by Jamie Pope
“Holy crap. It is you.” She surprised him by touching his arm; not just touching it, but wrapping her fingers around his biceps. “Wow, that’s hard.” She took her hand away and he found immediately that he missed the contact. It had been so long since he had been touched. “You’re real, right? I’m not dreaming or hallucinating. You’re really Carlos Bradley, and you really wanted me to decorate your house.”
“You thought I was lying?”
She slowly closed her eyes as a flush spread over her face. “I thought my twin brother was playing a huge joke on me.”
“You have a twin?”
“Yes, Asa. I called him last night promising retribution. He probably thinks I’m a nutcase. You probably think I’m a nutcase.”
“I do. But I have twin siblings, so I understand.”
She opened her eyes, looking thoroughly embarrassed and really kind of adorable. “Thank you for being understanding. If you could be so kind as to point me toward the ocean.”
“It’s behind the house.”
“Great.” She stepped away from him. “If you need me, I’ll just be drowning myself in it.”
He grabbed her shoulders and for a moment his thoughts stopped. Her skin was as soft as it looked, and she smelled good. Something faintly sweet but not perfumed. She smelled like something he would love to bury his face in and inhale. “You can’t drown yourself yet. There’s a basket filled with Swiss chocolates waiting inside for you.”
She placed her hands over her face, her voice coming out muffled. “Oh, please tell me you don’t have a basket of chocolates waiting inside. I said so many things to you. So many stupid, stupid things.”
“You called me a sexy shortstop with a squeezable ass.”
She groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
He pulled her hands away from her face. “Look at me, Ms. Andersen.”
She shook her head, her eyes still shut. “Call me Virginia. After all I’ve said to you I think you’ve more than earned the right to call me by my first name.”
“Open your eyes.” He was touching her, he had just met her and yet he had her hands in his. He knew he should drop them, but he wanted to see her eyes again.
“I don’t want to.”
* * *
This had to be a dream. It had to be. Stuff like this just didn’t happen to her. She didn’t arrive in chauffeured cars or ride in private jets. Especially not for work. She was usually chauffeuring people around. She had even picked up Mrs. Westerfield at the airport on a few occasions. But now she was standing in front of the biggest house she had ever seen, with America’s favorite baseball player holding on to her hands. She didn’t want to open her eyes. Because when she did, she would have to come face-to-face with the fact that she had just blown the opportunity at the job of a lifetime.
“It’s hot out here,” Carlos said. “Come inside.”
She opened her eyes then, and there he was. Mr. MVP. He was royalty in Miami, a legend in the making, so she’d seen his image everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. In magazines. Still, she hadn’t paid much attention. She knew less about baseball than she knew about quantum physics. The only things she knew about him were that he was rich, he was good at his job and he went through more women than he did pairs of underwear.
That put him in her “typical womanizing athlete” category. Somebody she wouldn’t find attractive no matter how good-looking they were. But the thing was, he was extraordinarily handsome in person. Nowhere in sight was that plastered-on smiling face that she saw in ads. The real deal wasn’t smiling at all. He was looking at her with intense green eyes that contrasted with his deep brown skin. He was big, too. Well over six feet tall with a hard body that heat just seemed to roll off. He was one beautiful man, and he was touching her, holding her smaller hands in his massive ones. She’d be a big fat liar if she said her tummy didn’t feel a little funny.
“Okay.” She tried to compose herself as she followed him in, but she couldn’t stop the barrage of berating thoughts that kept entering her head. She was dressed well enough to take Mrs. Westerfield around town, but not to meet an important client. She would have worn a suit. She would have tamed her wild hair.
Her mother’s voice kept playing in her head.
If you want to be a professional you have to look professional.
Virginia had never seen a hair out of place on her mother’s head. She would pass out if she knew that Virginia was here in a maxi dress with bare shoulders and strappy sandals. It didn’t matter anyway. She wasn’t going to get this job.
She shouldn’t get this job. She really wasn’t qualified. Carlos’s home was a Spanish-style mansion with a beautiful roof of handmade red tiles. It was art. Everything from the rounded windows to the heavy wood carved door and meticulously placed stone accents was perfectly planned. It was such a contrast with its surroundings, which were kind of wild and unkempt. Coming to Hideaway Island felt like coming to another world, but coming to Carlos’s quiet part of the island was something else entirely. It almost felt like a fantasy.
She followed him to the foyer, which was big, open and airy with high ceilings but nothing else. No colors on the walls, no art, nothing. It was truly a blank slate. A dozen ideas rushed into her head. There were so many things she could do with this space alone.
She walked a little farther into the house, into a great room that held a single couch. Nothing else. Their footsteps echoed around her in the empty room. The architecture of the inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside, but that was it. The place was empty, but more than that, it felt empty. “Are you living here at the moment?”
“Yes,” he answered, looking back at her.
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, but this place is so big for you to be here alone,” she said as she walked into the kitchen. “It’s so secluded here. Don’t you get lonely?”
He stopped fully, turning to face her. She’d known it was a stupid question as soon as it came out of her mouth. She had no right to ask him. “It’s none of my business,” she said in a rush. “You could probably have a different woman here every night of the week if you wanted.” He just blinked at her and she wished she had a muzzle, something to shove in her mouth to keep her from speaking. She just couldn’t get over the fact that she was here with him. Here alone with him, on this secluded island, in the middle of nowhere.
“I came here because I wanted to get away from everything.”
“I understand,” she said quietly. It might have been all in her mind, but he had this way of looking at her. Maybe it was his intense green eyes, but he looked at her in a way no other man had. In a way that made her skin hot. In a way that made her want to get closer to him and run away at the same time.
She was attracted to him and it was weird. She liked artsy men. Dancers, painters and poets with soulful eyes and sensitive hearts, and yet this massive athlete with his quiet manner and stern face was making her tingle with just a look.
“I bought this house five years ago, but because of my schedule I haven’t stayed here. I’m only here now because I’m no longer playing.”
“You’re not playing?”
He looked at her blankly. “It’s baseball season and I’m here.”
“It’s baseball season?”
“Are you serious?”
“Um, yes,” she answered feeling dumber by the moment.
“Do you even know what team I play for, Ms. Andersen?”
“The Dolphins?”
“That’s football.” He shook his head. “I play for the Hammerheads. I ruptured my Achilles tendon going for a catch in the playoff game that took my team to the World Series. I had surgery and an infection. They haven’t cleared me to play this year. It was reported everywhere.”
“I guess I’ve been payin
g more attention to your behind than your career, because I didn’t know any of that.” She shook her head immediately. “I don’t know why I can’t control my mouth around you. Yes, I do. I’ve been spending too much time with Mrs. Westerfield.”
“Who’s Mrs. Westerfield?” he asked, looking bewildered.
“My client. She’s seventy-eight and has no filters. Said she’s lived through two husbands and five wars and has earned the right to say whatever she pleases. My parents would be horrified if they could see me right now. Totally horrified. Why aren’t you telling me to shut up?” She was babbling, but there was something about him that made her nervous.
He shook his head and gently grabbed her wrist. “Let’s go see the rest of the house.”
“I came all the way out here. I might as well.” He looked at her strangely, but she ignored it. He was touching her again with his big, callous, rough hand that felt good on her sensitive skin. It made her wonder how his hands would feel grazing over her hips or on the backs of her thighs. She tried to shake off that thought. But it was too good. One day she was going to tell her grandchildren about the day a baseball legend had grabbed her hand and showed her around his house.
“There are two bedrooms down that hallway.” He motioned with his head as he walked. “One’s a suite with a bathroom. There’s another full bathroom down that hall for guests to use.”
He led her into a large open room where one wall was a row of doors that opened onto a lavish pool that overlooked the ocean. There was no other way to describe it but luxurious. With a few changes and some bikini-clad women it could be the setting for a glossy music video. She understood why he’d bought this place. It was fit for a superstar like him.
“This is beautiful,” she told him.
He nodded and led her out of the door, past the pool and onto the path that led to the beach. Away from the lavishness of the house, the land around them was wild, not landscaped, but it was probably one of the most beautiful spots in the country. The other side of the island, where she’d landed, was adorable, with a cute little shops and restaurants and a downtown that had a European feel. It wasn’t as touristy as some of the other islands off the coast. It was quiet. But on this side of the island she felt truly at peace, with the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the breeze blowing through her hair. She felt relaxed for the first time since the car showed up at her door that morning. Which was odd, because she was standing next to a gorgeous millionaire, someone she had made a fool out of herself in front of.
“My little sister wants to get married here next year. She wants me to walk her down the aisle. I need the house fixed up before then, so she can impress all of his important friends. It’s very important to me that she is happy.”
“Who’s she marrying?”
“Some older man. He’s a real estate investor from England who wants to take over all of South Florida.”
“You don’t sound as though you’re too fond of him.”
“He spoils the hell out of her and she seems happy. She’s got him opening up a restaurant here on the island next season. But no, I don’t like him. I don’t trust him. He’s forty-nine. She’s twenty-seven. What the hell does he want with her?”
“Aren’t you a hypocrite? Wasn’t the last woman you dated twenty-one?”
He looked at her again, those piercing eyes of his narrowing. “You know that, but you don’t know that I got hurt or what team I played for?”
She shrugged. “I remember being irrationally annoyed at you when I heard that on some entertainment news show. You’re a thirty-six-year-old grown man and she’s barely out of girlhood. Someone who should be studying for her college final instead of spread across the hood of a car in a bathing suit that would fit a toddler. What the hell did you want with her? I’ve seen that girl give an interview. Don’t tell me it was for her sparkling conversation.”
“She was more mature than most her age and I was with her because I know she didn’t want me for my money.”
“No. She wanted you for your status. Every up-and-coming model needs to be seen on the arm of a major athlete.
“Has anyone ever accused you of overstepping? Because you seem to have a knack for it.”
She knew she was wrong. She knew she had crossed a line, but she couldn’t stop herself with him. She couldn’t make herself shut up. He probably didn’t run into too many women like her. He was a mythic figure to most of the world, and she should probably be cowed by him, but for some reason she wasn’t.
“I’m probably never going to see you again. What’s the harm?”
“What do you mean you’re not going to see me again? How are you going to decorate my house?”
“What?” She shook her head, thinking she must be hearing things.
“I want you to decorate my house. I told you I needed it done before my sister’s wedding next year.”
“But—but...are you sure? I’ve never done anything of this size. And you haven’t seen my portfolio. And there is the fact that I’ve acted like a complete crazy person the whole time we’ve been acquainted.”
“But you did Rosecove?”
“Yes.”
“Then, you have the job. I wouldn’t have gone through all the trouble of bringing you in unless I was going to hire you.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say. This was the job of her dreams. This was the job that would keep her business open and her parents off her back. This was the job that could take her career to the next level, and she was stupidly talking herself out of it.
“You do want the job, don’t you?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Yeah? You don’t sound too sure. If you don’t think you can handle it, I can find someone else.”
“Of course I want this job, Mr. Bradley. I won’t disappoint you.”
“Good. It’s yours.”
Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t believe it. She was on a beautiful island and had just been offered the job that could make her career. It seemed too good to be true. “Could you excuse me for a moment? I just have to make a phone call.”
She walked away from him, back up the path toward the house as she pulled out her cell phone.
Willa picked up on the first ring. “You’re alive?”
“Yes, and I’m walking away from the beach toward the biggest house on the planet. He offered me the job, Wils!”
“Why?” She didn’t sound at all impressed.
“What do you mean, why?”
“You’ve done a couple of beachside inns and you specialize in old-lady condos. Why does he want you? Are you sure he’s not some kind of serial killer who lures interior designers to his secluded estate and then collects their body parts in jars in his basement? That’s a great idea for a book. I’ll call it Designed for Murder.”
“Could you stop being a mystery writer for one moment and be my supportive best friend?” Virginia asked, even though she knew Willa was right. There were a hundred other designers more qualified than she.
“Yeah. I guess I could do that. This is an amazing opportunity that could skyrocket your career. And I think that deserves a happy dance.” Virginia heard Willa switch her phone to speaker. “Come on, girl. I’d better not be dancing alone here. Shake what your mama gave you.”
Virginia laughed, just imagining Willa in front of her desk in her little New York apartment dancing to celebrate her success. They had happy danced when Willa had gotten her first book deal. “I got the job,” she sang as she shook her hips. “I got the job.” Now they were dancing for her.
* * *
Carlos came up behind Virginia only to catch her dancing as she held the phone to her ear. A foreign sound escaped his mouth and he realized that he was laughing. She had done that to him, made him see the humor in something when for so long h
e hadn’t been able to find anything to bring a smile to his face. But she’d done it. She was the only one who’d managed it, even though others had tried. She was just herself. Her blunt, quirky self. Maybe he was crazy to offer her the job on the spot. She could be a maniac. But he wanted her, and he always got what he wanted.
Her back was to him so she couldn’t see him, and he was glad because he got to look at her shaking her rump as long as he wanted. He knew her dance wasn’t meant to be seductive, but he felt himself harden. It may have been because she was woman and he was a man who had gone a long time without one. But it had to be more than that. She’d called him out on dating a twenty-one-year-old model and she was right. Looking at her now, that girl couldn’t compare to her. No swimsuit model could.
He wondered what was going on under that long dress. Were her legs as shapely as her hips? Was the skin on her chest as smooth as the skin on her shoulders looked? Did her behind look as luscious and round as it appeared through all that fabric?
She turned around suddenly, her mouth open slightly. She had pretty lips. He had noticed that about her, too.
“Gotta go, Wils. He caught me.”
He could hear the sound of feminine laughter before they disconnected.
“I promise I’ll be professional while I’m on this job. I have references if you want to check. I’m always on time. I mind my manners and I’m efficient.”
“I don’t care if you like to dance on the job as long as you get it done. That means not having me wait fourteen months for some lamps. No renovations that are going to take longer than a year.”
“I understand. I know some great contractors.”
“Good, and you stay out of my bedroom. I don’t want it touched and I don’t want to be bothered during the day. If you’ve got a problem, handle it yourself.”
“Okay.” She nodded.
“One more thing. You’ve got to live here.” He’d thought about putting her up in town, but that was a twenty-minute drive every day. It just made sense to keep her closer.
