none other than her boyfriend, Evan Atwell. The jealousy that he’d always felt whenever he’d seen Pepper in Evan’s company had sharpened, slicing through him like a knife, when he’d figured it out.

  He’d spent some time puzzling through it, but so far it was the only theory that fit all the pieces. Oh, he didn’t have all the details pinned down quite yet, but greed was a prime motive, and collecting the insurance at the same time that you sold the Monet to a private collector who didn’t care much about the law was one way to have your cake and eat it too.

  Once you looked at it, the evidence was all there. Evan had insisted that Pepper handle the security arrangements for the Monet by herself. Then there was the fact that she’d made a move on him the moment he’d walked into the suite. Whatever his intentions had been when he’d come there from the symphony, she’d initiated the kiss. But what had nailed the theory for him was his discovery that both Pepper and Evan Atwell had booked airline tickets to an island owned by a French Impressionist collector immediately following the theft.

  He flicked her a brief glance. She might look innocent, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was guilty as sin. Pepper Rossi had a reputation for getting herself in trouble, but this was the deepest hole she’d dug yet. And she’d done it for another man.

  But, somehow, knowing that didn’t seem to diminish the fact that he still wanted her. Desperately. In the day and a half since he’d last seen her, his desire for her had only grown. He’d had a taste, and similar to Adam’s experience with the apple, he wanted more. And he’d have it just as soon as he straightened the mess she’d gotten herself into.

  She wanted him too. Whatever her motives for kissing him in the penthouse suite, she hadn’t faked her response. And she wanted him right now. The moment she’d turned to face him in the airport, he’d seen the pulse beating at her throat. He knew that pulse. For six months, he’d seen it quicken every time he was near her, and watching her respond to him like that, knowing that at least something of what he was feeling was reciprocated, had made it almost impossible for him to bide his time and keep his distance. It was going to make it pure hell to resist her now.

  Easing the car to a stop, Cole turned to study her as he waited for an old man to lead a cow across the road. The disguise was a good one. He’d never seen her wear anything but the most conservative suits and jewelry to the office. He suppressed the urge to reach out and trace the gold hoop in her ear.

  With any woman other than Pepper Rossi, he would have been able to develop a strategy. He was good at that. It had been his ticket for survival in the foster care system. With each new family, he’d studied them, learning as much as he could, and then he’d developed a strategy for fitting in. Role-playing had been key. But he hadn’t yet figured out a strategy for dealing with Pepper Rossi. From the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, he hadn’t been sure of his moves. The last time a woman had made him this wary, he’d been fourteen and she’d been sixteen. But even then, he hadn’t taken long to figure it out.

  Six months hadn’t helped him figure out how to handle Pepper, partly due to the fact that he could never quite predict what she would do. Like that kiss.

  When the cow finally made it to the other side of the road, he eased the car into gear and drove forward. One thing he did know, in a battle, forewarned was forearmed. He was not going to let what he felt for Pepper Rossi interfere with recovering the Monet. The Rossis had done so much for him over the years—

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  He shot her a brief glance as he turned the car onto the narrow road that wound along the coast. She was looking straight ahead, blond hair blowing in the wind, chin lifted, hands clasped tightly in her lap. He’d seen her sit the same way at meetings with her brothers and at family dinners with her father. She was wound up tight as usual. Not good, because that too was one of the things that drew him to her. Because he badly wanted to see what would happen when she came unwound. Now that he’d had a sample, he was going to have more.

  “I’m here to save your pretty little ass.”

  2

  IRENE CAME AWAKE SLOWLY, her mind surfacing and then drifting under again. The dreamy sensation was so pleasant that she postponed opening her eyes. Far away, she heard the thrum of a motor and there was a scent she couldn’t quite place—something spicy and…male. It had been a long time since she’d woken up with a man in her bed.

  A sudden thump jarred every bone in her body. She opened her eyes and looked around. Bits and pieces of reality floated like bubbles into her mind. The first one popped. She wasn’t in bed at all. She was on a plane, and she could see a forest of palm trees and a long one-story building through the small window to her right. Beyond that she saw a stretch of turquoise-blue sea, bright enough to make her blink. Beautiful.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  Irene jerked around to face the man who’d spoken. Her first impression was that she was looking at one of the seven dwarves. Did that make her Snow White? Good Lord, she hoped not. She shook her head a little to clear it, but her impression of the man next to her didn’t change. The dwarf had blue eyes, thinning white hair and a beard, a weathered looking face and he was radiating joviality.

  “I’m Happy Johansson.”

  Perfect name for a dwarf, she thought as she shook his hand. “I’m Irene. And you should think about toning down that cologne.”

  “You think?” A few extra lines appeared on her seatmate’s forehead.

  As Irene glanced around the plane, another of the bubbles in her head burst. The last thing she recalled was being in the Miami airport. She’d bought a book and then slipped into the bar to grab a beer…After that, everything was hazy. Obviously, she’d gotten on the commuter flight to Escapade Island, but the details of that were very vague. She could only seem to conjure up bits and pieces. Had she been in a wheelchair? That couldn’t be right. She’d never been in a wheelchair in her life.

  “It isn’t really a cologne,” the man next to her was saying. “It’s the pheromone extract they sent us with the welcome letter.”

  “What welcome letter?” she asked.

  “I got mine right after I booked the weekend. And I used the exact amount that they suggested. I could use all the help I can get. Look around. There’s going to be a lot of competition.”

  “Competition?” Irene scanned the people in the row across the aisle. The two men looked tanned and buff and a good thirty years her junior. The bronze-skinned Amazon in the aisle seat ahead of them was wearing khaki shorts, an animal print tank, and a gold snake bracelet on her upper arm. Sheena, queen of the jungle, Irene thought.

  Happy nodded. “I figure at my age I have to try harder.”

  No shit, Irene thought. Just then, another of the bubbles in her head popped. She’d been in the Miami airport to change planes on the way to Butch’s island. She was going to give the Monet to him as a Valentine’s Day present, and if that didn’t bring him to his senses, she was just going to have to jump him. Feeling much better, she glanced around the plane again. Why were the details of boarding the plane so fuzzy?

  “Have you been to Camp E.D.E.N. before?”

  “Camp E.D.E.N.” Irene tried the word out but it didn’t scare up a memory. “No, I’ve never even heard of it.”

  Butch had named his island Escapade. They’d chosen the name together just before he’d been released from prison. She recalled how thrilled he’d been. She’d read and reread that letter he’d sent telling her how much he’d valued her friendship over the years, how much he wanted it to continue. Butch wasn’t a man who’d had a way with words, so she’d treasured each little thing he’d said in it—and in the next letter too when he’d told her how proud he was of what she’d made of her life during his time in prison. Then had come the letter telling her tha
t he didn’t want her to join him on the island until the resort was finished. He wanted to surprise her. So she’d gone along with that—until she’d gotten the final “Dear Jane” letter a month ago. Now, in retrospect she saw that all the earlier letters were just preludes to the one that would tell her he thought it was best that they cancel their plans to get together, that he didn’t want to see her, didn’t want her to come and join him on the island as they’d planned. They had to face the simple fact that they were just too different and that he wasn’t and never would be good enough for her.

  Even now, Irene got furious just thinking about it. Butch Castellano had dumped her. It had been bad enough when her parents had gotten him to agree to dump her forty years ago. Maybe they had been wrong for each other then. After all, he’d been climbing the ladder in a crime family, and she’d been about to go to college. In the end, she’d agreed to the separation, which had extended to forty years when he’d been sent to an upstate New York prison. But they’d kept in touch over the years, and he’d gone straight. Every cent that he’d earned to build his resort had come from legitimate sources. And her feelings for Butch had never diminished; in fact, they’d grown. They’d made plans, and she’d waited for him.

  And now he’d dumped her. Dumped her after forty years. A sudden thought occurred to her. Had he changed the name of the island as one final message to her that their lifelong relationship was indeed over?

  As the plane taxied to a stop, Irene considered that possibility. He’d certainly changed his mind about her and about the life they’d planned to have together. She pressed her fingers to her temple and tried to will away the panic that was threatening to erupt.

  Happy took her hand. “It’s my first experience with a sex camp, too. And I’m ripe for the picking.”

  Snatching her hand away, Irene stared at him. “Sex camp?” Panic threatened again. Butch might have decided she was too good for him, but he would not be building a sex camp on his island. “This is the first I’ve heard about a sex camp. What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to be worried about. The woman who runs the place is a bit overwhelming at first, but I understand that the whole purpose of the camp is to allow you to explore your inner sex god or goddess. Discovery and experimentation are the key words. And you don’t have to participate in the group sex if you feel uncomfortable.”

  “Group sex?” This definitely wasn’t Butch’s island, Irene decided. “I’m not going to any sex camp. I’m going to the Escapade Resort.”

  Happy leaned closer. “What’s in a name? ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’”

  Irene put both hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove. “Names mean a lot to me. I’m going to Escapade Island.”

  “You got the wrong, plane, lady.”

  Peering around Happy, Irene looked at Mr. Tanned-and-Buff in the aisle seat.

  “You just landed on Eden Island,” he continued. “Escapade Island is about twenty-five or thirty miles south. On a clear day, you can see it on the horizon.”

  “Shit,” Irene muttered.

  “It’s fate, Irene. I was really worried about embarking on this new phase of my life on Friday the thirteenth, but when your son brought you on board and helped you into the seat next to mine, I was sure you were my destiny.”

  When he reached for her hands again, Irene slapped his away and curled her fingers into the front of his shirt. “Listen up, Happy. I want some answers. Exactly how did I get on this plane?”

  “The flight attendant rolled you in a wheelchair. You were pretty out of it. She said your son had explained that you’d taken some meds because you were terrified of flying, and they were making you very drowsy.”

  “Drowsy.” That would explain her fuzzy memories or lack of them. But she certainly hadn’t taken any meds. “Which flight attendant?”

  Happy pointed to a slender, pretty blonde who was beaming a smile at the departing passengers.

  Irene had some questions for her, but her path was temporarily blocked. When Happy gripped her wrists, she swatted his hands away. “Hands off, or I’ll hurt you.”

  His eyes gleamed into hers. “Oh, good. I’ve never experimented with the pain/pleasure thing before.”

  This time when he made a grab for her hand, Irene wrapped her fingers around one of his thumbs and bent it back. “Hands off, I said.”

  “Owww.” Happy’s breath hitched and then he closed his eyes and sighed. “Oooooh, that’s good. That’s very good. I knew I was right to book this trip.”

  As passengers in the rows around began to file more quickly off the plane, Irene’s mind finally cleared. She’d been drugged and someone pretending to be her “son” had put her in a wheelchair and gotten her on this plane. Who? Could Butch have found out she was coming and decided to do this to her?

  No. The final wisp of fog in her brain finally cleared and her stomach rolled. Whoever had done this to her was more likely after the Monet. Jumping up, she scrambled over Happy to get into the aisle. One glance into the empty overhead compartment pushed her panic button. “My suitcase.” Leaning down, she grabbed Happy by the shirt again. “I had a carry-on. Where is it?”

  For the first time since she’d seen him, Happy frowned. “You didn’t have any suitcase.”

  Oh no, Irene thought.

  Whirling, she ran up the now empty aisle to where the flight attendant still stood beaming her smile. “Your wheelchair is waiting.”

  “I won’t be needing it,” Irene said. “Describe my son for me.”

  The flight attendant’s smile wavered a bit. Probably she thought she was dealing with a looney tune. Who else would ask for a description of her own son? But whatever thoughts were in her mind, she said, “He was a very nice man.”

  Irene managed not to scream. “What exactly did he look like?”

  “He was tall and dark with a goatee and he was wearing one of those French-looking hats. What do they call them?”

  “A beret?”

  “Yes, that’s it. And he spoke with a French accent. So intriguing.”

  “Yeah,” Irene muttered. She was intrigued all right. And her mind was racing. The description the attendant had given her matched a man who’d sat one chair down from her in the airport bar. Had he been close enough to slip something into her beer? Short of being sold into white slavery—which she didn’t think she was a candidate for—there was only one reason to drug her.

  The Monet.

  “He didn’t happen to give you my suitcase, did he?”

  “No.”

  Damn. Someone had drugged her, swiped the Monet, and put her on a plane to sex camp with a man who thought she was a dominatrix. Could things possibly get worse?

  Happy tugged at her elbow. “If there’s a problem, you can room with me, Irene.”

  Irene had a feeling things could get a lot worse.

  3

  Friday, February 13—1:30 p.m.

  “TWO ISLAND FLINGS,” Cole said to the beaming Gari. Pepper smiled at the young man who’d greeted her so enthusiastically at the airport. He’d made a beeline for their table the moment that Cole had chosen it.

  “Excellent choice.” Gari said. “One drink and you will reveal all your secrets to each other.”

  Oh, good, Pepper thought. As if Cole’s proximity weren’t making it hard enough for her to concentrate, now she was going to drink a truth serum.

  He’d stuck as close as a guardian angel since they’d arrived at the hotel, and right now he was in the chair next to hers, sitting so close that she was more aware of the heat of his body than she was of the sunlight pouring down on them. Why did he have to look so damn good? The khaki-colored T-shirt and shorts only emphasized the tanned skin and the subtly muscled body that until now had always been disguised by clothes. Just looking at him had her mouth going dry. Although he didn’t look like a body builder, if this man blocked your path, you wouldn’t get past him.

  And her body didn’t want to get pas
t him. Her palms were literally itching to touch him. She fisted her hands in her lap, shocked at the sudden rush of greed streaming through her. The problem with that kiss in the penthouse suite was that she hadn’t had time to really touch him. And she wanted to. All over.

  “Pepper?”

  “Hmm?” She shifted her gaze to his face and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

  “I asked if you were hungry.”

  Starved was the word that popped into her mind. But the craving inside of her wasn’t for food. Focus, she told herself as she drew in a deep breath.

  “Sure. Food would be good.” She hadn’t had anything to eat but airline snacks since she’d boarded the red-eye from San Francisco. Maybe eating something would help to keep her mind on…her aunt, the Monet. Touching Cole Buchanan was not on her current to-do list, she reminded herself.

  Cole turned to Gari. “Pack us up a little picnic, including a Thermos with a refill of the Island Fling.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Food wasn’t going to help a bit if she continued to sit there looking at Cole Buchanan. She put some effort into shifting her gaze away from him. She had two immediate problems: figuring out how to locate Irene and deciding how much she dared tell Cole. Time was definitely running out on the latter. Cole hadn’t pressed her since they’d arrived at the resort. But the inquisition was coming. The setup was perfect. He’d chosen a table on the ocean side of the pool terrace where they were alone.

  Most of the other customers of the poolside café had chosen tables on the resort side where palm trees and potted plants offered plenty of shade. As her gaze skimmed them, she recognized several people she’d flown in with, including the cowboy who’d nearly run her down at the airport. He’d evidently caught up with his “lady.” The couple who’d stopped traffic by kissing were also there, and they were still wearing those long coats.