by Desiree Holt
“And the pilot who brought me here?” she prodded.
“Vetted top to bottom. He moved here from Atlanta, and he does all the private flights for Casa Blanca, and especially for Gabe.”
“Good to know.” She relaxed again a tiny moment. “Thank you so much, Seth. And please thank everyone else for me. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”
“Actually, I do.” He drained the last of his coffee and rose. “I’d better get going on my rounds.”
After he’d left and she’d locked the front door, Robin carried the empty coffee mugs into the kitchen. She looked out the window while she was rinsing them at the sink, her eyes captured by the sight of a gray-and-white bird perched in a circle of sunlight on the lawn between two thick shrubs. It fluttered its wings as it split the air with its shrill cry. Plants with colorful flowers stood in the sunlight side by side with those having broad, shiny leaves. It was so different from the icy cold of the North, she felt warm just looking at them.
Seth was right.
There had to be a lot to see here, even just walking along the beach. As long as she kept to herself, trouble wouldn’t follow her around. She needed to get that through her head.
Tomorrow, she told herself.
Tomorrow, she’d step out into the world.
Starting with breakfast.
*****
Trey hadn’t known what to expect when they landed in Fort Myers. He’d traveled all over the world, but, somehow, the southeastern tip of the United States hadn’t made it into his itinerary. As cold as it had been in Newport, it was that warm in Fort Myers. The sun bathed everything in a warm golden light, and even the trees and shrubbery seemed greener.
The McAuliffes, the couple he’d flown with, had chatted with him about the town of Mimosa Key and its attractions.
“We’re staying in Naples, this time,” Trish McAuliffe told him, “but we’ve been to the Casa Blanca several times and love it. If you like tacos, there’s a great little place, frequented mostly by local residents, called South of the Border.”
Davis chuckled. “Or SOB, as the locals say. But their tacos are the best around. There’s no sign or anything, so you may have to ask someone where it is.”
Shortly after they landed, the McAuliffes were picked up by friends, and they wished him a happy vacation. He wished one for himself, too.
“Why don’t you hit the Hertz desk and see about a car rental,” Zack told hm. “Come back and pick up your luggage when you’ve got wheels. The rental place will give you a map of both Collier County and Mimosa Key, so you should be all set.”
At the rental counter, the agent happened to mention they had a couple of convertibles if he was interested.
“They usually get snapped up right away,” the woman told him. “But these came back yesterday, and we just finished servicing them. They won’t last long.”
Trey thought, What the hell. When he drove back to the hangar, it was behind the wheel of a sleek black convertible, top down.
Zack looked at him and chuckled.
“Getting in the mood all the way, are you?”
“Doing my best.” And he was. He was determined to find a way not to be miserable here.
His flight companions were apparently regular visitors to Barefoot Bay and couldn’t say enough good things about it. But as they’d chattered on about the single women and the couples who had found happiness there, Trey began to wonder if he’d made a mistake. The last thing he wanted was to meet a woman. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the bitterness of what happened with the one he’d been married to for twenty years.
His plan was to anesthetize himself with tropical drinks away from prying eyes and lie out in the sun. Maybe even take in one of the games the baseball team played. He still couldn’t get over a place like this having a team.
But women? Uh-uh. Not until he learned how to make better choices.
The drive over the causeway gave him a sweeping view of the Gulf of Mexico. The town of Mimosa Key, which Zack told him was the heart of the area, looked as if it had been created for a movie about, well, a typical small Florida tourist town. And then they were at Casa Blanca Resort and Spa, a feast of Moroccan architecture set among the lush foliage of southern Florida. Foliage, he noticed, that someone took damn good care of.
Checking in was an experience for the senses, with the marble floor in the lobby and the exquisite Moroccan tapestry hung on one wall. Trey had been to that part of the world and knew just how delicately made they were and how expensive.
The young lady behind the desk checked him in with efficiency and courtesy and a big smile.
“I am sorry we still don’t have a villa available at the moment, Mr. DeMarcus. We’d had one cancellation a few days ago, but it was filled right away. However, I put you in one of the deluxe suites. I want Mr. Elliott to know we took good care of you. ”
“That’ll be fine,” Trey assured her. “I don’t need a whole villa. All I plan to do is sleep there, anyway.”
How could it not be okay? This place was a paradise. He had a feeling that even the least expensive accommodations would put most other places to shame.
“Well, enjoy yourself and have fun.”
Fun. For the past year, he’d wondered if he’d ever have fun again. Then he gave himself a mental shake. It was time to stop thinking about what happened and move on with his life. He just didn’t know if that was possible, but he was going to try to make a start in this place that looked like paradise.
The first thing he did was change into Bermuda shorts and a soft-collar shirt, and a pair of deck shoes that he realized had seen better days. It was good to be out of the northern cold, and also to be by himself where he didn’t have to put on a front for anyone. Or work hard to make conversation.
On the flight down, he’d done some thinking. Last night, he’d accepted the fact he needed to make changes in his life and move on. While he was here, he planned to think about those changes, like stepping away from the firm and making some decisions about his future. The problem was, it wasn’t much fun making plans for one when you’d expected them to be for two, and he was damn sure he wasn’t ready to even think about another woman. Or if he’d ever trust one again.
He spent most of the day making a concerted effort to somehow dilute the bitterness that had consumed him for so many months. He had lunch out by the pool, on the eating deck facing the Gulf of Mexico. There was something about watching the swell of waves that was so pleasant and soothing.
During his years in JAG, whenever he was caught up in an intricate case, one that needed its snarls unraveled or a fresh approach, he’d go to the water, wherever he was stationed, and just spend some time looking out at it. It always helped him clear his head, and he could approach the problem with a different look. He was hoping the same thing would happen here, and he’d know what decisions to make when he got back to Newport.
He watched other couples, those lounging by the pool as well as those eating on the patio, trying to analyze their actions, expressions, and body language. Some were obviously into each other, evidenced by the unconsciously affectionate gestures and the air of intimacy surrounding them. Others were obviously comfortable with each other, an attitude he was sure developed over long years of a very satisfactory relationship. And then there were those who appeared to be sitting by themselves even though they were together. They barely exchanged conversation, and, in some cases, he wasn’t sure they even liked each other.
He wondered how he and Laura had appeared to others. In the beginning, he knew, they’d been so close, sometimes almost as if they were one person. But now, looking at it from a distance, he could see they had eventually become detached. Had it been when Laura began talking about retiring to Rhode Island rather than Montana? Apparently, he’d been oblivious to the fact she didn’t want to leave her hometown roots. Or missed the point where she’d begun to resent all the travel when JAG would reassign him.
Now he wondered
when they had actually stopped having meaningful conversations. He wasn’t sure if he’d just been an unobservant asshole or if Laura had become disenchanted with their situation and he’d never realized it. The dwindling frequency of sex and the routine flavor of it had apparently escaped him, too, and what did that say about him as a lover?
Of course, he could blame himself for so much of it, even for not forcing her to sit down and talk to him. But then, he’d believed right up until that miserable day, that they were still in love with each other. So, did that mean he didn’t even recognize what love was?
God!
He could go back and forth in his mind for days if he let himself, but there was one thing he couldn’t change. He had trusted a woman with more than twenty years of his life, and she had blindsided him. Betrayed him. He didn’t believe he could ever give any other woman that kind of trust again. Or want another woman with the same intensity he’d felt in the earlier years of his marriage.
The thought of moving back to Montana and settling there almost blunted the pain of doing it alone. Almost, but not quite.
Late in the afternoon, he took a dip in the pool, floating on the sun-warmed surface, trying to clear his mind of the distressing thoughts that wouldn’t quite let go of him. Then he showered, changed, and headed into Junonia, the elegant restaurant run by Ian Browning, a chef whose reputation had even reached Trey’s ears. He ate at a table for one, which, while not much fun, was still better than dining with someone you had a disconnect with.
Despite the laidback atmosphere the resort encouraged, Trey was happy for the day to finally be at an end so he could go to bed. He hoped his dreams were more pleasant than the ones he’d been having. Zack Elliott had assured him bad dreams were forbidden at the Casa Blanca. He’d believe it when it happened.
Chapter Four
After two days of hiding in the villa, Robin was ready to move beyond the confines of its walls. After all, the place was gorgeous, with every amenity one could think of. She read the brochure left in the villa and was amazed to learn it boasted a restaurant that was referred to as “an epicurean’s delight.” And the picture of the casual outdoor dining was too tempting to pass up. As long as she was here, she reasoned, she might as well enjoy what it had to offer.
Her life was in a mess, and she had no idea what her future held. She had no job to go back to, since Jonas had told her the FBI closed up Forrester Investments. Beyond her two friends who, with her, made up the Flirty Thirties, she didn’t really have a strong circle of friends. Too much time spent working too long and too hard. She didn’t even own property, preferring to rent and leave the maintenance to others. The rest of her life—her future—was a blank page yet to be written on.
So, no, there would be no romance for Robin Hanna. When this mess with Forrester and then the FBI was over, maybe she’d find a hole to crawl into and hide for a while.
Seth Guillory had assured her on more than one occasion since her arrival that she was completely safe here. All the guests were checked regularly by some member of the security team, and there were no unknowns hanging around. Also, Jonas had called and assured her they had eyes on the bad guys constantly, as well as other key players, and were tapping their phones. While there was a lot of chatter about finding her, to the frustration of the Russian mobsters, no one seemed to be able to locate where she was.
She held on to that information, reassured by it, just as she was reassured by Jonas himself. He was her lifeline. He’d promised to call her at least once a day, just to keep her in the loop for everything.
“You probably think I’m some kind of clinging vine,” she told him that morning when he called.
“Nothing clinging about you,” he assured her. “You’ve got a lot of guts in a situation most people would run away from. Most of them wouldn’t even have the courage to bring the facts to us to begin with, the way you did. So, don’t sell yourself short.”
That made her feel better, enough so that she decided to head to the main resort building and have breakfast. But, first, she called Seth to let him know.
“Good idea,” he told her. “Eat out on the deck by the pool. The weather is very pleasant this morning, plus it makes it easier for my men and myself to keep an eye on you. Not that there’s anything to worry about,” he added quickly. “I spoke to Jonas earlier, and he told me the same thing he told you. So, go and enjoy your meal. The food is excellent.”
“I will. Thanks.”
“Do you want one of us to pick you up and take you over there?”
“No. The weather is so beautiful I’ll enjoy the walk.”
“Okay, then. Catch you later.”
The warm air was pleasant on her skin, and a soft breeze ruffled her hair. She was still getting used to its shorter length, but found it so much easier to deal with. When she looked in the mirror each day, she had to remind herself who she was. It was amazing how much a change of cut and color and different makeup and clothes could alter a person’s appearance.
Casa Blanca Resort and Spa at Barefoot Bay, she thought to herself. An elegant name for an elegant resort. Every detail had been attended to when creating this paradise. If someone wanted a picture of perfection, this was it. Robin was pretty sure that, despite the traveling she’d done both for her job and pleasure, she’d never stayed at a place quite like this.
Maybe if this mess she’d gotten caught in ever got resolved and she didn’t have to mortgage her teeth, she’d treat herself to a real vacation here. Hopefully with a very sexy man—mature and sexy—who would make every minute of her stay worthwhile. She could almost visualize him—tall, masculine, dark hair with a smidgen of gray at the temple, a scruff of beard, and maybe a dimple thrown in for good measure.
Oh, right, Robin. Aren’t you a little old for fantasies?
Right now, she was just trying to make sure she stayed alive.
She walked along the path slowly, enjoying the sight of the gorgeous landscaping and the sound of the birds singing as they hopped from leaf to leaf. What a paradise this place was.
Too bad I’m not sharing it with someone.
As soon as the thought hit her, she banished it. Exactly what someone would that be? Since her last relationship, if she could even call it that, had died of boredom, she had buried herself in her work. And, of course, once she discovered what was going on at Forrester, dealing with it had consumed every bit of her attention. No, no relationships for her until this mess was sorted out and she knew what direction her life would take. The first thing she’d need to think about was getting a new job.
Maybe she’d move. She really had no ties to her current place, except for her two very close friends. She’d miss them, for sure. But she had no significant other in her life. Not even an insignificant other. Was it time for a total makeover of her life?
She was so busy talking to herself in her head, when she reached the outdoor restaurant and headed for an empty table, she had to quickly move out of the way of the waitress. That led to her bumping into a man seated by himself, just lifting a cup of coffee to his lips. And that led to a coffee disaster on both her clothes and his.
“Oh my god.” She could feel the blush creeping up her cheeks. “I am so very sorry. Here. Let me fix that.”
Determined to help him blot up the liquid, she reached for the extra napkin on his table and knocked over the full glass of water. So now the table was drenched and his clothes were a soggy mess of coffee and water. He jumped up from his seat, liquid running off him in rivulets. She was sure the heat on her cheeks had nothing to do with the temperature in the air.
With the napkin still in her hand, she reached to blot the fabric of his Bermuda shorts then jerked her hand back when she realized it hovered directly over his fly.
“Oh. I’m—”She thrust the napkin at him. “Here. I think I’d better leave before I embarrass myself even more.”
And then she got a good look at him and nearly fainted. Could you actually imagine someone to life?
Because this man looked just like the one she’d been imagining on her walk here from the villa.
Oh. My. God.
He laughed, a low rough sound that brought her back to reality and remade long-neglected parts of her body beg for attention. Oh, right. Just what she needed.
“Not a problem. I’ll just run up to my suite and change.”
“Yes. Me, too. I mean, not to your suite. To my—”
She figured she’d better get out of there before she humiliated herself even more. She hurried back through the tables until she was away from the deck then raced for her villa. Maybe she could hide in there until whoever that was went home from his vacation.
Yes, because you don’t know how long he’s staying, idiot.
In the bedroom, she stripped and tossed her clothing into a discreet hamper provided for it. In her check-in portfolio, there had been a note that laundry service was available. If she kept doing this, she’d be their best customer. Should she offer to pay for the man’s laundry?
The man. Right. She didn’t even know what the hell his name was.
Now, she was really hungry, and she’d have to go back to the restaurant so she could eat. She could always order service to the villa, but this morning she’d promised herself she’d get out of here. She stepped into the shower to wash off the remains of her disaster. After drying herself off, she pulled on a pair of pale-blue shorts and a navy T-shirt that was just loose enough for her to feel comfortable in it. Sarah, her personal shopper, had done well with the wardrobe.
The only makeup she applied was a light dusting of blush and a soft-rose lipstick. Who was she dressing for, anyway? As she made her way back to the restaurant, she prayed the man, whoever he was, would be someplace else. Anyplace else. With luck, he’d already had breakfast and would be off doing something. Anything. She didn’t care what as long as she didn’t have to see him.
